Postscript (P.S. I Love You #2)(34)

I remove the stationery from the shopping bags, discard the packaging and lay the paper, cards and envelopes out neatly and in line on the table. I place a bunch of fresh flowers and light some candles between the little piles of stationery. I sprinkle petals around the stationery. The room smells of fresh avocado and lime. When I’m finished, I step back. It’s like a papyral sacrificial offering; a handwritten note for a life.

They’ve all arrived, minus Bert, while I’ve been working, and they wait patiently in the kitchen. It’s taking me longer to set up than I expected. It’s more of a moment than I ever could have imagined, and now that I’m feeling it, I want to make it as good as it can be. I call them all into the room, Joy leading the way. She halts when she sees the display.

‘Oh,’ she says, hand going to her chest, her open palm across her heart.

Paul folds his arms and his jaw works as the emotion takes over. His eyes survey the display. Ginika holds on tightly to Jewel in her arms.

Joy reaches out to touch the pages, she walks along the edge of the table, fingertips trailing the tips of the pages. She picks one up, feels it, places it down again. It’s hypnotic, watching her. Paul and Ginika don’t move, don’t dare distract her. It’s a moment. Then suddenly Joy lets out a sob and dissolves. We all rush to her and Paul gets to her before I do, she falls against him, weak in his arms. I stand back, shaken. Then Ginika too steps forward and wraps her free arm around Joy. Paul widens his arm and welcomes them into his embrace.

Tears prick my eyes.

They’re running out of time, but they’re running out of time together.

When they break up, they wipe their eyes, laughing, embarrassed, and blow their noses.

Ginika moves closer to the table. ‘Which one do you like, Jewel?’ She lowers herself to a level where Jewel can reach the paper. Jewel looks at the table, at all the pretty colours and reaches her hands out, kicks her feet excitedly at something new. She reaches for the pink, bangs her hand on the surface as though playing a drum. Then she quickly grabs the paper and crumples it, raises it high in the air, shakes it up and down.

Ginika grins. ‘You like that?’

Jewel lowers the paper from above her head and studies it, eyes wide. She crumples it in her hand, curiously feeling its texture.

‘We’ve chosen ours,’ Ginika says, confidently.

‘Job done,’ Paul says, ‘Well done, Jewel.’

It’s only paper, but it’s not. They’re only words, but they’re not. We’re only here for such a short time, the paper will outlive us all, it will scream, shout, roar, sing our thoughts, feelings, frustrations, and all the things that go unsaid in life. The paper will act as a messenger for their loved ones to read and hold; words from a mind, controlled by a beating heart. Words mean life.





17


I set up the books and papers that I have bought in preparation for Ginika’s first reading and writing lesson. I’m nervous. I’m not a teacher. I have always felt I’ve absorbed more from others than I’ve given. I’ve researched as much as I could about adult literacy, and the best books to help teach the early stages of reading. But that advice is for a beginner, I know that Ginika may have dyslexia from her own personal explanation, and for that I am completely unqualified. I don’t know the practices, tricks and tools to give her, and I would assume a test to learn her levels is the most responsible way to go. She has a year at most to learn what children learn over a few years, but I’ve given her my word.

My phone rings and I check the caller ID. I guess it’s Ginika cancelling and I’m almost hoping for that. Instead it’s Gabriel.

‘Shit.’

I watch it ringing, consider ignoring it and then decide that will be worse.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi.’

Silence.

‘It’s been a week. I miss you. I don’t like arguing, you and I never argue.’

‘I know. I miss you too.’

‘Can I come over?’ he asks again.

‘Oh. Um. Now?’

‘Yeah. You at home?’

‘Yes, but …’ I squeeze my eyes shut knowing this won’t go down well. ‘I’d love to see you, but I’ve made arrangements with someone, they’re coming over in a few minutes.’

‘Who?’

‘You don’t know her, her name’s Ginika.’

‘From the club?’

‘Yeah.’

He’s silent. ‘OK,’ he says tightly. ‘Call me when you can.’ He ends the call.

I sigh. One step forward, two steps back.

Ginika arrives at 8 p.m., with Jewel in her arms and a baby bag across her body. Jewel gives me a beautiful smile.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ I say, taking her tiny soft fingers. I welcome them into my home, leading them from the hall, through the living room to the dining room, but Ginika stops in the living room.

‘You have a nice house,’ she says, looking around.

I stand at the table, hinting at her to sit, but she takes her time nosily looking around. Her eyes rest on the framed wedding photos of Gerry and me on the wall.

‘It’s not usually so tidy, but I’m selling the house. I’ve everything hidden away, so don’t open a cupboard or my entire life will topple out.’