Messy, Wonderful Us

by Catherine Isaac

  Ed opens the door to talk to her and she hands him an envelope.

  ‘I got a message that I need to give you Signor McCourt’s address,’ she smiles eagerly. ‘I hope this is all you need?’

  The pause that follows indicates that Ed is thinking what I’m thinking: this wasn’t quite the message. She wasn’t supposed to give away his details; it was meant to be the other way around.

  ‘Grazie,’ I say decisively.

  As the car crunches out of the driveway, I glance at Ed. ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t get into too much trouble.’

  Chapter 43

  Ed

  In the months after the row with Julia on the honeymoon, there were times when Ed would look back and wonder if he’d hallucinated the whole thing. It didn’t take long for his shock and anger to dissolve, like dirty grey clouds scudding out of view, leaving a bright horizon. And one positive had come out of it: they both now realised how much was at stake.

  Julia was determined to demonstrate how much she loved him. They’d cook together on a Saturday night, when she’d slip her arms around his neck as he stirred a risotto, planting her lips on the tender spot below his ears. He’d return from work to find her waiting for him with a gift she’d picked up – cologne or a tie she’d seen and thought would suit him.

  Then there were the intoxicating occasions when he’d walk in to find her draped on the staircase waiting for him, fully made up, wearing nothing but her bewitching smile and silk robe, tantalisingly loose against her freshly bathed skin. He had almost everything a man could want or need to make him happy. There was only one thing missing.

  ‘When do you think we should start trying for a baby?’

  She murmured the question as they sat in a black cab after an industry event, her thigh folded seductively over his, a chiffon ribbon of hair escaping from the clip that held it in place at the back of her head. They’d talked about children at the start of their relationship, just after they’d first met. It was one of the things they had in common, a desire to have a baby, at least two and possibly three she’d said, a thought that had made his heart swell.

  ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.

  She broke into a laugh. ‘Of course!’

  But his throat tightened. ‘I thought you wanted to wait a couple of years first.’

  She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. ‘I’m starting to think that there’s no point in hanging around. My career is going to be there afterwards. A baby could be the making of us, don’t you think?’

  When Ed opened his mouth to reply, something made him hesitate.

  She pulled away and a tiny wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not . . .’ A trail of breath left his lips. ‘You know I can’t wait to have kids.’

  A fierce glint appeared in her eyes and her neck flushed pink. ‘But?’

  He looked straight ahead.

  ‘Ed. There was a definite but about to come there.’

  ‘I suppose I wouldn’t want a baby to be a way of gluing us together, if that makes sense.’

  Part of Ed must have known the potentially ruinous implications of the statement. Julia’s version of marital bliss had been so carefully constructed that to raise doubts about it was akin to pulling out the pin of a grenade and throwing it dead centre. After all, they’d agreed that what happened on the honeymoon was a one-off, that it was all behind them, that everything was better now. It was only once the words had escaped from Ed’s mouth that he realised how strongly he felt them. That the immaculate, attentive and loving version of Julia he’d seen in the last few weeks was a thin veneer that concealed a more complex and volatile personality.

  Nevertheless, he still regretted the statement immediately.

  ‘No. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Sorry. Forget I said anything.’

  But she wasn’t going to forget.

  ‘This is about what happened on the honeymoon, isn’t it?’ she exploded. ‘That was fucking weeks ago!’

  The taxi pulled in outside their house and Ed took out some cash to pay the fare as she threw open the door and marched away. He followed her inside to find her in the kitchen, pacing up and down like a caged animal.

  ‘I cannot believe this.’ Her eyes were bulging, the tendons in her neck as pronounced as knives.

  ‘Julia—’

  ‘I’ve just offered to bear your child. To put the career for which I’ve worked my backside off on hold, so I can spend nine months of my life being fat. Putting everything that means anything to me on the back seat – for the baby YOU are apparently desperate for. And this is how you react.’

  ‘I’m sorry I—’

  ‘You don’t fucking sound it, you utter bastard.’

  Nothing Ed said made it better. Everything Ed said made it worse. She interpreted every sentence he attempted in the worst possible way. It was when she was shrieking about him being the shittiest husband she could possibly meet that he knew he had to get out of there. So he turned and headed towards the door.

  ‘Don’t you walk out on me, you fucker!’ Her voice was raw, the rip of a chainsaw.

  He stopped and closed his eyes. His heartbeat intensified. He filled his chest with air before turning around to face her. That was when she threw the bottle at his face.

  *

  Afterwards, she sat next to him in the hospital waiting room, stroking his fingers, regret etched on her slender features, in her sorrowful eyes. He stared ahead, applying gentle pressure to the wound in his forehead with a thick cloth that was now matted with blood. She gently rested the side of her head on his shoulder, her soft hair tickling his neck just like it had in the taxi.

  ‘I feel awful,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her. But it wasn’t.

  She looked up at him and turned down the sides of her mouth. ‘I wish you’d just hit me back.’ Her voice was higher than usual, with a childlike, petulant quality. ‘Why couldn’t you just have hit me back?’

  She seemed resentful that he hadn’t, that he never would.

  ‘What I’ve done . . . this is domestic violence, isn’t it?’ she said glumly.

  ‘Don’t.’ Ed was not a victim. The thought of it made him sick to his stomach. ‘It was just a row that got out of hand.’

  A thin tear made its way down her cheek and she gently turned his head towards her to kiss him on the lips. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

  As she pulled away he let his eyes drift across the too-bright room to the other patients. The young woman huddled in a padded jacket, coughing fiercely. The elderly man accompanied by his daughter, his hand wrapped in an ice pack. The guy busy texting in the corner and the woman who’d been arguing with a receptionist for the last five minutes.

  ‘I think there’s a way forward here,’ Julia sniffed, brushing away tears. ‘I think we need to just try a bit harder from now on. Both of us. Don’t you agree?’

  Then the triage nurse announced his name and Ed tried to recall the exact details of the compendium of lies they’d agreed to tell.

  Chapter 44

  Allie

  The sun has disappeared behind the lake, leaving the night air still and hot. We are back at the Hotel Villa Cortine Palace, in the garden at the rear of the building, sipping cocktails as strings of lights glow from among beds of tea roses and hydrangeas. The scent of myrtle fills the air, along with the delicate chime of running water as it cascades from the fountain of Neptune. It’s a beautiful spot in the daytime, but at night, amidst the shadowy beauty of the trees, the impossible romance of the garden comes to life. Most of the guests have now retired after dinner, or are still sipping passiti on the terrace on the other side of the hotel. As we sit alone on the patio, the success of finding Stefano’s current address shines in Ed’s eyes.

  ‘I might be wrong but you almost look relaxed,’ I say.

  A smile creeps to his lips. ‘Maybe I am.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re not just dr
unk?’

  ‘Perhaps a little. Not too much though. I spat out the wine.’

  ‘That was clumsy of you,’ I reply. ‘Shame I couldn’t have bought any of that sparkling stuff for Grandma Peggy. It would have made a nice extra for her birthday.’

  ‘Are things back to normal between the two of you now? I mean after your argument about what you’d found in her bedroom.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure you could really call it an argument – I couldn’t get a word in. I was just thoroughly reprimanded and warned off.’ A sigh escapes my lips. ‘Things aren’t really normal, no. She and I haven’t discussed any of it since that day she blew up at me and told me to forget all about it. She seems to want to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t know how she thinks I could possibly do that.’

  ‘Perhaps this is the only way she can think of to handle it.’

  ‘Yes. The idea that I’ll find out the truth, whatever that is, is obviously too unpalatable for her to even think about. She’s burying her head in the sand though.’

  ‘She’s trying to protect you, Allie. And your dad.’

  ‘I know,’ I concede. ‘Here’s the thing though. The idea that my dad isn’t my real dad is something I can’t ever imagine accepting, but I recognise that I might not get a choice in the matter. It’s silly of her to refuse to even discuss it, to try to hide it.’

  ‘That’s what you’re doing with your dad though, isn’t it? Hiding it from him. Protecting him from the truth.’

  ‘I suppose so, but only until I know for certain. I’m finding it hard not to be a little annoyed with my grandma though. At the way she reacted, as if it was my fault I’d found the bloody thing, rather than her fault for hiding it.’

  ‘Well, she’s always been a fairly strong-willed woman.’

  I snort. ‘That’s one way of putting it. Don’t get me wrong, I like the fact that she doesn’t suffer fools and that she’s no helpless little old lady. I like that she’s so formidable. Sometimes though . . .’ I shake my head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just wish she wasn’t so angry with the world.’

  He fixes a serious look on me. ‘Wouldn’t anyone be after what happened to your mum? It can’t be easy for any mother to bury a child.’

  I feel a stab of regret and shame. ‘Okay, now I feel awful when you put it like that.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I know how much you adore her.’

  ‘I do,’ I agree. ‘She is the loveliest person, deep down. She’s done so much for me over the years. Dad once told me she carried all kinds of guilt for Mum’s death. She thought she should’ve realised she was sick and made her go to see a doctor earlier.’

  ‘Surely that wouldn’t have made a difference with such an aggressive cancer?’

  ‘Of course not.’ I take a sip of my drink. ‘Did I ever tell you she and Granddad met in Paris when she was working at a theatre?’

  ‘You did,’ he says.

  ‘It sounds very romantic, doesn’t it? Hard to picture really.’

  There is something about the way Ed looks tonight that has made my heart beat wrong. The way his hair falls over his tanned forehead and the tiny lines at the side of his eyes make his whole face light up when he smiles. I find my gaze falling on his hands as he picks up his glass and I want to touch his fingers. When the breeze blows in a certain direction, I breathe in his smell and I fight an urge to lean into him, for no other reason than to feel the heat from his body.

  Yet here we sit, two feet away from each other and a million miles apart. Because he is married to a woman he loves. There have been times tonight though when I’ve questioned my certainty about what he feels for her. When I’ve wondered if I’ve got it all wrong. Or more to the point: if I’ve got her wrong.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asks and I snap out of it.

  ‘Of course.’

  In the hush of the night, we sit for a while without saying a thing. When he finally speaks, his words feel both unexpected and overdue.

  ‘You know, I’ve spent a long time trying to work out why things went awry between Julia and me. Trying to analyse it all as if it’s some straightforward problem for which I can find a solution. I’ve come to the conclusion that the thinking, the determination, the frustration that I haven’t fixed it . . . those things are almost as bad as anything else.’ He pauses then looks at me briefly. ‘Julia thinks we should go and see a counsellor.’

  I swallow. ‘Well . . . that works for some people.’

  He fixes his gaze on the fountain.

  ‘When do you think it all started, Ed? When did you start feeling like it had reached the point where you might have to separate?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. I first thought about it a few months ago, I suppose.’

  ‘Talking about it might help,’ I tell him, thinking of the shrink again. But he fixes his eyes on me and says: ‘It already is, Allie.’

  A tiny muscle in my heart clenches.

  ‘And I feel better for being here,’ he adds.

  ‘Good,’ I say decisively.

  ‘For being . . . around you.’ He looks at his drink. ‘Things are still complicated, I can’t change that. But the point is this: I’m working them out. I might not have all the answers now but I will have. One way or another, I’ll work things out.’

  I nod, wanting to say something else, wanting to carry on talking. Helping. But instead he takes a breath and smiles at me. ‘So now we have Stefano’s address, we need to discuss what we’re going to do about it.’

  I run my finger along the condensation beading on my glass. ‘Yes, we do.’

  ‘Well, you did come to Italy with the intention of paying him a visit.’

  I feel my spine stiffen.

  ‘It’s up to you, Allie,’ he says gently. ‘You can stop this whole process any time.’

  ‘Portofino’s miles away.’

  ‘One hundred and six miles. A train ride or a road trip if we wanted to hire a car.’

  ‘You’ve checked?’

  ‘Yes, I checked,’ he confesses. ‘But it’s not up to me whether we carry on. If you want to stay here and soak up the pleasures of Lake Garda, I will not argue.’

  ‘It’s so awful here though,’ I say, gesturing to the exquisite garden, and when he breaks into another smile it makes something in my stomach jump.

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know what to do,’ I say. ‘I really don’t have the constitution of a detective. Give me a laboratory over this any day.’

  ‘Give you a laboratory over everything any day,’ he replies. ‘You seem excited about this thing you’re working on at the university at the moment.’

  ‘I’ll be excited when we’ve nailed it.’ He raises an eyebrow and I’m forced to concede a smile. ‘Fine. I’m slightly excited.’

  ‘Is this connected with that big project you were working on a few years ago?’

  I shake my head. ‘This is gene-editing technology. That was a diagnostic tool and outcome measure we developed for use in children, called nasal potential difference.’

  He looks perplexed.

  ‘Cystic fibrosis presents itself in a number of ways in the human body. It was discovered in the nineties that it changes the voltage across the cells lining the airway.’

  ‘How strange.’

  ‘We trialled a method that measures that voltage in a non-invasive way and therefore was suitable for use in children. It uses an electrode in the nose and then under the skin surface on the wrist to create a circuit, from which we could then take a reading. But the gene-editing project is different. We really hope that one day it will lead to a cure.’

  ‘Are you still working with kids?’

  ‘On a different project, but yes – a test group of about fifty. The youngest is five.’

  He thinks about this for a moment. ‘And they all have CF?’

  I nod. ‘Sucks, doesn’t it? But in the last ten years, things have moved on. The life expectancy of someone with CF has increased by a full decade, to nearly forty
. This is what science is doing, this is what’s being achieved.’

  ‘You really love it, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I do a job that gives people hope. And the work I’m doing now . . . if it’s what we think it is, it’s got so much potential, Ed.’

  He looks at me strangely. It’s an indefinable look, a softening of his eyes, a stilling of his limbs. It’s as if the energy in the atmosphere has delivered a bolt of warmth in the space between us.

  ‘Come on, finish your drink and let’s go for a walk.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘Follow me.’ He stands and offers me his hand. I look at it and hesitate, then drain my glass and reach out for it.

  We walk along a cobbled pathway, the navy hue of the sky only visible in the gaps above the trees. Beyond the garden immediately outside the hotel is a whole other world of private parkland, a maze of ancient-looking columns and mysterious stone outbuildings smothered with wild roses and rampant bushes of lantana. We clamour down the natural terrace and discover unexpected coves where lovers’ benches overlook the stretch of the lake.

  Parts of the hotel grounds are softly lit, but there are others where it’s too dark to find our step. Ed takes out his phone and turns on the torch, but even with the narrow light we slip on the stony ground every so often, laughing as we make our way. We finally reach one edge of the park, marked by a clipped row of bushes, overlooking a cliff edge, high over the moonlit ripples of the lake.

  ‘Can we stay forever?’ I sigh, but as I turn around, I lose my footing on a loose stone and stumble to the ground, landing awkwardly on my ankle.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Ed is kneeling next to me as I wince.

  ‘I hate to be a wimp but . . . no. It hurts.’

  He shines the phone torch on my leg and gently slides his hand under my ankle to examine it. ‘I take it you got travel insurance?’ he asks.