The Soulmate(66)

‘I have to agree,’ Max said. ‘I’m not a psychiatrist, but what happened today seemed more like a kind of psychosis. Is that possible?’

‘Anything is possible.’ I felt tears on my face and realised I was crying. I stood and walked to the window. This was it, I realised. If Gabe was this far gone, there was no one in the world who could help him.

‘You’ve done an extraordinary job managing this, Pippa,’ Max said, joining me at the window. ‘But this is more than any one person can handle. Gabe needs professional help, possibly as an inpatient. There’s no shame in it. And if insurance doesn’t cover the out-of-pocket costs, I’d be happy to cover them personally.’

It was extraordinarily generous of him. But I found it hard even to think about out-of-pocket costs when I didn’t know where Gabe was. I imagined him wandering around the city. Maybe he’d found a bar to drink in. Maybe he’d found a barmaid? Later, he’d be full of apologies, and I’d be full of doubt. He didn’t mean it! He was ill. Then he’d go to see Dr Ravi, maybe get a new diagnosis, and we’d start all over again.

As all of this settled over me, I let out a sob. Max didn’t really open his arms, but I fell against him and rested my head against his chest. He widened his stance and became a warm, solid wall. I wanted to disappear into it. Bury my head. Make it all go away.

‘What do I do, Max?’ I cried.

He put his arms around me. There was something about it. For so long I’d felt like I was alone, carrying the secret of Gabe’s illness. Suddenly there was someone else, someone who truly seemed to care.

‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll sort this out, I promise.’

He was so authoritative. I believed it. It made me imagine what it must be like to be married to someone like Max. Someone you could count on. Someone who didn’t create drama but, rather, helped you sort it out. It was intoxicating.

I stepped back and looked at him. It may have been the fact that he was giving me exactly what I’d been craving from Gabe for so long, but it was as if I saw him anew. He even looked a little like Gabe. I’d always thought the line between attraction and desperation was thin. I was desperate for comfort. I yearned for it. It did something to me. I lifted my chin and kissed him.

It came over me then, all at once, like a frenzy. A need. Was this how Gabe felt, I wondered, with the barmaid? I pulled off my T-shirt, my bra. I stepped forward and pressed myself against him. It wasn’t about Max, I knew that, even then. It wasn’t even about me. Like everything else in my life, the entire fucking thing was all about Gabe.





69


PIPPA

NOW



Gabe doesn’t say it aloud, but judging by the next few days, our new plan is to never leave our house. We don’t take the girls to preschool. We don’t go to the park or the beach. We don’t even set foot outside. We start employing rudimentary security measures that we haven’t bothered with in the past, like locking windows and security doors. We even figure out how to use the alarm, which is something that has been on our to-do list since we moved in. We don’t discuss our reasons for any of this, because that would involve Gabe admitting he was worried. Instead, we do it by silent agreement.

For me, it isn’t a huge break from my routine. I work, conduct my Zoom meetings, play with the girls. They cope well to begin with. Once, as I walk past their room, I hear them pretending they are at the beach, and Asha acts as if she has discovered treasure. I wish I could escape to an imaginary world so easily.

Gabe is a different story. Staying indoors has never suited him. He needs to be active, to move his body. He’s trying to hide it, but I can see he’s barely reining himself in.

By the fourth day, even the girls have had enough.

‘I want to go to preschool,’ Asha says.

Gabe and I look at each other. Since my encounter in the car park, it has been quiet. No word from Max. No indication that he plans to go to the police or attempt to retrieve the USB. But, then again, we haven’t been anywhere.

‘How about we play outside in the sandpit for a bit?’ Gabe offers by way of a compromise.

The girls, starved of any such fun for days, accept this and burst outside before he can change his mind, excitedly chatting about the treasure they will discover out there.

For a while, I stand at the window and watch them. The sandpit was built by Gabe and Dad shortly after we moved in; they cleverly designed the wooden cover so that it can be folded in half to become a bench seat. Gabe does this now and sits facing the cliff as the girls get busy with their buckets and spades.

Kat’s words echo in my mind. If Gabe didn’t tell the police, it means he has something to hide. I don’t get it. Why is everyone so quick to blame Gabe? They love Gabe.

At least, I’d thought they did. I remembered Kat saying, Why do you think we all moved up here when you did? Why do you think we’re always at your house? How had I missed that? And if I missed that . . . what else am I missing?

There’s one final thing Kat said that I keep thinking about – perhaps more than anything else. How long are you going to live like this?

It’s the question I most desperately want answered. And I’m starting to realise that the only one who can do that is me.





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