He pushes his floppy dark hair back and I swear the emotion on his face, coupled with the tenseness in his jaw, has me weak in the knees. It’s proving to be quite the U-turn from the upset I was feeling just seconds before. Now I really do have to fight the urge to flash my boobs at him…
‘I’m sorry. It’s that phrase,’ I tell him, stepping closer. ‘It makes me nervous. It doesn’t usually mean anything positive. Not in my experience anyway. And in fact, I still don’t know what it is you need to talk to me about, so it might still be something not positive. So can we just get to the point please? I’ve been on edge since yesterday and Laura isn’t replying to my messages…’
‘You talked about this with Laura?’ he asks, incredulous for a moment before realisation dawns on him. ‘Of course you have. And Niamh too, I suppose?’
I nod.
‘And your mum too, I imagine?’ If I’m not mistaken there’s a hint of amusement on his face. He thinks he knows me so well, but I’m about to prove him wrong.
‘Ha! No! I haven’t spoken to my mum about it because she would never forgive me if I fucked things up with you, so I wanted to know what was going on before I said anything.’ I say it in an accusatory way, but I think it’s more the case that I am revealing the secrets I should probably keep hidden. Isn’t the first rule of dating to not let them know just how invested you are? But Conal is not, and never was, just dating. It is not casual. It could never have been. I’d known that from the very start. My long history with Laura was one factor, but also the long history I’d had with Conal, and his mother, meant I had to approach it as something potentially serious. I didn’t want to play any games and neither did he.
So how have we found ourselves in this state, in the country park?
‘You think I’m going to break up with you?’ Conal asks, his eyebrow raised.
‘Well… are you?’ The knot in my stomach swells and I want to be sick.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Becks. I don’t want to break up with you! I love you! You know that, or at least I hope you know that. I thought I’d made it exceptionally clear, but it sounds like I haven’t.’
Blinking, I feel tears slide down my cheeks as my nose starts to run. I don’t want to give in to the wobble of my lips.
‘I love you, Becca,’ he repeats, and now he is walking towards me and it’s just as sexy and appealing as his angry walk away from me had been.
‘I love you too,’ I tell him.
‘But we do need to talk. It’s not something scary though. At least I don’t think so. I think it’s exciting. I’d really, really love it, if you would consider…’
Time stops. My heart thuds. Is this man about to propose to me? I… I don’t know how to feel about that. I love him of course. I do. But I’m not sure I ever want to get married again. The institution of marriage doesn’t appeal to me any more. It’s a construct and it doesn’t guarantee anything. I had learned that the hard way. Oh, shit. I don’t know how I’m going to respond to this.
‘…God,’ he says, the nerves beating off him. ‘This sounds like I’m going to propose. I’m not going to propose.’
My shoulders drop, my body sagging with relief, but then again, now I’m completely confused as to what is going on. Clearly he reads the confusion on my face.
‘I just wanted to talk to you about maybe moving in together?’ he says – and I realise I don’t know how I feel about that either.
13
MURDER ON THE DANCE FLOOR
Laura
Aidan has been playing golf all day. Laura’s not sure he actually likes the game but he thinks it’s one of those things it’s good to be seen to do. It impresses the right people, apparently, and increasingly Aidan has become all about impressing the right people.
On her kinder days she thinks it must be his age, or that he is feeling pretty stagnant in work. There’s only really so far you can climb up a conveyancing ladder until you reach the top and find it crowded with the ghosts of conveyancers past. It’s a bit like Everest – the summit signposted by the fallen bodies of those who have gone before. Those who burned out, or worked tirelessly till retirement only to wonder where all those years have gone and if it was really worth it. Unlike climbing Everest, they rarely do feel it was.
She wishes deep down that he saw home, and her, as somewhere he should want to be seen. Or that he didn’t care about being seen, and only cared about being present with her. Thathe was the kind of husband who suggested drives in the car and walks along the beach on blustery October Saturdays. Or lazy lie-ins and bountiful brunches. That he would sit on the sofa, her feet resting on his lap while he asks her about her course and she tells him how it excites her. She’d tell him about Abby and how she seems to be a remarkable young woman – then she’d tell herself she’s an old fart for using the expression ‘remarkable young woman’. They’d laugh about it before getting into the nitty gritty of her telling him all about the classes she is going to take this semester. How she can’t wait to start and it’s been a long time since she felt this fire in her soul. There is a version of Aidan somewhere – one she remembers – who would’ve played today out exactly like this, but she hasn’t seen him in a very long time.
So instead, she’d spent the day pottering around the house. Robyn had gone to her friend’s, allegedly to study. Laura’s not stupid; she knows the only thing her daughter will have been studying is the Snapchat stories of the boys they have crushes on. That’s okay. That’s what it means to be a teenager. Does Laura wish Robyn had chosen to spend the day with her instead? No. Not really. They are close. They enjoy each other’s company, but there isn’t some sort of aGilmore Girls’ Lorelai and Rory dynamic between them where they feel the need to live in each other’s pockets.
Still, as the sky grows dark and Aidan is still at the golf course – or more likely by now propping up the bar – she feels lonely. She could text the girls. Becca sent her a beautiful message earlier telling her how proud she was to see her chase her dreams and go back to college. Of course, she had replied at the time with a quick but heartfelt thank you, but she hadn’t let herself get into it any further. Still acutely aware that Becca and Conal are having some sort of issue, she didn’t want to riskgetting drawn further into that drama. That is a risk too far for her right now. They are both grown-ups. Surely they will sort out whatever it is, but if they don’t then she hopes they leave her out of the ensuing mess.
So, no, she thinks as she plumps the sofa cushions for the bajillionth time, trying to get comfortable enough to read more of theFeminist Theorytext she had bought yesterday in the university book shop, she isn’t going to text Becca. Or Niamh for that matter – who she knows has plans to spend the evening with baby Clara. Looking to the spot on the opposite sofa where her mother would normally have sat, she tries to manifest another ghostly conversation. Real or not, it would be welcome right now. But there is no gentle dimming of lights or blurring of lines between this world and the next. No echo of the voice she would give anything to hear just one more time.
By the time Aidan finally gets home, she has been able to push all thoughts and worries about her friendships and her place in the world a little to the side. He looks at her, his eyes a little glazed, his smile a little wonky. For a second she feels the familiar warmth towards him that tells her they still have a connection. He flops down on the sofa beside her, lifting her textbook and flicking through it, reading some of the chapter headings out loud.
‘You really know how to enjoy a Saturday night,’ he says with a drunken smile.
‘I have been enjoying myself,’ she says, unable to hide the defensive tone in her voice.
