by B. A. Paris
‘You were a long time in your shed,’ she murmurs.
‘Sorry.’
‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re tired.’
In the dark, her hand finds my face and traces the lines of it.
‘You too.’
‘A little.’
‘It was a perfect day.’ Her mouth finds mine. ‘Thank you, for everything.’
I need to tell her. ‘Livia—’
‘Not now.’ She moves the towel from around her and slides herself closer to me, pressing her body against the length of mine, wanting me, and I shrink away because I can’t, we can’t. But the softness of her skin and the touch of her fingers draw me in until all I want is to forget, to forget what has happened and be like we’ve always been, like we’ll never be again. So I empty my mind and think only of Livia, of us, one last time.
Livia
Adam’s head is heavy on my shoulder, my arms are tight around his back. His exhaustion is so deep that I’m not sure anything would wake him. I feel guilty for falling asleep, for not waiting for him to come back from his shed, and even guiltier for using sex so that I wouldn’t have to hear what I know he was going to tell me. Poor Adam. I’d never use the word fragile to describe him, but there’s a fragility about him that makes me afraid. In the space of a day, something deep within him has changed. I’m not surprised; to find out that your beloved daughter is having an affair with one of your friends, someone you don’t particularly like, must be one of the worst things a man can experience. If only he hadn’t had to find out at my party.
And that’s when I realise – he was already stressed before my party started, so when exactly did he find out? I go back over everything. He was fine when we woke yesterday morning, fine over breakfast. Then I went out with Kirin and Jess, leaving him with Josh. At some point he went into town, supposedly to get my present, and came back with a migraine instead. There was the phone call he made to his parents in the afternoon, about seemingly nothing at all. The way he was off with Amy when she arrived and his conversation earlier with Nelson, when he had seemed distressed. There’s been too much that’s out of character. And what was it he wanted to tell me, when we were together in the garden, before the party started? Was it about Marnie and Rob? If it was, and I can’t think of anything else it could be, he must have found out about their affair while he was in town.
Everything points to it, I realise. It’s why he was so stressed this afternoon. The effort of pretending he didn’t know must have been awful, especially in relation to Rob. It had been hard enough for me, and it would have been harder for Adam because instinct would have made him want to rip Rob apart. I had secretly cried my eyes out for two days. Adam hadn’t had the luxury of coming to terms with it in private before meeting Rob publicly. That’s why he looked as if he wanted to kill Rob during the box incident. So his conversation with Nelson must have been about Marnie and Rob after all. Nelson had refused to believe it and had probably said something along the lines of My little brother wouldn’t do something like that, which would explain Adam’s almost hysterical laughter.
The phone call he made to his dad during the afternoon – maybe he’d wanted to talk it through with Mike, and had decided against it at the last minute because he felt he should tell me first. Which means that Cleo must have told Adam about her suspicions during the morning. Maybe they bumped into each other in town, went for a coffee together and it had all come out. It’s why Adam didn’t have my present, because once she’d told him, all thought of it would have gone from his mind. It also explains his migraine – it was just a made-up excuse to explain his low spirits.
Poor Cleo, poor Adam, I feel terrible for them. I need to wake Adam and tell him that I already know about Marnie and Rob, that I’ve known since Rob and Cleo went to Hong Kong. But – my heart sinks. He’ll be furious that I’ve let him drink and joke with the man who has betrayed us so horribly. It’ll be exactly what I’ve been afraid of; he’ll think I held back for six weeks – six weeks, not just a few hours like he has – because I wanted to make sure I had my party first.
I lie for another while, turning it over in my mind, hating myself for what I’m thinking, which is that I’ll let Adam tell me about Marnie and Rob when he wakes up, and pretend I didn’t know. I’d have to tell Max, though, so that he won’t give me away. A wave of shame washes over me, that I could even think of lying to Adam, and making Max part of that deceit. But it would make everything so much easier. Tensions are going to be running high. Why add to them by telling Adam that I already know what he so desperately wants to tell me?
Moving slowly, I ease my shoulder from under Adam’s head and carefully slide my arms from around him, ready to stop if he moves. But he sleeps on, unaware that I’m no longer holding him. I get quietly out of bed, pull a T-shirt over my head, slip on some jeans, push my feet into slippers and go quietly downstairs. Although the caterers took the crockery, cutlery and glasses away with them, there are some of my own dishes piled in the sink, and the floor needs a good wash.
My birthday cakes are sitting on the side, each of them covered in cling film. Just seeing them makes me hungry and I realise that I didn’t eat very much during the party, or drink. Every time someone handed me a glass, I only took a sip before I seemed to need to put it down. I set to work, loading what I can into the dishwasher and washing the larger dishes by hand. I put everything away, wipe down the sides, then make myself some coffee before washing the kitchen floor.
I carry my coffee out to the garden. It feels as if I’m the only one awake in the world. When Josh and Marnie were small, I’d often get up in the early hours and get the housework out of the way. I’d always have a really good day afterwards, no longer stressed about having to get things done. I’m glad that I’ve been able to get the house back to normal, with everyone coming over later.
It’s a while before I realise that nobody will be coming to lunch today, not now that Adam knows about Marnie and Rob.
5 A.M. – 6 A.M.
Adam
I jolt awake, my heart pounding. I know something terrible has happened and I struggle to remember what it is. And then I remember. Marnie is dead. I lie still, trying to absorb the pain of loss that wracks my body. This is how it will always be, I realise. A first few seconds of unawareness before reality comes flooding in, bringing anguish along with it.
Is it a good thing that Livia is no longer beside me? Yes, because if she was, I’d have to tell her now, this minute. She must be in the bathroom, which means I can wait a bit longer. I try to think of nothing, to close my mind to the horror of Marnie’s death, to preserve myself so that I’ll be able to tell Livia without breaking. But it’s impossible.
It’s the not knowing that’s going to haunt me. Not knowing if Marnie knew she was about to die. And because I can’t know, I’ll always torture myself with thoughts that she did, that there were seconds, minutes even, when she knew the horror that awaited her. I’ll never get over the fact that Marnie had to face death alone, never.
One of my biggest regrets has always been that I wasn’t there at her birth, because I was at the pub with Nelson. By the time Jess tracked me down, it was all over. Is it significant that I wasn’t there for her death either? Maybe it’s the price I’ve had to pay for not caring enough about her before she was born. That, and not really wanting her in the first place.
The sound of the back door opening and footsteps on the terrace tells me that Livia is downstairs, not in the bathroom. I wonder how long she’s been up. Through the open window I catch the sound of her humming to herself, and feel an aching sadness. Today is the last day she’ll have got up, excited for the day ahead.
The amount of effort needed to reach for my mobile is huge. I only manage because I need to know the time, I need to know how much longer I can stall before I tell Livia. It’s 5.45. The sun will just be rising. It will be beautiful out there in the garden, a little chilly perhaps,
but beautiful. Is that the place to tell her, in the garden, sitting on the wall surrounded by memories of yesterday, facing Marnie’s fence? Or will the photos of Marnie make everything worse, if it’s possible for things to be worse?
Fifteen more minutes and then I’ll tell her, before Josh wakes up, before everybody starts phoning to thank us for the wonderful party.
Livia
I love the garden in the early morning, before birdsong is replaced by the sound of voices, the drone of lawnmowers and power tools. I walk across the grass, retrieving the discarded napkins and dropped bottle tops as I go. I catch myself humming ‘Unchained Melody’, the song Adam and I danced to last night, and I can’t believe I feel so relaxed when I know what the day ahead holds. I suppose it’s because it’s going to be Adam telling me about Marnie and Rob, rather than the other way around, which means the worry of telling him has gone. I feel bad that I’m going to pretend I know nothing about the affair to save my own skin. Maybe I shouldn’t, I think anxiously, maybe I should just tell the truth.
I try to take the burst balloons down, but realising I’ll need scissors to cut the string, I go and fetch some from the kitchen, taking the napkins and bottle tops with me. As I go to throw them in the bin, I freeze. Because there, lying on top of remnants of food, is the wallet from the travel agency, the one I gave Adam during my party. Not only that, it’s been torn in half.
I reach down and retrieve the two pieces, my heart heavy with dismay. I don’t understand. Why has Adam thrown away the tickets I bought him? I thought a trip to see the viaduct would be the perfect present for him. How could I have got it so wrong?
I carry the torn pieces over to the table and sit down, feeling stupidly close to tears. It’s true that he hadn’t seemed excited when I presented him with the tickets yesterday. I thought it was because he was worried about taking time off; now it seems he didn’t want to go at all. It’s completely out of character for him not to be grateful for a present, even those he secretly doesn’t like, like the Christmas jumper his aunt buys him every year. He might never wear it – he has a drawerful of presents that he’s never used – but when he opens it, he’ll pretend that it’s exactly what he wanted. He would never hurt anyone’s feelings – but he has hurt mine, not by not wanting to go and see the Millau Viaduct, but by tearing the tickets in half. For him to have done that, he must have been angry, irritated, frustrated.
Frustrated. Maybe Adam has never got over his disappointment at not having qualified as a civil engineer. What if it’s still there, hidden deep inside him along with other never-to-be-fulfilled desires? Have I made the most stupid, insensitive mistake? I never thought to run it past Mike or Nelson, ask them what they thought before booking the trip. Maybe they’d have put me right and suggested an alternative. If Adam still has regrets about not having done what he wanted to do, not being what he wanted to be, I’m the last one he’d tell.
Tears escape from my eyes and I dash them away angrily. I’d rather he’d come out and told me, rather than tear up the tickets. What am I meant to do now? Go and have it out with him? I shake my head. Nothing adds up, nothing makes sense. I know Adam, and if he really didn’t want to go and see the bridge, not only would he have been honest, he’d also have found a solution. He’d have suggested that we stay somewhere near Montpellier, not Millau itself, and explore the surrounding countryside instead. Maybe he didn’t want to tell me last night, so that’s another conversation we’re going to have this morning. And I’ll tell him that it’s fine, that we can do as he suggests. What’s important is that he has a few days away that he’ll enjoy.
I’m not sure the travel agency will refund the tickets but I can always ask. First, I need to try to stick them back together because I don’t suppose they’ll appreciate them being torn in half any more than I do.
I take the tickets from the wallet and piece them together, first Adam’s, then mine. And find myself staring, because instead of Montpellier, the destination is down as Cairo. I sit back against the wall, puzzling it out. I don’t understand how there could have been a mistake. I remember the girl at the travel agency going through the tickets with me before putting them in the wallet and she can’t have got them mixed up with someone else’s tickets because our names are on these, in black and white. And then I notice the departure date, and the time – 9th June, at 10.30 a.m. Today. In a few hours.
My mind feels as if it’s wading through sludge. These aren’t the tickets I bought, these are tickets that someone else bought. It must have been Adam. But why would Adam buy tickets for Cairo, leaving today, and not say anything about them to me? Unless he arranged a surprise for me, like I’d arranged a surprise for him. Except that I got there first.
I feel terrible. No wonder he wasn’t very enthusiastic when he saw the tickets for Montpellier. He knew we wouldn’t be able to go on Tuesday because we’d be in Cairo. It also explains the non-appearance of my present at the party – how could he give it to me when he knew it would spoil the one I’d just given him? But as he’s probably booked a resort, it would be more logical to cancel the trip to France than the one to Egypt.
The thought of Adam planning this trip makes me feel quite emotional. We’d seen a travel programme a while back about Egypt, and I remember telling him that I’d always wanted to see the pyramids, a throwback to my childhood when I wanted to be an archaeologist, until my parents told me I’d be a doctor. He must have planned to surprise me with the tickets this morning. Or maybe he wouldn’t have given them to me, maybe he’d have told me to pack a case because we were going on a surprise trip, and that I’d only find out where we were going when I got to the airport. It would have been wonderful. And it still can be. From a totally selfish point of view, I’d rather see the pyramids than the Millau Viaduct.
6 A.M. – 7 A.M.
Adam
I’m about to get out of bed and go and find Livia when I hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs, as if she’s suddenly discovered something. There’s a rush of acid in my stomach. She knows. I spring up in the bed, ready to catch her, but she comes running into the room looking so relieved and happy that I freeze.
‘You are just the most perfect man,’ she says, throwing herself down beside me. She cups my face in her hands and looks deep into my eyes. ‘I don’t whether to say thank you first, or sorry.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask warily.
‘It’s not too late, we can still go.’ I look at her uncomprehendingly. ‘To Cairo!’ she laughs. ‘I found the tickets. It doesn’t matter that they’ve been torn in half, I’m sure we can print them ourselves.’
I take her hands from my face and hold them in mine. ‘Livia.’
‘You should have told me,’ she says, before I can say anything else. ‘I understand now why you didn’t seem overly pleased about the trip to Millau. You should have told me you’d already booked somewhere. I wouldn’t have minded.’
Now I’m in another nightmare. ‘It’s not that. We’re not going to Cairo. Well, we are, but not this morning.’
‘Have you managed to get the tickets changed? Oh, that’s perfect! Now we have two trips to look forward to! When are we going?’
‘Tomorrow. But listen, Livia—’
‘Well, that wasn’t very clever, to only change them to tomorrow.’ Her eyes cloud with confusion. ‘We still won’t be able to go to Montpellier. But I’d rather have a beach holiday anyway.’
‘Livia!’ I say desperately. ‘Will you listen?’ She looks at me in surprise. ‘We’re not going to Cairo for a beach holiday—’
‘Don’t tell me – I know, it’s one of those tour things, where you stay at different places! I know it’s not the same as lying on the beach but it’ll still be lovely.’
‘No. It’s not that.’
‘Well, what is it then?’
I catch hold of her hands again.
‘Livia, I need to tell you something very serious, and I need you to listen.’
The laughter finall
y leaves her and she goes very still. And while I’m trying to get the words out, she utters the most unthinkable words.
‘It’s alright, Adam, I know.’
I go hot, then cold, then hot again. For a blessed moment, the world recedes, and Livia along with it.
‘No,’ I say, when my vision clears. ‘It’s not possible. You can’t know what I’m going to tell you.’
‘It’s about Marnie, isn’t it?’
My mind fragments. I release her hands abruptly. ‘You – you know?’
‘Yes, and I’m just as devastated as you are.’ Her voice breaks and her eyes fill with tears. ‘What’s going to happen to us all?’
I throw the covers off and get out of bed, unable to be next to her, trying to take it in. She’s upset, but shouldn’t she be distraught? Shouldn’t her heart be broken, shouldn’t she be weeping? She seemed so happy when she came in – she was happy when she came in. How is she still functioning?
‘Adam,’ she pleads, reaching for me.
‘When did you find out?’ I ask harshly, ignoring her outstretched arms.
There’s a split second of hesitation. ‘Yesterday.’
She’s known since yesterday? ‘When, yesterday?’
‘At the party.’
‘What time?’ I snap.
‘Why are you so angry with me? What does it matter what time I found out?’
‘I just want to know if it was after you danced the night away, or before!’
She leaps out of bed and faces me. ‘What about you? It didn’t stop you joking with Rob! Because when did you find out, Adam? Yesterday, before the party had even started! And yet, you still let it go ahead!’
