‘I wanted to see …’ Marisa started. And then she realised, quickly, with a child’s certain intuition, that there would be no way of explaining the experiment. That in order to preserve the sliver of maternal affection she still felt worthy of, she would have to lie. She stopped crying and the last two tears stilled and dried on her cheeks as if she had commanded it.
‘Anna was crying and so I came to see if I could make her stop so we wouldn’t wake you up,’ Marisa replied, the mistruth coming with frightening ease. It was the first big lie she’d ever told.
‘That’s so thoughtful of you, thank you, darling.’
But she said it in a distracted way that meant it didn’t really count. All her focus was now on getting the baby to feed. Her mother sat in the nursing chair by the window, holding Anna close. Marisa watched the baby crying loudly, then more quietly, then hiccoughing to a stop and greedily taking the nipple between her lips and she thought how strange it was that two separate entities could be so connected, as if they were just one big human, pulsing with a life that did not involve her.
She left the room without saying anything and then she placed the pin back in exactly the right compartment in her mother’s sewing box and no one noticed.
3
They decided to starttrying for a family straight away. Marisa stopped taking birth control. When she saw the metallic rectangular packets of her pill, un-popped in the bottom of her washbag each morning, she felt a sense of rightness, a twinge of satisfaction that she was doing something so grown-up.
‘I can’t wait to have a baby,’ Jake blurted out one night over dinner. ‘I know that sounds weird.’ He swept back his hair, and left his hand resting at the back of his neck.
‘It doesn’t,’ Marisa protested. ‘Why would it?’
‘Blokes aren’t meant to say stuff like that.’
‘That’s silly.’
She had made macaroni cheese because he had told her once that it was his favourite childhood meal, and she had a recipe that used four different types of cheese and salty lardons sizzled up in the frying pan. She picked one of the lardons up and popped it in her mouth, licking the grease off her fingertips.
‘I can’t wait either and I don’t care if that makes me sound weird.’
She smiled and reached across to stroke the top of his hand. He slid it away to pour her some more wine and their fingers bumped awkwardly against each other.
‘Sorry,’ he laughed. ‘Clearly I’m far too excited.’
He tipped the wine bottle towards her glass, but she covered it with her palm.
‘No. Thank you. But … if we’re serious about this …’
‘You’re right. You’re right. Of course.’
He placed the bottle back on its coaster and she could tell he was pleased. He was still in his work suit, although he had taken the jacketoff and it hung from the back of the dining chair. He had loosened the tie as soon as he came through the door. The corners of his eyes were creased with tiredness. There had been a new deal going through at work, she knew, and the whole process had been stressful, but he never liked to talk about his job, instead asking Marisa how her day had been.
‘How’s the new book commission coming along?’ he asked, rolling up his sleeves before tucking into the food.
‘Yeah, great. You know, it makes such a difference having that room to work in – the light is just gorgeous.’
‘What’s the kid’s name for this one?’
‘Moses.’ She rolled her eyes. It was a source of amusement to both of them how the monied upper classes had turned towards the Old Testament as inspiration for their progeny’s names.
She told him about the latest panel she’d been painting – a complicated scene involving twists of the princess’s braided hair. He forked pasta into his mouth as she talked and held her gaze, as if she were the most important person in the world to him, which, Marisa realised with a jolt of pure love, she was.
‘It’s difficult to get the texture right. Hair’s tricky to paint.’
‘This is what I like about you,’ Jake said. ‘You introduce me to a whole new world I wouldn’t have a clue about otherwise. Hair being complicated to paint. Huh. Who’d have thought it?’
Despite Jas’s warning, Marisa enjoyed the fact that she and Jake were still getting to know each other in this intimate way. Every day under the same roof was another layer unpeeled. With every stripping back, their oneness felt more solid, as if revelation were also fortification.
Marisa cleared the plates, stacking them on top of each other. His was wiped clean. Hers still had remnants on it. She’d been talking too much.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ Jake said. ‘Let me,’ and he lifted the plates from her, stroking her hand as he did so.
He was not a tactile man. Jake did not like to walk arm in arm while strolling down the street or to kiss her at home even when there wasnobody watching. Still, she thought, as she watched him bend to load the dishwasher, she would rather have the straightforwardness of his love than any amount of superficial tactility.
