‘Lauren.’ He says my name so quietly, it is barely audible above the buzz of the thyme. ‘This cannot be.’
Except, it is. Because he doesn’t move. And his indulgence of this moment, the seconds he lets it tick on, is everything. Around us, the Blues are nectaring, the insects hum in the hedgerow, waves crash on the beach, somewhere, in the distance, a tractor rumbles to life, but none of that compares to the absolute stillness between us, stillness in which his arm is pressing into mine. The Blue, sensing the disruption, darts along my arm into the open dusk.
‘It’s impossible,’ he says. His breath on my cheek is so sweet. ‘This cannot be what you want.’
My reply comes to me fully formed and clear. I say it even though this moment is fragile, I say it because I am less afraid of ruining this than not knowing his answer. I should have said it months ago, in the balcony outside Lepidoptery, in the lab after he gave me back my display case. Because it has never been about me. It has always been about him. ‘What do you want?’
His hand slips away. He jogs through the thyme, then he breaks into a run.
From: Kit McDermott
10:23
Is it me? What have I done wrong? Have I made you feel you couldn’t tell me? I thought we had the best relationship, the best marriage, when friends complain about their partners, ask for my advice, I don’t know what to say, I have no wisdom to impart because we never fight, we never argue. I thought it was because we were happy. Now, I wonder if I’m just an idiot. If all your secrets are hidden in the fights we’ve never had.
Come back, Laurie, shout and scream and cry. I will listen to it all, I will hear it all.
25
Prickles
Now
It’s too ordinary in the café – the clink of teaspoons against crockery, the waitress stacking mugs, a student watching a tutorial on his laptop – when, watching Daniel make his way to the toilet, I want to hurl cappuccinos, make steaming liquid arch through the air, hear the smash of ceramic.
I knew this was going to be hard, I anticipated his denial, deflection, resistance. But not my own. I am quicksand towing myself under, I am cannibalising myself.Insanity.It’s absurd, no lawyer would put that forward as a defence, yet none of that clinical logic can stop what he said from flooring me. Because it was insanity, wasn’t it? An insanity I’ve never felt again.
I cast round the café, searching for anything that reminds me of Kit, his quick smile, his intelligent hazel eyes, but I can’t find him, my head is rushing with Daniel. I came for a reckoning. Instead, I’m slipping back. He is a black hole pulling everything in, collapsing stars, sinking gravity. I’m never going to get out.
No.
My stomach spasms, the pain blasting away memories of Daniel, detonating other ones. ‘Where’s baby, where’s baby?’ Millie said, running up to the empty car seat Kit brought in, searching for Faye in the blankets. Kit drew her into his arms, buried his mouth in her hair. ‘The baby’s gone, my love,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’ But no matter how many times Kit told Millie, she wouldn’t stop asking me, she grabbed me the day I left, ‘Where’s baby? I want to see her. Where did you put her?’
My mouth tastes metal. I glare at the closed door of the toilet.You’ve done this. You.His blazer is slung over the chair; I drag it onto my lap. Then, I pull on a pair of disposable gloves and tear up the ivy leaves I picked earlier. Juice bleeds from the slashes, I rub it all over his collar. I want some for his sleeves, anywhere the fabric touches his skin, but there isn’t enough. I leaf through the Ziploc bags I’ve brought, choose. The bromelia prickles. In the light of the café, the flocking on the spines is silver. I sprinkle a few on the inside of his cuffs. Not too many. As if a bush has caught his sleeve, as if it’s circled his wrist in a crowd. Quick, uninvited intimacy.
The toilet door is opening; I return his blazer. I take a sip of tea to quiet the drum of my heart – it’s stewed. I scoop out the bag. This is what it’s like with Daniel. All appetites gone until you realise you’re famished.
He pulls out his chair.
I start before he sits down. ‘Is this real to you or just a game?’
‘Lauren—’
‘Because I’ve left my entire life to see you.’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘My husband—’
‘You’re married?’
The look he fixes me with is terrible and vulnerable, like I’ve betrayed him. Part of me is astounded that this is the scythe that carves him open but then I remember that merely the thought of me with another man was what broke us in the end. I want him broken now. ‘Yes. Kit’s a lawyer, like me. We met here.’
He blinks at the coffee bar, the lilies in their ceramic pots, the posters inviting training contract applications. He sees it now. This is the place where another man’s history with me begins.
‘I have a daughter too. She’s three.’
He puts his hand over his mouth.