‘I didn’t ask you to check up on me,’ I protest.
‘No, you didn’t, but that’s what you do for people you love. You keep an eye on them when they’re having a hard time. You are patient and you help, but the way we’re helping needs to change. Playing nice and waiting for you to come around in your own time doesn’t work with you, Janine. It never has, even when we were kids. So it’s time for me to step up and be the sister you’ve always been to me. It’s time for me to say enough. You need help. You need to go to therapy and learn that as horrible as this time is, you will get through it.’
Everything in me bristles at my sister’s words. ‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not fine and you’re not doing as good a job at pretending you are as you think. Kamal knows you’ve been lying. He knows you’re not writing or taking your meds.’
The bottom of my world falls away with that revelation. I look from my sister to my husband, his wearied stance striking me harder than any punch ever could. ‘You know?’
Kamal nods. ‘Tiff reached out a couple of weeks ago,’ he croaks. ‘I knew your deadline had been extended, but I thought you’d been given six months. Tiff told me it was only three.’
Again, guilt engulfs me.
‘Tiff told me that you’d not handed in any pages,’ Kamal continues. ‘I’ve known for a while about the pills, too.’
I have never heard my husband sound so defeated. I almost want to cover my ears at how heartbreaking his empty voice is. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I wanted to give you space to come to me when you were ready. I kept talking about writing, hoping it would give you the chance to open up. I tried to make taking your medication as easy as possible. I thought if I did all that, then it wouldn’t come to this.’
As Kamal’s voice splinters, so does my ribcage. The bones pierce my lungs, stealing my breath. ‘Kamal,’ I say, stepping towards him, but when he looks up, his potent sadness stops me in my tracks.
‘I’m losing you, Janine. I’ve no idea how to stop it from happening, but I can’t pick up the slack anymore. I’ve tried taking you to a doctor. I’ve tried letting you work through this how you see fit. I’ve let you lie, let you sneak around, let you forget work and plans and relationships, but I’m tired of coming home and not knowing where you are. I’m tired of thinking you’ve hurt yourself. I’m tired of waking up worried and going to sleep worried. I’m tired, Janine. I’m so tired.’
‘We all are,’ Beth adds. ‘We’re right here, saying we want to help. Don’t push us away.’
As I study the faces of the people I love most, everything that’s happened over the last few years ploughs into me. The cramps, the tears, the shame. Loss in all its unfiltered, unedited rawness.
‘I don’t like lying to you,’ I reply, my throat thick with emotion. ‘In fact, I hate myself for it, but I can’t seem to stop. I know I should be writing. I know I should take the pills and go to counselling.’
‘So why don’t you?’ Beth pushes.
‘Because I’m scared.’
‘Of what?’
My brain screams at me to lie. To shout, storm off, do anything but share the deepest, darkest part of my soul, but as I absorb my sister’s concern, I realise that the time for lying has come to an end.
‘I’m scared that if I take the medication, I’ll stop feeling the pain,’ I whisper. ‘It’s the only thing I have that reminds me that they were once here. There’s no baby in my arms, no nursery filled with love. The pain is all I have. I’m scared that if I start feeling better, it means I’ll forget them.’
‘Janine,’ Kamal says, reaching for me, but I hold my hand up to stop him.
‘Please, I need to say this. I need to explain. I watch you all trying to make things right for me, but nothing will ever make me feel better about what I’ve lost or the way I’ve changed. The person I am now – she isn’t me. I can barely leave the house, never mind see friends or go dancing or do any of the things I used to love. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to be who I thought I was going to be. I want to be a mum.’
With those words, I dissolve into tears.
This time when Kamal reaches for me, I don’t protest. As he wraps me in his arms, he speaks into my hair. ‘I know I can’t fix this, but please let me be there for you while you try to. You are everything to me.’
‘I shouldn’t be,’ I sob. ‘Not anymore.’
Kamal takes my head in his hands and brushes my hair from my cheeks. ‘How can you not see what’s staring you in the face? I will always, always love you, Janine.’
Crumbling, I hold my husband properly for the first time in a long time. We cling to each other, weighted by the perpetual crush of sadness, but reminded that we’re not the only person feeling it. And, more importantly, that we don’t need to carry it alone.
CHAPTER 41
For the first time in a long time, I feel some form of peace. Beth calls Mum and tells her she’s staying the night. While Kamal cooks dinner, my sister and I sit with a bottle of wine. We talk about loss. We talk about our childhood. We talk about my nieces, work and how the hell I’m going to get back on track with my writing. And, at the end of the day, I climb into bed with my husband and don’t pull away.
‘I’ve missed you,’ I whisper into the crook of Kamal’s neck.