A glass of wine appeared on the table before me, Jessica’s hand placing it carefully on the weathered wood. She had long, curved nails, unvarnished, a chunky silver ring on the middle finger of her right hand. I had no recollection of ordering wine but I had no recollection of almost anything of the past ten minutes.
My head felt as if it were stuffed with angry wasps. I put both hands up to my temples, pressing inwards, closing my eyes for a brief moment.
The table rocked as Jessica slotted herself into the opposite seat and a splash of wine fell from my glass to land in a bloody little smear on the tabletop.
“Sorry,” said Jessica. She had a glass of white wine in front of her, which had also spilt. I watched as a thin, clear trickle flowed towards the little puddle of red.
“So,” she finally said, her head on one side again, looking at me and smiling slightly.
I took a shaky sip of my drink, resisting the urge to gulp.
“What do you want?” I blurted out.
Jessica raised her eyebrows. “That’s blunt.”
“Sorry. I’m just…” I trailed off.
“It’s alright, Maudie,” she said, speaking rather slowly. She didn’t try and touch my hand. I stared up at the white sky, stretching my eyes wide and breathing deeply. Jessica took a sip of her drink, just sitting there opposite me, quietly.
I kept hold of my fold of coat, pleating it and releasing it. The palms of my hands were sweating.
The silence became too much.
“How did you know I was going to come out of the house? Were you waiting?” I said.
She shook her head, breathing out smoke. “Pot luck,” she said. “I’d waited for you a few times before but I never caught you. I’d only been there about five minutes today before you appeared.”
“Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?”
She gave me a half smile and a one-shoulder shrug.
I nodded, although I didn’t really understand.
“Do you live with anyone?” she said.
“Yes, my husband.” I took another sip of my drink. “His name’s Matt but he’s out at the moment.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Your husband? You’re married?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re married. My God – how long for?”
“Almost three years now.” I looked down at my bare hands and saw her look too. “I left my ring at home today – I was off to the gym.”
She nodded and there was a short silence.
“Are you?” I said.
“Am I what?”
“Married?”
She gave a short bark of a laugh. “No.”
I decided not to ask about children, because I didn’t want her to ask me. We both sipped our drinks in silence. Jessica stubbed out her cigarette and almost immediately lit another one.
“Maudie, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m finding this as difficult as you. I just don’t know – I don’t know where to start. Where do you start, with this situation?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“It’s too–” she said, and then stopped abruptly.
“Everyone thought you were dead,” I said. The smoke from her cigarette drifted across the table and into my eyes, making me blink.
“I know,” she said. “I know they did. They must have done.”
“Jessica–” I used her name for the first time. “Jessica. What happened?”
She looked at me for a long moment. “It’s a long, sad story,” she said. “How much time have you got?”
I opened my mouth to reply but, before I could, she suddenly sat up and shook her head. “Not now,” she said. “Not today. It’s too much. Tell me about you. Tell me all about you.”
“Oh–” I looked down at my nearly empty glass. “Where shall I start?”
Jessica smiled. For the first time since we’d met, I felt a lightening of the spirit, a feeling that perhaps I could cope after all. We were just two women sitting together outside of a pub on a winter’s day. It helped me to think that. Don’t think about Cornwall, and Mrs. McGaskill’s hand raised to slap me, and the search parties and the yawning empty window, and the constant, acid guilt. Don’t think about the nightmares running on an unending loop in my head, the closed door with the abyss behind it. Don’t think about people coming back from the dead. We’re just two women, having a drink, outside a North London pub.
"Tell me about your wedding," Jessica said.
"My wedding?"
"Yeah, you said you were married. Tell me about your wedding. Was it a big white thing? We always used to talk about having one of those, remember?"
"My wedding..." I looked down at the foamy depths of my cup. "God. It seems like a long time ago now."
"Was it?"
"Not really. Only three years or so. God - time flies."
"So what was it like?"
"It was - amazing. Well, you know, a bit stressful, and all that..." I trailed off. How could I begin to condense all those different emotions down to a couple of coherent sentences? "It was a bit surreal, really. I had a wedding planner for everything-"
Jessica exploded with mirth. "A wedding planner? Get you!"
I started laughing too. "I know, it's ridiculous, isn't it? Angus really pushed the boat out though, he insisted."
"I suppose, you being the only daughter and all that – it makes sense," said Jessica, still grinning.
"It was a great day, though," I said. The good memories made my voice soften. "But you know, it was weird, too. There were so many – I don’t know – so many undercurrents of emotion running under the surface.” I stopped, surprised at myself. Where had that come from?
I lifted the cup to my lips to hide the sudden tension in my mouth.
Jessica was watching me keenly. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” I said, and hesitated. Then I plunged in. “I remember during the service looking over and noticing this empty pew at the front. I mean, it was empty, right in the middle of mass of people.” I paused, unsure of whether to go on.
“Yes?” said Jessica.
I spoke slowly. “I had a thought – well, more like a wish, a fantasy – that – that you were there. That that was your pew. That you were sat there, with – with my mother. Except, it was empty because the two of you had just popped outside for a bit of air.” I could feel the heat coming up into my face. “It’s a bit stupid, I know.”
“No,” said Jessica, slowly. “It’s not stupid. It’s nice.”
I looked down at my empty cup, embarrassed. “Well–”
“I mean it,” she said. “Really, Maudie. I think it’s lovely.”
Her eyes had a suspicious shininess. I quickly looked back down at the table again, not wanting to draw attention to it.
“What’s your husband like?” she asked.
“Matt? He’s great. He’s a bit older than me but I think that works sometimes, you know?”
"You’re really in love with him?" she said, leaning forward slightly.
I was embarrassed again. I didn’t like quantifying things like that, I told myself, explaining away my discomfiture. “Well, of course I am. When I married him it felt like the biggest adventure of my life but also – also like coming home. Does that make sense?”
She nodded. There was an odd expression on her face, part wince, part smile. I suddenly felt as though I’d embarrassed her and felt awkward.
"Well, that's good," she said. She dug around in her bag for her cigarettes. "God, I smoke too much."
As she lit another cigarette, I thought of my wedding; my lovely dress; Angus's speech; Becca dropping the bouquet when I threw it to her and rolling her eyes; Aunt Effie’s discreet tears; Matt’s words to me in our wedding bed; all that crazy stress and anxiety wrapped up in a set of twenty four hours. It was ridiculous, really. One thing I hadn’t told Jessica was my overriding impression of the day was that it was happening to someone else. Perhaps that was normal.