It was a Saturday morning, warm for early June, and peaceful: he loved their small garden, and he could hear the birds singing and the tinkle of water from the fountain. The French windows were ajar and a gentle breeze reached where he sat at the table of their recently refurbished kitchen, which was always awash with light. In that moment he felt truly happy. He had everything he’d always dreamed of. He couldn’t believe how his life had turned out, especially considering the way it had started. He was a lucky man. A lucky, lucky man. And then Marielle, the beautiful, intelligent, complex wife he adored, had had to come in and ruin it with a single sentence.
‘So, I’ve been thinking,’ she continued. Words that struck the fear of God into him. She sauntered over to where he sat. She was wearing a silk shirt dress and her feet were bare, her toenails painted the same shell-pink they always were. She pulled out a chair and lowered herself onto it gracefully. She was beaming at him and he tried to push down his unease.
‘What have you been thinking, my love?’ he said, closing his paper. Marielle got annoyed if he didn’t give her his undivided attention.
‘I think we should have a baby.’
His jaw hurt with the effort of trying to keep a neutral expression. ‘We’ve talked about this and decided that’s not what we want.’
She hesitated, her smile wavering. ‘I think it’s what I want, Henry. I’m nearly thirty-two now.’
He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. ‘You know how I feel about children. I don’t want the past repeating itself.’ He didn’t want to share her with a child either. He didn’t want their lives to change. But, more than that, he didn’t believe he was capable of loving a child.
She tipped her head to one side, her eyes flashing. ‘I know you didn’t have a great childhood, Henry, but we have so much to give a child. It would be different for us. We would be good parents.’
He studied her face, shocked that she could lie to herself so easily. ‘No, we wouldn’t. You know we wouldn’t. We’re not the same as other people.I’m not the same. I’m damaged.’ He added silently,We’re damaged.
She gave a little laugh. ‘What are you talking about, Henry? Of course we’re the same as other people. Lots of people have tough childhoods but they go on to be amazing parents. Look how much we love each other. Did you ever think it would be possible to love someone else as much as we love one another? I certainly didn’t. So, imagine how we’d feel about a baby.Ourbaby, Henry.’
He wanted to scream and shout and shake that nonsense out of her. But he did what he always did. He sat there, his face impassive, hiding his true feelings. He was good at that. He’d spent most of his childhood and adolescence doing the exact same thing. ‘You know I don’t want children.’
She got up and went to him, perching on his lap, her arms around his neck.
‘We agreed …’
‘I never agreed.’ She pouted and removed her arms from around him. ‘You were the one who said you didn’t want them.’
‘And you married me knowing that.’
‘But you’d do it for me, wouldn’t you, Henry? You always said you’d do anything for me.’
‘Not this.’
She stood up abruptly, her eyes stony. ‘Then we have a real problem, Henry,’ she said.
42
LENA
Jo and I are sitting on a crowded terrace at a bar in Clifton, having a drink – non-alcoholic for me because I have to pick up Rufus from Freddie’s house later. She’s cross, as I knew she’d be, when I tell the latest about the Morgans. It’s nine thirty and still light, warm enough not to wear a cardigan, and there’s a joyous holiday vibe, which makes me feel nostalgic for all the city breaks I used to have with Charlie and Rufus, sitting in pavement cafés, just the three of us. Although the scent of body odour and sickly perfume that occasionally wafts our way quickly dispels this. On the table behind us a woman cackles loudly, which seems at odds with the serious conversation Jo and I are having.
‘You need to be careful, Lena,’ Jo is saying, prodding the ice in her mojito forcefully with a straw. ‘That’s sinister as hell what Henry said to you!’
‘I don’t know how he knew I’d gone into their house.’
She shakes her head and mutters under her breath.
‘What?’
‘It was reckless of you. You should never have gone in there.’
‘I know.’ I sip my nosecco.
‘And now you’ve opened another can of worms with this Oliver guy. You told me before you were heartbroken over that split.’
Why do I feel as though I’m being cross-examined? ‘I was. But it was a long time ago.’
She twists her bracelet around her wrist without looking at me. ‘I just wish you didn’t feel you had to get involved.’
