The Wife Before Me(50)
Alone again in the bedroom, her mind raced. He had helped her to face her fears. Why would he lie? And why did the terror she had spent her life trying to curb now feel even more overwhelming? It was so bad that, later, when she entered the en suite and switched on the shower, she was too frightened to stand underneath it. Nicholas found her hunkered on the floor, naked, weeping. He switched off the shower and filled the handbasin with warm water. He drew her to her feet and began to wash her. She quivered, her skin shrivelling, or so it seemed, as he gently ran the sponge over her and wrapped her in a towel before carrying her back to bed.
Twenty-Seven
The nightmares returned, only this time it was her father’s face staring back at her from the waves. Nicholas always woke her. Talking it through with him would banish these night terrors, he believed. Drowning, she said. My dreams are always about drowning. She didn’t tell him the same images haunted her during the day. Water pummelling… bubbles… his face disappearing, appearing, disappearing… cocooned in a towel, on the bed… what then – what then…? At night, in his arms, she was unable to respond to him. Afraid of upsetting him, she faked a pleasure she was far from feeling, her limbs heavy, her mind dull and unresponsive.
’Til death do us part. This then was her marriage. Her wardrobe was filled with his choices. Structured suits, high-collared blouses, sensible shoes, shapeless jogging pants. A blueprint for conformity.
Couples counselling had been cancelled too many times for her to bother making another appointment. Nor had she attended the Well Woman Centre. Nicholas had found the appointment on her phone when, mistaking it for his own – or so he claimed – he picked it up accidentally.
A phone call from Terry Wall, part-owner of Knob Needs, snapped her from her lethargy. The family business in the centre of Dublin had specialised in doorknobs for a hundred years and Terry believed this anniversary was the perfect time for a makeover. Eric, his father, disagreed. Why fix something that wasn’t broken? Amelia, having arranged a meeting, was convinced she could persuade Eric to change his mind once he saw her presentation. She checked the wardrobe and chose a navy suit from among the clothes Nicholas had bought for her. She buttoned a pink blouse with a bow and tucked it into the skirt. Matching navy shoes with block heels and light-coloured tights, densely woven. She chose a lipstick from the row of pink shades on her dressing table. Clutter, Nicholas believed, was the sign of a disorganised mind. Her hand shook as she applied the lipstick and smudged her top lip. Simple acts that were once second nature to her were becoming laboured and clumsy.
Knob Needs had the grey slump of a building long neglected. The interior, though clean, felt oppressive, as if old dust clogged the crevices. Eric greeted her with a grudging handshake but Terry, whose certificate was framed on the wall behind him, had the confident smile of an entrepreneur with a master’s degree in retail marketing.
Amelia switched on her laptop and began her PowerPoint presentation. Eric jutted his bottom lip and crossed his arms, barricading himself against this intrusion into tradition. She ignored his body language and explained how she could lift the old building out of its grimy past. The construction industry was moving out of recession and this was the perfect time for Knob Needs to introduce its doorknobs to a new generation of house buyers.
Suddenly, her mind went blank, like a light switching off, and she floundered in darkness; the words she had rehearsed were forgotten and she was unable to move her hand towards the laptop— …the sea roaring – no – in the bath… water cascading, bubbles… her legs going from under her… floppy body – eyes open… watching – unable to fight back…
Terry was staring at her in alarm and even Eric had abandoned his truculent pose and was sitting straighter in his chair.
‘Is everything okay, Amelia?’ Terry reached her before her legs collapsed and helped her into a chair. She pressed her face into her knees and waited for the dizziness to pass.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She held the back of the chair as she stood up. ‘I’ve no idea what all that was about.’
‘We can call it a day if you like.’ Eric was clearly eager to get back to his doorknobs; but Terry handed her a glass of water and nodded at her to continue. She managed to finish her presentation without any further mishaps but was still feeling shaky when she switched off her laptop.
‘You take care.’ Eric winked at her as she was leaving. ‘And make sure you get plenty of rest. The early months are the toughest.’
Twenty-Eight
Nicholas was thrilled. Blame it on a faulty condom, he said. Water churning. Steam rising. A bedroom door opening. Her body spread-eagled— Amelia forced the bewildering images from her. Yvonne and Henry arrived at Woodbine with champagne. They toasted the future. The first of many babies, Yvonne said. Amelia smiled as she sipped iced water. There was still a hope, faint enough but worth holding onto, that once their child was born, everything would be different. New beginnings were always imprinted with optimism, no matter how dark the circumstances.
In the early bloom of her pregnancy, Amelia felt wonderful. No morning sickness, just some tiredness in the evenings, which passed by the third month. But her hope that her pregnancy would make a difference to Nicholas’s jealousy was short-lived. One night, having returned late from meeting Leanne, who was visiting from New York, Amelia lay doubled up on the floor. Afraid to battle back, as she had done in the past, she was nonetheless no longer thinking only of her own safety as she struggled to catch her breath and pacify Nicholas.