The Book of Love

by Fionnuala Kearney

  ‘No … surprises are not cool … like, when I found a wad of bookie receipts stuffed into your suit pocket.’ Erin angled herself in the seat to look right at him. A tell-tale flush, just pink enough creeping up his neck. ‘Dom?’

  He stared ahead. ‘That was months ago.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but …’ she chose her words carefully, unsure about the timing of this conversation. She didn’t want to spoil things but had promised herself to talk to him about it. ‘I just want to be sure you’re not risking money we can’t afford to lose, especially when you go to that club of your dad’s.’

  She watched him slowly scratch the stubble on the end of his chin. ‘I know he calls it a gentlemen’s club,’ she said, ‘and I’ve already checked with your mother that there are no strippers—’

  Dom laughed, turning to glance at her. ‘You “checked with my mother that there are no strippers”. How did that go down?’

  ‘She laughed at me. Explained that it was just a posh members-only place with poker games and roulette tables.’

  ‘That’s about it. But you know all this, Erin.’

  ‘I suppose I do. I think I just want you to tell me you never gamble there, that bookies are your limit. Betting there seems like something we definitely can’t afford.’

  Dom chewed his bottom lip while Erin regretted saying a word.

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about.’ He patted her knee and she sighed aloud. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘Good, because money’s going to be tight with the new mortgage.’ Erin swallowed her concerns enough to allow a smile at the fact that from the following Tuesday they would own their own home. The flat at Hawthorn Avenue, the place she so loved living, would be theirs. Sure, it was small, the twins had to share a room, but as Dom had pointed out when the idea was first muted – stay there a few years, by which time he’d be earning more, and then they’d move to somewhere bigger. It was a hugely generous thing his parents had done – selling them the flat at the price they had paid for it five years earlier, handing them the equity already gained.

  She was thinking of her generous parents-in-law when Dom spoke again.

  ‘Do you really hate surprises?’

  Erin laughed.

  ‘It’s just I didn’t know that about you.’

  ‘I suppose there’s a lot we still don’t know about one another.’

  ‘So, say if I won the lottery and only told you when we got the cheque?’

  She frowned. ‘That wouldn’t work. I’d want to know sooner.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The control thing. The fact that it would be something we’d both have to decide how to handle. I mean would we remain anonymous, for example? All of that would have to be decided before we got the cheque.’

  ‘You wouldn’t trust me to make the right decision for us?’ He glanced again, eyes wide and Erin hesitated for just a fraction too long. ‘Really?’ Dom shook his head laughing. ‘To hell with that. If we ever win the lottery, I’m going to surprise you with it.’

  ‘If we ever win the lottery, you’d better tell me and don’t try and double the amount either in a bookies or your dad’s club before you get home.’

  ‘Ooo-hhh.’ He winced. ‘Noted. And I’ve learned you definitely don’t like surprises.’

  Erin flushed. ‘Last night was a lovely surprise, I—’

  ‘You’re just an ungrateful wench,’ he teased.

  ‘Stop, Dom, I loved it. I …’

  ‘Relax, love. I’m messing with you.’

  Erin dropped her head back on the headrest.

  ‘Why don’t you try and sleep for half an hour. When we’re home with the twins crawling all over us, you’ll wish you had.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ Reaching across she found his hand on the gear stick. ‘For everything.’

  ‘Surprise!’

  Erin leapt backwards in the doorway almost knocking Dom over. In the same moment, she caught sight of a sea of faces lining the hallway. She spotted Fitz, at the back, as always. In front of him were her in-laws and above the picture rail running the whole length of the room was a sign: “Congratulations on your new home!”

  He whispered in her ear. ‘Sorry.’

  Erin forced a smile as Hannah limped forwards and handed a crying Jude to her and Dom headed to Lydia to take a silent Rachel’s hand. ‘I tried to tell him,’ Hannah murmured. ‘Tried to say you wouldn’t like it.’ Erin cuddled Jude, bounced him on her hip, fought a strong urge to turn around and run. Fast. Back to the forest in Hampshire. She shook her head at the glass offered by Nigel.

  ‘Just a toast, love,’ he urged, so she took it.

  Lydia was by his side. ‘Good time?’ she asked.

  ‘Lovely,’ Erin smiled. ‘Thanks for being here. Were they okay for you?’

  ‘Good as gold until an hour ago. Jude’s tired. He needs a nap.’

  ‘I’ll put him down now, then we’ll catch up.’

  In the twin’s bedroom, she paced the floor holding Jude, whose head was crooked into her neck. With her right hand, Erin stroked the little boy’s sandy hair with the barest of feather-light fingertip touches they both loved. Within minutes, he slept, a soft snore fluttering through his little mouth. ‘Jude and Rachel will be fine’, she whispered to the darkened room as she lay him down on his back. She blew him a kiss, put her hand on the cold brass door handle and took a very deep breath. On the other side of the door, she closed it softly, trying not to wake him and headed towards the noise of the living room to find Rachel and Dom.

  Across the span of people, she spotted Fitz and smiled. It was so good to see him. Her father had a way of refilling her well, making her see the positive in everything. As she made her way to him, she watched as he stood aside and with a dramatic sweep of his hands revealed her brother, Rob, whom she hadn’t seen since he visited briefly two years ago. Erin’s hand went to her mouth. Next to Rob, Dom with Rachel balanced on his hip, raised a glass in her direction. ‘Surprise,’ he mouthed, and she burst into tears.

  6th March 2000

  Darling Dom,

  You do so much for me. (Thank you for the wonderful night away, and for Rob!) Thank you, thank you, Dom. You get me, and I love you.

  Remember when we were lying in bed in the hotel talking and you promised then to try harder at this; try harder at coming to these pages. I think you heard me when I said I find it easier, safer.

  Today, because we’re feeling close right now, I’m able to open up to you about how I’m feeling, how I’m actually struggling. And also, because tomorrow, though there’s no actual moving involved, we will own the flat, it feels like a new chapter. So, here goes:

  If I’m honest I think you already know. I think you’ve probably tried to talk to me about it and I’ve shut you down before. I’m sorry.

  I suffer with the most awful, consuming, frightening anxiety. When I feel it coming, it’s terrifying because there’s nothing I can do to stop it except pass through it as best I can, knowing it won’t last, knowing I’ll get to the other side. When you’ve tried to talk to me and you’ve used the words, ‘postnatal depression’ I get pissed off because this is nothing to do with having been pregnant. The fact is, my stomach’s been twisting around itself for years. I’ve been dealing with anxiety of some sort since the day Fitz told me my mother was dying. I was sixteen.

  I don’t want labels or pills. I want to be able to talk to you, the man I love. But, I can’t. I mean I’m doing it here, but something stops me being frank with you in person. I think it’s because I can’t bear the thought of disappointing you, or maybe I’m afraid you’ll judge me and think I should just pull myself the hell together.

  I’m not looking at you now so I’m just going to do this, tell you ALL of the stuff that’s getting me down and probably contributing:

  1. Money. I know it’s tight. I want to help and feel terrible that I can’t add to the household pot.

  2. Your ‘dabbling’ as you call it. It’s not dabbling, Dom,
it’s gambling, and we can’t afford it.

  3. I need more, not more from you, but more than dirty nappies and I feel so guilty for feeling this. I think I want to get back into work. (Maybe re-train?)

  4. I hate being fat. I hate my body after pregnancy. I know you try and make me feel good, that you tell me I’m still gorgeous, but I don’t believe you.

  5. I feel like I’m losing my friends because I’m such a misery and I smell of baby wipes. Lydia and Hannah went out to a wine bar last week and I only heard about it afterwards.

  6. Sex. Hopefully we’re getting back on track because I miss it too. I really do. I miss touching you. I miss you touching me.

  7. Have you realised that it used to be me asking you if you were happy? And nowadays not a day goes by without you asking me instead, and I smile a reply ‘Of course I’m happy …’

  When did that happen?

  All my love, Erin xx

  7th March 2000

  My darling Erin,

  Tomorrow, we’re going to the doctors together. Don’t make me bring this book to show him how you really feel. You can talk to me any time – here or in person – but you need to talk to him too, Erin, please?

  Love you mightily,

  Dom xx

  8th March 2000

  Darling Dom,

  There was a young man called ‘Steve’

  Whose wife, ‘Pam’, in him did believe

  They went to the docs, she got pills in a box

  And he taught her just how to breathe …

  I love you for a million reasons but mostly, because you’re you.

  Erin xx

  12. Erin

  THEN – September 2001

  She was in her last day of her second week of a three-month intensive business-skills course, when Erin cut class before lunchtime. A pin-prick of guilt niggled as she walked down the steps of the entrance to the local university. The fast-track diploma had taken every penny they had, and it took effort from both Fitz and Sophie to collect the children from playgroup and look after them while she was in tutorials. Though she was grateful to everyone for the help with her desire to get back to work, today she was restless, fretful. She’d woken up that way, reached across for Dom in the dark to find him already gone, and the twitchy feeling had stayed with her through the morning.

  The day was warm and sticky, weather reports promising an Indian summer to last well into October. Erin fanned her T-shirt over the stomach she kept flat with fifty sit-ups each morning, filled her lungs with still air and looked at her watch. She could do the right thing and head back to Sophie, telling her she didn’t need her that afternoon, or she could do the other right thing. The thing that had been on her mind since her lecturer had mentioned the balancing of cash books and excel spreadsheets and she’d realised she needed to see Dom. If she saw him, just plugged herself into him for a few minutes, last night could be forgiven and forgotten. She’d be recharged and her impatience with the day would pass.

  She turned, headed through town to the riverside office of her father-in-law’s practice, stopping at a shop for supplies. As she approached the glass-fronted structure, she scanned the small car park, saw the car and headed through the revolving door.

  ‘Hi, Paula,’ she spoke to the receptionist who had been with Gerard since setting up the firm decades ago.

  ‘Erin, how lovely to see you, is Dom expecting you?’

  ‘No, I thought I’d see if he was free for lunch.’

  ‘He’s up in his office, is in now for the afternoon. You guys are so sweet,’ Paula said.

  Erin thought about the comment as she stood in the lift and pressed the button for Dom’s floor. Was that how people saw them? ‘Sweet.’ The row they’d had the night before had been the furthest thing from sweet that she could imagine. It had been a rare screaming match – about money, again. He earned the money, she spent some of the money, yet every month all of the money seemed to be swallowed up. His cold reaction to the familiar argument had been why she’d stormed off to bed and why remorse had made her reach for him first thing. It was why she hadn’t settled in class, why she’d needed to see him. Life was too short to argue, when they were both just doing their best.

  ‘Aren’t you meant to be in class?’ He asked as soon as he saw her, before adding, ‘You are so playing hooky.’ He shook his head, wagged a finger in her direction and tried to hide his smile as he kissed her cheek.

  ‘Come join me,’ she suggested.

  ‘What? I can’t.’

  ‘Of course you can. It’s an emergency.’

  ‘Can’t do that. You ever hear of the boy who cried wolf? Let’s not tempt fate.’ He had taken a seat, gazed at her over steepled hands.

  ‘But this is an emergency.’

  ‘Erin …’

  ‘Dom, do you trust me?’

  Fifteen minutes later, they were sat in a darkened cinema, empty, but for them.

  Though Erin hadn’t paid for VIP seats, they sat in them anyway. ‘Sue me,’ she’d said aloud as she pulled Dom along the row.

  He shuffled in his seat, tried to straighten his suit trouser crease, kept glancing around.

  ‘Take your jacket off, relax, and turn your phone off,’ she said.

  ‘Look—’

  ‘No, you look. We’re doing this. You’ll love the film. It’s called Rock Star and it’s all about this guy who plays in a tribute band for his favourite rock group and then something happens to the guy who sings, you know the lead vocal guy, and then they look to recruit a new singer and …’ She caught her breath. ‘Pure escapism, you’ll love it.’

  ‘Erin, it’s twelve thirty on a Monday, the start of a very busy week.’

  ‘Life is full of busy weeks. We need this. The kids are with Sophie. You can relax and enjoy it or fight me.’

  She heard his loud sigh just as the opening credits rolled.

  ‘You hungry?’ her voice had dropped to a whisper.

  He shook his head.

  From inside her shoulder bag, she opened a plastic bag and several noisy rustlings later, she placed what looked like a sandwich on his lap.

  ‘What is that?’ he asked.

  ‘Lunch,’ Erin smiled. ‘Eat.’

  Dom picked it up and peered at it. ‘Is this really a Toblerone sandwich?’

  ‘It really is two triangles of Toblerone in between two slices of bread, yes.’

  ‘Yum.’

  ‘Don’t knock it ’til you try it.’

  ‘Not knocking it. I mean it. Yum … We really doing this?’

  She placed a hand over his. ‘When was the last time we did something silly?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  She raised his hand, grazed it with her lips. ‘We used to, way back when we met. We’d just take off to the river, the beach or maybe a National Trust house for the day. We’d pack smelly egg sandwiches and warm beer in your rucksack. We’d do karaoke nights in the King’s Arms when you didn’t dare tell me I can’t sing.’

  In the dark, she could feel his eyes on her. ‘This is about last night,’ he said.

  ‘It’s about last night and it’s about today, now shush, it’s starting.’ She retrieved her hand, sat back in the wide leather seat, and dropped her head to his shoulder.

  Ninety minutes later, they exited the cinema hand-in-hand.

  ‘I should get back to work.’ Dom stretched out his back.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just think I should.’

  ‘No. You should take that infernal phone out of your pocket, the one your father insists on you having with you all the time. And you should call him and tell him that you need time with your wife.’ She shrugged. ‘He’ll hardly sack you.’

  ‘You should go back to class.’

  ‘I should but I’m going home to the kids and I really want you to come too. I want us all to watch CBBC together, then after feeding them crispy pancakes and chips, put them to bed early while you and I have a more grown-up meal – together. Maybe by then we co
uld talk about money without shouting.’

  Dom looked towards the river, towards the route he would take back to work. ‘You’re a bad influence, Erin Carter,’ he said, taking his phone from his jacket pocket and leaving a message with Paula that he wouldn’t be back.

  He was cooking a chilli while she read to the children. Afterwards, in the hallway, with both Jude and Rachel tucked in for the night, she tweaked her hair in the mirror, smacked her lips together. From the kitchen she heard him speak, his voice low. He was on the goddamned mobile phone again. She hated that thing – hated the way it interrupted family life.

  ‘Dad,’ Dom was almost whispering. ‘I said we’ll talk about it. I’m not ignoring it. And today was unavoidable. Erin and I needed some time together.’

  She smiled. Atta boy.

  ‘No. I haven’t told her.’

  Her hand already on the door, she lowered it, poked it into her trouser pocket.

  ‘I’m aware of that. Yes, I do know that—’

  She listened to a large sigh.

  ‘Dad, can we do this tomorrow? I’ve told you I’m not ignoring it. I appreciate what you’ve—’

  Erin shoved the door open and stared at him.

  ‘Gotta go, Dad. See you in the morning.’

  Her husband hung up the phone and smiled widely at her. ‘Just ready to dish up, think I might have gone a little overboard on the chilli.’

  ‘What was that about?’

  ‘What?’ he asked spooning rice and beef chilli into large bowls. ‘Can you get some water?’

  Erin turned the cold tap on, filled two glasses and sat at the table. ‘What were you talking to Gerard about?’

  ‘Just some work stuff.’

  ‘What did you mean when you said you hadn’t told me. What haven’t you told me?’

  Dom frowned, two vertical creases deepening between his eyes. ‘No, that wasn’t about telling you something. It was Louise in work. Client’s not happy with her latest drawings and I’ve got to find a way to tell her. Eat, don’t let it get cold.’

  She could smell it immediately – the clear scent of bullshit. She heard it in the waver in his voice. She could see it in his clear avoidance of her eyes. As she reached for his hand when he handed her a bowl, she could feel it – that reassuring tap-tap of his on the back of her palm, a touch that didn’t comfort. And she tasted it in the food, as if whatever lie he’d just told her had been laced in chilli flakes.