Tears spring to my eyes. ‘Just not yet.’
He sighs. ‘Jess. We’ve been together for nearly three years. We’ve been living together for two.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m thirty-four. I want kids. Lots of kids. I want to move back to Ireland eventually. I thought you wanted all that, too.’
I hang my head.
‘What are you so afraid of?’
My head shoots up. ‘Nothing.’ I clench my fists in my lap. ‘I’m not afraid of anything. It’s just moving too fast. Okay. We live together, don’t we? We haven’t even bought our own place yet. We’re not in a position to get married. Financially.’
He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but then,‘We could afford to buy our own place in Ireland. That’s why we’re living here practically rent-free. So we can save.’
Ireland again. This is his dream. Not mine. And then what? He’ll saddle me with a couple of kids and do a runner, like my dad, leaving me to bring them up on my own. In a country I’m not familiar with. Away from my friends and family. Not that I’ve got much family … or that many friends left. I gulp.
He reaches across the table, as though reading my mind. ‘I’m not your dad, Jess.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I know that.’
‘I don’t think you do,’ he mumbles, getting up from the table and taking our plates to the sink.
I sit there for a while, staring at the half-drunk bottle of wine on the table. The lights twinkle in the distance, reflecting in the dark, undulating river. I feel as if I’m at a crossroads in my life – I was at the same point a year ago when we moved from London. But I didn’t want to face it then. I wanted Rory. I still want him, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for marriage and kids. I look across at him in the kitchen. He’s standing staring at the kettle as if wondering what it does and my heart sinks. I should go to him, reassure him, tell him how much I want to make our relationship work. He bought me a ring because I said I loved it. This funny, sexy, kind man wants to spend the rest of his life with me.Me.And I’m scared. Rory was right about that.
Rory turns to me, the hurt still in his eyes. He looks like someone’s kicked him in the stomach. ‘I’m going for a drink,’ he says, moving towards the hall for his coat.
I get up from the table and follow him. ‘On your own?’ Rory never drinks alone.
‘One of the other supply teachers I’m working with asked if I’d meet him for a drink tonight. I said I couldn’t. Obviously. But now …’ He shoves his arms into his navy duffel coat, his dark hair falling over his forehead as he fiddles with the toggles. I call it his Paddington Bear coat. It suits him. It makes him look bookish, but sexy. I long to go to him, to reassure him, but I’m rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but stare as he slips his shoes on without undoing the laces – the same ones he wore for work. He still hasn’t had the chance to get changed.
‘When will you be back?’ I try not to sound whiny. That was how my mum sounded when my dad went out all hours, before he left for good.
He looks at me then, our eyes meeting properly for the first time, and his face softens. ‘I just need some space to take in what you’ve said.’ He attempts a smile. ‘I’m disappointed but I’ll get over it. You know I’ll wait until you’re ready.’ He reaches for my hand, squeezing it. ‘I don’t want anyone else.’
And then he’s gone, leaving me standing alone in the hallway, wondering what I’ve done.
I wish there was someone I could ask for advice. I have transient relationships with the friends I do have, colleagues I’ve worked with, friends from university, and I still keep in touch with Gina from school – although she’s moved to Denmark now – yet nothing deep, no dark confessions over a glass of wine, no insights into what I really think or feel. I’ve never really let anyone in, apart fromHeather, and look what happened there. Even with Rory and Jack I still keep a part of myself hidden, preserved.
I slump onto the sofa, my mobile in my lap. We don’t have a landline. It’s easier that way. I think of my mum in Spain, not really knowing anything about my life, too busy with her husband, her friends and her expat community. We’ve drifted further apart over the years. But I call her anyway, suddenly desperate to hear her voice. It rings for a while and just when I contemplate hanging up, she answers.
‘Hello, Jessiebobs,’ she says, her voice tinkling and light, but behind it I can hear the drone of indistinct chatter, the clink of cutlery, the faint laughter that tells me she’s out. Jessiebobs. She used to call me that all the time when I was a kid. ‘This is a surprise.’
I’ll say. We haven’t spoken in months. There are no weekly calls from Spain, no texts to check that I’m okay, not like Rory and his mum.
‘Just thought I’d ring to catch up,’ I say.
‘It’s a Friday night.’ She sounds puzzled. Of course. I should have realized. My mum has a better social life than I do. ‘I’d have thought you’d be out.’
‘You obviously are.’ I can’t help the note of bitterness creeping into my voice.
She sighs. ‘Yes. Yes, I am …’ Her voice is suddenly drowned by a burst of laughter. ‘Listen, Jess, I can’t talk now. Can I ring you back tomorrow?’
‘I … Yes, that’s great.’
‘Speak soon. Love you.’ And the phone goes dead.
I stare at the screen for a few moments before tossing it onto the sofa. It’s only seven thirty but now theevening looms ahead and I feel lonely and trapped in this apartment that doesn’t feel like mine. I wander into the bedroom with photographs of Aoife and her friends taken on various nights out over the bed, and open the top drawer in Rory’s side cabinet, retrieving the little square box. I sit on the edge of the bed and admire the ring again. It really is beautiful. I try it on to find it’s only a little bit big. Why can’t I be normal? Heather got married. Heather had a baby.
