The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Try the truth.’

  Dan’s face came to mind. ‘Your choice,’ he had said. ‘I want to be with you Lucy, but not with a kid. I’m just being honest.’

  ‘I got pregnant.’ The humiliation of it burned.

  ‘I know. It feels as though everyone in probation and psychology in the north of England knew too. But you didn’t think to mention it to me. And? What else?’

  I felt sick at the memory. ‘I had an abortion. It was a dreadful, dreadful time. I didn’t want to talk about it; I didn’t want to remember. It was over, done, gone…’

  ‘So, I’ll ask the question that everybody’s been hinting at. Did you get pregnant on purpose to get him to leave his wife and then the plan backfired?’

  ‘Jesus, no! For God’s sake! No, of course I didn’t!’

  ‘And were you planning on getting pregnant without me knowing either?’

  ‘What? No! We talked about it! You said—’

  ‘No.’ He held up a finger. ‘Lie number one, we’ve never talked about it.’

  ‘Yes we did! You said—’

  ‘Go on, what did I say?’ He cocked an ear towards me.

  ‘We talked about getting a dog, and—’

  ‘A dog. And what did I say about that?’

  ‘You said, we should get a dog because—’

  ‘Ah. Right. And from that sole comment you deduced that I meant for us to have a kid.’ He paused with mock solemnity. ‘Tell me, Lucy. What the fuck is going on in your head?’

  The anger, the frustration, the hurt, the horror of the last few months spilled over and I dissolved into a rush of choking and sobbing, the kind of blind crying where I couldn’t get my breath, and I suddenly found his arms enveloping me, rocking and comforting. ‘Oh god I’m so sorry Lucy! … Shhhh… Forgive me! … Shhhh,’ he kept saying. ‘Shhh now, it’s okay, it’s okay. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I went over the top, I’m sorry—’

  I gulped for air, spluttering and hiccoughing.

  ‘I was just so angry when I found your pills. It was me being stupid. I overreacted.’ He held me away so that he could look right into my eyes. But I wouldn’t lift my face.

  ‘Lucy, look at me… Please, look at me. It’s nothing to do with Dan. Nothing, do you hear me? That was before we were together. It’s…’ He searched for the words. ‘It’s not you either, it’s about me. About her. Caitlin. All this talk about kids has brought back a—’ He stopped. ‘I just can’t do it right now. Please tell me you understand. Please. Just say you get it… I can’t even think about… I mean. What happened before was so—’ He pulled me to him, kissing my forehead, my cheeks. I could feel his arms trembling against my back.

  ‘Of course I understand, of course I do.’ The relief, the relief that whatever awfulness there had been, was suddenly over.

  ‘I mean, I’m not saying not ever. I’m not saying that.’ I heard the slight panic that he’d really upset me, that he’d gone too far.

  I understood; of course I understood. I could hear his heart pounding away in his chest as he breathed his heat into my hair. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to explain.’ I sensed the fragility of him: something child-like and scared and vulnerable, and how he was showing me all of that because he loved me.

  ‘What I’m saying is, I don’t know about the future or how I’ll feel in three, four, five years’ time.’

  Five years as a timespan hammered into my brain. I’d be nearly forty. I paled. I thought about never having a child. I looked up at him.

  ‘Do you think you could be okay with that?’ His eyes were full of remorse and pain.

  I nodded silently. What else could I say?

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course,’ I whispered. There was an instability beneath my feet: things crumbled and swayed a little. He put his head on one side and surveyed me with a tiny comic pout. ‘And you know I love your hair, whatever you do to it. You know that, don’t you?’

  I didn’t know what I knew or what I didn’t. I saw this house: our house, all the possibilities whispering to me from the walls. I saw a version of myself walking away from him and up the stairs to where that little back bedroom waited for me. There was no baby, no crib, just me standing in the centre of a vacant room, my arms hugging myself, listening to the emptiness of my future – and then, suddenly, I looked down, and in the crook was a tiny newborn. It mewled, a tiny sound, as a delicate milk bubble blew and popped, just like my dreams.

  ‘I know I’m here and you’re here,’ I said. ‘And neither of us are going anywhere.’

  But even as I said it, I knew that in reality we had just moved one step closer to each other while inching one step further apart.

  * * *

  I tried to put it all out of my head. The last thing I wanted was Emma sensing something wasn’t right. We spent that Sunday morning being acutely mindful of each other, tiptoeing carefully, as though some great black hole had appeared between us that was too deep and dangerous to contemplate.

  In a quiet moment I had gone upstairs and sat on the side of the bed, staring down at the little strip of contraceptive pills in my hand. Of course I understood, of course I did. I pushed one out of the blister pack and held it in the palm of my hand. Such a small thing – that changed everything.

  The day brought warm breezes and beautiful sunshine. The house shone, showing itself off at its best: the staircase looked glorious and the hallway tiles were colourful and inviting. I banished all thoughts and misgivings and concentrated only on seeing Emma again. She would never guess anything was amiss; I’d make sure of that.

  Paul was in the kitchen finishing off the salad and I was taking a tray of wine glasses and nibbles outside onto the table, when I heard a car draw up. Peering around to the front garden, I could just make out figures through the beech tree branches and hear the chatter of voices. I saw Emma first, her hand on the gate as it squealed open. She hadn’t seen me. She glanced solicitously over her shoulder to the person behind and I followed her gaze. The sight paralysed me for a second. The woman had a baby in her arms.

  I made my way down the path, a big smile plastered on my face.

  ‘Ohhhhh!’ breathed Emma as she hugged me. ‘Oh Luce! Your hair!… Wow!’ She stroked the ends gently. ‘It looks fab! You look amazing!… And where did you get that top? You’re going to have to be careful I don’t mug you.’

  ‘Oh! Thanks!’ It had been so long since I’d seen her, didn’t know how to react.

  ‘And this. Oh. My. God!’ She gazed up in admiration at the house. ‘It’s absolutely stunning!’

  ‘Hello! Hello!’ I bustled them all inside. ‘Welcome! … And who’s this, then?’

  I peered into the bundle of blankets.

  ‘Oh yes, this is my friend Jess, and this is little Hope.’

  I touched a tiny finger that was curled around the edge of the blanket; the nail was like a miniature pearl. Emma touched my arm to distract me. ‘And this is Harry,’ she flashed me a pointed look. ‘And this is Jess’s husband, Luke.’

  I looked up, momentarily distracted, and smiled. Harry was huge, possibly some kind of rugby player, and Luke was one of those good-looking scruffy men with an easy grin.

  Luke placed a hand on Jess’s back. ‘D’you want me to take her so you can relax?’

  We all stood watching as Jess carefully manoeuvred the sleeping baby and placed her into Luke’s arms.

  ‘There.’ Emma beamed and suddenly glanced round. Paul was standing in the kitchen doorway, one hand resting on the frame. He had a strange look on his face: one I couldn’t decipher. I felt a warning shiver without knowing why.

  ‘Oh hello!’ Emma enthused, striding over. ‘Paul! Lovely to see you again!’ She kissed him firmly on the cheek and took his hand to introduce him to people. ‘This is my man of the moment, Harry, and this is Jess… Luke… and Hope.’

  Paul nodded a shy hello around the group. I was sur
prised: I had never seen him anything but self-confident and easy in his own skin. He looked totally ill at ease. There was a pause that was slightly too long and I immediately filled the silence.

  ‘Right, come in, come in! Let’s go this way through the dining room, you get to see a bit of the house that way,’

  They all dutifully followed me through the rather ramshackle dining room where Paul’s modern elegant dining table sat alongside one of my old, fat, pillowy couches. The French doors stood open, the filmy white voile curtains just catching the late morning breeze.

  ‘Oh my god! I love it! I love it all!’ Emma fell on everything, exclaiming over my old mismatched candlesticks on Paul’s posh table as though this was a new kind of chic.

  ‘You’ve seen a lot of it before, Em,’ I laughed. ‘But come out here.’ I gathered back the floating curtain to reveal the weathered table set out with gaily coloured rush mats and a bowl full of peony heads from the garden.

  ‘Please everyone – sit wherever you like.’

  Emma couldn’t get over it: she cooed over the cushions, exclaiming what a genius I was at renovation, touching the table and the chairs, holding the jazzy cutlery up with a gasp as people admired and nodded and finally sat down. I took a moment to stand back with Paul as we watched them, smiling. I slipped my hand into his, squeezing his little finger.

  ‘I want all this in my place,’ Emma pronounced decisively. ‘I absolutely love every bit.’

  ‘You can have it,’ I laughed. ‘Most of it’s junk shop tat.’

  Paul shook my hand away. ‘So what can I get you all to drink?’

  ‘Red please!’ called Emma, and everyone laughed.

  ‘Harry? What’ll you have…? And how about you Luke? Who’s driving here?’ There was the sudden chill of his absence. He walked away, chummily joking with the guests. He was instantly back to his old ebullient self.

  ‘He’s not as weird-looking as I remember, Luce,’ Emma came over and whispered making me snort a laugh. ‘I can see why you haven’t been parading him around. And this house!… My God! I’ve got to have a tour… This must’ve cost a bomb!’

  Paul shot me an unpleasant look as I heard him begin to tell a story about sanding window frames and pulling up dirty carpets as he went round pouring the wine.

  Emma hadn’t noticed. ‘You know, Luce,’ she shook her head. ‘I had no idea you had such an eye for nest-building. You’ll be having babies next!’

  My antenna flared in warning as I steered her away to point out the views of the garden, front and back and what we planned to do with it all. I saw Paul making his way over with a huge goblet of red wine for Emma and nothing for me. He was being the perfect host, smiling and genial, but wouldn’t catch my eye. I dismissed it, concentrating on pouring myself a glass of white and handing round the canapes. Everyone seemed to be settling in to enjoy themselves. Paul wandered back and forth from the kitchen, bringing bits and pieces to nibble on, each time studiously avoiding looking in my direction.

  I drank and chatted happily along with the others, suddenly becoming aware that I was gabbling on about something to do with bathroom renovations and that no one else was speaking. Paul stood in the doorway watching me stonily and then disappeared indoors, and Emma chipped in.

  ‘C’mon. Show me this appalling pipework then. Y’can bore me with all your push-fit flange stories, or whatever.’ She got up a little unsteadily.

  ‘I think you’re mixing your plumbing metaphors there, gal,’ Harry laughed.

  ‘Oh shut it!’ said Emma good-naturedly. ‘Who cares! She’s obsessed with ‘U’ bends and ‘S’ fixings, so I’m off to salivate over her “P” trap.’ There was a crow of laughter and she linked arms with me and we tottered out of the room.

  The hallway was cool in comparison. The kitchen window must have been on the latch and a pleasant breeze skimmed past us, bringing with it a heavenly cooking smell.

  ‘There’s the living room where we’re camping out a bit, so it’s really messy. Let’s start up top and then we’ll work our way down. We’ve made more changes up here, but there’s still tons to do.’

  ‘This is stunning, Luce. Seriously, a complete dream.’ Emma looked up admiringly at the ornate cornicing as we went up the stairs. ‘Look at this,’ she ran her fingers over the barley twist stair struts. ‘Wow! How on earth did you manage it all?’

  ‘It was already there. Paul found it.’ I shrugged. ‘He pulled off some boarding and—’

  ‘No, I meant how have you managed it all in such a short space of time?’

  We reached the landing and stopped.

  ‘A few months ago you were definitely single and feisty and showing us all up at work. Now you’ve gone all soft and homely.’

  I noticed she left out the incidents in between. She was really trying.

  She leaned in conspiratorially. ‘It was so sweet, he was telling me earlier how much he adores you.’

  ‘He was?’ I was shocked, I hadn’t seen them talking.

  ‘He said you’ve blown him away.’

  I thrilled at her words. I was warm and happy suddenly as we walked down the passageway to the bedroom. ‘This is ours.’ I pushed open the door.

  ‘Wow!’ Emma gazed round appreciatively and I suddenly saw the room afresh through her eyes: the sanded floor, the Chobi rug which fitted the space perfectly, the French carved bed-head and huge wardrobe that we’d found at a second-hand place on the Holloway Road. I’d struggled to put up the proper curtains only yesterday and I smiled at the memory of myself standing on a stool with a swathe of material balanced on my head.

  ‘He said he’d never lived with anyone before, but as soon as he met you he knew.’

  My smile wavered a little. ‘Is that what he said?’

  Emma laughed at my expression. ‘God Luce, I think that’s supposed to be a compliment!’

  ‘Well it is, it’s just that—’

  ‘Oi! You two!’ Paul’s voice echoed up the stairwell. ‘We’re all starving down here! Could you leave the grand tour till later?’

  Emma caught my eye and laughed. ‘Actually, he’s right. I’m starving too. Shall we?’

  We were met by Paul’s grinning face peering up the stairs. ‘Impressed?’ he said.

  ‘Incredibly.’ She tapped him on the chest as she wafted past. ‘And not just with your interior design.’ Her heels clip-clopped their way back down the stairs as she called out to the others that they really should come and have a tour. I followed behind. Paul stood at the bottom watching us, smiling.

  I smiled back, relieved. ‘Everything under control?’ I whispered as I passed. ‘How are we doing for wine?’

  But his grin fell into a thin, hard, line. ‘Everything is great apart from you. Do you have to wear clothes that show everything off when you lean forward? It’s embarrassing for all of us.’ He turned on his heel and walked down to the kitchen, leaving me standing there stunned and bewildered. I stared down at what I was wearing. It was a pretty scoop-neck top with lace panels. I couldn’t see anything wrong but now I felt uncomfortable. I went upstairs and put a camisole underneath. It’s nothing, I told myself. Just sort it out and forget all about it. It’s such a little thing. Get over it.

  * * *

  Paul was standing by the French doors as I walked back into the dining room.

  ‘So how do we like our steaks?’ I heard him say. ‘By the way, if anyone’s a veggie, there’s an aubergine and tomato bake too.’ There was a chorus of approval as they chirped up with their orders amidst a chattering scrape of chairs as Paul handed Harry a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. ‘And Emma, could you just give me a hand?’

  She bobbed her tongue out to me as they passed, laughing about something he’d just said and disappeared together into the kitchen. I fixed a smile on my face, distracting myself with fussing pointlessly with the serving spoons on the table until Paul and Emma processed in, plates and dishes all piled high. Paul had outdone himself. He’d cooked his fabulous steak dish and had
managed to get each one exactly as each guest liked it, which they all declared was a miracle and never possible, even in restaurants.

  He kept the food and drink flowing; he was funny and jolly and fielded all questions about his work, cleverly turning every query round to the person who’d asked it and getting them to talk about themselves instead.

  It was going brilliantly. Harry had just told a very long-winded joke and had got the punch line wrong, and Emma was drunkenly trying to re-tell it with disastrous results. Paul excused himself from the table to check on the pudding and I left it a few moments and then slipped inside after him.

  The hall was instantly quiet. I crept cautiously along the hallway, but then stopped.

  He was talking to someone. It took me a few seconds to register that he was on the phone. He was keeping his voice very low, but was clearly very angry, clipping each monosyllable in spitting temper.

  I didn’t move but stood at the door, ears straining, trying to work out who the hell he could be talking to. I heard the beep of the call ending and waited a minute before going in. He was stooped over the oven.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I put my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Yep, fine. You?’ He moved deftly away to the sink to pick up a knife.

  ‘Anything wrong?’

  ‘Should there be?’

  I hesitated. ‘I thought I heard you talking to someone?’

  He looked round theatrically at the empty space. ‘Now who would I be talking to?’

  ‘Someone on the phone?’ I said cautiously.

  ‘Ahhh… Eavesdropping to add to your snooping skill-set. Right.’

  ‘I wasn’t, I just heard…’

  ‘It was someone from work. A colleague.’ He opened the oven door and slid the knife into the pudding he was cooking. ‘Or are you going to get paranoid about that as well?’ He dropped it onto the side with a clatter as footsteps scuffed in the hallway and we both looked round. Luke was standing there holding the baby over one shoulder and a large floppy bag over the other. ‘Sorry – is there somewhere I can change her?’