The Forgetting(42)
‘Anna?’
‘Yes, sorry, of course. That would be great, thanks.’
She offers me some dates and times, and I tell her I am always free, am grateful when she does not laugh as if I have told a joke. We agree on an appointment for next Friday, and I’m relieved it is in the afternoon, that I will not have to miss Zahira in the park in the morning.
Writing the details of the appointment on the notepad by the phone, I say goodbye and replace the handset in its cradle. Footsteps thud down the stairs, and by the time I reach the hallway, the plumber is already standing by the front door, one hand on the latch.
‘All done. Any more problems just give the agent a ring.’
He smiles a little cautiously before opening the door and letting himself out. My belated thank-you trails behind him.
Heading into the kitchen, I pour a glass of water, check the time, take a couple of tablets in the ongoing battle against the pain clawing at my temples.
Leaning against the kitchen sink, I try to recollect any mention of our house being rented. But I don’t remember Stephen and I discussing the ownership of it at all. It is simply an assumption I have made.
Thinking of all the boxes in the spare room, I recall Stephen’s explanation on the day I came home from hospital: ‘Every weekend we promise ourselves that we’ll finally tackle all this and every weekend we somehow manage to find something more interesting to do.’ The empty weekend stretches before me like a weary sigh, and it occurs to me that I could make myself useful while Stephen’s away. I can begin to unpack all those boxes and perhaps, in the process, I may find something that will restore a fragment of my past to me.
LIVVY
BRISTOL
Livvy’s fingers fumbled with the key, unable to find the precise angle required for it to turn, cursing under her breath as it jammed in the lock. All the way home she’d kept checking her phone, but still nothing from Dominic.
With a satisfied click the key swivelled in the barrel and Livvy tipped the buggy onto its back wheels, steered it through the narrow doorway. The hall door was shut – she always left it open to avoid a tight manoeuvre – and she sucked in her tummy as she squeezed past the buggy, one leg suspended in the air as if performing an ungainly arabesque, and pushed open the door.
Wheeling the buggy into the sitting room, she found Dominic in the armchair at the far end of the room.
‘I’m so sorry we weren’t here when you got home. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming so early?’ Unstrapping Leo from the buggy, she picked him up, settled him into his activity chair.
‘I wanted to surprise you. I just assumed you’d be here.’ Dominic’s voice was low, unemotional, but there was something uneven in it, like a misaligned paving stone that might trip Livvy up if she didn’t watch her step.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was only now that she noticed the bouquet of flowers – pink freesias, orange gerberas, red berries – lying on the floor beside him, cellophane crumpled, a handful of petals scattering the floor. Dominic usually favoured white flowers, said he found bright ones gauche. ‘You bought me flowers. They’re beautiful. Thank you.’ She picked them up, put them on the coffee table, pulled up the pale grey footstool next to Dominic. ‘So did you get all your work done?’
There was an almost imperceptible nod of his head. ‘I stayed up until midnight finishing it so I could get on the road first thing this morning.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
Dominic’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. ‘Where were you, anyway?’
‘I was just . . .’ Livvy hesitated, wondered whether a little white lie would be better in the circumstances, before settling on the truth. ‘With Bea. For a quick coffee – her treat. I even declined the offer of cake.’ She laughed, but it sounded thin, reedy, like air escaping from the pinched neck of a balloon.
Dominic said nothing for a few seconds, his gaze fixed on something out of the window. When he finally turned back to her, his voice was flat, muted, a hinterland between emotions. ‘Yet again, your family comes first.’
The comment was disorientating, as though she and Dominic were travelling through an unfamiliar landscape and he had changed their route without telling her. ‘What do you mean?’
Dominic shook his head. ‘Don’t you think it would be nice, just occasionally, for our marriage to be your priority, rather than you always putting your parents and your sister first?’
Livvy paused, knowing the topography of this conversation was littered with mines. In the early months of their relationship, Dominic had seemed to revel in the warmth of her family; he’d been charming and funny, and her parents had adored him from the outset. It had seemed to Livvy that he’d embraced the opportunity to be part of a functional, loving family. But more recently she’d been aware of snatches of resentment creeping in, moments when Livvy’s closeness to her family seemed to emphasise Dominic’s estrangement from his. And after the events of the past fortnight – his mother’s reappearance, his father’s death – those occurrences seem to have been exacerbated further. ‘I don’t think that’s really fair.’
‘But you’re always with them. The amount of time you spend with them, it’s like you’re still a child.’
The accusation stung, not because it was true but because it was unfair. Repressing her frustration, she reminded herself that yesterday had been his father’s funeral, that even though Dominic hadn’t attended, it would still have provoked difficult feelings for him. She softened her voice, placed a hand on his knee. ‘I rarely see them at weekends because I know . . . I understand it can be difficult for you. But they’re my family. Of course I want to spend time with them.’