‘Did you not use protection,’ Kim says.
‘Well, no, obviously bloody not,’ I snap.
‘Okay, okay, sorry. Just asking.’ Kim softens. ‘Right, well, you have to tell David.’
‘No way. He’ll break up with me.’
‘You don’t know that for sure.’
My eyes narrow as I glare at my best friend, becoming increasingly more frustrated. ‘You’re the one who told me what’s-her-name from the swim team likes him. Maybe he likes her too?’
‘So what if he does. A baby won’t change that. Emma, you still have to tell him.’
‘No,’ I growl. ‘I’m not telling anyone. And you can’t either. I’ll sort something out. But I don’t want anyone to know.’
Kim’s disapproval is written all over her face, and she turns away from me and goes back to reapplying her mascara in the mirror.
‘Kim, I’m serious. You have to promise me you won’t tell a soul.’ I grip her shoulder harder than I should. ‘Promise me.’
‘Okay, Emma. Stop freaking out.’ She shakes her shoulder free from my grip and wraps her arms around me, hugging me so tight she forces a gush of air to rush out of my open mouth. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I promise.’
Present day
The vicious wind blows large snowflakes into my face. It’s so cold they stick to my eyebrows and lashes without melting. I rattle the key in the front door, and the gust of hot air that rushes to meet me as I push the door open is orgasmic. I peel off my coat and drop it and my handbag onto the bottom step of the stairs. I call out for David, expecting him to appear from upstairs where the landing light is on, but he doesn’t come.
An uneven crunch beneath my boots startles me, and I flick on the hall light, surprised to find shattered glass and a broken picture frame on the floor. My breath hitches in my throat, as my first fear is a break-in. But I quickly realise there was no damage evident from outside, the door lock was normal, and there was no open or broken windows, at least none that I noticed. Amber! It must be Amber; maybe she called over to tell David about the baby. Maybe an argument broke out. I shake my head. David would never raise a hand to a woman. Not even a bitch like Amber. If anyone got hurt here, it was David.
I drag my hand around my face and accept that my imagination is running away with me. Amber would be no match physically for David, so it would be stupid for her to take him on. And one thing I know Amber is not is stupid. I also know for certain that Amber was on the train home with me tonight. She can’t be in two places at once.
I bend down and gather up the twisted, wooden picture frame. I drag the straightest side along the hall tiles to gather the shattered glass into a neat pile. I find the back of the frame, which has come free in the fall and use it as a makeshift dustpan. With the help of the frame, I guide the glass onto it. I don’t notice a large, sharp piece of glass wedged next to the skirting board until I lean against it and it rips through the flesh at the base of my thumb. It sweeps all the way across my palm right up to the tip of my baby finger. I scream and drop everything out of my hands. Tiny specks of glass rain down and bounce against the tiles before settling in countless scattered directions. I twist my shaking hand around to inspect the damage. Finding the cut, I watch as burgundy blood floods my palm. It’s too messy to see how deep it is, but I guess from the volume of blood that it might need stitches. It hurts. A lot.
Blood trickles onto the floor and dries against the cream porcelain tiles in neat circles. It almost looks as if it’s supposed to be there, like it’s just a part of the pattern on the tile. I leave the mess of glass and blood and scurry to the kitchen. I flick on the light, and feeling faint, I make my way towards the sink. I grab the countertop with my other hand and run some water. I sway on the spot as I wait for the flow of water to become tepid before I dare to stick my throbbing hand anywhere near it.
‘Emma, oh my God, what have you done to yourself?’ David’s voice behind me startles me, and I let go of the countertop and turn around.
My knees buckle as the familiar darkness dares to creep across my eyes as I lean my back against the press and slowly slide towards the floor.
My husband races towards me from the door arch between the kitchen and the hall. He knocks off the tap with one hand and his other hand slides under my arm as he tucks my chest into his and we slide the rest of the way to the floor together. There’s no loud bang as we collide with the ground, but I know David’s body has taken the brunt of the fall. He doesn’t acknowledge any discomfort or pain. He just holds me. I can feel his heart beat against my breasts. It pounds so ferociously it feels as though it will rip through his chest and jump into mine.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I mumble.
‘Hush, hush,’ he says as he strokes my hair.
‘I tried to tidy up, and I made an even bigger mess.’
‘It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.’ David trembles.
I drop my head against his shoulder and nuzzle my nose into his warm neck. And we sit. Together. Tangled as one.
It’s a long time later before David slides his fingers between my chin and his shoulder and my face turns to take in his.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. Kind of,’ I say, pulling my floppy body away from his to sit independently. ‘Sorry if I scared you.’
David shrugs. His familiarity with the situation pinches.
‘It was an accident.’ I nod, expressively. ‘I … I … I tried to tidy up … but the glass was sharp… I didn’t see it.’
‘Okay. Okay.’ David exhales like all the air in his body comes rushing out with those two simple words.
‘David, it really was an accident. I didn’t try to hurt myself on purpose. I promise.’
David’s eyes meet mine. I love my husband’s eyes. They’re big and round, and they sparkle as bright as the sky on a summer’s day. They don’t sparkle now, and I realise they haven’t in a long time. It’s as if the weight of life and the stress of being married to me have dampened his bright spirit. He hides it well with kind words and kisses, but his eyes tell the truth. David is as broken as I am.
‘Here, let me see,’ David says softly.
I let him take my hand in his. He reaches overhead and grabs a clean tea towel from the draining board.
‘I don’t think there’s any glass in here,’ he says, gently manipulating my hand to catch the best light. ‘But it’s deep. Really deep. I think it might need stitches.’
‘It’s fine. I’m fine,’ I lie.
I wince as David catches the edges of my gaping skin and gentle draws them back together with his shaking fingers. This isn’t the first time David has pieced my wounded flesh back into its rightful place, and the silence that hangs over us tells me David and I recall the same painful memories.
‘There,’ he says, wrapping the tea towel around my hand and applying a hint of pressure. ‘I think we should go to the hospital and get this looked at.’
I shake my head. ‘Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. Don’t worry.’
I don’t want to go the hospital. And I know he doesn’t either. There was a time when I was there so often with various wounds that the doctors and nurses suspected I was an abused spouse. I still remember the way they looked at David. Like his existence made them sick.
‘I’m sorry,’ David says. ‘I shouldn’t have left the glass on the ground. I should have tidied up. But I was in a hurry.’
‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. ‘It was an accident. Definitely not your fault. And I really am okay. I promise.’
David tosses me a familiar look. The one that tells me he doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t believe I’m okay. Maybe he’s right. Behind his composed façade is fear—David is constantly terrified. And for once, I understand he looks at me this way because he loves me. He’s not afraid of me. He’s afraid of losing me. He’s petrified of feeling empty and lost without me. He’s terrified of feeling exactly how I feel. Danny didn’t just take his l
ife when he jumped in front of that train. He took a piece of my heart. It’s a piece I will never get back. It belongs with Danny. Wherever he is—that piece has always been his. I understand that now. There is a Danny-shaped hole in my heart where our conversations once sat. A cavity stings where our tea mornings and biscuit-eating afternoons belonged. And it hurts. It hurts so much more than any blade I’ve ever dragged through my flesh. It hurts more than Amber sleeping with my husband or trying to pull my job and my life out from under me. And I realise if I can still wake up every morning, if the pain hasn’t crushed the life out of me in my sleep, then I still cling to life. My life. This life. It belongs to me. Only me. Not even to David or Danny and certainly not Amber. It’s mine, all mine, and it’s up to me to make it the best life it can be. No one can fix me; I have to heal myself. And I want to.
‘David, I have something I have to tell you.’
David swallows and slides a little closer to me until his thigh brushes against me. I guess he wants to touch me in some small way. Of all the things David could have said or done at this moment, his choice of subtle embrace is exactly what I needed. I wonder if he knows that. And I smile because I think he does.
I turn my head, close my eyes, and kiss his lips. He tastes of mint and warmth, and I don’t want to ever draw away. But he makes the decision for me and pulls back.
‘Thanks.’ He smiles, like a shy schoolboy. ‘What was that for?’
‘Because I love you. I’ve always loved you.’
‘Emma, I know. I love you too.’
‘I want to remember what your mouth feels like on mine,’ I say, struggling to hold back tears.
David’s eyes narrow, and the familiar look of fear creeps in from the corners, hurting my heart.
‘You want to remember?’ he echoes. ‘Are you planning not to kiss me anymore?’
‘No,’ I whimper. ‘But I don’t think you’ll want to kiss me anymore once you know the truth.’
‘Emma, I will always want to kiss you.’
David presses his lips onto mine for reassurance. ‘Always,’ he whispers from his open mouth into mine.
‘Oh, David,’ I break away, unable to hold back tears any longer. ‘I’ve done something terrible. Something so terrible I don’t know if you’ll be able to forgive me. I don’t expect you to, but I have to tell you. I can’t keep this secret anymore. It’s destroying me.’
David’s body stiffens. He’s petrified. I can read him. I wish I had told him the truth when we were just a pair of kids. It would have been easier then.
‘David, I had an abortion,’ I stutter; the words tumble from my lips like delicate drops of rain, and I instantly feel the dark clouds of guilt gather over my head just saying it.
‘When?’ David blinks.
‘What?’ I stiffen, oddly unprepared for having to answer the most obvious question.
‘You heard me,’ David says.
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘When, Emma?’ David’s lips move, but his teeth are pressed tightly together.
He’s angry. I wasn’t expecting anything less, but my stomach somersaults with apprehension nonetheless.
‘It was just before graduation.’ A dry cough rips against the back of my throat like a rusty nail. ‘A month before my eighteenth birthday.’
David exhales slowly, and I wonder if he’s counting backwards in his head. His eyes are glassy, and the lines in his forehead are deeper and more pronounced than usual, but if you didn’t know him as well as I did, you could easily believe the news is slipping right off him as if his skin were made of wax.
‘You took a trip to London just before your birthday,’ David reminds me. ‘You said you were going to check out universities.’
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know any way to make this easier.
‘I was so worried you were going to accept a course in England and move away.’ He wilts.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my own redundant words disgusting me.
‘Did you even check out universities while you were over there, or was it just a cover story?’
‘I didn’t visit any colleges,’ I admit. ‘I had to stay overnight in the clinic after the procedure so…’
‘So you lied to me.’
‘Yes.’
David’s eyes swirl and finally find their way to land on mine. He shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak. The low hum of the fridge is the only noise in the otherwise deathly silent kitchen.
‘Please say something,’ I beg, unable to take the stillness for a moment longer.
‘I’m sorry,’ he purrs.
‘Sorry? God, don’t be sorry. How is any of this your fault? I’m the one who should be sorry.’ I search for a clue of how he’s feeling in his eyes, and when I find his pupils are swollen and dark like the sea after a storm, my heart sinks.
I want him to be furious. I even want him to hate me. I don’t want him to be upset or hurt. I don’t want him to be broken. Broken like me.
‘I’m sorry that I’m not the man I thought I was.’ He sighs.
‘What?’ I shake my head.
‘When I asked you to marry me, I wanted to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I never want you to feel afraid or scared. Especially not of me. I failed.’
‘David, you do make me happy. Of course, you do.’
David drags his hands around his face, scrunching his skin and pulling it in different directions. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Emma?’
‘I didn’t know how,’ I admit. ‘I was afraid.’
‘Of me?’
‘No. Just afraid. I thought you might want to break up. Or you might want the baby and I didn’t. Not then. Not when I was only a kid myself.’
David’s head bobs slowly up and down, but no other part of him moves. It’s as if my words are reaching him, but I can’t tell if they’re bouncing off him or if they’re really going in.
David reaches for my good hand, and I grab his so tightly I must be crushing his fingers, but he doesn’t budge.
‘Emma, I was an eighteen-year-old boy. I could barely decide what I wanted for lunch, never mind make a life-changing decision about whether my girlfriend should carry my kid. But you should have told me. It was my baby too. We should have figured it out together.’
‘I know. I feel guilty about it every single day. Guilty for what I did. But even more guilty because I did it behind your back.’ I allow my teary eyes to look at my husband.
‘It was a life at the end of the day.’ David sighs, and I wonder if he wants to cry. I do. ‘One we created. But we were just babies ourselves.’
David twists on the spot until his whole body turns towards mine. ‘Do you know my biggest regret?’
I shake my head.
‘That I wasn’t there for you. You must have been terrified, and I was probably out playing footie with the lads or something. I wish you had told me, Emma. But not for me. I wish you had told me for you. I wish I could have been there for you. Could have held your hand. Could have told you we would be okay because, no matter what, we would have been okay.’
‘Are we okay now?’ I drag my sleeve over my hand and use it to wipe my eyes.
‘I’ve watched you torture yourself over the years, and it breaks my heart.’ David pauses and glides his hand through his floppy blond hair. ‘I don’t think this is about me forgiving you, Emma. I think you need to forgive yourself.’ David swallows a lump of air so large I actually see his throat swell trying to force it down. ‘Can you?’
My grip on David’s hand grows even tighter, and I nod.
‘Then we’ll be okay.’ He smiles.
‘I love you,’ I say.
‘I love you too.’
David untangles his fingers from mine and reaches around his back and slides something out of his jeans pocket. ‘Do you remember this?’
I stare at the photograph in his hand. David’s and my smiling faces are gazing up at me.
&nbs
p; ‘That was a great day,’ I say. ‘I can’t believe you asked me to marry you the day I graduated from college.’
‘I would have asked you the day we finished school, but it took me four years of college to work up the courage.’ David laughs. ‘I still can’t believe you said yes.’
‘We’re good together, aren’t we?’ I sniffle.
‘Emma, I … Oh God, how do I say this …’ David’s grip on his hair is so tight it drags his skin taut across his forehead.
I press a single finger against his parted lips. ‘Shh. It’s okay. We’re okay.’
David kisses my fingertip before pushing my hand away. ‘Emma, it’s Amber …’ He can barely draw a breath.
‘I know.’ I frown. ‘I know about the baby. She told me.’
‘Oh, God. Oh, God.’ David’s shoulders round, and his whole upper body collapses.
‘It’s okay.’ I slide my arm around his back and pull him close to me. ‘I don’t believe her.’
Chapter Thirty-One
DAVID
I lie in bed beside my wife and watch her sleep. I study every inch of her beautiful face. Her button nose and her eyes that flicker as she dreams. I want to check on her hand, but she has the duvet tucked tightly around her neck, and I’m afraid to move it in case I disturb her. It took hours to get her calm enough to close her eyes, even though I knew she was exhausted. She was so wound up.
We spent all evening talking. Well, Emma talked. I listened. She told me about Danny’s estranged family and about her visit to his solicitor. I thought she’d be more excited about inheriting a share of an expensive property, but I could tell she was choking on tears as she told me. I tried to make her feel better. I suggested we put the money towards getting our own place. I said we should buy that cottage she had her heart set on. She was so excited about that house a few months ago, but she barely smiled at the idea now. No matter what I tried to say or however often I tried to change the subject, Emma always seemed to drag Amber’s name into every second sentence. Emma is obsessed. She blames Amber for everything. I’m more worried about her now than I ever have been. And it’s all my fault.
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