The Forgetting(58)

Zahira rests a hand gently on mine. ‘I understand. I know it’s not the same but there were times after I found out about my ex-husband’s affair when I thought every new piece of information might destroy me. But however hard it was at the time, it was really important for me to face it head-on. I don’t think I’d have recovered if I hadn’t.’ She pauses, checks on Elyas, turns back to me. ‘Maybe you’re right, maybe finding out more about your past won’t be the silver bullet you want it to be. But isn’t it better at least to try?’

It is a rhetorical question and I let it revolve in my head.

‘Believe me, there’ve been plenty of moments when I wished I’d managed to turn a blind eye to Joe’s affair. It would have been so much easier in some ways to stay married to him, to stick together as a family.’ Zahira pauses as Elyas runs towards her, holds out a wet hand, wipes it on his sweatshirt before she has a chance to find a tissue. She sends him back to the playhouse, continues speaking. ‘But I would have been living a lie and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have made me happy. I can’t tell you how much courage it took for me to call time on my marriage when I had a newborn baby. But sometimes being scared of something is precisely the reason you need to do it. Seriously, what’s the worst that can happen if you ask Stephen to tell you more? At least you’ll have a better picture of what your life looked like before the accident, even if it is second-hand.’

I try to absorb what Zahira is saying. ‘I know you’re probably right. It’s just a lot to think about.’

‘It must be so hard. And I do understand why your husband found it difficult to tell you about Henry. But I’m not sure I understand the rationale in telling you so little about the rest of your life.’ She pauses, and it is as if I can hear her searching through a thesaurus in her mind, choosing her words carefully. ‘It’s almost like he doesn’t want you to remember.’

I shake my head. ‘Of course he does. I think he just wants to protect me from things he knows I’ll find upsetting.’

‘But he can’t protect you forever. And how will you ever have a full picture of your life unless he tells you everything – the good and the bad? You have a right to know it all – not just what Stephen chooses to tell you.’

I turn Zahira’s reasoning over in my mind, trying to unpack how I feel about it. Part of me knows she is right – at some point I will have to learn everything – but remembering my devastation on Sunday night, I understand Stephen’s reluctance to have told me sooner.

Elyas runs up to Zahira, announces that he is starving. Zahira feeds him half a banana before he zooms across the playground, clambers onto one end of a low-swung see-saw, bounces gently up and down.

‘By the way, I meant to ask – did your new mobile phone arrive?’

I shake my head. ‘To be honest, with everything that’s happened, I haven’t even thought to ask.’

Zahira pulls her grey leather bag onto her lap, roots around inside, brings out a black mobile phone and matching charger. ‘You’re welcome to have this. It’s just an old one of mine. I’ve put a new SIM card in and twenty pounds of credit on it, just in case you need it.’ She holds out the phone to me and there is something slightly off beam in her voice: the deliberate effort to sound casual.

‘That’s really kind, but I can’t take it. It’s too much.’

‘Course you can. I’m never going to use it again. It’s ancient and it doesn’t even have Wi-Fi, so there’s no maps or internet, but at least you’ll have a phone for emergencies.’

The phone hovers in the space between us, and I look down at it, unsure what to do next. I have not told Stephen about my meetings with Zahira, cannot think how I would explain to him that a woman I’ve never mentioned has given me a mobile phone.

‘Honestly, take it. I’ve put my number in the contacts so you can call me any time. And I’ve taped the number of the phone on the back in case you need to give it to anyone else. It’s just until you get a phone of your own.’ There is a gentle insistence in Zahira’s voice, like a parent encouraging a child to step into the playground on the first day of school.

My hand outstretches, as if of its own volition, and I watch myself take hold of the phone and the charger, slip them into my jacket pocket, hear myself express thanks. And yet, as Zahira gets up from the bench to check on Elyas, I feel it digging into my ribs and wonder how on earth I will explain its presence in our house to Stephen.





LIVVY


BRISTOL

Livvy sat in front of the mirror, watching the expressions shift across her face like clouds fluctuating in the changing light: apprehension, uncertainty, a tight smile of reassurance. She wondered what someone else would observe, looking at her: whether they would find a woman embracing change, or if they would see straight through her, the fault line of indecision clearly visible, like writing through a stick of rock.

‘Are you ready?’

Livvy glanced up at the woman standing behind her, pulled her lips into a smile. She told herself to stop being ridiculous. This wasn’t a life-changing decision. It was superficial, really, in the grand scheme of things.

Behind her, the hairdresser took hold of Livvy’s newly washed hair, ran a brush from the roots to the ends. There was something soothing in the movement, ritualistic almost, as if they were two women from an ancient tribe performing a traditional rite of passage.