The Family Game(68)

I try to focus on Edward, how happy he is. I try to remember who we are, who I am, why we are doing any of this. I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest. There he is – his smell, his touch, the sound of his heart. I breathe in the scent of the man I met at the Natural History Museum two years ago, the man I have laughed and cried with, who has been beside me ever since. I let my body relax into him.

He’s still here; I just need to focus on him.

He pulls back with a smile, a thought occurring. He lifts the thin rope handles of the gift bag and hands it to me.

‘It’s a lot to take in, I know. Give it a minute. But, in the meantime, I wanted to get you a thing,’ he says with a grin. I feel my cheeks flush hot as I take the gift and carefully unwrap its delicate tissue paper. The bag is discreet but the tissue sticker reads Balmain, and when I unfurl the folded article within and hold it up against myself, I see it is a dress. But nicer than any dress I have ever worn. The weight of its fabric is heavy in my hands. It’s beautiful, something from another world, another life – black bouclé, thick gold embossed buttons, shoulder pads, the tailoring immaculate. A Balmain blazer dress. I have never owned anything like it. It’s a work of art. I catch my reflection in the kitchen window, the dress pressed to me.

‘It should fit perfectly. I wanted to get you something to wear for Christmas. Holbeck Christmases can be dressy,’ he adds with a smirk, downing his glass.

‘I’ll go try—’ I nod towards the bedroom, grateful for the excuse to take a moment to process.

In the bedroom I sit in silence and try to calm myself. Everything is moving too fast, the world around me changing at breakneck speed. I try to order my thoughts, to keep my mind on why I am doing any of this. To be with Edward. To have a family. I let my hand linger on my swelling bump and pull myself together.

In the large bedroom mirror, I step carefully into the dress, its lining cool against my skin. I need to get back to Edward, I’ve taken way too long. I untie my hair and shake it out and when I take in the full picture, I have to stifle a giggle. I look like someone else; I look amazing. Like a ’90s CEO, or a coffee commercial singleton, an Italian Vogue editorial. A late twentieth-century idea of what ‘having it all’ might look like. Who’d have thought? Shoulder pads really do make you look thinner and feel more powerful…

I pull on a pair of heels and stand back.

‘I’m ready,’ I call out to Edward, but the apartment is silent. I wait a moment before calling again. ‘Ed?’

Nothing.

Something is not right; I feel it instantly. ‘Ed, is everything okay?’ I call again, moving to the doorway.

I strain my ears but there’s nothing but the rumble of New York beyond our walls. The bathroom door remains ajar, as do all the others along the hallway. I swallow, softly, a lump having formed in my throat. Something has changed in the air.

I duck back into the bedroom instinctively, certain there is someone else in the apartment. I dash to my discarded pile of clothes to find my phone. And it’s then that the crashing realization hits me. My phone isn’t here; it’s recording Robert’s tape out loud in my office. But why would Edward be in my office?

‘Ed?’ I yell through the apartment. I hear the sound of movement from my office and I bolt from the bedroom, barrelling down the hallway, my heels snagging on the carpet as I fly into the room using the doorframe for leverage. Edward looks up at me, the bright red headphones now on his ears, the tape cassette out of the player and in his hand. He gives me a confused smile before sliding off the headphones.

‘What is this?’ he asks simply.

‘Um,’ I flounder, my breath snagging in my throat. Before I can speak, he gives a low whistle and looks me up and down.

‘Wow. You look insanely hot,’ he says plainly, his eyes surveying my body.

‘Er, thanks, yeah, it’s a good fit.’ I fumble for an understanding of the situation. ‘You okay? You good?’ I ask with a little too much vigour.

I don’t know how else to find out how much he’s listened to. If he’s heard his father’s voice, why is he acting like this? Why is he acting so normal?

I point to the tape player in his lap. ‘Did you…?’

‘Listen? Yeah,’ he says happily. ‘Well, I tried to, but this side is blank, right? Was there supposed to be something on it?’

‘What?’ I say, the blood draining from me. ‘Blank?’

Then it hits me. Oh my God, I must have accidentally nudged the record button when I pressed play. A flood of relief bursts through me; Edward heard nothing. I sink down onto the carpet with a groan, half grateful, half gut-punched that I have lost all recorded proof of Robert Holbeck’s confession. The most important piece of advice Deonte gave to me, to copy the recording, and somehow I managed to fuck it up with my stupid bloated pregnant fingers.

‘You okay, honey?’ Edward asks, crouching down in front of me. ‘I don’t want to be that guy, but you probably shouldn’t be running around at this point, you know? At least probably not in heels,’ he adds carefully. ‘Was there something important on the tape?’ he asks when I don’t respond.

I straighten up and let out a sigh that could pass for many things. ‘No. No, it’s fine. It was just research,’ I say, rubbing my face as if somehow I could rub the truth of my words into existence.