The Man I Thought You Were

by Leah Mercer

  The train pulls into Euston and I make my way to the Northern Line. My legs jiggle as the carriage travels northwards, my excitement and happiness growing until I can’t sit still any longer. I’m dying to get off the train and throw my arms around Anna – to draw both her and our baby close to me. I want to start over – to put the whole of myself into our world and give as much as I can while I’m able.

  Is this what Anna felt like when she finally tracked me down? Was she eager to build a new world together . . . to form a family? Pain ricochets through me as I picture my wife, high on hope, buying that T-shirt and writing that card, even when she didn’t know where I was. Her elation as she discovered my B & B and climbed the stairs . . . And then having the door slammed in her face.

  I pray she doesn’t do the same to me. She won’t, I tell myself, hope lifting me up. Not with our baby inside of her. Not if we have a chance to be a family.

  After what feels like forever the train arrives at Highgate station. I get off, my chest heaving as I climb the escalator steps – probably not a great idea given the state of my health, but I don’t care – and then I lurch up the steep pathway towards our road. I can hardly believe that I’m back in such a familiar place . . . our place.

  I retrace my path in reverse from the night I left, my heart pounding as I get closer and closer to our flat. She will say yes, I know she will. She will say yes, I know she will. The jogging rhythm of this thought propels me forwards, faster and faster, until I’m through the front gate and standing in front of the door. I use my key to enter, then climb the stairs to our flat. I pause for a second, take a deep breath and knock.

  I hear nothing except for the whoosh of my pulse in my eardrums. I knock again, louder this time, telling myself that she must be home by now; she never stays late at work – or she never used to, anyway.

  I pound on the door once more, and our neighbour Jens across the hallway opens his door.

  ‘Jesus Christ, mate,’ he says. ‘Can you keep it down? I’m trying to get some rest before the night shift tonight.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I jab a thumb towards our flat. ‘Do you know where Anna’s gone?’ We weren’t close to our neighbours – only stopping to chat if we saw them on the landing. But still, Jens might have some idea of Anna’s whereabouts . . . more than I do anyway.

  ‘Mark?’ Jens peers at me and his eyebrows rise. ‘I didn’t recognise you for a second there.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I rub a hand over my beard, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about my changed appearance. And it isn’t just the facial hair, I know. I’ve lost weight, and my face looks long and lean.

  ‘Long time no see.’ Jens pauses, as if waiting for me to explain matters, then shrugs. ‘Well, no. I haven’t seen anyone there for ages, actually. It’s been really quiet.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’ I push out the words, disappointment swirling inside me as Jens nods and closes his door. Perhaps I was a little naive to think I could suddenly turn up and my wife would be here waiting. But where could she have gone? I punch her number from memory into my phone, praying that she picks up, but it goes straight to voicemail. I click off. There’s no way I’m going to have our first contact after all this time be over voicemail.

  I stand still for a minute, my foot tapping on the floor. Maybe Sophie would know where she is? Anna and she were always so close, sharing everything. I envied their relationship – it made me miss Margo that much more, made me wish I could talk to Anna about things that bothered her, too. But I couldn’t – just hearing about anything that made her upset, anything I couldn’t protect her from, stirred up such anger and worry inside of me that eventually she stopped talking about them.

  My heart sinks when I realise I don’t have Sophie’s number on the new phone I’d bought after leaving my old one behind when I left. Shit. I eye the door to our flat in front of me, thinking of the list of emergency numbers I always made sure to keep in the drawer by the kitchen sink. I know the number is there.

  Before I can stop myself I’ve fitted the key in the lock and swung the door open. I won’t stay long. I just need to find that number—

  I freeze, my eyes widening as I take in the room in front of me. It’s the same place – the same furniture and bookshelves – but it feels like I’m staring at it through a different lens. All the novels we enjoyed together are gone, the walls have been stripped of our photos and even the blanket we used to curl up in is missing. It feels like the world we built – the life we lived here – has been erased.

  I swallow hard, trying not to think of what this means. Of course Anna would be angry. Of course she’d be upset. Can I blame her? She tried for weeks to find me, only to have me push her away – push her and our baby away. Those missing possessions mean nothing anyway. It’s her I want to be with – to have a family in the time I have left. Determination courses through me as I picture us in this lounge with a child crawling about and cooing, and I draw in a breath. First things first: I need to talk to my wife.

  I head to the kitchen and pull out the list of numbers. I slide my mobile from my pocket then punch Sophie’s number into it, praying that she answers.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sophie, it’s Mark.’

  ‘Mark?’ Sophie’s voice is incredulous and I swallow back the nerves jumping in my stomach. God, I hope she knows where Anna is. I can go to her work tomorrow, I guess, but I really want to talk to her tonight.

  ‘Yes. Listen . . . I need to talk to Anna – in person. Do you know where she is?’

  I hear Sophie draw in a breath and I steel myself for her response. She won’t be happy with how I’ve treated her sister, I know. If anything, Sophie is just as protective of Anna as I am.

  ‘You want to talk to Anna now? After all this time?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Desire swells inside me, and it’s so strong it almost lifts me off my feet. ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘I’m sure as hell not going to tell you. You’ve fucked up her life enough, don’t you think? I trusted you not to hurt her, and you hurt her terribly. . . worse than anything I could have imagined. Do you really think I’d tell you where she is now?’

  ‘I only just found out about the baby,’ I say quickly, desperate to get the words out before she hangs up on me. ‘When she came to see me the last time I didn’t know.’

  ‘Oh, so you think that makes it okay?’ Sophie asks, her tone brittle. ‘Listen, Mark. Anna’s doing all right, but she doesn’t need any more upset, any more emotional strain. It’s still early days for the baby and she’s had a bit of bleeding. Everything is okay, but . . .’

  I draw in a breath at her words. Bleeding? My heart thuds in my chest. She has to be all right. The baby has to be all right. I couldn’t bear it if they weren’t.

  ‘Just leave her be, okay?’ Sophie’s voice is strong and firm. ‘She doesn’t need you. She doesn’t want you. Listen, I hope you’re okay. I hope you shake off the cancer. But don’t call again.’

  The line goes dead. I lean back against the kitchen counter with Sophie’s words ringing in my ears. I know miscarriages happen – Margo was terrified of them, always talking about making it into the safe zone at three months. If Anna got pregnant in the weeks before I left, the baby would be . . . just about at the three-month mark? So when did the bleeding happen? Is it a recent thing? Have there been any more complications? Or is everything fine now?

  I let out a cry of frustration and run a hand over my face. God, this is torture. This is my child and my wife and I don’t even know the barest of details. My body jerks as I realise that Anna must have felt like this, too – times a thousand. She still doesn’t know I’m dying, and I haven’t just shut her out. I’ve obliterated her from my life.

  I push off from the counter, my shoulders lifting in a sigh. I don’t want to put Anna or our child at risk. I might be very ill, but I’m not going to drop dead in the next few weeks. Maybe I’ll wait a bit – until the pregnancy progresses, until everything is okay.


  And then . . . then I’ll come find her – her and our child.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Anna

  ‘Guess what?’ Sophie bursts into the bedroom and my eyes fly open. Thank God it’s Saturday, because despite sleeping for ten hours, I’m absolutely exhausted. I thought the second trimester was when you start to glow, but the only thing I’m radiating is fatigue . . . despite following Sophie’s litany of advice on eating properly, getting lots of rest and even going to prenatal yoga. It’s beyond me how I’m supposed to be super-bendy when my internal organs are rearranging themselves, but the baby doesn’t seem to mind my lack of flexibility. I’ve not bled again since that horrific night, thank goodness, and my doctor has assured me that everything is wonderfully normal.

  ‘What?’ I ask, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and sitting up.

  ‘The builder finally sent through his quote for the en suite in here, and I think I can swing it. I know sharing a bathroom with Flora and her sparkly bathtub probably hasn’t been the best experience.’ Sophie makes a face and I smile. For all her cuteness, Flora makes an unholy mess, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Last night she decided to cut her Barbie’s hair in the washbasin, trailing bits of doll hair across the floor.

  I shake my head. ‘Sophie, I’ve told you, don’t do this for me! I have to go back to the flat soon.’ I’ve stayed way longer than I meant to – partly because I wanted to, but also because it’s good to be here for Sophie and Flora. But I need to move on now, away from this world of sparkly bathtubs. This time has been invaluable, giving me both physical space and headspace from my marriage . . . a start at a recovery. And I’m ready to expand that even more – to begin to create a home for me and my baby.

  I even bought my first piece of baby kit: a gorgeous stripy blanket made from the softest fabric I’ve ever touched. I can just imagine my baby wrapped up in it, so peaceful and cosy, as I swing the Moses basket. I take a deep breath, preparing for the usual rush of sadness and anger that sweep over me whenever I picture my future alone. But when it comes this time, it’s tempered with growing excitement at meeting my child. I still have a long way to go, but I hope by the time this child is born that my happiness outweighs the pain.

  ‘Well, I am doing it for you a bit, because I want you to stay! But mostly I’m doing it because it will add value to the house, and I still don’t know what’s going on in that area.’ She makes a face. ‘Asher keeps making noises about selling, so we’ll have to see.’

  ‘As long as you’re not doing it just for me,’ I say. ‘Speaking of the flat, I should get over there and pick up the post.’ I shield my eyes as I peer out the window. It’s a lovely late-January day, perfect for a walk across the Heath.

  ‘Want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, that’s okay.’ I still haven’t been back since the night I started bleeding and I need to do this on my own. I squint at my sister, noticing she’s more dressed up than usual. ‘Where are you off to today?’ Flora is at Asher’s for the weekend, so Sophie’s living a child-free life for once.

  ‘Is this top all right?’ She plucks at a light blue silk shirt.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ I say, eyebrows rising as I note that she’s dodged the question. ‘So . . . where are you going?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Sophie’s cheeks colour and she ducks her head. My mouth falls open.

  ‘Well, what? Don’t tell me you’re going on a date!’ My voice rises to a screech.

  ‘Well, sort of. I mean, it’s just coffee. Not really a date.’

  ‘That’s a date, Soph.’ I shake my head, unable to believe my ears. ‘How did you meet him?’ I can’t work out when my sister has had time to meet someone – maybe she’s been using Tinder, though the idea of Sophie using a dating app is a difficult one to swallow. And part of me can’t believe Sophie is moving on so quickly either. Just the thought of dating again makes me shudder. I may be getting ready to make a new world, but that new world is for me and my child. I can’t imagine including someone else in that right now.

  ‘Tim is the dad of one of Flora’s friends at school. We’ve known each other for ages, but we were both with someone else. And now we’re not.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s probably never going to be serious, and Flora doesn’t know a thing about it, but it is nice to feel . . .’ She pauses, as if searching for the right word. ‘Appreciated, I guess. Excited, even. Like someone is actually looking forward to spending time with you, not just taking for granted that you’ll always be there.’

  I nod like I understand, but truthfully Mark and I never had that problem. I always felt valued, like he couldn’t wait to get home to me, and whenever we were together I was his top priority. I don’t know if that was real or not, but it did make me happy. Whoever he really was, I loved the man he showed me – until the end, that is. I can’t change those feelings, no matter the pain and anger he’s caused me. And I hope he’ll be all right – that he’ll get through this illness. But I’ve truly accepted now that, whatever happens, Mark will be without me.

  I get dressed, then throw on my wellies and coat. At the last minute, I grab the bag with my baby’s blanket, thinking it will be a good first step towards reclaiming the flat – at making it mine after so many years of sharing. Although the air is cool the Heath is packed with people taking in the sunshine. A kite swoops in the sky, its bright colours sharply contrasting with the deep blue sky behind it. My muscles work as I climb a hill, and I stand for a second, a smile lifting my lips as the wind whips my cheeks.

  When I arrive at the flat I fit the key into the lock and swing open the door, stepping back when I see the space in front of me. In my mind it was still chock full of our treasures – the cocoon we’d comfortably lined. Now the bookshelves are barren and the walls where pictures once hung are naked and forlorn. The once-neat pillows and blankets on the sofa are dishevelled, and dust dances in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

  I throw open those windows to let in fresh air then stare around the room. This is the place where we built our life, but now it’s stripped bare of all those things that formed our world. In a way it echoes the state we’re in now: our defences dropped, our barriers down, revealing the skeleton of our marriage . . . the skeleton whose bones have crumbled.

  I sweep my eyes around the space again as if I’m saying a final goodbye to the life we had here – to the couple I thought we were. Then I cross the creaky floorboards and spread the baby blanket on the sofa – a token of my future. My wedding band shines in the sun and I glance down at it, remembering the moment when Mark slid it on my finger, his eyes full of tenderness and love.

  My heart twists, and I realise I can’t keep wearing this ring. The love and commitment it represents don’t reflect what we had – not now, and maybe not ever. It couldn’t keep our marriage safe and protected any more than this room could. The only people who could do that were us.

  Slowly I slide the band off my finger. It feels right that I’m doing this here, in the flat where our marriage played out – in the place where Mark left me. In the place where, next time I’m here, I’ll be embarking on a new life with my baby.

  I shut the windows and scoop up the post. Then I close the door behind me and head back out into the streaming sun.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Mark

  Even though I told myself I’d plenty of time left to get in touch with Anna, I can feel my body gradually slowing, like a wind-up toy whose battery’s draining. As the days pass and January morphs into February, every movement is more laboured, every breath more ragged. My arms and legs grow thinner while my stomach has started to swell. Jude and Dad pepper me with constant ‘suggestions’ to reach out to my wife again, unable to understand my hesitation. I still tell myself to wait a little longer until the baby is well into the second trimester and whatever risk has completely passed. It’s driving me crazy not being there for them, but I’ll do what I need to for the safety of my family.

  I’m meeting with
my doctor today for the results of an MRI, which will show if the chemo is slowing the cancer’s progress. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious, but whatever the results I know now that you can’t let your fears force you to flee from the people who love you most. They are the ones that will gather you in and lift you up when you need them. They are the ones who will act as a safety net when life drops you in it . . . if you give them a chance.

  ‘Ready to go?’ Dad knocks on the door and I lever myself from the bed, feeling my body creak and groan.

  A couple of hours later I’m sitting in front of the doctor, trying to focus on her words. Chemo not working . . . tumours still growing . . . spread to other places in my body. I’m not surprised – I could tell by the carefully controlled expression on her face that the news would not be good.

  Dad reaches out to touch my arm and I nod my head. Terms like ‘palliative care’ and ‘pain management’ drift over me and I shift in my chair. None of this matters. I’m going to die – sooner rather than later, it seems – and there’s only one thing I need to do: find Anna. I don’t have time to waste, and the foetus should be at four months now . . . if all has gone well. For the first time I’m grateful for the centre’s close proximity to Anna’s workplace. I’m just a few streets from the university and she’ll be at work for another few hours yet.

  I turn to my father. ‘Dad . . . I need to go see Anna. I’ll meet you back at home.’ I barely have the energy to make it down the stairs and I don’t know how I’ll drag myself over to the university, but narrowing the distance between Anna and me seems like something I need to do on my own. I love having people around me now, but no one can bring us together but us.

  Dad meets my eyes. His face is pale and grim in the aftermath of our meeting and he puts an arm around me. ‘Good,’ he says, tightening his grip. ‘I’m glad. She needs to know what’s happening. I’ll wait here for a bit, just in case you need me. Call if you do, okay?’