Chapter Fifty-Three
JESS
I spend the next couple of hours panicking, looking absolutely everywhere for the ring, but coming up empty. Eventually, after a third search under the bed reveals nothing, I give up and sit down cross-legged on the bedroom carpet.
Letting my emotions overrun me is not going to do me any favours.
I need to think, come up with a plan. Even if I have somehow ended up back in the first version – well, the only version – of my tenth wedding anniversary, it doesn’t mean it’s hopeless.
I might have lost all the progress I’ve made over the last twelve days, but it isn’t over until the fat lady sings.
Or, in this case, Luke walks out the door.
Just that thought makes my stomach wobble, but then I remind myself I’m not going into this blind.
I’ve been here before. I know the key moments, the forks in the road, that led to Luke walking away.
And I’ve learned a lot along the way. I’ve changed, even if the world around me hasn’t.
I still have a chance to change things around.
Like Luke, I have work to do today, but only until mid-afternoon.
Like last time, I’ve given myself more than a few hours to get myself ready.
But instead of taking a long, pampering bubble bath, I sit down with a notebook and pen and pick through my memories of my alternative life, trying to work out where the turning points were, how I managed to change things.
I don’t exactly have a plan when Luke comes home, in terms of what to do or what to say, but I do know that I need to keep my cool, resist the urge to erect my formidable defences and, well, just be nice to him instead of mildly pissed off the whole time.
My first test is the toilet roll incident. Once again, the holder is empty. But I reach into the cupboard and refill it before getting down to business. I’ll still have to remind him later, but maybe, this time, I don’t have to take the lack of loo roll as a personal attack.
The next hurdle is the unveiling of my anniversary present, which Luke brings home with him.
He makes me go upstairs so he can put it where it needs to go, then comes to find me and brings me downstairs, instructing me to close my eyes once I reach the bottom step, then gently guides me into the living room and tells me I can open them.
The bare patch of wall in an awkward alcove in the dining room is bare no longer. A large metal sculpture now hangs there. I reach out and touch the silvery trunk of what looks to be a willow tree. ‘It’s made of pewter?’
Luke turns and looks at me. ‘Yes. Good guess. Because tin is—’
‘Too soft on its own,’ I finish for him. ‘It has to be mixed with other metals.’
He gives me a pleased but confused look. ‘Yes.’
This is the point last time where I caught sight of the clock on the wall and panicked about not having started my make-up, but I think back to what Luke said in the taxi on the way to the party last time.
Instead of focusing on my own disappointment, I turn my attention back to my gift while Luke rustles around with something on the dining-room table.
I didn’t notice it before, but amidst the delicate leaves curling from the branches are little protrusions.
I reach out and touch one. It looks like a hook …
and they are grouped into clusters: twos and threes mostly, but there is a lone hook on the right-hand side of the tree and, on the left, a group of five together.
Luke pulls something from a series of boxes he has laid out on the table – two small metal shapes.
It’s only when he hangs them on the two hooks in the centre of the tree that I realize they are photo frames, made of the same beaten pewter, and they contain pictures of him and me on our wedding day. My mouth drops open. I had no idea …
Because you were too busy being in a bad mood, too ready to believe Luke didn’t think you were worth something special, the voice inside my head reminds me.
He’s chosen images that make it look as if we are turning to each other.
He’s smiling at me, his eyes full of adoration.
I am half-enveloped in a cloud of white tulle (our wedding day was windy, and I could not control my veil) and I am smiling back at him.
I know these photos aren’t from our collection. Where did he get them?
He steps away and I hear rustling. A moment later he returns to stand behind me.
‘And look … ’ He reaches forward and hangs a smaller frame containing a picture of my dad on a branch shooting out above my photo on a tiny curling hook hidden amongst the silvery leaves.
And then he adds Lola next to him and my sisters below and off to the side.
‘It’s a family tree,’ I say softly.
‘Now she gets it!’
A stab of regret hits me straight in my chest. This is stunning!
This is … everything. And to think I was sulking about diamonds because, in my own myopic way, they were what signified that I was precious to Luke.
I was blind. So, so blind. This is so much more.
Because I know how much family means to Luke.
It’s his world. And there I am, right in the centre of it … with him.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘I found the artist online. She has some different versions, but they’re all customizable, depending on your family.
’ He goes on to pull more tiny frames out of a tissue-paper-lined box and hang them on the branches on his side – his parents, Cassie and Greg with Edie hanging underneath, and then his younger brothers, Matt, Zach and Nick.
My gaze wanders back to my side of the tree.
Yup. There it is. A tiny hook is hidden in the foliage on the other side of my father to my stepmother.
Luke notices where I’m looking, and the tissue paper rustles again.
I nod, and he adds an old photo of my mother to the branch.
I’ve seen it before, and I would probably wonder where he got it from if I didn’t already know he’s been talking to my mother in secret to set up his ‘surprise’ later at the party.
A shiver runs through me. At least I won’t be blindsided this time, but I can’t say I’m not nervous. As much as Luke hinted Mum had made the same progress in this version of our lives too, is that true? Can I trust it?
‘One last one,’ he says, but when he holds the frame, it’s empty. I give him a quizzical look and he puts it on a little silvery vine that shooting out from under our two pictures. His free arm comes around me and his palm splays flat against my lower abdomen. ‘For the next generation.’
Hope slices through me like a knife, bringing joy but also leaving pain. I want this more than anything, but I also know what might happen later this evening, something that might crack this beautiful tree right down the middle.
I turn and kiss him on the cheek and then the lips.
And then again and again. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, when I finally let him gather his breath.
‘I love it.’ And I don’t have to lie. I really do.
The Jess who didn’t even stop to look long enough to understand what this was seems so clueless, so critical now.
No wonder things ended up where they did.
He must have been able to sense that, even if I didn’t say anything.
I kiss him again, making sure he feels the truth of my gratitude, and then I pull away smiling.
‘I’d better go and put my shoes on and touch up my lipstick.
We don’t want to be late for our own party! ’