‘I’ve been thinking about your proposal,’ I say. ‘And all the wonderful memories that you’ve filled in for me, too, but it’s so much to get used to.’
‘I want you so much,’ he says. His eyes are moist and his hand rests on mine. It’s really rather lovely, in a pathetic way.
‘Well,’ I say, wondering if I’ve resisted enough and made my point. ‘I want you too.’
‘You do, really?’ His eyes redden and his lips quiver. ‘Even without working legs.’
‘Just as you are,’ I say. Our fingers entwine, tears fall (his not mine) and we hug over his pint.
‘I love you,’ he says.
There are several things I want to say and I have to suppress them all, before I say, slightly choked, ‘I love you, too.’
‘Drinks on me!’ he shouts, and of the six men in the bar, two turn their eyes from the screen and look across. It won’t be an expensive round. Hollis kisses me. I kiss back. He’s been eating mints which I find a little presumptuous, but sweet.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I say, and show him my left hand where his ring is glittering in the dim light.
‘You’ve taken off your wedding ring!’ he says.
‘I told Stephen it’s over,’ I say. ‘Told him all about us. No more secrets.’
‘You did that for me?’ he says, looking shaken.
‘I lost you for such a long time. I feel like I’m getting the chance to live my life over again.’ I’m such a good actress that I’m even beginning to convince myself.
‘Until yesterday, I felt sure you didn’t feel the same.’
‘My feelings are coming back more and more each day. I was so traumatized by losing you that I closed off all my feelings, but I’m ready for Lalla and Hollis, Season Two.’
‘This is more than I ever dared dream of.’
I can’t help feeling this sounds a tiny bit sarcastic, but all declarations of love sound like that to me. A bottle of lager appears in front of me. I thank the barman. He doesn’t speak and returns to the bar.
‘To us,’ I say, with a broad smile, and clink. I take his hand and squeeze it to reinforce the idea of unexpressed emotion like I’ve seen on TV.
‘What about your children?’ he says.
‘They come with me, but we can have our own children too,’ I say, immediately calculating that if we sleep together soon, I could reasonably claim that Leopold or Leopoldine is his.
‘Cool,’ he says, glancing at his pint, which I’m not really sure how to interpret.
‘Don’t you want children?’
‘Oh, yes, I do. It’s just... my testicles were ripped off during the fall, which makes it, well, tricky.’
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t know. You should’ve said. Both of them?’ If I was ever going to feel guilty in my life, I guess it would be now, but nothing appears.
‘Yeah, both. That little stumble cost me a lot, didn’t it? I mean, my legs, my ability to have children, even my wife... for a time.’
I nod in a manner I hope is grave enough to honour a man’s lost testicles but privately I’m wondering how I’ll cope with another man with low testosterone levels.
‘But you have your wife back now, and we can have my children. I’m sure they’d like you. Nathan would love your wheelchair, and Nelly would be fascinated by your legs. She disables all her own toys.’ I decide to leave out any mention of Leo until we’re fully back together.
‘Thanks, that’s appreciated,’ he says, in a tone I’m not quite able to read.
‘You sound sad. Having second thoughts?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just. It’s been a long chase. Feels like Moby Dick, you know,’ he says, and empties his glass.
