I give her fresh water and some kibble, but she looks at me with her head tilted as though she wants the good stuff. “Oh no. I don’t know what he’s been feeding you while I’ve been gone, but you’re not getting around me with your big brown eyes.”
Making my way upstairs, I step into my old room. It’s just as I left it. Walking into Kane’s room, I make his bed, then notice Jane Eyre sitting on the nightstand next to his lamp. A pen marks his page and I open it to a black mark highlighting a passage.
Her coming was my hope each day,
Her parting was my pain;
The chance that did her steps delay
Was ice in every vein.
Is this about me? The marking on the page looks fresh and different from my mum’s side notes throughout the book. It’s obvious he hasn’t been himself. I’ve never known him not to make his bed to the same standard that was instilled in him in the army. And I’ve never known him to smoke or drink so much he passes out. My heart sinks a little more, knowing he’s been hurting just as much as I have.
Why couldn’t he have just been honest with me from the start? I pause, holding his duvet in my hand before I give it a shake. If he’d been honest, I doubt I’d have stayed and given him a chance.
I would have fled as far away as I could from my father’s murderer, casting him in the same light as everyone else in this town. I would’ve missed out on love.
My eyes swell. Even now I still love him, even though nothing good will come of it. My brain knows what’s good for me. It’s my weak heart that lacks discipline.
Him and Mr Rochester aren’t so different after all. Both held dark secrets. Kane may not have a wife locked away in the attic, but he does have a ghost tethered to his heart. He’ll never be able to let go of the guilt while my mother lingers as a constant reminder.
His laundry hamper overflows. I lug it downstairs and sort through it on the kitchen table, placing a load in the washing machine. Some of my clothes still sit in the bottom, telling me he hasn’t done any washing since I left.
Whipping round the house with a duster, Belle still chases my feet, grappling for my attention. Despite my pottering, Kane lies fast asleep, his face twitching from a dream. The last thing to do is hoover. I start upstairs and work my way down. Belle barking and snapping at the contraption like she always does. Kane thrashes his head from side to side but still doesn’t wake, even with the noise.
After several hours of cleaning, there’s nothing more to do. My bottom perches on the arm of the sofa and I lean over to swipe the curls from his forehead and press my lips over the deep worry etched on his brow. “I’m going now, but I’ll be back tomorrow after work, and I’ll bring food.”
He twitches his head, flickering his eyes open, then closes them again.
37
KANE
Am I dreaming, or still high?
I can’t tell anymore.
I’ve imagined her here so many times. Her purple hair splayed on my pillow, her pink lips on my skin. My eyelids grow heavy and close again with her beautiful face still imprinted. I dreamed she was here, moving her stuff in.
Rough licks on my face have me groaning awake, though I don’t open my eyes, not ready to face the day and tidy my shit. Everything has become such an effort since she left. Another lick to my face and a bark, then she’s tugging on a blanket I don’t remember using.
When I open my eyes, a car engine rumbles and tyres crunch along the gravel. I throw off the blanket and pace to the window. Lilly’s driving down the path. Turning around, it takes me a moment to register where I am. This isn’t my house. It’s clean. I walk into the kitchen, inhaling the scent of jasmine from the laundry hanging on an airer. Violet’s t-shirt and pyjamas hang next to my clothes. Another reminder that she’s gone.
My palm runs down my face and I shoot off a text to Lilly to thank her for checking on me, but she didn’t need to clean the whole fucking house. I was happy wallowing in my own self pity.
After showering, I open the cupboard, but all I have is a packet of noodles and a tin of rice pudding. My stomach churns from the lack of food mixed with the alcohol I consumed yesterday. I open the tin of rice pudding and spoon it into my mouth directly from the tin. No need for a bowl. I don’t want to mess up the gleaming kitchen. It’s the first time I’ve seen the bottom of the sink in weeks.
Belle barks, reminding me of her empty bowl. “Sorry girl. At least you have plenty of food in.” I fill her bowl up with kibble, then drop a dollop of the rice pudding on top as a treat for putting up with me these last few weeks. “At least someone still wants to live with me.” I ruffle Belle’s fur, then give her fresh water.
The house is bitterly cold, but there’s no point making a fire yet. I have work to do in the workshop. I walk by the sad-looking Christmas tree, which looks more brown than green now most of the needles have fallen off, but I can’t seem to bring myself to take it down.
I refuse to open her gift to me if she isn’t here. I’m still clinging to the idea that we can salvage some sort of Christmas that we planned, or that I planned for her. I’d wanted to make it the best Christmas she’d ever had. Instead, I probably made it the worst.
I’d planned on cooking a roast dinner, a dessert for later. We could have done all the family stuff she missed. I even dug out an old game of scrabble. Then I would’ve made love to her on the rug in front of the fire, then filled up on sweets and chocolate.
It was the first Christmas I was actually looking forward to since the last one I spent with Ali. After that, Christmas was just another day in the slammer. And then after it became another reminder that I was all alone.
My phone pings, snapping me from the trance I’m in. It’s the app telling me Vi’s on the move. I watch the dot flash along the screen, getting closer to the supermarket with each passing second. I turned off the tracking app for a while, but I turned it back on just to keep an eye on her. It’s comforting to know where she is, even though thoughts of her at their house twist my insides.
