by Leah Mercer
‘Right, better go. I need to save my battery.’ Fiona clicks off, and I slide the phone back into my pocket. Well, at least her request has given me something to do, something to focus on, other than the detritus of my life and my runaway wife. Now, where can I buy pyjamas? I fish out the map the hotel gave me, noting an advertisement in the corner for the Galeries Lafayettes. Perfect.
I flag down a taxi and hop in, leaning back on the seat as it wends through the streets. A strange feeling descends as the shopfronts flash by: a feeling like I’m in an alternate life that isn’t mine. I’m in the middle of Paris, off to a mall to buy something for a woman who isn’t my wife – a woman I’ll spend the night with. It’s so far from where I thought I’d be this morning that I almost can’t grasp it.
But isn’t this what I want? A new start? A clean break from the past? A chance at being happy again? Christ, if Zoe can seek solace somewhere besides me – even if it is just a glass of wine down the pub – then lie about it for two years, surely I can find some pleasure of my own.
‘We are here, monsieur.’
I blink. I hadn’t even realised we’d pulled up to an ornate façade, whose windows are slathered with photos of glamorous women. Shoppers rush across busy streets and into the mall in a steady stream, and I step from the car and join them. Not too long ago the thought of shopping was enough to send me into my man cave. But over the past year, shopping has become one of my favourite pastimes . . . besides work. On the evenings when I finish my projects and Fiona’s not free, I take myself off to a mall near the office. The blinking lights, the music and the constant buzz of people remind me that life does exist. Although I still can’t claim to enjoy shopping itself, I have to agree with Fiona’s assessment that my new wardrobe is a million times better than my old one – not that my wife’s noticed. For the first time in my life, I’m actually ‘on trend’, or so the personal shopper told me. Despite all my time in the mall, I wouldn’t know a trend if it slapped me in the face.
I push through the revolving door and enter the perfume section, the heady mix of fragrance hitting me between the eyes. To my right, a woman sprays scent in the air, and it hangs like mist before dissipating. Even though I can’t see it any longer, the smell washes over me in waves. It’s Flower by Kenzo, the scent Zoe used to wear right up until – well, I don’t know. I rarely get close enough to smell her any more.
My feet stop, as if they’re frozen. I breathe in, memories tumbling over me like sharp stones down a slope, each one coated in that fragrance. The day we decided – or, more accurately, Zoe decided – we could do forever, after all. Our small but intimate wedding ceremony, where she threw her arms around me and kissed me before the registrar even had a chance to declare us husband and wife. The watch she gave me the next morning as we lay in bed, the one I’d been craving for months. The delivery suite, where Zoe was determined to smell nice despite the sweat and slop of labour, and Milo’s sweet face when he first appeared. For the first few hours, he was so scrunched up, we actually did call him Flower, waiting for him to unfurl. A million and one wonderful gifts are wrapped up in that fragrance, their boxes now barren and empty.
But even as the same old loss and pain ricochet through me, another realisation does, too. I was happy, yes, and I loved Zoe with all my heart, but our relationship was never really equal. She was the one calling the shots, making the final decisions: when it came to marriage, babies and even dealing with death. She’s the one who’s gone off, who’s chosen to disappear.
I’m through with running on her time, I think, sliding off the watch I’ve worn since our first day of marriage. I’m done with catering to her needs and desires. From now on, I’ll make my own schedule. I’ll make my own life.
I step on the escalator. It rises up, carrying me higher and higher, away from the lingering scent.
17
ZOE, FEBRUARY 2010
‘I’ve got something for you. An after-Christmas present.’ I roll over onto my tummy and smile up at Edward. ‘Something to tide you through the long, dark days of winter. It’s always so depressing once the festive season’s over and everyone goes back to being a zombie.’ A lock of dark hair flops over his forehead, and I reach out to push it back as my heart picks up pace. God, I hope he likes his gift.
‘An after-Christmas present?’ Edward raises an eyebrow, looking a little nervous. I can’t say I blame him. As a joke, I gave him a particularly hideous, itchy Christmas jumper in a garish orange adorned with a deformed-looking elf. Kudos to him, though: he actually wore it to the pub that Christmas night.
I grope under the bed, then pull out a gift-wrapped package. ‘Here.’ I hand it over then cross my fingers, hoping this will be the magic bullet to make him smile again. Ever since Kate’s wedding and that awkward conversation about our future, things have been a little weird between us. We haven’t talked about it, but I know my response – or lack of response, really – hurt him, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since.
Because I do love him. I do want to be with him. I still don’t think marriage is for me, but I know what we have is special, and I want to enjoy it as much as we can, every day. Taking this step forward means it’ll hurt more if things don’t work out, but for the first time, I’m willing to take that risk.
I hand him the box and he turns it this way, then that, shaking it. ‘Open it!’ I laugh to cover my nerves.
Edward carefully undoes one corner, and I grab the box. ‘We’ll be here forever. Just rip the paper!’ I grab hold of a corner and tear off a strip, and before I know it, there’s a pile of silver wrapping on the bed. ‘Sorry, but you’re killing me,’ I mumble as I hand him the cardboard box.
‘Whoa!’ Edward shakes his head, then jimmies open a corner – not hard, given my lack of Sellotape skills – and lifts the lid.
‘What’s this?’ He fishes out a key, laying it in the palm of his hand.
My heart feels like it’s trying to break out of my chest. ‘It’s the key to my flat.’ My voice is shaky, and I clear my throat. ‘I love you.’ God, it’s been a while since I’ve said those words. ‘And I want to be with you, like, all the time. So I was wondering . . . if you want to move in?’
My fingers grip his as I meet his eyes, and my heart sinks at his tense expression. He doesn’t look happy. He looks more like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. Oh, shit. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. I should have waited longer, should have—
I slip my hand from his grasp and slide the duvet cover over my legs, my movements jerky and stiff. ‘Forget it. Just forget I said anything. If you’re not ready or whatever, that’s fine.’
Edward takes my hand again. ‘Zoe, no: that’s not it at all. I love you, too, so much. It’s just, well, there’s something you need to know before we go any further.’
Oh, God, here we go. ‘You’re really a woman?’ I try to smile, but the corners of my mouth wobble.
‘Ha. Funny.’ Edward squeezes my hand and takes a deep breath. ‘I had mumps when I was thirteen.’
‘So?’ I can feel my brow furrow, and I try to relax it a bit. What the hell does mumps have to do with living together?
‘So, one of the complications can be issues with fertility,’ he says, like he’s just admitted he has bubonic plague. ‘I can’t get you pregnant. I can’t get anyone pregnant, apparently.’
Relief whooshes through me so quickly I feel lightheaded. That was what he needed to tell me? That he can’t get me pregnant? I’ll take that over other possibilities any day.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,’ he says, biting his lip, ‘but I wasn’t sure how serious you were about us. If it’s really important to you, I can get some more tests done, see if there’s other options, maybe, or—’
I lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips, cutting off his words. ‘You’re the main event. The star attraction.’ I smile to take that solemn look from his face. ‘Children, well . . . I’m not against the idea, but I can take them or leave them.’
Edward sits back. ‘But what if you do want them, say, two years from now?’
I shrug. ‘I dunno. We can deal with that if it happens, I guess. We can see some specialists, like you said, or we could always adopt. There are plenty of kids who need two good parents.’ I wince. ‘Oh, God: us as parents! Can you imagine?’
Edward laughs. ‘You’d have the whole wardrobe knitted before the child was born. Poor thing.’
I clunk him on the head. ‘Lucky thing, you mean. You should see what I’ve knitted for Kate’s baby! Anyway, there is a plus side to all this, you know.’ Apart from removing any pressure about marriage, and babies, and all that. ‘Bye-bye birth control!’ I rummage in the drawer by the bed and chuck the packet in the rubbish. ‘I hate those pills.’
Edward watches me with a grin. ‘I love you, Zoe.’ He starts to ease me down on the bed again, but I squirm away.
‘What?’ he asks, suddenly looking worried again.
‘You never answered my question. Will you move in?’
He smiles and moves lower and lower, down my tummy and over my thighs. ‘Let me answer you another way.’
18
ZOE, SATURDAY, 5 P.M.
No matter how fast I walk, memories nip at my heels. It’s as if by allowing that one foray into a corner of my former life, the door has been cracked open. Tears drip from my eyes, like a tap has been turned on. I’m groping blindly, frantically in the dark to shut it off, but images leak out.
The wedding jumper I knitted Edward, our initials entwined. The revolting non-alcoholic wine we toasted our marriage with. The way he touched my tiny bump as we walked from the registry office, his fingers lightly resting on my taut stomach as if his whole world was inside me.
My lungs heave as I quicken my pace even more, scanning the street for somewhere to hide. Up ahead, I see the stone steps of a church, and I hurry towards it. Churches are a neutral zone for me: a place with no ties. I didn’t marry in one, and we didn’t hold Milo’s funeral there, either. An image of his service on a bright, sunny day in the back garden, where he loved playing, pushes at my mind, demanding entry. I hold it back with all my strength, rushing up the steps and into the silent sanctuary of the church. I can’t go there. I can’t.
I collapse into a pew, legs shaking as my chest burns. I might be skinny, but I’m in the worst shape of my life. Hardly surprising, given my mainly liquid diet. I let the silence and the dark sink into me, willing myself back to a numb place. The cavernous space is huge and filled with tourists peering at everything, but their voices are nothing but a low muffle. Then the crowd parts, letting through a beaming bride and her groom, followed by family and friends. God, I didn’t even realise there was a ceremony here! Imagine getting married with dozens of tourists milling around you.
Good luck, I silently mouth to the woman as she passes, not certain if I’m being sarcastic or if I really mean it. I’m not even sure how I feel about marriage right now. In the past two years, any concern for the state of our union has barely crossed my mind. How could I care, given that the most important thing in my life had already been taken away?
Before meeting Edward – seven years ago now, I think? – I was certain marriage wasn’t for me. And then, well . . . everything changed. I let myself fall, succumbing to his idyllic, family-friendly version of the future. Despite my tiredness, the foul nappies and the bleeding nipples, I was in love: with my husband, my baby, my life. I suppose that’s partly why I’ve been so shut off from Edward, why I can’t bring myself to feel for him again. I risked everything by buying into his vision – and he was wrong. He couldn’t have been more wrong, actually.
I twist my wedding band, envisioning the inscription inside, and a memory of us lying in bed the morning after our wedding floats into my head. Edward turned and smiled, then told me to slide off my ring and read the inscription. I raised my eyebrows, thinking it was such a romantic gesture, yet praying to God it wouldn’t be something uber-cheesy I’d be stuck with for the rest of my life. The spindly script and crowded letters on my narrow band were practically undecipherable, but after staring for a few minutes, I was able to make them out.
E & Z. Our own happy ending.
‘Perfect,’ I said, thinking that actually, it was. There was no ‘always’ or ‘forever’, two sentiments which, at that time, still made me feel vaguely uncomfortable. And this was a nod to the story we were writing on our own – our journey, our unique version of the fairy tale.
Pain grips my throat when I picture what that fairy tale has become.
I wonder what Edward thinks now. Does he still believe in forever? Does he still want forever, even if our happy ending’s shattered? The way he’s acting lately, he’s already bowed out. Has he, or does he still care?
I’m not sure which answer I want.
19
EDWARD, APRIL 2010
‘It’s a girl! Kate had a girl!’
My eyes fly open at the sound of Zoe’s voice, and I reach out from where I’m sitting in the waiting area and grasp her hand. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes spark with excitement, and even though it’s the middle of the night, she’s never looked so beautiful. ‘Is everyone all right?’
Zoe nods. ‘Yes, the baby’s absolutely gorgeous, and Kate was amazing. Come on in and say hello.’
‘Okay.’ I rub my eyes, every cell in my body longing for bed. When Kate asked Zoe to be her birthing partner ‘because Giles is useless’, I didn’t realise my presence offside would be required, too. Still, I was only too happy to drive Zoe here once Kate rang to say she was in labour at the hospital. And once we arrived, Zoe kept telling me ‘it wouldn’t be long now’. Twelve hours later . . . I don’t mind, though. Actually, I’ve been a little curious, since the odds of having my own child are firmly stacked against me.
Zoe takes my arm and leads me into the room. On the bed, Kate’s cradling the tiniest baby I’ve ever seen, with crinkly pink skin. Both she and Giles are staring at their child as if they can’t believe she’s here, that this will be theirs forever. Something inside me lurches painfully and I smile to cover it up.
‘Congratulations!’ I touch Kate on the arm and give Giles what I hope is a manly pat on the back. ‘She’s beautiful.’
‘Isn’t she?’ Kate grins over, glowing despite the long, hard labour. ‘I mean, I haven’t a clue what to do with her now, but . . .’
‘You’ll figure it out,’ Zoe says. ‘And you can always ring Auntie Zoe to come round when you need a break!’ She takes my arm again. ‘Right, we’ll give you some family time now. Call me when you’re home, okay?’ She leans down to kiss Kate on the cheek, puts out a finger to stroke the baby’s cheek, then propels me from the room.
Family time. Zoe’s words ring in my head. Giles and Kate are a family, a neat little unit taking on the world together. Husband, wife and child, bound together by genes and love. After seeing them, I realise now how much I want that, but I know it’s not going to happen. It makes me long for the intimacy of marriage all the more.
‘Phew.’ Zoe sags against me out in the corridor. ‘Now that was an experience! Did you see how tiny the baby was? I can’t believe how small her fingers were.’
‘I know.’ I wrap my arms around Zoe, stroking her hair.
‘And can you believe Kate’s a mother? I mean, for God’s sake, they’ve only been married less than a year! It’s all happened so fast.’
I nod. Kate and Giles are the first couple we know really well to have a baby. It’s like they’ve crossed an invisible divide from marriage to parenthood. That same feeling tugs at my stomach and I swallow hard. Has this changed Zoe’s mind about having a baby? And what will that mean for us?
It’s approaching a year now since we met – two months since I moved in – and things between us have never been better. In fact, I don’t think they could be better. I worried at first about Zoe feeling too crowded, or a little freaked out about taking such a big step. But she’s been as loving and happy as ever, and th
e two of us have transformed her flat into a home for us both. Every photo we put up and piece of furniture we buy together lends a sense of permanency to our relationship, and I hope that someday in the future – the near future – she’ll agree to be my wife. I haven’t said anything, since I want it to be a surprise, but I’ve already started looking at rings. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I propose.
‘How are you feeling about everything?’ I scan her face, my shoulders tense. ‘Has this made you change your mind about having kids?’
‘Oh, God, no.’ She shudders. ‘I’ve never seen someone’s stomach contract like that, and I never want to again. It was like something from The Exorcist! And no drugs? Shit. And that baby! So cute, but I’d be afraid to break it.’ She looks up at me. ‘No, I think we’re brilliant, just as we are.’
I drop a kiss on her head, breathing in the smell of her favourite perfume. How have I managed to get so lucky? ‘Come on,’ I say through a yawn, then I take her hand. ‘Let’s go home.’
20
EDWARD, SATURDAY, 6 P.M.
I’m in a man’s version of heaven or hell; I’m not sure which. Bra after lacy bra hangs from rails, along with matching pants. Negligees float on padded hangers, along with some sort of suspender contraptions that look like they’d be better suited to S&M clubs than my bed. Although Zoe did push my boundaries with furry handcuffs, even she never sported lingerie like this.
My brow furrows and I spin slowly in a circle, waiting for divine inspiration . . . Nothing. Fiona said she wanted pyjamas, but I’m hardly going to buy her something long and flannel, am I? Especially now that I’ve made up my mind: Zoe and I are through. Our marriage is over, and unless I want my life to be over too, I need to move on. Funny how I used to believe that by simply uttering a vow, you’d stick together for all eternity. I hate to admit it, but my wife was right to be suspicious of ‘always’ and ‘forever’. Maybe I should have listened. My heart throbs with a hollow ache, but it’s more of a niggling pain – like an old tooth with a cavity – than the sharp kick-in-the-jaw it used to be. I guess you can get used to anything.