‘You should have said something before.’
‘Well, I’ve been proud of you,’ snuffled Billie. ‘And I just got on with it, put everything in boxes yet again, but it’s so hard. You have no idea.’
Jacko felt her misery drift towards him, like a threatening thundercloud. And he’d been so happy all afternoon, so excited. Damn it, why should she ruin this? She had an instinct for ruining things. He was reminded briefly of something much more unpleasant, disconnected but somehow similar. Billie had said You have no idea in just that same accusatory and triumphant tone repeatedly the year Charlie died. Over and over. Charlie flashed through his thoughts right now, like he sometimes did. Sometimes just the memory of holding him; now and then, his whole face. Just the sight of his still body in the crib, this time. Followed by a second’s memory of Billie’s wild crying jags and his own detachment – well, someone had to stay calm. Elisabeth and Sam had been frightened enough. Billie could be so selfish. A child, really.
‘You. Have. No. Idea,’ she’d said, hatred filling her eyes.
Had she any idea whatsoever what it cost him to stay on top of things then? What did she imagine would happen to the world if every grief-stricken person just upped and lay on the sofa for a year? All right for her, she didn’t need to support a family, goddammit.
She called him The King, deferred to him, then pulled this garbage. Screw her! But he felt his joy leak away anyway, and a huge tiredness descended.
‘Did you hear me? Are you listening to anything I say?’ She heard her own shrillness. Jackie would never behave like this. Smoothing her hair off her forehead, she raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. She looked around. The table, the curtains, the whole dining room was already changing – she could now imagine looking at a faded photograph of it one day. Oh yeah, she’d think. That room, that house. That time we lived in Sacramento for a year. Suddenly the whole house felt insubstantial. This was just another interlude. Not part of her proper, permanent life. This would all be packed up into yellow Mayfair boxes. She took a big breath. Let it out.
‘I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t get so upset, Jacko.’
‘It’ll be fine. Ernie says they plan on moving to Marin too one day. And we’ll be closer to Louise. You could see her all the time.’
‘Yeah, that would be good. Those poor boys of hers. Maybe they could stay with us sometime.’ Despite herself, she felt better. In fact, she began to feel the tiniest tentacles of excitement. Jackie Kennedy moved often too. Heavens, you had to follow your man.
‘All right, Jacko. I’ll start looking for houses in the Bay Area tomorrow.’
‘That’s my girl.’
He wanted to start eating again, finish his French toast. French toast was no good cold.
They went to bed, kissed goodnight and hunkered down in their usual positions. Jack on his back at first, then turning on to his right side. Billie on her side, facing him, one arm over his waist. An hour passed, then another. Jack removed her arm, rolled over and faced her. It was light enough from the hall light to see her face. Her mouth was slightly open, a slight frown in that eyebrow. Maybe she was dreaming about packing boxes already.
‘Billie,’ he whispered. ‘Hey, Billie.’
‘Billie, you awake?’
‘Jiminy, Jacko. Can’t you see I’m asleep?’
‘Listen, can you call me Jack now?’
‘I just did.’
‘No, you called me Jacko. I want to be Jack from now on, okay, honey?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. What time is it?’
‘About two. Can you please do that? Call me Jack?’
‘Two o’clock in the morning? Why did you wake me up?’
‘I was just thinking. I can’t sleep. I’m excited, I guess. So, do you think you can call me Jack?’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I feel more like a Jack now.’
‘All right. Can I go to sleep now?’
‘Say it.’
Big sigh and moan from Billie. ‘Jack! Jack, Jack, Jack. All right?’
‘Thank you. I love you.’
‘I’m not promising to remember this in the morning.’
‘Okay.’
Ten minutes passed. They’d turned away from each other.
‘Jacko,’ she whispered. ‘Jacko, you awake? I mean, Jack! Jack, all right?’
‘What is it?’
‘I can’t sleep now. You’ve ruined my sleep.’
‘Say I love you, Jack, and I’ll rock you to sleep.’
She giggled. Jackie Kennedy probably had just this kind of conversation sometimes with John.
‘I love you very much, Jack MacAlister,’ she fibbed, but the saying of it made it real. And she did.
BILLIE OBEYS THE BOOK THREE YEARS EARLIER
