Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
‘You never gave me the chance.’
There are tears tracking down his face now. I want to touch him. Wipe his face free of the salty pain.
‘I could never hate you.’ His voice cracks. ‘I thought you didn’t want me. I was a painful reminder of everything you went through. I thought in the end I was doing the right thing by freeing you from that memory.’
His body quivers with emotion. I want to close the space and reach for him, but I don’t know how. I’m scared if I do it wrong that he’ll reject me or even worse disintegrate and I won’t know how to make it right.
He pushes himself upright, away from me, and rubs at his forehead as if he’s struggling with something internally, then without speaking he stands and goes to the cupboard at the back of the hut and comes back carrying a light tan wooden box from under the bench.
I take one look at it and my heart stops as if a metal band has been fixed tight around it and someone’s tightening the screws. ‘You kept it.’
‘Of course I kept it.’ There’s a break in his voice which sends a pain through my already tight chest and when I look over at him, his gaze has settled on me. ‘I haven’t ever forgotten what we went through. Did you think I was sailing through life not giving a damn?’
I hesitate. If I’m honest that’s exactly what I’ve thought at times. Angry that he got to live his life whereas mine was tainted. ‘Sometimes I did,’ I confess, my voice small.
He places the box on the bench next to me and sits down on the other side of it. ‘How did we make such a mess of all this?’
‘I don’t know.’
He puts his hand on the box, but doesn’t open it. I swallow, feeling every movement and sound that my throat makes.
‘I love you.’ His voice is soft and full of emotion.
‘I’ve always loved you even before that first time we ever had sex.
You got me. You knew me better than anyone else.
I probably never explained it properly, but I was an awkward fifteen-year-old who didn’t know how to say how important you were to me.
I’ve had years since to think about it though.
’ He pauses, his fingers tracing the inscription burnt into the lid of the box.
It mirrors the scratches under my fingertips.
‘It hurt when you wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.
I tried everything to get to talk to you and just met dead ends.
And then Mum told me to give you space, so that’s what I did.
But it wasn’t because I’d given up on you. On us. I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘I thought it was the right thing to do,’ I whisper, shifting slightly to half face him, but I can’t look at him. ‘I couldn’t tell you what really happened. I couldn’t face you. I was a coward,’ I say, ashamed.
There’s quiet as we both digest each other’s words. He reaches for the box and opens the lid, laying it back fully so the contents are laid bare.
I kept no mementos of her because I thought I didn’t deserve them.
But there were times I ached to see her picture again and the more the years passed the more the memory I have of the scan has pixellated and faded.
I reach in and pick up the black-and-white grainy picture.
A single tear escapes and I dash it away, but all that does is give permission for the rest of the tears I’ve been bottling up to run freely down my cheeks.
My fingertip traces the tiny blob on the scan.
‘Do you ever think about her?’ I ask.
It’s taken seventeen years to have this conversation, but it feels important. As if it’s filling a gap that’s been achingly empty.
‘You always call her a her. But we didn’t know, did we?’
I shake my head. ‘No. It was a feeling and it stuck.’
‘Yes. I do.’
I tilt my head towards him.
He answers my question. ‘Think about her. Not all the time, but I do. Although, I always think of her as a him.’ His mouth twitches into a tiny smile.
‘He or she would have been seventeen now. Older than we were at the time,’ I say. My mind drifts to all the questions I often pose myself. What would they be like? Me or Jackson? Would they have a great sense of humour or be studious and serious? Blonde or dark?
‘We were so bloody young. It wasn’t all bad though,’ he says.
‘Do you remember the first time we saw her?’ My eyes soften with my smile at the memory.
‘I’ll never forget those little arms twirling and when the nurse turned the volume up on the heartbeat.’
A shiver passes though me, but for the first time it has no menace. It’s simply the thrill of remembering something so special without the shadow of guilt.
I put the picture back in the box and pick up the white folded Babygro.
I open it out. It’s exactly as I remember.
Pristine white with sunshine-yellow writing – Daddy’s little star – and a tiny perfect daisy.
I bury my face in it and breathe in. If she’d got the chance to wear it, it should smell of baby powder, but it’s never been worn.
I sob into the fabric and my whole body shakes.
I cry for Jackson, for me and for her, and the life we all should have had.
Jackson moves the box and shuffles along the bench.
His arms enclose me and he pulls me tight.
I mould myself to him. I don’t want an inch of space between us.
His body is warm and I push myself even deeper into his chest, my nose rubbing against his T-shirt.
I want to dissolve into his heat, his touch.
Transfer his smell to me so he’ll always be a part of me.
His fingertips trace my friendship bracelet and then move to the yellow daisy on the Babygro sitting on my knee. ‘Yellow and white?’
I meet his eyes and give a tiny smile. ‘Every time it gets grubby, I make a new one.’
He shakes his head and I’m not sure why. The he sits a little away from me and takes off the gold ring on his little finger and hands it to me. I frown, holding the ring in the palm of my hand.
He nods towards it. ‘Look at it.’
I pick it up and twist it around and my heartbeat gallops in my chest. There’s a tiny picture of a daisy etched into the ring.
‘We were never not in tune with each other, were we?’ I say softly. ‘Even when we were miles apart.’ I look up. His eyes are magnetic and I couldn’t look away from him if I tried. ‘Are you sure about this? Us?’ I need to know he’s sure. I can’t get hurt again.
‘Ellie …’ He takes my hand, his thumb circling my skin, and it sends sparks spiralling through me. ‘We both went through hell together. We both got things wrong and things right. But I’ve never wanted anyone else the way I want you. No one else has ever matched up to you, even the memory of you.’
I take a breath and it fills my torso, cracking the vice grip around my heart as if it’s freeing it.
‘I want to be with you because of who you are,’ he continues. ‘Who we are when we’re together.’
I reach up to touch his face, his stubble pressing into my palm.
I can’t stay apart from him for a second longer.
I move towards him and he meets me halfway.
I tilt my head to his and kiss him. His hand slides through my hair to the back of my head as he kisses me back.
Our hands don’t wander. I pull him flush to me and his hands hold me steady.
Neither of us want this to go any further than this kiss.
It’s a kiss that says everything we need it to say without either of us spelling it out.
My lips are bruised and tingling when we break apart.
‘I have loved you for every yesterday. I love you here and now today. And I’ll love you for all our tomorrows.
And that will never change.’ Jackson runs his index finger down my forehead, over my nose and down my chin.
It’s a gesture which sends my heart spinning.
It was our thing and I never thought I’d feel it again.
‘It’s always been you too,’ I whisper. ‘Always and forever.’
His arms encircle me and pull me close and I can feel every part of him. I close my eyes. And for the first time in years, I feel at peace with myself and my past and buoyant about our future. And I am happy.