The Man I Didn't Marry

by Anna Bell

  I groan.

  ‘What?’ says Owen.

  ‘It’s going to sound stupid.’

  He shrugs. ‘I think with what you’re dealing with at the moment, things are allowed to sound stupid.’

  I smile. I’ve always liked Owen.

  ‘I thought it might nudge Max’s memory if we went to the place where we had our first date – it was where he’d stopped seeing me as his sister’s dorky mate and started fancying me.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound stupid at all. In fact, it was a nice idea. What went wrong?’

  ‘They were renovating the mini-golf and the barman suggested beer pong instead and Max leapt at the idea and he decided he’d drink all my beer.’

  ‘Ah,’ he says, pulling a face. ‘That’s how he got so drunk?’

  ‘Yep, and the shots with the flirty hens from a hen do.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Owen. ‘Classic Max.’

  ‘Yeah, exactly,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Classic pre-me Max.’

  We’re silent for a while and I try not to let my mind wander to where we’ve ended up. ‘When I first started dating him, Rach was really worried.’

  The milk is finally warmed through and he pours it into a cup. ‘Really?’

  ‘Uh-huh. She told me that as much as she loved him that he was never going to grow up, that he’d break my heart and that I should get out while I still could.’

  He nods as he slides the cup across the table to me, before he goes back over and gets his tea.

  ‘The truth was I was worried about that too at first,’ I say, taking the drink and warming my hands. ‘He’d always been a player, even when we were at school, and I thought that whatever was going on with us was only going to be a fling. I was prepared for it just to be a few dates, a bit of fun. But he was so different to what I was expecting. The crazy benders that he was known for seemed a thing of the past and whilst we had some mad drunken nights, they weren’t out of control. He didn’t behave like he did last night. We wouldn’t have had a future if he had.

  ‘I just don’t get it. What happened between the version of him I saw last night and the version I met a year later? Why did he suddenly change?’

  ‘I expect it was an age thing,’ he says, stirring his tea. ‘You and Max, you’re a great couple, you’ll work it out.’

  ‘You and Sarah were too,’ I say, before cursing myself. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did.’

  ‘No, you’re right. We were. But it was different with us. We were fresh out of university when we met. Neither of us knew who we were, or what we wanted to be. We grew up together but grew apart. Whereas you and Max grew up and then found each other.’

  ‘Only now he’s lost his memory of that bit.’

  Owen smiles. ‘Look, don’t worry so much. The doctor said he’d get his memory back any day now.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t?’

  ‘What if he does?’ says Owen, blowing on his tea as he walks over to the table and sits opposite me.

  ‘Then everything will be hunky-dory, but I can’t keep living in this weird limbo of waiting; I need to plan for the worst-case scenario. I’m going to have a baby in a few weeks and I want him to be in love with me again.’

  ‘And he will be.’

  ‘But how? We can’t just carry on pretending we’re married when he’s never fallen in love with me. He looks at me like I’m still that geeky teenager. And it’s not even like I could parade around in a tiny Wonder Woman costume like I did last time.’

  Owen laughs a little before coughing.

  ‘Ellie,’ he says softly. ‘You’re beautiful, especially now.’

  ‘I wasn’t fishing for compliments,’ I say, blushing. ‘It’s just that I want Max to look at me how he used to. You know – with that twinkle in his eye that made me shiver. I sound so ridiculous.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘He just had this way of looking at me that made me think like I was everything to him,’ I say, wiping a tear away.

  ‘And he will again. You’ve just got to see it from his point of view. He’s gone from being the kind of guy who had a revolving-door policy with girlfriends to suddenly being married with a toddler and a baby on the way. It’s going to be terrifying for him to suddenly have to play that role.’

  ‘I know and that’s why I didn’t want him to play it. I want him to be actually living it.’

  Owen looks at me with a look of pity.

  ‘My NCT friends convinced me that I should redo some of our memorable dates. That’s why I tried to recreate the magic of our first date.’ I sink my head into my hands. ‘It was such a crazy thing to do.’

  ‘That’s what being in love does to you, though. Are you going to do any more?’

  I shrug.

  ‘Rach thinks I should focus on why he lost his memory in the first place. Try and find out what Max was doing when it happened.’

  ‘I thought you’d hit a brick wall?’

  ‘We did, but maybe I could recheck his messages, see if there’s anything he missed.’

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ he says a little too quickly.

  ‘Why not? Do you think Max is hiding something?’

  ‘No, no,’ he says, clearly flustered, ‘I just meant that I wouldn’t like anyone going through my phone without my permission. And there are things that you might find that are totally innocent – jokes or messages that could be taken the wrong way.’

  ‘I don’t know, it might be—’

  ‘Ellie, the phone’s been checked. Concentrate on getting to know each other again.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, knowing the messages would have been a long shot.

  ‘Just as long as you’re not going to recreate that dinner party we had before you guys were married.’

  ‘Oh God, when Max was still in his flat in Brixton?’ I say, cringing at the thought. Owen starts to laugh and I join in.

  We thought we were so grown up hosting a dinner party, only Max and I had tried a bit of the Calvados that we were using in a sauce and we’d ended up drinking most of the bottle before our guests arrived. The fact that we ended up ordering Thai take away at 12 a.m. tells you everything you need to know about how bad the food was.

  Max walks into the room, squinting and clutching his stomach.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he says.

  ‘We were just reminiscing about a dinner party we had,’ I say, the laughter falling short. It’s the kind of memory where you had to be there to find it funny. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Like a bit of a dick.’

  Owen stands up, putting his cup in the sink.

  ‘Well, you’ve had a lot of practice,’ he says, patting Max on the back as he walks past him. ‘I’m going back to bed.’

  ‘Night,’ I say, hugging my cup towards me. ‘Thanks again for the drink and the chat.’

  ‘Anytime,’ he says, leaving the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t think those shots were a very good idea,’ says Max with a slur. He staggers over to the table and sits down, rubbing his temples.

  ‘They never are.’

  ‘I’m guessing that wasn’t the best night out we’ve ever had.’

  ‘No, it was probably the worst,’ I snap. I didn’t mean it to come out so harshly but I’m still angry.

  ‘I’m sorry for all that,’ he says. ‘I was such an arse.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Not at all. I mean, I can’t remember all of it,’ he says, wincing, ‘but the bits I can remember were pretty awful. And my head. Did I drink many shots?’

  ‘Four or five.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says, groaning.

  ‘Have you been awake long?’

  ‘No. I was lying there, trying to make myself get up for a glass of water, but my head’s spinning that much. Then I heard laughter and realised you were up.’

  I get up and fill him a glass of water from the tap and pass it to him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says, ta
king a tiny sip. ‘I feel awful.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ I say, sitting back down.

  ‘You know, a lesser woman would say that I deserved it.’

  I bite my lip.

  ‘And they’d be right. I’m sorry for how I acted yesterday. The drinking and insisting that we played beer pong. I know that would have been the last thing you wanted to do whilst sober.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, batting a hand.

  ‘It’s not. I’m sorry. I was in a bad place last night. This whole thing finally got to me. You know I went into the office and people were coming up to me and chatting to me and I had no idea who they were. I didn’t recognise the projects that I’d worked on. Everything seemed to be written in a different language with all new abbreviations and jargon. I guess it hit me: what if my memory doesn’t come back? What if I’m stuck in this big hole forever?

  ‘Which I guess might be OK if I was on my own, but I’m not. You’re on maternity leave and if I lost my job how would we afford the house or the kids?’ he says, clutching at his head again. ‘And it’s not only the financial stuff. I don’t know my own daughter; what if I can’t bond with her again?’

  And I thought my head was spinning. He’s been so nonchalant about this whole memory loss that I haven’t stopped to truly consider how overwhelming and difficult it is for him.

  ‘You will.’ I’m stunned at the sudden outpouring. ‘You’re already doing a good job with Sasha.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like it. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing and you’re such a natural.’

  ‘Believe me, I wasn’t at the start, but it just takes time to get your confidence and find your feet. I’ll help you,’ I say, reaching out and taking his hand.

  He looks down at it before giving me a small smile.

  ‘Thanks, it means a lot to have someone supporting me through all this. I couldn’t imagine doing it alone.’

  ‘It’s our wedding vows. For better or worse.’

  ‘I’m guessing that you were cursing them last night.’

  I take my hand back because it’s getting all clammy where he’s sweating out booze.

  ‘Yeah, about the time you vomited on my shoes. Or maybe when you were flirting with the hot bridesmaid.’

  He wrinkles his nose up.

  ‘I’ve got flashbacks of you shouting last night. No wonder you were mad.’

  ‘To be honest, it doesn’t take a lot to make me mad at the moment. You’ve got to imagine that my hormones are going bananas at this stage of the pregnancy, anyway, and throw in your amnesia and that muddle of a house we have – to be honest, I’m amazed that I haven’t been losing it more than I have.’

  He smiles but it’s a sad kind of a smile.

  ‘What happens if I don’t get my memory back or if it takes ages to come back and I’ve fucked it up in the meantime? With Sasha, with work… and with you?’

  ‘Look, Max, your memory is going to come back,’ I say, despite the fact that just a few minutes earlier I was worrying the same thing with Owen.

  ‘But what if it doesn’t? Haven’t you thought about that? What would we do?’ he says, scratching his head.

  ‘I’ve thought about it a little.’

  ‘You know, it’s strange telling you how I feel, but it’s actually a bit of a relief. Huh. I can see why I tell you everything,’ he says.

  ‘Mmmhmm,’ I say, feeling guilty for not correcting him the other day, but it is nice to hear what’s inside his head.

  ‘You can always talk to me, I’m here for the freak-outs at five a.m.,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘How can you be so calm about this? I mean, you’re looking after Sasha and me. And we’re having a baby in a few weeks. Oh, the birth! I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do when you’re in labour. Have you got a birth plan? Is it a water birth? Am I going to have to be fishing out your poo with a net?’

  His face is turning even greener.

  ‘No, rest assured we’re not having a water birth. It’s definitely not for me. But to be honest the birth is the last thing we’ve got to worry about. It’s the only thing that we know that is definitely going to happen. We should focus on everything else instead.’ I pause.

  ‘Let’s just say, worst-case scenario, it takes you a few months to get your memory back, then what do we need to do to prepare for that?’ I continue, going into planning mode like I would do at the office.

  ‘I don’t know. I’d have to go back to work, I guess.’

  ‘OK,’ I nod. ‘So, that’s a start. You need to work out what those new acronyms are and get up to date with developments.’

  ‘I guess I could try and spend more time with Sasha. You could teach me the routine and what I usually do.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I say, thinking that fits in nicely with Helen’s idea to make him the perfect husband/dad.

  ‘And then it would just leave us,’ he says.

  ‘Ah,’ I say, looking at the foam of milk at the bottom of my empty cup. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m guessing that doesn’t come with such an easy fix,’ he says. ‘You haven’t even told me how we got together in the first place.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. That’s one of the reasons I thought it was a good idea for us to go out last night, just the two of us. Give us a bit of time so I could tell you things like that.’

  ‘And then I went and fucked it all up,’ he says, sighing loudly. ‘What about today? Why don’t you tell me about us? We can go home and I can shower and then you can tell me everything.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, nodding. ‘I can dig out the photo books.’

  ‘Great,’ he says. ‘And then I’ll be up to speed about my new life in no time.’

  I smile and wish it was that easy.

  Chapter 12

  True to his word, Max has spent the last couple days knuckling down and trying to get to grips with the life he’s forgotten. He’s started jotting down notes and timetables for our family routine, to the extent that he hasn’t quite got the go-with-the-flow-on-occasions memo and I’m worried he could give Gina Ford a run for her money.

  He’s looked at our photo albums and the loose photos I have, as well as the ones on my phone. He learnt how we first re-met at the cheesy club in Clapham on Dodgy Rodge’s stag do. Why we moved to Fleet. What holidays we’ve been on. What my favourite ice cream flavour is.

  But while he knows about my favourite ice cream, he doesn’t know that whenever we have a bowl of ice cream, I’ll save the last spoonful for him, and then I’ll kiss him after as he’ll taste all lovely and ice creamy. It’s a silly habit that started on a holiday in Italy, after Max had asked me for the last bit of my gelato, and we’ve kept it going ever since. The thought of him not automatically doing it pains me and I can’t bring myself to tell him.

  ‘Right, the notes just say free play,’ says Max, looking up over his notebook and then down again to Sasha.

  ‘Uh-huh, you just let her play with toys or play a game with her. I’m just going to make lunch.’

  ‘But she’s not really interested in the stacking cups or the shaking things.’

  I pop some eggs in the pan of boiling water and turn to him. He’s sitting on the floor of the kitchen with his brow furrowed in a way that he usually reserves for building flatpack furniture.

  This is the first time we’ve properly spent time together as a family of three, as Mick had some things to do today and couldn’t come and help with decorating the lounge.

  Max’s sitting on his knees trying to do peekaboo but Sasha’s never been into that. She just bats his hand away like she knows he’s there.

  ‘When you say play?’ he asks.

  ‘You just play,’ I say.

  ‘Um, OK.’

  He’s floundering so I pick up my phone and search for a pop playlist, and a couple of seconds later, Taylor Swift comes out of the speakers.

  Sasha’s whole face lights up. She loves music and pulls herself up against the little kid’s table that’s in the corne
r and starts to rock from side to side.

  ‘Great,’ says Max, getting up and going to walk away but Sasha starts to wail.

  ‘Oh no, you’ve got to join in. Here, look.’ I press the pause button. ‘And freeze.’ I put my hands up and stand still and Sasha looks up and does the same, although she holds on for balance. I press play again and she starts her rocking/dancing.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ says Max. ‘OK, I can do this.’

  He looks a little bit uncomfortable at first.

  ‘I’m guessing you’ve seen my bad dancing before,’ he says and he starts to do what can only be described as awful dad dancing. I purse my lips together, trying not to laugh.

  Sasha immediately wobbles across to him and he bends down almost instinctively and takes her hands and they start to dance together. I press pause and they both stop and I notice that Max pulls a face at Sasha that makes her giggle.

  I press play again and watch as Max starts to really get into the music and dance with her, and the more he moves, the more she laughs.

  ‘This is actually working,’ he says, looking all pleased with himself.

  ‘Sometimes it’s the simplest of things that work; she just wants your attention.’

  Max is smiling in a way that reminds me of when he first held Sasha, with a look of awe and wonderment and pride. Tears prickle in my eyes and I turn back to preparing the food.

  I keep moving around the kitchen, sorting out the lunch, watching them and pausing every so often. The more I do it, the more they seem to bond over their frozen moment in time.

  I try and ignore the green-eyed monster that’s growing in my belly. It’s not like I’m jealous that they’re bonding; I am absolutely over the moon that they are. I’m just jealous that Max and I don’t seem to be able to do it that easily.

  ‘Despacito’ starts playing from the little speaker and Max wrinkles up his face.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ he says. ‘Sounds like the kind of song that you only hear on holiday.’

  I gasp, forgetting that he won’t have heard it before.

  ‘This is one of the biggest songs of the last few years, it was absolutely huge.’

  ‘I’m obviously not some Simon Cowell.’

  ‘No, clearly not,’ I say as I pop some bread in the toaster.