The Dilemma(67)

I watch for a while, imagining him on the phone to Marnie, asking her if she’s been having an affair with Rob. Is that why he hasn’t come out yet, because he’s trying to come to terms with it? I should be with him; we should be facing this together. Or, now that he knows the terrible truth, is he waiting until I’m asleep so that he’ll only have to tell me when I wake up? It would be like him, to not want to spoil my day, to keep it to himself so that I can have a few hours’ sleep before he drops his bombshell. What is he going to say when I tell him that I’ve known for weeks?

I unzip my dress, slide it off, then kick off my shoes, glad to give my aching feet a rest. I spread my dress out on the bed; apart from a tiny stain near the bottom, it’s surprisingly clean so I slip it inside a plastic cover and hang it on the back of the door. I don’t suppose I’ll ever wear it again, unless I put it on when Marnie comes back so that she can take a photo of me with her yellow roses. Although, somehow, I can’t ever imagine that scene taking place, not now.

Someone – Kirin, I suspect – has brought my presents upstairs to the bedroom and the sight of the oils and essences makes me want to soak in a bath. Much as I’d like to be asleep when Adam comes up, I know I won’t be, I’m too wound up and I’m not going to lie there pretending.

In the bathroom, I fill the bath and add a generous amount of one of the oils and some bath foam. Re-pinning my hair on top of my head, I climb in and sink under the water until it’s up around my shoulders. It’s absolute bliss.

A film of the evening plays in my head, from the moment everyone arrived until the moment they left. I can’t wait to go over it all with Adam. I want to know what he thinks about Kirin expecting twins, about Mum turning up, and how he really feels about Josh not going to New York. But all those things are going to be overshadowed by Marnie and Rob’s affair and I feel a stab of anger that they’ve spoilt the end of what has been a wonderful evening. Is that what Adam was arguing about with Nelson earlier? Did he tell him about Rob? But he can’t have, he didn’t know back then. It was after this that Cleo spoke to him, wasn’t it? My eyelids feel heavy from trying to work it out.

It’s the cooling bathwater that wakes me. Disorientated, I sit up quickly, sploshing suds up the sides, wondering how long I’ve been asleep. I release the plug and the drain gurgles, a too-loud sound in a silent house.

A shiver pricks my skin as I towel myself dry. A memory tugs at my brain. It was a sound that woke me, the roar of a motorbike in the street outside. I pause, the towel stretched over my back. It couldn’t have been Adam, could it? He wouldn’t have gone off on his bike, not at this time of night.

Wrapping the towel around me, I hurry to the bedroom and look out of the window. The guilty beating of my heart slows when I see, behind the marquee, a yellow glow coming from his shed. He’s there, he hasn’t gone to settle scores. Part of me wants to go down and check he’s alright but something, a sixth sense perhaps, tells me not to, that he’ll come to me when he’s ready. For a moment I feel afraid, as if I’m staring into an abyss. But it’s just the dark and the deserted garden that’s making me feel that way.

Turning from the window, I lie down on the bed. I’ll give him another ten minutes and if he’s not back by then, I’ll go and find him.





4 A.M. – 5 A.M.





Adam


The police follow me slowly home. They caution me, but their words are kind. They tell me to get some sleep and I say that I will, as soon as I’ve told Livia. But I know there’ll be no sleep, not once I’ve told her.

I go into the house, the days ahead weighing heavily upon me; breaking the news to everyone, boarding a plane to Cairo and sitting through the hell of a five-hour journey, thinking of Marnie on her flight, while Livia weeps beside me.

In the hallway, I go to the cupboard, find my leather jacket and take the travel agent’s blue wallet from the inside pocket. We don’t need these tickets now, the airline has arranged for us to fly to Cairo with Josh on Monday – tomorrow, I realise. I tear the wallet in half and drop it into the kitchen bin. Then I make my way upstairs.

Liv is asleep on the bed, wrapped in a bath towel. Of course she’s asleep, I’ve been gone for ages. I stand looking down at her, taking her in, drinking in the way she looks – her face relaxed in sleep, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her right arm curved over her head – trying to imprint it on my mind so that I can remember how she looked, before I told her.

I sit down on the edge of the bed.

‘Livia,’ I say softly.

But she’s in a deep sleep and suddenly, I can’t bear to wake her. Surely it won’t do any harm to let her sleep a little longer when she’ll never sleep this easy again? The important thing is to tell her before anyone else wakes up, before someone, somewhere, works out what has happened and tells her before I can tell her myself.

I move from the bed, take off my clothes. Reaching past her, I turn off the light. The movement disturbs her, and she stirs in her sleep. My heart starts racing and I hold my breath, willing her not to wake.

She settles and I lie down beside her and stare into the darkness. I feel so alone, so unbearably alone. The need to be held overwhelms me to the point where I reach for Livia and fold her into my body. Her arms come around me in response and for a blessed few seconds, I feel comforted. I can tell her like this, I can tell her in the dark, whisper it in her ear, hold her while she breaks. I will be here for her, as I wasn’t for Marnie.