The Forgetting(19)
The seconds pass, then a minute – maybe more – and gradually the dizziness begins to subside, the contents of my head beginning to feel solid again. I dare to take one foot off the chair, lower it to the ground, instruct the other to follow suit.
When I am sure my legs are stable, I take my hand off the chair, tread slowly down the stairs, clasping the banister all the way. I head into the sitting room, lie on the sofa. Within seconds, the dizziness disappears as though it was never there, and a part of me feels foolish for having become so panicky.
I think about the padlock on the loft, try to imagine why we have put it there, resolve to ask Stephen about it when he gets home later.
On the coffee table in front of me sits the trio of novels, and I feel a stab of guilt like a stitch between my ribs that I have not begun to read them. The claustrophobia of being stuck indoors all day is making me feel trapped, as though I may suffocate by breathing in the same, stale air. Outside, the sun is shining, and as I look out of the window and see the blue sky beyond, I feel a decision being made.
Ignoring the echo of Stephen’s voice in my head – I’d be so worried that you might get lost – disregarding the dizzy spell I just had, I walk into the hall, slip my feet into my trainers. Pulling my arms through the sleeves of my jacket, I open the front door and head out onto the street.
LIVVY
BRISTOL
Livvy sat on the sofa, laptop open, waiting for her seven p.m. Zoom call with Dominic.
On the video baby monitor, Leo slept soundly, and Livvy watched him on the screen, silently beseeching him not to wake up just as Dominic came online. One day last week, they’d barely said hello before a squawk interrupted them, Livvy rushing upstairs to soothe Leo back to sleep as quickly as she could. Twenty minutes later, she’d come back into the sitting room to find the video connection terminated and a text from Dominic saying he’d had a long day, was going to grab some dinner, and that he’d call her in the morning.
Pulling the laptop onto her thighs, she opened Facebook, scrolled through the home page: a succession of other people’s family photos and holiday snaps, news articles and adverts. Clicking on her profile page, her eyes scanned the most recent entries: newspaper features about climate change, friends’ JustGiving pages, promotions for local National Trust events. Fingers gliding along the trackpad, she slipped back in time, her postings rare and impersonal. Four months earlier she’d reposted a picture from Bea’s profile, taken of the two of them on Livvy’s birthday in the park. Before that there was nothing for weeks. Scrolling further, she found the last photo she’d uploaded: a fortnight after Leo’s birth, her newborn son lying in her arms, her parents proudly flanking them on either side. It was soon after she posted it that Dominic had confided how uncomfortable it made him feel having photos of Leo on social media, how he didn’t want their son to become one of those babies whose every move was documented online for all the world to see. ‘Why would we want complete strangers getting an intimate insight into our lives? And is it really fair to be creating a digital footprint for Leo when he’s not old enough to consent to it?’ Livvy had said she hadn’t realised he felt so strongly about it, had promised not to post any more personal pictures in the future. These days, she was a Facebook lurker, scrolling through other people’s timelines, occasionally reposting articles on things she cared about: the environment, conservation, education. She used Facebook so little, she hadn’t even bothered updating her profile since she and Dominic got married.
The waiting Zoom window morphed out of its stupor and there was Dominic, in his office at the construction site. Ten days ago, he’d arrived in Sheffield to find paper-thin walls in the studio flat that had been rented for him – ‘If I can hear every word my neighbours are saying, they can hear everything I’m saying too’ – so he preferred speaking to Livvy from the office, or in the car, where they could be guaranteed some privacy.
‘Hello you.’
‘Hey.’
‘What are you up to?’
Livvy’s eyes scanned the open tabs at the top of her browser. ‘Nothing much. Just scrolling through Facebook.’
Dominic rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, Squidge. I thought you weren’t doing Facebook any more?’
‘I’m not. It’s just nice to see what other people are up to.’
Dominic laughed, low and dry. ‘You mean what other people choose to tell you they’re up to? You know it’s all curated nonsense.’
Livvy’s finger slid across the trackpad, closed down the Facebook tab. ‘I know. I hardly ever look at it these days.’
She watched Dominic unscrew a bottle of water, take a glug, decided not to remind him of the environmental havoc wreaked by single-use plastics.
‘So how’s my little man been today? It feels like aeons since I left on Monday.’
‘He’s fine. He was as good as gold at my meeting with Aisha.’
‘Of course. How was it?’
Livvy turned the question over in her mind, thought about how unexpected the meeting had been, how much she was looking forward to returning to work. ‘It was good. Really good. Aisha dropped a bit of a bombshell though. She’s leaving.’
‘Really? I thought she was wedded to the place?’
‘So did I. But she’s off to Namibia with Stewart to work for an NGO.’