The Forgetting(38)

The words sink in, panic churning in my stomach. The thought of an entire weekend at home alone when I will have already spent all week by myself presses down on my chest.

‘I’m really sorry. It’s just one night – just Saturday to Sunday. You’ll be okay. I’ll phone every few hours, and I’ll make sure you’ve got a fridge full of food. If we keep you busy with books and movies the time will fly by.’

I hear the supreme effort in his voice to reassure me, and I know it is not his fault, my dread at being left alone overnight. I understand that his entire life – his whole career – cannot be put on hold just because I can’t remember anything beyond the last ten days. I force my lips into a smile, swallow against the narrowing in my throat. ‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not fine. It’s infuriating. But next week I’ll do my best to get home early every day so we can go for a walk before dinner.’

I find myself nodding even as the prospect of yet more lonely days yawns before me like a series of uncertain question marks.

He reaches out a hand, places it on mine. ‘I really am sorry. I don’t have to go away for work very often. If I could get out of it, I would. But Veronica – my boss – she’s such a . . .’ His face stiffens like a jammed door, and then he lets out a long stream of air, rearranges his features into something more benign. ‘It’s just really unfortunate timing. I know how vulnerable you are at the moment, and I hate the thought of leaving you. But it’s only a couple of days. I’ll get back as early as I can on Sunday.’

I try to feel the reassurance in Stephen’s explanation, but there is something else on my mind, a question that has been haunting me all day. It whispers in my ear and I cannot ignore it. ‘Why don’t we have any children?’

Stephen’s fork halts in mid-air, hovering as if uncertain whether to continue its journey or retreat back to the plate. The white noise of other diners is loud in my ears.

He lowers his fork, stares down at his pasta for what seems an inordinate length of time. When he finally raises his head, I see it immediately: the apology in his eyes even before he begins to speak. ‘We tried, really hard, but it just never happened for us.’

I hear his words, wait for them to accrue some meaning, but they are like hard pebbles sinking into quicksand: gone before my fingers can grab hold of them.

I am aware of picking up a tumbler of water, taking a sip, the cool liquid slipping down my throat. I am aware of the waitress gliding past, plates balanced along her arm, of the couple sitting behind Stephen, laughing. I am aware of all these things and yet there is a sense that I am somewhere outside myself, unable to inhabit my body. ‘Why couldn’t we? What was wrong?’ My voice is small, shrunken, as though it fears what may greet it if it ventures beyond the shadows.

Stephen shakes his head. ‘We don’t know. The hospital did endless tests, but they never identified what the problem was. We just couldn’t seem to conceive.’

‘What about IVF? Did we try that?’ I hear myself clutching at straws, my hope that there may yet be a stone unturned.

‘We had two rounds on the NHS. That was as many as we were entitled to.’

‘What about going privately? Did we try that?’

Stephen’s eyes crease at the edges. ‘We felt—’ He stops abruptly, looks down, fiddles with the button on the cuff of his sleeve. ‘We felt we’d done enough. We’d already been trying for five years when we had the first round of IVF. And when that didn’t work . . .’ He wavers and I do not fill the silence. ‘It had been hard. On both of us. You, especially. It had made you . . . You’d found it very difficult, emotionally. After everything that had happened with your parents, you felt you needed a child of your own. It was a tough few years. But in the end, we just had to accept that it wasn’t meant to be.’ He stops speaking, as if he knows he could go on explaining forever but that no outpouring of words could ever fill the void.

Something seems to fracture inside me: regret, sorrow, despair. I think of Zahira and Elyas in the park, feel that same burning sensation I did the very first time I saw them, and I understand that it is not a new longing. It has been there for years: a feeling that something within me is missing and may never be found.

‘I’m so sorry, my love. I’d give anything to be able to say things were different. I can only imagine how hard it is, having to relearn all these things about our life. I hate seeing you so upset.’

I feel Stephen’s hand on mine, feel the warmth of his touch, but it is as though I am not really present, as though my mind has wandered elsewhere, trailing after something I must have craved for so long and learnt would never be mine.





LIVVY


BRISTOL

‘What do you fancy? My treat. I’m having a blueberry muffin.’

Bea looked at Livvy, and Livvy looked at the selection of cakes in the café’s glass cabinet.

You can’t keep moaning about the fact that most of your friends have already lost all their baby weight if you’re eating forty-two pounds of cake every month.

Shaking her head, Livvy pulled off the thin cotton blanket from where it was tucked around Leo in his pushchair. ‘Nothing for me. I’ll just have a decaf latte with skimmed milk.’

Bea held Livvy’s gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and it was Livvy who looked away first.