The Wife Before Me(11)
He cuts into his steak, medium rare, and studies the bloodied centre before bringing it to his mouth. He chews slowly, swallows, dabs carefully at his lips with a napkin. His silence adds to her nervousness.
‘So, what exactly are you asking me, Elena? Do you want to compare experiences? Weigh up my pain against yours and see who comes out with the highest score.’
‘That’s so unfair.’ She sounds defensive, unsure of herself. ‘You know that’s not true. I’ve been honest with you about my past. What have you told me about yourself? Nothing.’ Why on earth did she start this conversation? ‘How can you expect me to ignore the fact that your wife died tragically? It must have had a horrendous impact on you. I’m not trying to pry―’
‘What would you call it?’
‘Concern.’ When her hands begin to shake, she presses them into her lap. It’s too late to back down from the conversation now. ‘I want you to trust me enough to talk about her. As it is, she’s creating a wedge between us―’
‘A wedge?’ His nostrils compress as if the air around him is tainted. ‘Why not call it an incident? That’s how it was described in the media. An incident on Mason’s Pier.’
‘Oh, Nicholas, I’m sorry―’
‘What do you want, Elena?’ He interrupts her apology. ‘Tears? Do you really believe they’d lessen the wedge between us?’
‘All I’m asking―’
‘You’re asking if I’m crazed with grief? Unable to sleep? Unable to focus? Unable to see you without wishing I was looking across this table at her? The answer is yes on all counts.’
His words, as forceful as bullets, leave her speechless. Two hours ago, she was in his arms. Now, he is pummelling her with his anger, his gaze shuttered. ‘How dare you assume you’ll be able to handle my grief?’ he continues. ‘Just because you feel the need to talk endlessly about yourself and your own problems, you’ve no right to demand the same from me.’
‘Stop it! I don’t talk…’ A feather-like current of air brushes past her cheek and she shivers, goose bumps lifting on her arms. She stands, unsteadily, unable to believe the direction their conversation has taken.
‘Where are you going?’ he demands.
‘Away from you.’ The weekend is ruined. All that has gone before wiped out by his anger. The man who loves her, or claims to love her, breathing the words into the back of her neck as they spooned together in bed, has become a stranger who wishes she was his dead wife every time they are together. How can they step back from such an admission?
Elena takes two fifty-euro notes from her wallet and flings them on the table. ‘The meal is on me,’ she snaps. ‘Payment for being my grief counsellor.’
‘Sit down, Elena.’ He leans over the table and grabs her arm. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘Watch me.’ She jerks free from his grip. ‘I’ve no intention of competing against your dead wife. Ever!’ Her heels click sharply as she walks from the restaurant. She has to find somewhere to stay tonight. She will catch a train back to Dublin in the morning. Why did she ignore Rosemary’s advice about putting the bungalow up for sale? So much time lost while she was chasing some half-formed dream. She will contact an estate agent first thing tomorrow and return to Australia as soon as the sale is completed.
She reaches the harbour and leans over the wall. Laughter reaches her from the deck of a nearby yacht. A passing dog pauses and raises its leg. Her eyes brim. What had Nicholas heard when she confided in him? A frivolous recounting of a love that had failed? Two hearts no longer beating, hers broken? And he dared to call that tittle-tattle.
He comes up from behind before she is aware of him and wraps his arms round her.
‘I’m sorry… so very sorry.’ His voice is hoarse, his breathing heavy. ‘You have to forgive me, Elena. I never meant to hurt you. I’ve no idea why I reacted like that… said those hurtful things. I didn’t mean them, honestly. You touched a nerve and I reacted. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about Amelia. I can’t… can’t…’ He turns her round and holds her close to him.
Held close against him, she’s unable to move. He tells her about nights when he was afraid to sleep because of the nightmares, mornings when he stood with a razor blade in his hand and wondered how long it would take for all the blood to leave his body. But it’s different now. Thanks to Elena, he is beginning to imagine a future where he can find happiness again. He curses himself for jeopardising that possibility and begs her for forgiveness. His eyes, no longer shuttered, embrace her, sweep her back into his orbit. His lips are hungry for her and that night, back in their hotel bedroom, he calls her name over and over, as if he is drowning under the weight of desire.
All the love flowing from her, she is frightened by her feelings. Nicholas is inside her, pushing deep, and she locks him to her with a ferocity that seems to overpower love and force her to search for another meaning. Is this obsession, she wonders? This momentum that hurtles her through each day as she waits for him to ring and wills the hours to fly by until she can be with him again.
Their first row is over, already fading into insignificance as he reassures her of his love, whispering into her ear, against her throat, breathless endearments making it possible to forget the other words that he had uttered with such bitterness.