‘I don’t know,’ he said, falling onto the pillow beside her. ‘Do you promise never to see him again?’
He fleetingly wondered if he could cancel the cheque he’d given Jim. He’d look it up later on Google. Check if there was a time limit to cancelling cheques. When you thought about it, Jim had well and truly had his payment. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, Henry thought joyfully. That would teach him a lesson.
‘I don’t want to see Jim, Henry. I just want you to forgive me.’
Forgiveness, thought Henry. Imogen wanted him to release all those negative emotions and memories. Just like that. Forgive and forget. Put it behind us, isn’t that what people say?
‘I don’t know Imogen. How can I ever trust you?’
Her cheeks burnt with the shame.
‘What have I done? How could I let this happen?’ she muttered.
In that moment Henry knew that Imogen was not planning to murder him. She had deceived him, but that was all. He could change fate. He just had to stay away from the river. Someone had given him a second chance. They could make it work. Things would have to be different. Perhaps they’d talk about children. It wasn’t that late. His mind drifted to Rita. There was something special about Rita, something unique. Henry’s elation of discovering he was no longer dead quickly left him. Life was becoming complicated. Or maybe life had always been complicated and it took dying for him to realise.
‘We lived a lie,’ he said sombrely.
‘Yes,’ she said, grasping at his hand.
Her tear-drenched eyes beseeched him.
‘You won’t make me leave, will you Henry?’
Make her leave? The words shocked him. Henry wasn’t the kind of man to turf his wife out of her home.
‘No,’ he said, ‘of course not. I love you.’
Imogen sighed with relief.
‘I love you Henry.’
Henry tightened his jaw.
‘It’s just … well … a roofer, Imogen.’
She bowed her head.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘He’s got nothing to offer,’ said Henry.
‘Not like you,’ assured Imogen.
‘Exactly,’ said Henry.
Imogen searched his face for a sign of forgiveness; a softening of the jaw, a smoothing of the forehead. Anything that would tell her that everything was going to be okay.
‘It will take a while,’ Henry said. At least until Saturday, he thought.
‘Yes dear, we’ll take it one step at a time,’ smiled Imogen. ‘Shall we have some chicken?’
There was the sound of more laughter in the street and car doors slamming. I hate them, Henry thought, I hate them because they’re happy.
‘Perhaps we can think about a baby. You’re not too old.’
Imogen smiled.
‘Yes, we can think about it.’
