Page 34 of You Were Always the One

‘If I was happy, I wouldn’t be here. And if you were happy, nor would you.’ He’s silent for a moment. ‘I have absolutely no idea what to do.’

‘Go back to our respective homes.’ I hold his gaze. ‘I need to sort out what Miles and I are going to do. And you need to go and talk to Emma.’

‘And then what?’ he says softly.

I’m torn. When neither of us are happy, is it really so surprising we’ve found each other again? Or maybe, it really isn’t about that. ‘Maybe this is about letting the past go.’ A sense of sadness fills me. ‘Getting on with the rest of our lives. The fact is, whatever the future holds, we’re not free, Riggs.’

Outside, I linger beside my car. All the things I could say come into my head. Good luck with Emma. I hope you work things out. Let’s meet up again soon. But none of them feel right.

‘I was so stupid,’ I say suddenly, impulsively. Wistfully. ‘Breaking us up. When I said I wanted it all’ – my eyes linger on his – ‘I didn’t know I already had it.’ Reaching up, on impulse I kiss his cheek. Then his arms go around me and as he holds me close against him, I forget how impossible everything is. And though my real life is calling me, all I know is I never want to leave this man; or this feeling I have deep in my bones, that I’m home.

Life goes on, much as it always has. The same routines, the same insecurities. The same uncertainty about the future. Another Saturday comes and I make a couple of house calls. I love that as well as caring for patients, I also support their families; prime them for the inevitable that lies ahead. They are quiet, poignant times that encapsulate what love means; how, when the noise and clutter of earthly life cease to be important, all that matters is the people around you.

In contrast, when I get home, Miles is in the kitchen swearing at his latest, ridiculous-sized coffee machine as he tries to get it to work. He looks up as I come in. ‘How was your morning?’

‘Good.’ I don’t elaborate. I rarely talk to Miles about my clients. Upstairs, I change into jeans and a T-shirt. When I come down, I’m on edge, my mind filled with the unfinished conversation between us. As is customary at the weekend, there’s a bottle of red wine open on the side.

Miles gets a couple of glasses out. ‘Would you like a glass?’

It’s typical of Miles, to act as though nothing’s happened, even though the last time we spoke, we came close to ending our marriage. And this is what I struggle with. The inconsistency. This façade. But it’s Saturday and the kids are home; I play along. ‘Half would be nice,’ I say as I start to make lunch. ‘Are you around this weekend?’ While the soup I made last night warms, I slice some bread and cheese. ‘I was thinking we could do something this afternoon,’ I say to him. ‘Together, I mean. Go into town – see a movie or something. The kids would like that.’ Anything to break this deadlock.

To my astonishment, he doesn’t dismiss it out of hand. ‘What films are on?’

‘I’ll ask the kids. Max? Grace?’ Grace appears, almost immediately, followed a minute later by a reluctant-looking Max. ‘I was talking to Dad about going to see a movie this afternoon. Any idea what’s on?’

Max looks at me as though I’ve grown a third eye. ‘All of us?’ As though the thought of Miles coming with us is something he simply can’t comprehend.

I try to hide how surprised I am, too. ‘Yes,’ I say briskly. ‘It would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

I half listen as he and Grace debate over films before narrowing down the options, as I set the table. ‘OK. Lunch, everyone.’

As I serve up bowls of soup, sunlight streams through the window as warily I watch my husband. On the surface, we seem like a perfectly normal family. And that’s what makes me suspicious. Miles would never agree to see a movie on a Saturday afternoon. It’s the biggest giveaway clue, that something has changed.

Unease hangs over me. Presumably, it’s guilt, about the way he’s behaved, or maybe the woman he’s seeing; for what he’s about to do to all of us.

It’s enough that for a few hours, Max and Grace have both of us; that however short-lived the future of us is, for now at least, we are a family. We park and walk to the cinema together. Miles even joins the queue to buy overpriced popcorn, another revelation given how scathing he is about such things. When he doesn’t complain about the cost, it’s bizarre, as though I’ve stumbled into a parallel life, one I have absolutely no idea what to make of.

That evening is no less strange. At home, we order pizza. Miles never eats pizza. Despite appearances to the contrary, I feel the tension building, as though a storm is brewing; imagine this as his parting shot, before he tells us he’s leaving us.

When the kids go upstairs, I can’t bear it any longer. I go to find Miles. In our sitting room, he’s reading a paper, classical music playing in the background. ‘Miles? Do you have a moment?’

He looks up. ‘What is it?’

I take a deep breath. Think about backing out. I’m not good at confrontation. But I can’t go on like this. ‘I was hoping we could carry on our conversation.’

He meets my eyes briefly. ‘I suppose we should.’ He pauses. ‘You first.’

Going into the sitting room, I close the door. Then I go over to one of the armchairs, my stomach churning with nerves as I sit down. ‘I need to ask you something.’ I hesitate. ‘Are you seeing someone again?’ The moment the words are out, I’m terrified. And I don’t want to sound accusing. What I want is simple. The truth.

‘Jesus, Holly,’ he says loudly. But he doesn’t meet my eyes.

‘Miles, please. Keep your voice down,’ I plead. ‘Max and Grace don’t need to hear this.’ I look at him. ‘I don’t know what else to think. It’s obvious you’re keeping something from me.’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t go on like this.’

His jaw is clenched as he sits there. Then he gets up. When he turns his head, there’s a strange look on his face. After that, things happen in slow motion. Miles’s eyes rolling up. His drink falling out of his hand, spilling on the carpet. His arms flailing; his legs giving way. His body slumping, then falling to the floor.

He’s having a heart attack. The thought dimly registers as, through my shock, my training kicks in. Crouching down, I check his breathing, shouting out to my children. ‘Max? Grace? Come quickly.’

As I try to make out his pulse, I hear my children’s footsteps on the stairs, before the door bursts open.