by Rebecca Done
I nod. ‘I had another chat with him on Thursday morning. He thinks I’ve got a case.’
‘Excellent. So what about Sarah – have you decided about the job?’
‘You mean about moving to London?’
She nods, sips from her drink.
I swallow. ‘No. But I needed to let her know, like …’
‘… yesterday,’ she guesses.
‘Yep. I keep stalling.’ Sarah’s emailed me twice since sending her official offer through on Monday evening.
‘What’s holding you back?’
‘I don’t know … I keep thinking …’
Eve leans forward, sets a hand against my forearm. ‘What, Moll?’
I make an effort to turf Nicola from my mind. ‘Well, when Alex did all that stuff while I was away, with the flowers and the painting and the sketch … it meant a lot. They might seem like trivial, insignificant gestures compared to what happened before I left, but for him, doing things like that is a big deal. And I know Charlie helped him, and of course all this stuff with Nicola is still really bugging me, but …’
‘You don’t want to leave,’ she says, reading between the lines.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ I say quickly. ‘If anything’s going on with Nicola, that changes everything. But … I need to talk to her. It’s the only way I’m going to know for sure.’
‘So you need to talk to Nicola before you let Sarah know about the job,’ Eve guesses.
‘Well, I know one thing shouldn’t necessarily depend upon the other …’
‘… but it sort of does.’
I nod. ‘Well, it would change how I think about the future, that’s for sure. I need to do it soon.’ I sip from my ginger beer, slide her a look. ‘Just psyching myself up for it. And if she starts coming out with any crap about Alex not being as bad as we all think – like she’s the sodding expert – I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
‘I will definitely come with you,’ Eve says. ‘I mean, if you want me to.’
‘Thanks,’ I say darkly. ‘But this is one visit I’m better off making on my own.’
‘Just be careful, Moll,’ Eve says then, her voice softening. ‘Nicola’s … well, she’s pretty manipulative.’
I nod, but I don’t make any assurances. Where Nicola’s concerned, nothing is guaranteed.
‘So, look – if you stay here, what will you do for work, do you think? I mean, I’m assuming going back to Spark won’t be an option, even if you’re successful with this legal action.’
‘I think the word used to describe our working relationship now is untenable,’ I say. ‘So, yeah – I’ll need to find something else. And quickly. I know we don’t have a mortgage, but we have more than enough bills to send us under if I don’t find something soon.’
‘We can lend you some money,’ Eve offers. ‘Tide you over.’
‘Thank you,’ I tell her. ‘But if I get really desperate I’ll ask Mum.’ I hate asking Mum for money normally – she only worries – but it’s better than incurring late payment charges, final warning letters, or worse, a court order. Our credit situation at the moment is precarious to say the least.
‘I wonder if we know anyone who could help,’ Eve muses, crunching on some nuts. ‘Find you something.’
‘I met Dave for lunch on Tuesday – he seems to think I should freelance. But it’s not that easy. I’ve looked into it before. I could never do it from the cottage – our broadband’s bonkers, and with Alex around all day I’d never get anything done.’
‘Can you rent an office?’
I shake my head. ‘Too expensive.’
‘Hang on,’ Eve says then. ‘I’m an idiot.’
I smile. ‘What?’
‘Do it from ours, Moll – the broadband’s super-fast, and the dining room’s free. We never use it. You’ve seen it – piled high with crap. The last time I dusted that table down was for Christmas ten years ago. It’s perfect.’
I stare at her. ‘Really? I could do that? Tom wouldn’t mind?’ Not for the first time, I am taken aback by Eve’s generosity.
‘Of course he wouldn’t. It’s the perfect solution, Moll. If you decide not to go to London, I mean.’
I nod, let it all sink in for a moment or two. ‘Wow, thanks, Eve. That could … well, that could work.’
‘I should have thought of it sooner. Could have saved you a shedload of hassle having to work for those arseholes.’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure I’d have been ready to make the leap before now. I’ve been so obsessed with stability, not rocking the boat. But … it does feel like now could be the right time. What do I have to lose?’
‘I’d offer you the spare room,’ Eve says then, ‘but … we might be needing it soon.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Moll, I’ve been dying to tell you. I’m pregnant,’ Eve says.
‘What?’ I squeal so loudly that the woman at the table next to us jumps and flings her drink all over her blouse. Even Alex looks over at us from across the bar, his face clouded by the distraction.
‘I’m sorry!’ Eve laughs as the woman with the drink all over her top gasps and flails desperately for a napkin. She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’m pregnant. I just told her the good news.’
The woman’s face breaks into a smile. ‘I’ll forgive you then,’ she says, because that’s what people do, isn’t it, around pregnant ladies or people with babies? They forgive bizarre behaviour, because babies are so joyful. I wish people would forgive Alex in the same way when he disturbs someone, annoys them, causes a commotion.
‘Eve,’ I say as she turns back to me, and I pull her into a hug, ‘I didn’t even know you guys were trying.’
‘Well,’ she says, brushing a strand of fair hair from her eyes, all flushed and happy. ‘We weren’t, exactly. But you know – things change.’
Ah yes, they do. Don’t I know it.
‘So, how far gone are you?’ I ask her excitedly, though there’s a tiny part of me that is swallowing my own sharp pang of envy, the same way I always do when I see a pregnant woman or find out someone’s expecting. Only it’s sharper when it’s a friend or someone close to me – and laced with guilt too, that I’d be considering my own situation when all I should be concentrating on is feeling happy for them.
‘Ten weeks. I shouldn’t be telling you yet really – I agreed with Tom that I wouldn’t until we’re twelve weeks, but … well, it’s you, Moll. I couldn’t not, could I?’
‘I’m so glad you have.’
‘And even better – if you are freelancing from ours when the baby comes along, you can see him or her every day.’
My heart swells, and I reach for my drink. ‘That is just … so perfect. It couldn’t be any better timed.’
Eve’s face falls a little. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being completely insensitive.’
‘No! Don’t be ridiculous, Eve. This is fantastic news. I couldn’t be happier for you.’
‘With everything going on … and I know how much you want a family of your own …’ She shakes her head. ‘I can be so slow sometimes. I’m sorry.’
From across the bar, I notice Alex high-fiving his pool buddy, presumably after potting something. He really is in an extraordinarily good mood tonight.
‘Eve, not everything is about me, and not everything is about Alex. I do know that. This is incredible news – there’s not a part of you that should feel guilty, or like you can’t share it all with me.’ I take her hand. ‘So when can you find out what you’re having?’
‘Not yet. Second scan.’
‘And are you going to find out?’ She did, I think, for both Isla and George.
‘Oh, God yes. Couldn’t bear the suspense. Tom’s easy like always, but I definitely want to know. You know – should we get Isla’s old baby clothes out of the loft, or George’s?’
‘I’d want to know too,’ I confide, indulging the fantasy I once dreamed of myself, about the moment Alex and I got
to discover the sex of our own baby. We would have gripped hands, stared at the screen, waited to be told, then cried when we heard the words – whatever they were.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Next round is definitely on me.’
It’s only about twenty minutes later that I realize Alex has vanished. ‘Where’s Alex?’
Eve glances around the pub. ‘I don’t know. I can’t see him. Toilet, maybe?’
I get to my feet, unable to stop the panic that is by now instinct whenever he’s disappeared without warning. The karaoke has just started and a small crowd has gathered – maybe he vanished because he couldn’t stand the noise.
‘Oh, Moll,’ Eve says suddenly, her voice heavy with apprehension. ‘I see him.’
I follow her gaze, half convinced my eyes are about to land on Alex and Nicola cosied up in a corner somewhere, feeding each other pork scratchings, flirting and giggling.
But I’m not sure if what I actually see is in fact far worse.
Alex is in line for the microphone, biting his lip, looking as serious as if he’s waiting in the wings to make his debut on the West End stage. His knuckles have whitened around the water bottle he’s gripping.
‘Oh no,’ I mutter, setting down my drink. ‘I’d better get him.’
‘No, don’t.’ Eve grabs my arm, pulls me back down into my seat. ‘Why, if he wants to do it?’
And he must really want to do it, because as a rule, Alex doesn’t wait in a queue for anything.
‘I don’t want him to humiliate himself.’
‘Er, Moll? It’s karaoke – humiliating yourself is kind of the point.’ She gestures towards the middle-aged woman currently failing to impersonate Kylie Minogue.
‘I don’t want people laughing at him, if he’s not in on the joke. It could all end really badly.’
‘It’s not a joke, it’s a bit of fun. Alex gets that.’
I look doubtfully at Alex’s set face. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Fine, it goes wrong – we pull him out.’ She nods towards the landlord. ‘Chris knows us well enough by now. Just relax.’
I swallow, settle back into my chair, cross my legs (and my fingers). ‘Yeah, okay.’
We wait for thirty more excruciating seconds, and then Alex is up. A hush falls over the bar, because most people in here know about Alex, about his accident, that he is usually not disposed to breaking into song. A few people turn to stare at me, to see how I am reacting.
‘Oh no,’ I whisper to Eve, ‘we have to stop him.’ The bar will be in stitches. I can feel the humiliation swell up inside me on Alex’s behalf.
‘No, don’t,’ Eve whispers, nudging me gently.
But I am quickly struck dumb by the sound of the opening chords. The song is our song, the one we chose for the first dance at our wedding. The song he’s always sung to me, despite the fact he’s always been tone deaf, the song that’s had both of us laughing at his tunelessness in bed late at night. It’s the song we squeezed hands to whenever we heard it on sound systems in pubs or bars, the song we kissed soppily to at parties. But it is also a song about lost love, and every lyric has taken on a new poignancy since Alex’s accident. My stomach flattens and I freeze in my seat, my heart thumping in time to the music. I am too afraid to move my head or even my eyes in case I start to cry and cannot stop.
And then he pushes his fair hair back from his face and starts to sing. And I am, quite literally, astounded. Not only can he remember every single lyric, but he hits each note with near perfection. He is concentrating so hard, his forehead furrowed, staring out ahead of him like he’s reading the notes and words off a blank page in his mind.
The bar is completely silent, and for good reason: he sounds incredible. This, the man who could struggle to hold a tune on a good day. Who frequently forgets the most basic of words, like dog or car.
I have heard about cases of people waking up from a coma speaking fluent Mandarin or some such – or people who have had a stroke and lose the capacity to speak but somehow become able to sing. It’s almost how I felt when I first discovered his sketchpad, but up a notch – because I would never, ever have expected this of Alex. I’ve heard him humming occasionally at home, but he’s never sung before – at least, not around me.
Eve grips my hand as my husband transforms into a dusky-voiced singer in front of us, suddenly able to captivate an entire room. I am fighting the urge to cry long before he turns his head to look at me; but when he does, a single tear escapes and rolls down my cheek, landing in my lap.
It is another glimmer: he is serenading me in front of an entire room, singing to me about lost love, and I cannot bear how painful it is, how hard it is to hear the lyrics in the context of everything I’ve been thinking for the past few weeks. He is looking right at me, the old Alex returned, asking me to hang on. Subconsciously, he knows – about the job offer, my doubts, my near-miss with Graeme – everything. So he’s surfacing, from everything he’s going through, to ask me again to please hold on. Don’t give up on me, Moll.
Just when I think I have totally lost him, for a few precious moments I always find him again.
I hold his gaze, knowing that I only have a minute or so left – that after that, the spell will be broken. I am determined to see it through, not to miss a single second.
But then, as suddenly as it began, it is over. The bar breaks into fevered, sincere applause, and Alex manages a lopsided smile before abandoning the microphone.
I will him to come over to me, to turn right instead of left, to remember me after the music has stopped. So I don’t move – I just keep my eyes on him. Please don’t let it end yet, Alex. I’m still here, waiting for you. Let’s enjoy being us for just a few more moments.
As the applause thunders on, I can feel the eyes of the bar on me, as if it is me who has done the incredible thing, as if they are congratulating me.
And now, to my complete surprise and joy, he does come back over to the table, sits down next to me and takes my hand. Eve, bless her, has silently slipped away, to let us have our moment.
‘Our song,’ he says, kissing me on the cheek, entirely unprompted.
This could be a dream.
I let the tears slide down my cheeks now. ‘You were amazing, Alex. It was like dancing our first dance all over again.’
He smiles soppily at me in a way I haven’t seen for so long. Since that night, possibly.
‘They’re all clapping for you,’ I say, daring finally to sneak a look around the room. ‘This is all for you.’
He leans back in his seat and takes a sip of my drink. Though temporarily happy, he’s exhausted by the effort – and slowly, incrementally, my old Alex leaves the room as invisibly as he entered it.
But later that night, I find him again. As he flops down on to the mattress next to me, I don’t stop him when I feel his hands move across to me. Tonight I have left the curtains open so we can see the stars from our bed – that dizzying map of constellations imprinted against the inky sky. Little sparks of light to remind me that, however dark the night, brightness can still be found, if you’re willing to look for it.
I can’t really make out Alex’s features, so I picture his face as it was in the pub, staring right into my eyes, sending unexpected electricity shooting through me. It felt like magic, and so does this. And as he moves on top of me I tell him I love him, and tonight feels more intimate than it has any time in the past three years. It feels more like it did when we were trying to get pregnant – never functional, as so many people warned us it would be (one of Phoebe’s friends even referred to it as a chore) – but exactly how we wanted our children’s lives to begin. A starry-eyed start, an act of complete and utter adoration.
Soon it is all over, but even as our bodies gradually withdraw from one another, he reaches out to me, eyes already shut. The muscle memory returns once more – he runs his hands through my hair, lets thick strands of it curl round his fingers. It always used to lull me to sleep, but tonight I am wide awake, sh
ot through with the adrenaline of hope.
As I stare at the ceiling, I wonder what would happen now if we were to throw caution to the wind and fall pregnant? Will I ever have the courage to do that? How would it be? What would our lives become? I picture Eve and her little family of four – soon to be five – and my heart aches once more for what Alex and I have both lost. Because whether he knows what he’s lost or not, they were all Alex’s dreams too.
‘Love is all you need,’ I whisper to him against the skin of his cheek as he falls slowly to sleep, squeezing his hand as it starts to slacken in my hair.
And then I feel it. A single squeeze back, to let me know he loves me too.
I finally let the tears fall without trying to stop them as I watch him sleeping, and all at once I know that even while he sleeps he is fighting to keep me, just as I must continue to fight for him. No matter what the future holds, no matter what has already passed, he is struggling to tell me, I love you, Moll. Don’t give up on me now. I’m still trying. I’m still fighting for us.
I shut my eyes, recall the last time we made love before his accident. It is imprinted on my memory, and I never want to forget it. We had been out for dinner, our favourite Italian, and it was one of those meals where we weren’t really concentrating on the food. We ended up leaving before dessert and coffee, catching a cab instead of waiting for the bus, snogging all the way home on the back seat like teenagers. And then we kissed on the front doorstep for what seemed like hours before we finally went inside, but we never even made it upstairs.
Much later, we fell asleep half clothed on the rug in front of our ancient incumbent wood burner as the warmth of the embers inside it slowly died.
20
Molly – present day
The morning after Alex serenaded me at the pub, I return from a quick trip to the corner shop for groceries to see someone rushing out of our front gate. I pause for a moment, initially assuming it to be Darren – he’s got some guest passes for his gym and has managed to persuade Alex to join him this morning. But he’d be a couple of hours early, and anyway, it’s not Darren – being as he’s neither female nor a particular fan of tight-fitting bright purple activewear.