The Forgetting(6)

Ever since that first conversation about his parents, Livvy had been mindful never to press Dominic for more details. Since moving in with him, she’d been aware of Christmas and birthday cards arriving from his mother, of Dominic ripping them up and throwing them in the bin: not the bin under the kitchen sink but the bin outside the front door, as though even the shredded remains within the walls of their home were too close for comfort.

‘Come here, little man. Are you going to miss your daddy this week? Because I’m going to miss you.’ Dominic took Leo from her arms, held him against his chest. ‘How about, next weekend, you and I go to the museum, look at the mummies, and I can teach you all about Egypt?’

Livvy laughed. ‘He might be a bit young for lessons in ancient history just yet.’

‘Nonsense! He’ll love it, won’t you?’ Dominic raised Leo into the air, flew him over his head, making aeroplane noises, and Leo laughed, colour filling his cheeks.

Handing Leo back to Livvy, Dominic unplugged the phone charger from his side of the bed. ‘That’s the last thing I want to forget.’ He smiled, wrapped the lead around the plug, tucked it between his socks and pants. Taking a final glance at the spreadsheet on which he’d listed everything he’d need, he zipped up the case. ‘Come and see me off?’

With Leo wedged securely against her hip, Livvy followed Dominic down the wooden staircase, past seascapes and brooding skies that Dominic had photographed and hung on the walls long before Livvy had moved in.

‘I’ll video-call at seven on the dot every evening, okay? And you, little man, need to make sure you’re asleep so that Mummy can have a proper conversation.’ He placed the flat of his palm against Livvy’s cheek. ‘And I’ll call every morning as well, okay? Eight o’clock, en route to the site.’

‘I’ve already said, you don’t have to phone twice a day. I know how busy you’ll be.’

‘Don’t be silly, of course I will.’ He smiled before a frown knotted across his forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay?’

Livvy swallowed against the tightness in her throat. ‘Honestly, we’ll be fine. This little one will keep me busy.’ She tickled Leo’s tummy, watched him laugh, held on to him as he wriggled in her arms.

‘Remember to bolt the front door at night. And you can put the burglar alarm on as well, just to be safe. But don’t forget to turn it off before you go downstairs in the morning or the neighbours will be cursing you.’ He smiled. ‘I do know how lucky I am to have you.’ He leant forward, kissed her, straightened up again as if bracing himself for an inspection. ‘Right, I’d better get going. The traffic’s only going to get worse on a Sunday afternoon. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ Livvy pulled her lips into a wide, confident smile.

Picking up the suitcase, Dominic headed out to his car, put the case in the boot, lowered himself into the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, he turned and waved before pulling away from the kerb.

Tightening her arms around Leo, Livvy held her son’s hand, waved back. She watched the black Toyota Prius shrink until it turned the corner at the far end of the road and disappeared out of sight.

For a few seconds she stood still, watching, as if awaiting a magic trick in which Dominic’s car might spring back into view like a rabbit pulled from a hat.

Turning to re-enter the house, she heard another car ignite its engine further along the quiet residential street. A blue Ford Fiesta drove towards her, and Livvy noticed the driver – an elderly lady with pure white hair, wearing a bright blue cardigan – staring at her as she neared. The car slowed as it passed, the driver’s concentration flitting between the road and Livvy’s front door, and for a moment their eyes locked. And then the elderly lady looked away, accelerated, and within seconds she had reached the end of the street and was gone.

For a few seconds, Livvy stood on the doorstep, contemplating Dominic’s departure, thinking about the days ahead. And then she headed back inside, into the kitchen to start preparing Leo’s dinner, and opened the BBC Sounds app to fill the room with the comforting music of Radio 2.





ANNA


LONDON

I glance up at the clock on the wall: five to two. In a few minutes, Stephen should arrive for visiting time. I am anxious for the seconds to move quickly, so numerous are the questions I have to ask him. Yesterday evening, as he sat with me in A&E, I was overwhelmed by the need for sleep, and awoke to find myself on the ward, the clock blinking into the darkness, telling me it was a little after midnight. This morning I stirred just before eight, my head still heavy as though someone had encased it in lead. Even now, there is effort in lifting it from the pillow, a constant pressure at my temples as if my brain is trying to squeeze into too small a space.

I close my eyes, try to expunge the pain, but it is like trying to shift concrete.

‘Anna. Are you okay?’

I open my eyes and Stephen is standing beside my bed, holding a bouquet of pure white flowers – freesias, roses, gerberas, gladioli, their names coming back to me without a second thought – and he is smiling broadly, trying to mask the concern ploughing a series of furrows across his forehead. He looks tired, dark rings haunting the skin beneath his eyes, and I feel a stab of guilt that I may be the cause.

‘It’s me, Stephen. Do you remember me from yesterday?’