‘It was,’he’d said sadly.‘But the whirling has stopped now, and we still have a fundamental issue… you know it as well as I do. This isn’t all on me.’
Mark had said he was open to having kids when we’d first started dating and the same when we’d got engaged and tied the knot.There’s no rush though,he’d said.Let’s wait and see what happens,he’d said. But then nothing happened. And the more nothing happened, the more it became clear Mark didn’t want anything to happen.
‘We barely have time for the dogs with our careers, and I don’t want to commit to any more responsibility. The truth is, Sara, I’m just not interested in being a dad, and I know I never will be.’
It was Mark’s go-with-the-flow vibe that had attracted me to him in the first place. Sailing high on the open seas at Cowes, his ginger curls blowing in the wind while he shouted instructions at his race team. He was laid-back and easy-going, open todifferent scenarios. But his view on family life became more and more fixed once we were married, until eventually there was no turning back. And I’d been devastated. I would forever be devastated.
But the doctor didn’t need to know all that.
‘Divorce?’ Dr Fielding repeated. ‘A stressful time then, no?’
‘Yeah, but it’s nearly done now,’ I said, with a shrug. ‘Soon to be signed and sealed.’
Dr Fielding’s typing picked up pace. ‘It’s likely a contributing factor,’ he said gently, perching on the end of the bed to talk on my level. He looked genuinely concerned. ‘These big milestones can take a while to land and it’s important we consider all aspects of your life. Your general health, work stressors, family situation… these layers add up and have a cumulative effect on your nervous system. You may need to think about some lifestyle changes.’
I scratched the flaky skin behind my ear, and it felt deliciously satisfying. One dry patch had turned into two and then somehow spread to my elbows. Where had it all gone wrong? My throat constricted at the thought. I’d killed myself getting into law school, passed all my exams, dated carefully, married well and been an excellent wife – even if I did say so myself – and where had it got me? Itchy, overworked and nearly divorced. It was hard to make sense of the version I now knew of Mark, and the version I fell in love with. We were strikingly similar, au naturel, with our red curls and Roman noses. Noble noses, he always called them. We’d been drawn to each other at the regatta that year; I’d been with clients on the VIP terrace and Mark had skippered the winning crew. CSH sponsored the Captain’s Cup each year, and I’d been the one to present it to him. His green eyes had a sparkle about them I’d wanted in on, gleaming bright against his freckles. He was vibrant and alive and so different to the potato-faced legal eagles I usually surrounded myself with.
‘Congratulations!’I’d said, handing him a methuselah of Moët.
He’d kissed me on both cheeks, the mix of sea salt and spicy aftershave giving me a rush.
‘Fancy helping me drink it?’he’d whispered in my ear. He was wild and sexy and rugged all at once, so it was a surprise to find out he was a city boy and only twenty minutes in a cab from the office. I’d locked myself in the loo to check out his LinkedIn profile and make sure he was legit. After a bad Tinder date with a creative director who turned out to be an unemployed hairdresser, I always did my due diligence. Real estate seemed so boring for such a firecracker, but he was more of a property scout when it came down to it, which he loved. Non-stop travel and lots of networking – it played to all his strengths.
I hated that I was still thinking about him so much. But if the doctor had called him, maybe he’d come and visit. It was certainly one way to get his attention. The thought of losing me forever might jolt him into action. Make him backtrack. The paper curtain flickered again and Dad’s nose poked in.
‘Hi, lovely,’ he said, balancing a slice of cake and three coffees on a tray. Mum wasn’t far behind, marching with conviction, despite all her bags.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Dr Fielding said, disappearing discreetly.
‘Sara! Sweetheart! What happened?’ Mum rushed over and put the back of her hand to my forehead. ‘You’re boiling hot. Jeff! She’s boiling hot!’
‘She’s alright, love,’ he soothed, handing me a coffee and kissing me on the cheek. ‘Decaf, I’m afraid. Doctor’s orders,’ he said, nodding silently at Mum.
I held it gratefully to my chest. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ It felt good to have a little piece of normality in my hands. ‘How did you know I was here? Did Mark call?’
‘No, he did not,’ Mum snorted. ‘The chicken-shit.’
‘Technically he did inform us,’ Dad said, quietly. He was a stickler for the truth.
‘A voice note is the coward’s way out, Jeffrey,’ Mum snapped. ‘And tells me all I need to know about that boy. My baby girl is on her last legs in hospital, and he’s left her for dead.’
‘Has he?’ I sat up, panicked. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’
‘No. But you could be for all he cares. Thank God you saw fit to leave that marriage. You’re so much better off without him.’
Mum liked to rewrite the narrative to suit her version of the story.
‘I told him we’d come and get you,’ Dad whispered. ‘He’s just got back from Finland and was exhausted, otherwise he’d have been here.’
My heart slumped. Exhausted? Mark didn’t know the meaning of the word. He was a human jumping bean. When we’d first started dating, he’d drop everything if he could see me for even half an hour at lunchtime. He couldn’t get enough. Neither of us could. And now not even a call from A&E could lure him over. He hadn’t even sent a text to see if I was OK.
‘As if,’ Mum snapped, whipping out a velvet pouch from her bag. ‘You can’t believe a word he says.’ She loosened the dusky pink strings and emptied the contents onto the bed. Three tiny bottles of oil: lavender, sandalwood and jasmine, a wodge of sage wrapped in purple ribbon and a gold bell.
‘Viv…’ Dad warned, under his breath.
‘Leave me. Someone needs to clean the aura around here. It’s filthy.’
‘Mum! For goodness’ sake!’ But it was too late – she was already tinkling her bell and clapping in the corners.
