A man, a relationship, sex.
‘Who is he?’
I bite my lip. I can never tell him. My secrets are so much darker than his.
‘Lauren?’
I shake my head.
He puts his hand on my elbow. His voice is so gentle. ‘Who is he?’
I wrench my elbow away, my whisper, savage. ‘Don’t ask me.’
He freezes. He’s never heard me like that before, so hurt and hunted, and then I can’t look at him anymore, can’t see howmuch I’m frightening him. I bury my face in my hands. Behind my palms, I’m praying,Stay, please, don’t leave,and then, I feel his hand on my shoulder. The relief is so overwhelming, I almost cry out with it.
‘What do you need?’ he says.
He is everything I need him to be – practical, resourceful. He asks if I’ve taken a test and I think Mama’s death, these weeks in Cornwall, Daniel, have made me soft in the head, like the smashed flesh of a bruised peach – itcouldactually be noro, I could be worrying about nothing. I tell Alex I can’t get to the pharmacy and it wouldn’t matter if I could because I don’t have any money. He drives me to Falmouth in his father’s truck. He buys the test.
Pitched over the café toilet, trying to plunge the test into my urine, I look at my reflection, see the cliché I truly am. I believed what Daniel and I had was rare, astonishing, that I was rare and astonishing. But I am not. I am ordinary. So very ordinary. The sink is smeared with liquid soap. I fold a length of tissue, place it on the edge and then lay the test on top of it, as if cleanliness will save me now.
Pink cross.
Pregnant.
Alex doesn’t have to ask me what the result is. I fly into his arms, bury my head against his neck. I want to sink down through his skin, into his body, I want to be him not me. Lock the door on myself, the basin, the test. Leave myself behind.
In the truck, he asks me again whose baby it is, if I’m going to tell my stepfather. I tell him I can’t, my stepfather won’t understand. Alex doesn’t piece it together. It is incomprehensiblebecause it is disgusting. I am disgusting.Your mother’s husband. Your stepfather.
The hedgerows come into view, the post office, the fish cellar, the beach and then he drives up to the cottage, through the woods. I want to say stop, stop, we’re going back too fast, I’m not ready, I can’t do this, but I don’t. He parks outside the cottage. He rubs his palms on his legs, he’s sweating. ‘I think we should tell my dad. He’s really cool. He’ll help.’
‘No!’ I grip his arm. ‘I just need to get away from here. Tomorrow, I’ll be gone.’
‘Where? Your stepfather is here. You don’t have any other family.’
All this thought of escape and nowhere to go. I think of Mama, what she used to say. ‘You’re the only family I need.’ I believed her, but where has her fierce isolation left me? I shut my eyes, wish that childish wish of wanting my father, that would give me an option when I have run out. I want to crawl into my box room with the maple leaves tacked on the window, listen to Mama’s violin through the walls but the flat’s rented out now and Mama’s dead. The only place I can think of is Wyatt, where I was before Daniel told me about Mama, where, for nine days, I was happy. That decides it. ‘I’ll go to boarding school.’
‘You go to boarding school?’ His features harden at another thing I’ve left out, another secret I’ve kept.
I take a deep breath, make my voice steel, strong. ‘I need you to bring as much money as you can, pick me up tomorrow morning and drive me to the train station.’
‘What about your stepfather? Are you sure he’s going to the field?’
I look beyond him, out of the truck window, to the pine wood beyond, the flowers and ferns and plants I have dissected and sketched and labelled. I know what will delay Daniel. ‘I’ll deal with him.’
‘I’m not sure. I have school and I just don’t think—’
I do what will silence all his thinking. Because it is the thing that has silenced my own, made me soft and stupid. I lean over the gearstick and kiss him. His lips stir beneath mine; his hands move to my waist; in my mouth, I feel the smallest flutter of his tongue. Then, over his shoulder, I see Daniel.
From: Kit McDermott
12:20
I remember the week you lied about going to work – you’d been off for two days before I found out. I walked over to surprise you for lunch but I could see from the street that the light in your office was off. I was just about to call you when Mirel came out of reception. She looked confused when I said I was looking for you, she said you’d called in sick since Monday. I checked my phone. You’d messaged me minutes before about how your memo was driving you mad.
I didn’t pull you up on it. I don’t remember why I didn’t or what I thought was going on but now, it seems really obvious you were having an affair. Nothing else makes sense. You’re beautiful, smart, sexy as fuck, I’ve spent most of our relationship wondering why you’re with me, when I’m clearly not smart enough, witty enough, good enough. Perhaps I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know.
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