Chapter 9
JACK
The credits are still rolling, indecipherable symbols flashing and fading; the film crew lost to me while Maggie and I discuss the ending. Is it the best movie I’ve ever seen? No. But is it the most I’ve enjoyed watching a film? Unequivocally, yes.
‘So… what now?’ Maggie asks.
‘I guess we should check the fire door?’ My suggestion is immediately followed by an unfamiliar urge to cross my fingers like my nieces when they ask me for one more piggyback around the garden.
My body is behaving oddly, like it belongs to a different man than the one who walked into this cinema a few hours ago.
Maggie’s green eyes flash towards the door; I’m hoping she feels the same reticence as I do for this night together to come to a close.
This strange, mystical realm filled with shoulder-padded angsty teens and drum-machined music that smells like popcorn, citrus, and ginger biscuits.
‘We should,’ Maggie replies. ‘There could be a zombie apocalypse happening out there and they’re outside right now waiting to eat our brains,’ she says, green eyes widening. I resist the thought that they will find mine lacking.
‘Damn it, I forgot my’ – my voice drops off while I try to find the word… mash, mash – ‘axe.’ I recover quickly, tapping my trousers down. ‘Of all the days to choose style over concealed weapons.’
I make my way towards the fire door, Maggie at my side.
‘Shall we both push. Again?’ she suggests, flipping back her mittens so her fingertips are free.
We both clamp our hands on the bar.
‘Ready?’ I ask. ‘On three?’
She nods and we both begin pushing but it doesn’t budge.
‘Maybe if we put our backs into it?’ she asks turning around.
I follow suit. It’s such a strange thing, to be feeling such happiness in this moment.
My thoughts are loud in my head, the past year banging and clattering against the inside of my skull.
How much I’ve lost, how this is the first time that I can feel that dark, suffocating cloud of depression lifting.
How much I miss my old life, the old me, and how, right now, this is the most alive I’ve felt for a long time.
Maggie’s feet slip as she pushes back; instinctively, I reach out to steady her.
My hand holding hers, fingertips cold against my skin.
She doesn’t pull away immediately but the colour and humour drains from her face and she steps back and I realise what I’ve done.
‘I…’
‘It’s nothing.’ She waves her hand dismissively but secures the gloves back in place.
‘Let me have a look.’ I step aside, cursing myself for not thinking when I reached out to help her.
It must be so difficult to live a life where even the simple touch of a hand can force her to distance herself.
A fleeting thought of how that would work for us, if we were to have a relationship after tonight.
I push it away quickly. It’s way too soon to be even thinking that, and yet… No. Shut that down right now.
She opens the door a fraction, cold wet air blasting her face through the small crack. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ she says into the dark cold street. She looks over my shoulder.
‘Zombies?’ My hand dramatically clutches my windpipe. My appalling attempt to lighten the mood.
‘Worse.’ Her words are faux sincere.
‘Aliens?’ I shudder. ‘I hate aliens.’
‘Me too. Green. Slimy. Big googly eyes.’ She widens her eyes and I laugh. Thank God. I haven’t blown it. She peers back through the crack. ‘It looks like a truck is blocking it. I doubt it’s going anywhere soon,’ she concludes, meeting my eyes and closing the door back in place.
‘Oh. Well, that’s a relief.’
‘It’s a bit of an anticlimax, actually. I was hoping you were going to go all Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead.’
I grimace. ‘Not seen it, sorry.’
‘Really? I love a good zombie flick. Oh well… at least our brains are safe then.’
I pause.
Machete.
The word finally comes to mind.
‘Fancy grabbing that coffee, now?’ she suggests, flushing, her words rushing on. ‘I’m no great cook but I have learnt to tame the coffee machine.’
But then my phone comes to life with a barrage of notifications.
We’ve got signal.
‘We might be saved!’ Maggie is beaming as she stands and takes her own phone out of her pocket.
‘Great!’ I say overly eager and stand too.
She hesitates, seeing my actions.
‘You stay here. I’ll be back in a jiffy,’ she adds.
‘Oh, yeah. Sure.’ I sit back down as she hurries from the room.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
OK, let’s think this through. This doesn’t have to be the end.
I can come back. See her again. For the last few hours, I’ve seen a glimpse of a version of myself who might be able to navigate the mess that is now my life.
And we might not be able to have a relationship in the normal sense but I do want to see her again.
The screen turns blue, the lights lifting back to full.
I click on Mum’s picture, hitting play: ‘Hi, darling! Congratulations! You won! I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Call me back.’
Dad’s face next: ‘Jacko!! Well done, lad – knew you could do it. Give your mother a ring, will you? She’s celebrating for the two of you and if you don’t call soon you’ll get nothing but repeats.
’ I snort at that. Mum is well known for repetition once she’s had a few glasses of fizz.
There are voice messages from my siblings, too, both thrilled for me, at my success.
It’s too late to call, but I’ll leave a message, Mum’s phone will be on do not disturb.
I hold the mic down on WhatsApp: ‘Hey, Mum, that’s great news.
I’m so pleased and Nell will be too.’ My leg bounces.
‘Sorry for ducking out but at least you got to have my share of the bottle, eh?’ I pause, looking around the room.
‘Funny thing, I actually ended up going to the cinema and I…’ I’ve met someone?
Feel like myself for the first time since the night everything was taken from me?
‘I’ve had a good night. Been introduced to John Hughes.
Not the real one, obviously, but, anyway, thanks for picking up the award.
I bet your acceptance speech was class. Hope you’ve had a fun night and that you’ve drunk some water. Night, Mum.’ I release the button.
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth; Nell will be thrilled.
It should have been her picking up the award.
It’s been Nell who has introduced more author events, Nell who has kept the shop flourishing.
If I hadn’t had the stroke, right now I’d probably still be celebrating, staying in a good hotel with thick white sheets.
Vicky lying next to me, wedding bands on our fingers.
I take in my surroundings, Henry’s smile, the plastic purple cup with a faint lipstick mark around the paper straw, a screwed-up napkin, and the trace of Maggie’s lemon scent.
The image of white sheets and wedding bands fades.
I click on Nell’s face, playing her message: ‘Hey, heart-stopper, congratulations! Hope you get lucky. I’ve left you a box of ribbed, extra-large’ – Maggie comes back into the room with a bright smile, her phone being passed between her hands.
I fumble with my phone, urgently swiping at Nell’s message – ‘and a bottle of strawberry-flavoured lube next to the till… I’m kidding.
It’s cherry-flavoured.’ Nell continues despite my furious thumb swiping.
‘I’ve locked up so have fun, oh and Jack?
If you think there’s a chance you will get lucky?
Maybe knock one out first, eh? Girls have high expectations and looking like you do—’ I finally close the message.
Maggie lifts her eyebrows. ‘Sorry. That’s Nell. She’s, um, a joker,’ I add.
‘Cherry lube?’
‘She’s joking.’
She raises her hands. ‘Hey, each to their own. No judgements here.’ She smirks like she’s enjoying watching me squirm.
‘So, Jack.’ She sits side-saddle on the armrest. ‘I’ve typed out a message to Romy, telling her we’re locked in.
She lives two streets away and can be here in ten.
’ Disappointment pulls at me, like my spine is made of steel and the floor is magnetic.
‘Great.’ I can hear how false that sounds. There is a spark of something behind Maggie’s eyes: mischief, excitement, a glimmer of something unexpected.
‘But, you see. The thing is… I, well, I don’t get to do this’ – she gestures around the room then at me – ‘very often.’ She tucks her thick curls behind her right ear.
They stay there for a second before falling back over the curve of her cheek.
‘I mean I do this’ – she gestures to Henry and the screen and then herself – ‘but I’m normally alone.
And so… I guess what I’m trying to say is I would really like to not press send.
’ She holds her phone up to me. ‘But if you need to go, I—’
‘Don’t press send.’ My voice is quiet. ‘Don’t press send,’ I repeat, more certain this time.