‘Is he hungry?’ I frown at the mother, who is watching me with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude.
‘All the bloody time,’ she says with a painful laugh. ‘But he won’t eat, he just wants milk. Which isn’t enough and so he cries. All night long. I’m so frickin’ tired.’
‘Sounds like you need a break,’ I say, easing Leo into a sitting position and he twists his head to look at his mother, then back to me.
‘He seems to like you,’ Leo’s mother says with a yawn.
‘Why don’t I look after him for a bit?’ I have no idea why I’ve made such an offer, but his little wrists are so squidgy and gorgeous and I really don’t want to say goodbye just yet.
‘Why would you do that?’
Good question. One that I think I know the answer to, but it is far too convoluted to explain, especially to someone who I’ve only just met.
‘Honestly, I don’t mind. I could take him for a walk around the gardens. Fresh air might make him forget whatever it is he’s so pissed off about.’
‘Are you sure?’ Leo’s mother is already on her feet, peering in a nearby mirror and pushing back her eyelashes with the tips of her fingers. ‘I mean, wouldn’t you rather be enjoying the party?’
Actually, no. I would far rather be here, playing childhood games and singing nursery rhymes to the most adorable of creatures. It’s a little peculiar, this desire for domesticity, not least because I have done my best to avoid it at all costs. But babies are such helpless, innocent things and this Leo knows nothing about me or my secrets, which means we should get along just fine.
‘I think you need it more than I do,’ I say with my most reassuring smile.
She hesitates a moment, no doubt grappling with the decision as to whether she should leave her child with a virtual stranger. Then she takes a long, deliberate breath, kisses her son goodbye and half walks, half runs from the room, the sound of her heels echoing all the way along the corridor and outside.
‘Come on then,’ I say as I strap a discarded Baby Björn around my waist and hoist Leo inside, making sure he’s facing out. His little arms and legs begin to pump with excitement and I place a gentle kiss on his downy hair then whisper in his ear, ‘Let’s go for a walk, see if we can’t find some fairies hiding in the trees.’
For a second I think of Layla and Christophe, and my original plan. But then Leo lets out a shout of annoyance and I figure that I should try to steer clear of any marital disputes.
Overhead the sky is clear, with a moon bright enough to show us the way. As we reach the edge of the gardens I notice the long beam of a car’s headlights making its way up the drive. My hand curls around the iron frame of the gate as I wait to see if the approaching guest is who my heart wants it to be.
As the car door opens and the passenger gets out, I feel my gut tighten in reply. I knew he was coming. Layla had the decency to warn me, along with a not-so-subtle piece of information that both myself and Hector are currently single.
What I didn’t know was how it would feel to see him again after so many years. I could hide, but it wouldn’t be fair to subject Leo to a face full of twigs and leaves. Besides which, he would probably scream and let everyone know where I am. Or I could run, well, walk quickly, back to the chateau and hope he hasn’t seen me,
But he has seen me. Even though I can’t see his face clearly, I can tell because his hand is still holding on to the top of the taxi door and his body is turned towards me, lit up by the car’s full beam and making Leo squirm in annoyance.
‘You have a baby,’ Hector says as he walks up to me, accompanied by the soft crunch of gravel.
‘He’s not mine,’ I say as I take in the sight of him.
‘I’m assuming you haven’t stolen him?’ He’s smiling. It’s a smile that stretches the full width of his face and Leo lets out a shout of delight.
I know, little one. He’s rather scrumptious, and yet I was stupid enough to let him go. But it was for the best; it was to protect him, as well as me.
I let out a small laugh, because of all the situations I have turned over in my mind, coming face to face with Hector whilst carrying someone else’s baby has not been one of them.
‘I took pity on an exhausted mother.’ I glance back in the direction of the chateau, from where the sound of music and laughter is echoing across to us.
‘How’s the party?’ Hector says, tickling Leo under the chin and moving close enough for me to see the stubble on his cheek.
‘Good.’ It’s all I can manage as I try to swallow away the lump in my throat, wishing I had another glass of champagne to hand.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ His gaze travels all over my face. ‘I got a bit lost in Paris. Missed my train.’
I can’t help but smile, because it is so very like Hector to get lost. I can imagine him wandering the streets around the Sacré-Coeur, or sitting in front of Monet’s water lilies and forgetting to check the time. We were supposed to go there together, before I broke us apart.
‘You look incredible,’ he says, finally bending down to kiss me on the cheek. His lips hover close enough to mine that all I would have to do is move my head a fraction to the right.
‘You look exactly the same.’ I step back, wrapping my hands around Leo’s middle and contemplating the man standing only inches away. His clothes are more fitted, his hair cropped a little shorter, and the watch around his wrist is new. But the way he’s looking at me is the same as always.
‘I should get back,’ I say, setting off towards the chateau and not waiting to find out if he’s following.
‘Is this yours?’ He falls into step beside me, a leather holdall in one hand and a tiny silver key resting in the palm of the other. ‘It was back there, on the ground.’
‘Nope.’
‘What do you think it’s for?’ he asks, holding the key up to the sky as if the light of the moon might reveal its secrets.
‘Who knows?’ I point to my right where a series of outbuildings are clustered together. ‘This place is crawling with cellars and secret passageways.’
‘Bit small for a door though.’
‘Unless you’re Alice.’
I stop as we reach the steps leading up to the terrace, searching the party for Leo’s mother. There she is, right in the centre of the dance floor, arms raised above her head. I feel bad for disturbing her moment of reckless abandonment, but Leo’s head is resting against my chest and he keeps rubbing at his eyes.
‘Probably just something left over from another wedding,’ Hector says as he slips the key inside his pocket.
‘Probably.’
‘Or maybe it’s the key to your heart.’ He bumps his hip against mine and stares down at me with a lopsided grin.
‘That’s the corniest line I’ve heard in years.’ I dutifully roll my eyes at his terrible pun, but I can’t deny how the way he’s looking at me has reignited something that’s been missing for what feels like a lifetime.
‘I’ve plenty more,’ he says, leaning a little closer. ‘If you’re interested?’
The song that’s playing begins to fade, swiftly replaced by the opening nine notes to a song that immediately takes me back to Oxford. Within seconds the dance floor’s population has doubled in number, with dozens of bodies flailing about to Pulp’s ‘Disco 2000’.
Everyone always gets so giddy about nostalgia, thinking back to a time when life seemed so much better than it really was. Because the past is never what you believe it to be, and going back there would be a terrible idea, no matter how much I still care about Hector.
‘I’m sorry to hear about you and Rachel,’ I say, thinking of how excited Layla was to share that morsel of gossip via email.
‘No, you’re not,’ he says with another grin.
‘I heard she was rather sweet.’
‘She was. Complete opposite to you, which was kind of the point.’
He’s looking at me in that way of his, but I must not meet his eye, because I can already sense
in which direction he’s trying to steer the conversation. I never explained why I broke up with him. At least not properly, because I didn’t know how to. One minute we were blissfully, irritatingly happy, the next he’s trying to plan a future so perfect that it made me feel physically sick at the possibility it might all be taken away. So I destroyed it. Purposefully destroyed what we had before it could destroy me.
I owe him, I know that, and enough time has passed that he might actually have forgiven me. Question is, have I managed to forgive myself?
‘I read your book,’ I say, deliberately changing the subject as I raise a hand to wave at Leo’s mother. She squints back in our direction, then drains her glass and looks around for somewhere to leave it.
‘You did? Did you like it?’
It’s a simple enough question, for a simple enough story. One that’s been told a thousand times before. But he managed to wind through some of the whimsy and magic of fairy tales past, which I admit was a welcome surprise.
‘Would it have been better if she died at the end?’
‘She did in the original version. But my agent said the reader would want a happily ever after.’ He helps me undo the straps of the Björn and lifts Leo out.
‘Do they even exist?’ To anyone who might be watching, we must look like the epitome of the perfect family. It’s what Hector always said he wanted with me, but even now I don’t know if I would have ever been capable of giving it to him.
‘They could,’ he says, watching as Leo snuggles under my chin and I instinctively begin to rock back and forth. ‘If you gave one a chance.’
‘You should head inside,’ I say, climbing the steps and heading towards Leo’s mother. ‘Find someone to show you your room.’
‘Where’s your room?’ he calls after me and I hesitate, knowing that he’s given the choice to me.
I turn around, and the honesty of his gaze is enough to undo all of my resolve.
‘First floor. End of the hall on the left.’
I have always loved watching him sleep. The way he looks so completely at peace, no matter how stressful his day might have been. I have witnessed him sleep through thunderstorms and police sirens, raucous neighbourhood parties and midnight fireworks. I, on the other hand, am a fitful, restless sleeper. As a child I would often wake to discover I was curled at the bottom of the bed, trapped beneath the sheets, dreaming of a serpent that was trying to devour me in a single bite.
Glancing at my watch, I see that it’s a little after five a.m. I could get up, search the chateau for some strong, black coffee and check through all the emails that have been piling up ever since I left New York. Or I could try to go back to sleep, which wouldn’t be a bad thing given that in only a few short hours I need to be bright and breezy and super excited about my best friend’s wedding.
Shit. Layla. I never did go and find her. I hope she’s not mad at me for leaving the party early. Although if she discovered the reason, there’s a risk she might suggest we make today a double celebration.
She has always been such a huge fan of Hector. And so was I, which is precisely why this is a very big, very messy mistake.
It doesn’t mean anything. I am categorically not going to fall for him all over again. But is it possible to fall in love if, technically, you’ve never actually been out of it? What is it with weddings and how they make you behave in strange and unexpected ways? It’s like they exist outside the realm of normality, and whatever happens as a result of all the happiness and champagne is nothing more than a page torn from a storybook.
But he is so very lovely. And ridiculously talented in bed. I’d forgotten just how talented, or maybe I’m kidding myself and knew all along, which is why nobody since has made it past the third date.
It’s been a very long time with nobody to share my bed, let alone my life. But is going back the safe option, or the dangerous one? I’ve already been questioning how much longer I can stay in New York with nothing more than work to occupy my time. At the moment, it feels like I’m simply going through the motions of being happy, because on the surface, at least, I portray all the signs of being that way. But coming home to nothing other than the monotonous sound of an empty fridge is enough to make me wonder if I would be better off back in London.
I need to think, which is impossible when he’s lying there, naked and so very tempting.
Hunting in my suitcase, I take out my iPod and trainers, then head to the bathroom to get changed. When I come back into the bedroom, Hector is half-awake and on his side, watching me.
‘Are you seriously going for a run?’
‘Can’t sleep.’ I hover in the doorway like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t. He knows I run to clear my head, to set straight all the voices in my mind asking me to do something I don’t want to.
‘Come back to bed.’
I inch closer and sit on the very end of the bed, hands folded in my lap and doing my utmost not to stare at his torso, or the tattoo that curls around his bicep. Those arms were wrapped around me last night, holding me close and making me believe that giving in to him was the right thing to do.
‘If I do that,’ I say, making no effort to stop him as he pulls me back down and nuzzles my neck. ‘I might never leave.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’ His hands are under my top, teasing my skin and muddling my thoughts.
‘Hector,’ I say, moving his hands away.
His head drops, along with my heart because at this precise moment I think I might hate myself even more than he does.
‘I live in New York.’
‘So?’
‘And I can’t give you what you want.’
‘How do you even know what that is, Erika?’
‘You want the happily ever after.’
‘I think you do, too. You’re just too scared to admit it.’
Up until that point, I was beginning to think it might be different. I even allowed myself to imagine what it might be like to have Hector in my life, fully in my life. It was so easy to fall back into bed with him, but reality always hits hardest when the morning shows itself in all its glory.
‘I saw how you were with Leo.’
‘What?’ My head snaps round, because I’m certain I’ve never said anything to him. And yet that name is enough to make me scan through all the conversations we’ve ever had, all the moments when I might have inadvertently let something slip.
‘Motherhood would suit you. It would suit us.’
He’s talking about the baby, which in a way only makes things worse.
‘I can’t have kids, Hector.’
‘With anyone, or is it just me you’re so against the idea of having a future with?’
He is angry with me, really angry, and it’s completely fair because I willingly opened myself up to him, only to snap back shut at the first sign of commitment.
I need to stop. I need to find a way out of this whole sorry mess, but there’s a knot inside my heart that’s swelling and pinching and making my eyes leak.
‘Shit.’ Hector jumps out of bed and crouches down in front of me. ‘Oh Christ, Erika, please don’t cry. You never cry.’
‘What if I gave it all up for nothing?’ Now I’ve started, I don’t seem able to stop. It’s like the knot in my heart has been waiting for one small gap to push through and out, spilling all my secrets and fears like milk from a bottle.
‘Are we still talking about us?’
I can’t give him the answer he deserves. It’s too late for us, even though he’s as close to perfect as anyone is ever going to get. Except for one small, absolutely crucial detail that I seem incapable of forgetting.
‘I have to go,’ I say, pushing him away and heading for the door.
NIAMH
Mamihlapinatapai (n.) – a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire
Oxford, 1996
Niamh had woken early that morning, peeling back the curtains to stare at a silver sky strugg
ling towards spring. Leo was curled up next to her, one arm trapping her between him and the wall so that she was unable to move without disturbing him. The only problem was, she really needed to pee. A few minutes more and it was no good, so she wriggled out from underneath his arm, then scooted all the way to the end of the bed and on to the floor. She looked around in the half-light, picking up one of Leo’s hoodies and tiptoeing from the room.
As she descended a flight of stone steps down to the bathroom, she brought the cuff of the hoody up to her face and inhaled deeply. It smelt of him: not just his aftershave, but that unique scent everyone has. Which was why she had been borrowing something of his every morning when she left for the library, so that she might have him with her always. It was sickening, the fact she’d turned into one of those soppy, lovelorn creatures who would gaze out of the window whilst doodling hearts and flowers all over her notes. Only yesterday, when she was supposed to be reading up on the French Revolution, she found herself distracted by the idea of Leo riding through the countryside like some ridiculous hero from an Austen novel.
What had happened to her? She perched on the freezing loo seat and stared up at a mass of cobwebs overhead. There was no spider to be seen and it made her nervous, because they could be sneaky little buggers and she pulled the collar of the hoody a little tighter round her neck.
The morning air swirled around her legs as she washed her hands then climbed back up the stairs. At the top she paused, taking a moment to breathe in the quiet. There was no one else about; Saturday mornings were a precious chance for a lie-in, with no lectures or tutorials. It was only the hard-nosed rowers who made an appearance much before noon, when the quads would thrum to life, everyone making plans as to how the afternoon should be filled before piling into the beer cellar come opening time at six.
It made her think of her childhood, the one before she was moved across the country to live in a cul-de-sac with two well-meaning but distinctly aloof strangers. Back in the convent, they would be woken each morning at dawn, with prayers before breakfast and then a walk around the grounds or down to the beach. It was freezing in winter, not much warmer in summer, but those morning walks always managed to push aside the nightmares that found her every night.
The Love We Left Behind Page 15
