The Puzzle of You

by Leah Mercer

  David was working, but he agreed to swing by Lily’s on his lunch break and meet Anabelle and me there. I was bursting with excitement – I’d managed the Herculean feat of waiting until now to talk to him about having another child, confident that seeing a newborn would sway him in my favour. Who could resist a tiny, perfect infant? In the few weeks since I’d had the idea, my desire to have a baby had ballooned so much it felt almost visible, like my womb was wearing a ‘vacancy’ sign.

  My head was filled with visions of how wonderful my pregnancy would be this time around: how I’d glow, not with worry and stress but with love for our unborn child. How those early days would be filled not with adrenaline and fear but with peace and calm. How David and I would work together, instead of me shouldering everything to allay my guilt.

  I dressed carefully, pulling on a bright red top Miriam had given me ages ago but I hadn’t yet worn – my usual wardrobe consisted of washed-out greys and blacks that wouldn’t show the dirt. I wanted to start our next baby’s journey on a bright and cheerful note . . . unlike Anabelle’s, which hadn’t even been planned.

  I ushered Anabelle inside Lily’s flat, expecting a chaotic place crammed full of dirty laundry and dishes like ours had been. Instead, the flat was spotless, and Lily looked as rested as I’d ever seen her. Her son, Liam, was sleeping peacefully in a Moses basket, and my heart picked up pace. This beautiful scene could be my reality in nine months’ time.

  David arrived, his eyes softening as he stroked Liam’s head. Lily raised her eyebrows pointedly at me when we clocked David’s expression: something like longing streamed from him so potently it almost coloured the air. Was it possible we were actually on the same page – that he’d been thinking the time was right for another child, too? Fizzing inside, I pulled him into the kitchen to talk. I wrapped my arms around him, ignoring how he stiffened in surprise. Not that I could blame him – it’s been ages since we touched.

  ‘What do you think about another?’ I asked. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. It’d been a while since I’d felt so alive, so full of possibility.

  David’s brow furrowed. ‘Another what?’

  ‘Baby!’ The word burst out of me, and I shook my head, laughing. My husband could be so dense sometimes.

  I waited for him to nod, to smile, to pull me close . . . something. Instead, he said nothing, his muscles tensing under my fingers.

  ‘What?’ I moved back, scanning his face. His lips were pinched together in that way I hated – a way I hadn’t seen before having Anabelle. ‘You don’t . . . you don’t want more children?’ That couldn’t be it. We’d never discussed it, but I was sure he’d have told me if that was the case. So what was he thinking?

  I held his gaze, my mind ticking through any possible objections. We’d already agreed to move, so it couldn’t be a space issue. As for money, we could manage. Could it be something related to Anabelle’s traumatic start? Maybe . . . maybe it had affected him more than he let on?

  I took a deep breath, desperate to reassure him. ‘If you’re worried about our next child having the same thing as Anabelle, I want you to know that I’ll take every precaution. I’m not working. I don’t run. I barely even drink. Hell, I’ll sit on a chair with my feet up the whole time if I need to, ramming Brussel sprouts down my throat. We can have extra scans, extra tests, whatever’s required to make sure everything’s fine.’

  But David shook his head. ‘You could do all that and more, but it wouldn’t matter.’

  I froze. What did he mean, ‘it wouldn’t matter’? I reached out to take his arm, but he moved away from me, bracing himself on the counter.

  ‘Charlotte . . .’ I couldn’t see his face, but his voice was strained. ‘It’s genetic. Anabelle’s heart condition is genetic.’

  ‘Genetic?’ I repeated, trying to understand. ‘No one in my family has heart problems.’

  ‘But they do in mine.’ His words cut through my confusion, and he swung around to meet my stare. I stepped back, stunned by the hurt and pain I saw there. ‘After the nurse took our family history, I asked my mum if there are any heart problems in our family. Mum told me no . . . but she phoned later, after remembering that my father had a brother who’d died as an infant because his heart hadn’t developed properly.’ David let out a shuddery sigh. ‘They didn’t know exactly what was wrong – obviously medicine wasn’t as advanced back then. Mum remembers my father saying there was another relative with heart problems, too – a cousin, she thinks. I tried to get in touch with him for more information, but no one knows how to track him down.’

  I tried to answer, to scrabble at something to say, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t take this in.

  ‘I’ve done a lot of research, and with my family history, there’s a chance that if we have another child, she or he might have the same heart problem. A small chance, but still.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t go through that again. I can’t face almost losing a baby again. I can’t.’

  I stared at my husband, at his mouth moving, feeling like the world had shifted. Like the world I’d poured everything into – the world I wanted more of – had tilted, leaving me unsteady.

  Threatening to topple me over.

  ‘But . . . you’ve known this since Anabelle was born? That her condition is genetic?’ My voice emerged reedy, like it was swimming up from the depths of me. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘I should have. I know I should have.’ David ran a hand over his face. ‘But God, I couldn’t get the words out, Charlotte. I was utterly destroyed that our child had to go through this because of me. Had I known – had we known – this was running in the family, then maybe . . . maybe we could have prepared for it better . . . or something. I don’t know.’ He reached out for me, but I still couldn’t move. ‘And then as the years went on, and Anabelle was all right, well . . . You were so caught up with her, another baby never came up, and it . . . it was easier to put it all behind me. Behind us.’

  The words swirled around me, a flurry of sounds. A door had been slammed in my face, and I couldn’t even lift a foot to try to kick it open. Silence stretched between us.

  ‘Charlotte?’ David’s face was creased with pain. ‘Please, say something. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  I met my husband’s eyes, but I was numb to his agony. If anyone could have understood how he was feeling – how he had felt – these past few years, it was me. I knew only too well the horror of lugging around the weight of guilt and blame. But the difference is that David’s life has carried on, while mine . . .

  Mine is unrecognisable. I’m unrecognisable. I had to change. I wanted to change, and I did: I became all mother. And I want even more of it. I need even more of it. I need to keep moving forward, diving deeper and deeper. I feel that with an intensity like no other.

  But I can’t, because David’s words have stopped me short. I’ll never have the chance to cherish a pregnancy, or to live through those first few months with my baby minus the cloak of guilt. I’ll never be able to show that now, I can finally give all my care, attention and love to my child as it grows and develops inside me. I’m stalled here, continuously trying to right a wrong, without being able to do anything differently.

  Hot lava seared my insides, bubbling up into my throat. I let out a cry, then spun around and into the lounge. Somehow, I managed to say goodbye to Lily and wrestle Anabelle into her coat, down the stairs and into the car. I barely saw her, though. I barely heard her voice.

  I drove blindly through the streets, some part of me navigating my way back home. I went up the stairs, unlocked the door and shoved the tablet at my daughter. My mobile rang again and again as David tried to reach me, but I didn’t answer it. I grabbed this diary and tried to grasp it all.

  I can’t stay here. I can’t stay still; I can’t let this volcano engulf me. I need to keep moving. I’ll drop off Anabelle at Miriam’s, and then . . . I haven’t a clue.

  How can I know which way to go wh
en the only road I need to travel is now closed to me forever?

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  ‘What story are we going to read tonight?’ Charlotte ruffles her daughter’s hair, happiness flooding through her that she actually managed to make it home in time for Anabelle’s bedtime. The team leave for Berlin tomorrow morning, and Charlotte has spent the past couple of days and nights holed up in the office with Ed and Lucy, finessing their presentation until it’s a work of art. They couldn’t be any better prepared. Even so, Lucy and Ed had raised their eyebrows when she’d crept out of the office at five-thirty.

  ‘I want Daddy.’ Anabelle’s lower lip juts out, and Charlotte’s heart sinks. ‘Daddy reads bedtime stories the best.’

  David darts a glance at Charlotte. ‘Honey, Mummy’s going away for the next few days and she really wants to read tonight. Okay? I’ll do it tomorrow.’

  ‘No.’ Anabelle shakes her head. ‘Daddy. Daddy Daddy Daddy.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ Charlotte sighs. She goes back to the lounge and sinks down on to the sofa. She knows she shouldn’t take it personally – that children are creatures of routine, and Anabelle’s got used to David doing her story – but she can’t help feeling like something is slipping away from her. She listens to their laughter and David patiently answering Anabelle’s endless questions, hoping her daughter will cope all right when he takes off. All this time he’s spending with her now certainly isn’t going to make that any easier.

  A few minutes later, David closes the bedroom door softly. ‘She’s asleep. Look . . . can we talk?’ He sits down next to her, and Charlotte’s gut squeezes. This is it. He’s going to tell her that he’s leaving. Terrible timing – the night before her big pitch – but it’s not like he cares any more about her world, is it? Hurt shoots through her and she forces it away.

  ‘Okay.’ She stares straight ahead, steeling herself.

  ‘I’ve turned down the job in Exeter,’ he says, and Charlotte’s head snaps towards him. What? He’s not leaving, after all? She draws in a breath, trying to get her mind around it. It’s a good thing, of course. She’d just been wondering how Anabelle would cope. But what does this mean for their family . . . for them?

  ‘Since you started looking for your job, I’ve spent a lot more time with Anabelle . . . time I didn’t feel I could ask you for before. Time I didn’t feel I deserved.’ Guilt flashes across his face, and he ducks his head. ‘And, well . . . it’s an understatement to say that I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve loved it, and I think she has, too.’

  Charlotte nods. It’s more than obvious how well the two of them get on.

  ‘I thought getting out of the way was the best thing for us all,’ David continues. ‘But I’ve realised that it’s not the best thing for her. She needs a father in her life – she shouldn’t miss out on having a dad. I know what that feels like all too well.’ He meets her gaze with a determined expression. ‘And if you do remember everything, well . . . I’m not going to step aside this time. I’m ready to be a father now. I need to be a father now.’

  Charlotte nods again, unable to speak through the emotions swirling inside. She’s thrilled for Anabelle and delighted that David has been able to lift himself from the pit of blame to be the father he always wanted to be . . . even if it means turning down an important job. Maybe her husband hasn’t become the complete stranger she’d thought he had. But she can’t help noticing that he hasn’t said a word about their relationship – about wanting to stay because of her, too. Does she feature in his decision at all? If he’s able to get past his guilt to be with Anabelle, does that mean he might be able to get past his guilt to be a husband again, too?

  Or are they too far beyond that now?

  She’s desperate to ask, but she’s not sure she wants to know the answer. What if he tells her it really is over? And if there is still some small hope for them, how long will it be before some semblance of their former closeness returns? Living this way is torturous, and she doesn’t know how much more she can take.

  ‘I’ll make sure I’m home to put Anabelle to bed,’ David says, ‘and I’m not going to work any more weekends. I’ll stay here in the morning, too, so you can get off to work quickly. You won’t need to worry about anything when you’re off on your trip. Mum and I have it covered.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’ She swallows back the questions, telling herself that, no matter what happens between them, she should be relieved – her husband has just handed her carte blanche to pursue her career with the ‘thousand per cent dedication’ she’d pledged. Instead, though, she can’t help feeling like the circle surrounding her daughter is closing without her . . . as if she’ll be on the outside looking in. Was that what her mum had felt like sometimes? Had she ever minded that Charlotte turned to others before going to her – and that she still did?

  ‘I’d better get to bed,’ Charlotte says, unable even to think of anything else to say, let alone form the words. Too late, she notices David’s face drop, and she wonders if he was hoping for a more enthusiastic response. She is happy he’s staying, but how can she show that when he didn’t even mention her?

  The next morning passes in a blur of travel and rehearsals, and at last the team is sitting around a table in a bland boardroom in Berlin, ready to deliver their pitch. Charlotte is practically vibrating with excitement. She loves this moment: standing up in front of the challenging gaze of professionals and showing them that not only does she understand their business, she can also uncover angles they might not have thought of themselves. Ute had given her a huge hug on seeing her, and Charlotte had noticed Ed watching their exchange with satisfaction. The stage is perfectly set for her to deliver and move forward.

  One hour later, Charlotte’s cheeks are flushed with success. Her part of the presentation has gone off without a hitch, and she’s answered every question with confidence and knowledge, even rescuing a floundering Lucy when she couldn’t respond to a particularly difficult question.

  ‘One more question,’ Ute says, ‘and then we’ll have a quick break. Who is going to be working on this account? Is this team finalised or will there be some changes later on?’

  Charlotte suppresses a gleeful grin. Ed will have to name her to the account now, won’t he? Especially given her strong performance and her relationship with Ute.

  ‘We’re very pleased to confirm that Lucy here will continue to liaise with you until the project is up and running. You’ll have Gamal on project management, Chris on medical, and—’

  The thumping in Charlotte’s ears drowns out Ed’s voice. Lucy? Instead of her? She has three times Lucy’s expertise, and she’s proven it in spades in this meeting. She sits in silence, unable to lift her gaze from the table for fear the rage on her face will show. Ed gets up to leave the room and Charlotte edges out after him.

  ‘Ed,’ she calls as he rushes away, probably in an attempt to escape from her. ‘Ed!’

  ‘Not now, Charlotte.’ He doesn’t even turn around, just lifts a hand in the air. The fury she’s been trying to contain spills over, and she races down the corridor until she’s right beside him.

  ‘Why didn’t you name me to the account?’ she asks, her voice shaking. ‘You know I’m the best person for it. Not only do I have the experience, but I also have a great working relationship with Ute.’

  Ed sighs. ‘Can we talk about this when we get back to the office? Mid-pitch is not the place for hysterics.’

  Hysterics? Charlotte is even more livid now. Just because she’s standing up for herself, she’s being accused of hysterics? ‘No,’ she says, not caring that her voice is echoing down the corridor. ‘No, we cannot. I deserve an answer.’

  ‘All right then.’ Ed turns to face her. ‘You may have the experience, but I’m just not sure you have the right attitude.’

  Her mouth drops open. ‘Right attitude? I’ve slaved over this presentation.’ He can’t deny that.

  ‘Yes, you have worked hard. But what about sustaining that effort long term?’ he asks. />
  Charlotte huffs in frustration. Is this about having a baby again? ‘I told you, I won’t be leaving anytime soon.’

  ‘It’s not about leaving. It’s about your commitment now. Making personal phone calls at the office? Leaving early when we have crucial work to cover?’

  Shit. Her hearts drops. She’d thought no one had noticed her nipping into the storeroom with her phone. As for leaving early . . . that was just one day, when Anabelle needed Zebby. And heading out the other night at five-thirty was hardly slacking; the pitch had been more than ready. None of those actions had affected her work. For God’s sake, it wasn’t as if she was going out and getting drunk every night, like half the team!

  Charlotte holds Ed’s gaze, her brain ticking over. She could win multiple accounts time and again, but the second she needs to leave early, Ed will challenge her commitment. It’s nothing to do with her attitude or dedication, she realises in a rush. It’s to do with her being a mother, with all the emotional attachment and responsibility that go along with it.

  And she’s not going to apologise for that. She’s not going to try to hide it any longer. She doesn’t want to try to hide it.

  ‘If you really want to advance,’ Ed continues, ‘there’s no room for anything else. We need all of you – body and soul.’ He thumps his heart and Charlotte barely refrains from rolling her eyes. ‘I demand nothing less. Maybe if you can show me that, eventually – and I’m talking eventually – we can speak about moving forward.’

  Charlotte shakes her head, knowing instantly she can’t give that. She won’t give that. Maybe she could have before, but she’s not that person any longer. She has a child – a child she loves, and a child she wants to be with. Yes, she still needs to work, but she refuses to stay in a place that belittles her skills and experience . . . in a place that is forcing her to negate an important part of her. No job is worth that.