Maybe. Because am I really going to throw all my trust in the alcoholic and very married lothario who fucked his way around the junior women in the office? He’s no saint. I’m caught between the secrets and lies of two extremely dysfunctional brothers. It would help if I knew for sure that James had sent those letters. That he’s been the one threatening me. Evidence. There must be some evidence.
Instinctively, I head for the bedroom with no idea where to start. Wardrobe. Unassuming rows of shirts, jackets, trousers. Nothing pushed into the dark corners but dust. Rows of neat, folded jumpers, no secret missives filed between them. Chest of drawers. Just socks, pants, casual T-shirts. I traipse over creaky floorboards throughout the house, hands passing over one unassuming object, then another, left empty.
My hands are rifling through the drawer of letters in our living room cabinet when I hear him come in. I step away, his cold-flushed face appearing in the living room. His handsomeness has a haggard edge to it today. Eyes track to the open drawer and back to me with a question in them.
“I was just looking for recent proof of address. Found a new savings account with a great rate.”
Now they narrow at me, crowded with confusion.
“For our IVF pot,” I explain.
The confusion is expunged by surprise. “Oh.” He rubs a hand across his forehead as he pulls away his scarf with the other. “Also, hi.”
We both jolt forward as if we’re onstage having just remembered lines momentarily forgotten. We kiss, give each other a quick squeeze.
“Hi, my love,” I say.
His gaze around the room is furtive, eyes trying too hard to avoid the open drawer. He leads me to the sofa, cups my hands in his big ones.
“Listen, baby, with everything that’s going on…”
And although the mention of the new savings account was a ruse, I already hate him for what he’s about to say.
“…I just don’t think now is the best time for us to be planning a family.”
I withdraw my hands from his. They feel cold outside the warmth of his palms.
“Right.”
“I just…Everything’s still so volatile with Will.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And the past couple of weeks have been rough for us, Nat.”
“Sure.”
“And the money—”
My temper spikes then. I can’t help but provoke him.
“I know we decided it wasn’t safe, but maybe now we know I’m innocent, we could think about asking your parents again.”
I watch the words curdle in his ears and then on his face, lumps of fear creeping across his cheeks. Avoiding his parents has never been about protecting me. It’s always been about him. His dirty little secret about why Chioma really died. And it’s in this moment that I finally understand that there is never going to be a baby. This dream of creating the family I never had, being the mother I never had, raising adaughter who is happy and healthy and good. It’s dead. I can hardly hear James’s words over the bright and brittle sound of it shattering.
“Baby, I just don’t think it’s safe. Will’s clearly serious about using your letters if he has to.”
And I could almost believe that the fear on his face is really for me—if I didn’t already know everything else.
He continues. “And I just think we need to be on more even ground as a couple before throwing IVF into the mix. I mean, the process—”
His phone begins to buzz in his trouser pocket. He pulls it out, frowns, and declines the call, discarding the phone on the coffee table.
“Like I was saying, the process is rough on couples and—”
His phone again. When he picks it up and looks at the screen, a weary look descends upon him.
“Sorry, baby. Horrible timing, but I need to get this.”
