I leaned against the sink, surveying my immaculate kitchen as I waited for the kettle to boil. It was flawless. Just like the rest of the apartment. I’d inherited my mother’s compulsion for cleanliness and order.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the granite worktop and glanced around the open-plan apartment. It was modern and gleaming, simplistic and minimalist.
I shivered and rubbed my hands over my arms. Was that its appeal or its necessity? Was my lack of statement pieces and personal touches a style preference or a reflection of my identity?
I turned and opened the fridge. I reached for the milk and paused as my gaze fell upon the six pack of lager Adam had left. I slammed the door shut quickly, my desire for a cup of tea instantly dissipating. The few reminders of Adam looked out of place. His lager in the fridge. His phone charger on the breakfast bar. His car magazine that was out of date and yet still sat on the end of the sofa.
Adam didn’t have the same obsessive need for everything to be put in its proper place. To him it was perfectly reasonable to leave things lying around. It had grated on me at first. I’d tried not to comment. I just subtly tidied up his things for him when he wasn’t using them.
It was an endless job. I’d thought about asking him to put things away himself, but I never did. Partly because I didn’t want him to think I was being fussy. But mostly because, weirdly, I really didn’t mind.
My desire for neatness seemed to be outweighed by the surge of joy I felt at seeing his belongings in my home. It was a physical reminder of him when he wasn’t in the apartment with me. It was a reminder that he was mine; that we were together; I wasn’t alone.
Except I was.
I frowned and pushed that thought away. I should get rid of his things. I should move on. And yet for some reason I couldn’t. My friends would tell me it was too soon to think about such things. Adam’s mother would undoubtedly be horrified if she knew I was contemplating casting out her son’s belongings before they had even found his body. But the truth was, it wasn’t Adam’s disappearance that had ended our relationship. His death had just given me closure. Or at least it would when they found him.
What if they don’t?
I froze as the unwanted thought sprang into my head. What if he was never found? What if his body had been washed out to sea? Or maybe – I shook my head, shunning that thought from my brain. I wouldn’t allow myself to think of the gruesome things that could have happened to him. He would be found. He had to be. It was the only way I would finally be able to put this behind me and move on.
I wandered into the living room and flicked on the TV. It wasn’t as though I still loved him. Not the real him, anyway.
But I still missed his presence in my home; my life. I missed feeling a part of something.
I stared at the images that flashed on the screen, but barely even noticed what they were. They were just meaningless blurs. Just like my life.
Adam had given it meaning. He’d given me purpose. At least for a little while.
I picked up the remote and pointed it at the TV. My thumb hovered over the power button. I wasn’t in the mood for watching TV, but without it the silence would return.
I put the remote back down on the coffee table, the button un-pressed. Silence never used to bother me. Not for a long time. I’d grown used to it.
I sat on the damp grass at the end of the garden, staring out to sea. There was something comforting about the way the waves rose and fell; a constant flow that never ended.
‘Jessie?’ I turned at the sound of Daddy’s voice behind me. ‘What are you doing out here? It’s freezing. You’ll catch a cold.’
I shrugged. It wasn’t so bad. Not if I didn’t think about it. ‘I was watching the waves.’
Daddy leaned towards me and held out his hand. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside in the warm.’
I glanced at his hand and then at the house behind him. ‘Do we have to go back in there?’
‘It’s our home now, Jessie.’
I screwed my nose up. ‘But it doesn’t feel right to be here. Not without Granny and Grandad.’
His shoulders hunched and he knelt beside me. ‘I know, sweetie. Everything feels a little strange right now, but they wanted us to be here. That’s why they left Mummy the house, so we could carry on their dream now that they’re not able to. They want us to be happy here, just like they were.’
‘Mummy isn’t.’
Daddy’s gaze dropped to the floor and he shook his head slowly. ‘No, she isn’t.’ He turned back to me. ‘But she will be.’ He smiled, but although his lips moved upwards his eyes still looked sad.
‘When?’
He held his arms open and pulled me towards him. I snuggled against the warmth of his chest. ‘I don’t know, Jessie. I don’t know.’
Daddy picked me up and carried me towards the house. I clung tighter to him with every step.
‘I don’t want to go back inside,’ I whispered in Daddy’s ear. ‘It’s like the house is sad and still, like it’s waiting for Granny and Grandad to come home.’
Daddy squeezed me in his arms, but didn’t speak. He opened the patio door and stepped inside. He set me down on the coconut mat and we kicked off our shoes.
Mummy stood by the hob; her head was bent forwards, her gaze fixed on the pan in front of her as her hand stirred a wooden spoon. She never even looked up.
The prickles of the mat dug into my feet. I wanted to move; to do something, but I didn’t know what.
My arms ached to wrap themselves around Mummy’s waist. She looked so sad, I just wanted to hug her until she smiled again.
But she wouldn’t.
She never did.
She just brushed me away, saying she was too busy.
She was always too busy. Even when she sat on the sofa starring at a blank wall, she was still too busy for a hug.
Daddy nudged my back. ‘Why don’t you go and play in your room until dinner time?’
I nodded silently and retreated to the hall. I glanced back through the open door and saw Daddy standing beside Mummy.
‘Honey, I’m worried about you. We both are.’
‘I’m fine.’
I cringed. It was Mummy’s usual answer now. She was always fine. Yet somehow she never seemed it.
‘No, you’re not. You’re grieving.’
I glanced at the stairs. I should go up to my room like I’d been told to.
‘Then leave me alone and let me grieve.’
‘It’s been six months.’
‘I didn’t realise there was a time limit.’ Mummy sounded cross.
I crept back down the hall and peered around the door frame.
‘You know that’s not what I meant. I just think that maybe it’s time that we thought about finding you someone to talk to.’
‘I have you to talk to.’ Mummy turned away from him and started to walk to the window, but Daddy caught her hand.
‘But you don’t talk to me. You won’t.’
‘I’m not ready,’ Mummy whispered.
I blinked, trying to dislodge the tears that were forming in my eyes. Mummy sounded so sad.
‘I know.’ Daddy reached out and stroked her cheek. ‘That’s what worries me.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And it worries Jess too.’
Mummy pulled away. ‘Jess is too little to understand.’
‘She’s not too little to notice how sad her mum is. She’s not too little to not be hurt that her mum won’t talk to her, or hold her.’
Mummy leaned against the sink. ‘I can’t.’ Her voice sounded strange, all cracked and broken.
‘I don’t know if we did the right thing moving in here.’ Daddy looked around the kitchen and I ducked back out of sight. ‘This house is a constant reminder of them; of what you’ve lost.’
‘They wanted me to have it. It’s their last wish…’
‘I know. But maybe we should at least move some of our things in. Our furniture is still in storage. Maybe with our sofa and—’
‘No.’
‘Honey, it’s like a shrine to them.’
‘I said no!’
I jolted back from the doorway. Mummy had sounded so mad. I’d never heard her snap like that before.
I crept back to the stairs. I shouldn’t have been listening. I wouldn’t have heard her then.
I tiptoed up the stairs, praying they wouldn’t creak. I didn’t want Mummy to catch me. I didn’t want her to be mad at me, too.