Who We Were Before (7 page)

18

ZOE, SATURDAY, 5 P.M.

N
o matter how fast I walk, memories nip at my heels. It’s as if by allowing that one foray into a corner of my former life, the door has been cracked open. Tears drip from my eyes, like a tap has been turned on. I’m groping blindly, frantically in the dark to shut it off, but images leak out.

The wedding jumper I knitted Edward, our initials entwined. The revolting non-alcoholic wine we toasted our marriage with. The way he touched my tiny bump as we walked from the registry office, his fingers lightly resting on my taut stomach as if his whole world was inside me.

My lungs heave as I quicken my pace even more, scanning the street for somewhere to hide. Up ahead, I see the stone steps of a church, and I hurry towards it. Churches are a neutral zone for me: a place with no ties. I didn’t marry in one, and we didn’t hold Milo’s funeral there, either. An image of his service on a bright, sunny day in the back garden, where he loved playing, pushes at my mind, demanding entry. I hold it back with all my strength, rushing up the steps and into the silent sanctuary of the church. I can’t go there. I
can’t
.

I collapse into a pew, legs shaking as my chest burns. I might be skinny, but I’m in the worst shape of my life. Hardly surprising, given my mainly liquid diet. I let the silence and the dark sink into me, willing myself back to a numb place. The cavernous space is huge and filled with tourists peering at everything, but their voices are nothing but a low muffle. Then the crowd parts, letting through a beaming bride and her groom, followed by family and friends. God, I didn’t even realise there was a ceremony here! Imagine getting married with dozens of tourists milling around you.

Good luck
, I silently mouth to the woman as she passes, not certain if I’m being sarcastic or if I really mean it. I’m not even sure how I feel about marriage right now. In the past two years, any concern for the state of our union has barely crossed my mind. How could I care, given that the most important thing in my life had already been taken away?

Before meeting Edward – seven years ago now, I think? – I was certain marriage wasn’t for me. And then, well . . . everything changed. I let myself fall, succumbing to his idyllic, family-friendly version of the future. Despite my tiredness, the foul nappies and the bleeding nipples, I was in love: with my husband, my baby, my life. I suppose that’s partly why I’ve been so shut off from Edward, why I can’t bring myself to feel for him again. I risked everything by buying into his vision – and he was wrong. He couldn’t have been more wrong, actually.

I twist my wedding band, envisioning the inscription inside, and a memory of us lying in bed the morning after our wedding floats into my head. Edward turned and smiled, then told me to slide off my ring and read the inscription. I raised my eyebrows, thinking it was such a romantic gesture, yet praying to God it wouldn’t be something uber-cheesy I’d be stuck with for the rest of my life. The spindly script and crowded letters on my narrow band were practically undecipherable, but after staring for a few minutes, I was able to make them out.

E & Z. Our own happy ending.

‘Perfect,’ I said, thinking that actually, it was. There was no ‘always’ or ‘forever’, two sentiments which, at that time, still made me feel vaguely uncomfortable. And this was a nod to the story we were writing on our own – our journey, our unique version of the fairy tale.

Pain grips my throat when I picture what that fairy tale has become.

I wonder what Edward thinks now. Does he still believe in forever? Does he still
want
forever, even if our happy ending’s shattered? The way he’s acting lately, he’s already bowed out. Has he, or does he still care?

I’m not sure which answer I want.

19

EDWARD, APRIL 2010

‘I
t’s a girl! Kate had a girl!’

My eyes fly open at the sound of Zoe’s voice, and I reach out from where I’m sitting in the waiting area and grasp her hand. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes spark with excitement, and even though it’s the middle of the night, she’s never looked so beautiful. ‘Is everyone all right?’

Zoe nods. ‘Yes, the baby’s absolutely gorgeous, and Kate was amazing. Come on in and say hello.’

‘Okay.’ I rub my eyes, every cell in my body longing for bed. When Kate asked Zoe to be her birthing partner ‘because Giles is useless’, I didn’t realise my presence offside would be required, too. Still, I was only too happy to drive Zoe here once Kate rang to say she was in labour at the hospital. And once we arrived, Zoe kept telling me ‘it wouldn’t be long now’. Twelve hours later . . . I don’t mind, though. Actually, I’ve been a little curious, since the odds of having my own child are firmly stacked against me.

Zoe takes my arm and leads me into the room. On the bed, Kate’s cradling the tiniest baby I’ve ever seen, with crinkly pink skin. Both she and Giles are staring at their child as if they can’t believe she’s here, that this will be theirs forever. Something inside me lurches painfully and I smile to cover it up.

‘Congratulations!’ I touch Kate on the arm and give Giles what I hope is a manly pat on the back. ‘She’s beautiful.’

‘Isn’t she?’ Kate grins over, glowing despite the long, hard labour. ‘I mean, I haven’t a clue what to do with her now, but . . .’

‘You’ll figure it out,’ Zoe says. ‘And you can always ring Auntie Zoe to come round when you need a break!’ She takes my arm again. ‘Right, we’ll give you some family time now. Call me when you’re home, okay?’ She leans down to kiss Kate on the cheek, puts out a finger to stroke the baby’s cheek, then propels me from the room.

Family time
. Zoe’s words ring in my head. Giles and Kate are a family, a neat little unit taking on the world together. Husband, wife and child, bound together by genes and love. After seeing them, I realise now how much I want that, but I know it’s not going to happen. It makes me long for the intimacy of marriage all the more.

‘Phew.’ Zoe sags against me out in the corridor. ‘Now
that
was an experience! Did you see how tiny the baby was? I can’t believe how small her fingers were.’

‘I know.’ I wrap my arms around Zoe, stroking her hair.

‘And can you believe Kate’s a mother? I mean, for God’s sake, they’ve only been married less than a year! It’s all happened so fast.’

I nod. Kate and Giles are the first couple we know really well to have a baby. It’s like they’ve crossed an invisible divide from marriage to parenthood. That same feeling tugs at my stomach and I swallow hard. Has this changed Zoe’s mind about having a baby? And what will that mean for us?

It’s approaching a year now since we met – two months since
I moved in – and things between us have never been better. In fact, I
don’t think they
could
be better. I worried at first about Zoe feeling too crowded, or a little freaked out about taking such a big step. But she’s been as loving and happy as ever, and the two of us have transformed her flat into a home for us both. Every photo we put up and piece of furniture we buy together lends a sense of permanency to our relationship, and I hope that someday in the future – the near future – she’ll agree to be my wife. I haven’t said anything, since I
want it to be a surprise, but I’ve already started looking at rings. I can’t
wait to see the look on her face when I propose.

‘How are you feeling about everything?’ I scan her face, my shoulders tense. ‘Has this made you change your mind about having kids?’

‘Oh, God, no.’ She shudders. ‘I’ve never seen someone’s stom
ach contract like that, and I never want to again. It was like some
thing from
The
Exorcis
t
! And no drugs? Shit. And that baby! So cute, but I’d be afraid to break it.’ She looks up at me. ‘No, I think we’re brilliant, just as we are.’

I drop a kiss on her head, breathing in the smell of her favourite perfume. How have I managed to get so lucky? ‘Come on,’ I say through a yawn, then I take her hand. ‘Let’s go home.’

20

EDWARD, SATURDAY, 6 P.M.

I
’m in a man’s version of heaven or hell; I’m not sure which. Bra after lacy bra hangs from rails, along with matching pants. Negligees float on padded hangers, along with some sort of suspender contraptions that look like they’d be better suited to S&M clubs than my bed. Although Zoe did push my boundaries with furry handcuffs, even she never sported lingerie like this.

My brow furrows and I spin slowly in a circle, waiting for divine inspiration . . . Nothing. Fiona said she wanted pyjamas, but I’m hardly going to buy her something long and flannel, am I? Especially now that I’ve made up my mind: Zoe and I are through. Our marriage is over, and unless I want my life to be over too, I need to move on. Funny how I used to believe that by simply uttering a vow, you’d stick together for all eternity. I hate to admit it, but my wife was right to be suspicious of ‘always’ and ‘forever’. Maybe I should have
listened. My heart throbs with a hollow ache, but it’s more of a nig
gling pain – like an old tooth with a cavity – than the sharp kick-in-the-jaw it used to be. I guess you can get used to anything.

‘Monsieur? Can I help you?’ A woman with her hair pulled back tightly and wearing bright red lipstick approaches, and I take a step back.

‘Er, yes, please.’ I can feel my face turning red already. ‘I’m looking for some nightwear . . . something sexy,’ I finish lamely.

‘For yourself?’

Oh, Christ.
‘No, no,’ I say, my cheeks heating up even more. ‘For my . . .’ I stop myself from automatically saying ‘wife’, hastily adding ‘girlfriend’. It’s bizarre to be using that label again, and I’m not even
sure that’s what Fiona is. I sigh, remembering how proud I was to call Zoe my wife, how I used it every chance I got. I force my thoughts away from that and try to focus on the countless options the saleswoman is shoving under my nose.
I’m not cut out for this,
I think,
longing momentarily for the easy familiarity of my life with Zoe.

But that’s gone, I remind myself, and it’s been gone for a while. There’s nothing familiar or even remotely likable about our life together now.

‘I’ll take that one,’ I say, pointing at a dark-blue . . . is it a top or a nightie? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter. It’s sexy as hell, and Fiona will look incredible in it.

‘Size?’

‘Um, medium, I guess.’ She’s not as slender as Zoe is now, thank goodness, and a little bit taller. God, I have to stop thinking about my wife. I force my thoughts back to Fiona’s phenomenal arse, and Zoe’s face disappears from my mind.

I pay an ungodly amount for such a small scrap of fabric, then head back down the escalator, losing myself once again in the cacophony of the massive mall.

21

ZOE, JULY 2010

I
t’s the first anniversary of the day we met – or met again, I should
say – and I’m rushing to get to the South Bank on time. My clien
t meeting overran, my computer played up, and I had to dash back to my desk to get my gift. I hope Edward likes it. It’s a watch I know he’s been craving; I see him pause and look at it every time we walk past the shop. Buying it almost wiped out my meagre savings, but it will be worth it to see his expression when I give it to him. Of course, as tradition dictates, I’ve also knitted him a hideous pair of socks, in neon green. This time, though, I won’t demand that he wear them. He’s done more than enough to prove his love, just by being
him
.

As I hurry down the walkway towards our bench, I can’t believe it’s been a year already, and that we’ve been living together almost half that time. The days have gone by, from one to the next, with no arguments or angst. It’s an easy, natural flow that makes me think that, at this moment, we truly belong together. Okay, so he could tidy up those bloody toast crumbs each morning, and possibly be more adventurous in bed (I’m working on that!).

But on the big stuff, we’re in sync, both happy taking things as they come. You can’t really do much else, can you? Not if you want to live an emotionally honest life. Edward hasn’t brought up marriage since that moment at Kate’s wedding, and to be honest, he was so drunk, I don’t think he remembers. I’m sure he’d have mentioned it if it was really important – he’s not the type to keep things to himself.

I start smiling as I catch sight of Edward on our bench, his long limbs stretched out in front of him, and I force my legs faster. Even though I just saw him this morning before I left for work, I can’t wait to throw my arms around him and give him a huge kiss. I never want us to be one of those couples who stop touching.

‘Hey!’ I throw myself onto his lap, loving how I fit against his body. We shouldn’t, really – he’s tall and lean while I’m the definition of short and curvy – but somehow, it works.

‘Happy anniversary,’ he says, leaning down to kiss me on the lips.

‘So what are we doing tonight?’ I begged him to let me organise the date, but he insisted, saying he had a special plan. Since I’m usually the one spearheading our outings, it’s kind of nice to let him take the wheel. Although he never says anything, I know he sometimes finds the shows I drag him to a little baffling. I smother a tiny giggle as I remember his expression last week, when the all-male cast of a gay musical dropped their trousers in sync.

‘Well.’ His chest expands as he takes a deep breath. He swings me off his lap in one motion and gets to his feet. Slowly, he lowers himself to one knee, and my mouth drops open. Oh, no.
No!
He’s not going to propose, is he? I thought . . . I thought . . . I gulp, forcing back the bile building in my throat.

Whatever I thought, I was wrong.

Fear grabs my gut as he draws out a small velvet box. I want to yell, want to shout at him not to do this, not to ruin what we have, but my mouth is dry. All I can hear is my pulse in my ears as he cracks open the top, revealing a diamond nestled in between two entwined bands. It’s an absolutely gorgeous ring, one I’d love to wear, but I don’t want to wear the sentiment attached to it. I
can’t
.

My stomach churns and for a second, I think I’m going to be sick.

‘This past year has been the best in my life,’ Edward says, his voice shaking. I’m dying to reach out and steady him, to tell him it’s okay, but it’s not okay. I don’t know where we can go from here, but I have a feeling it won’t be good.

‘And, well, I don’t want it to end.’ He clears his throat, and I know I have to do something. I have to stop him before he actually asks me to marry him. I don’t want those words to get out, and for me to reject them. Because it’s not him I’m rejecting, but I’m not entirely sure he’ll see it that way. ‘I know we haven’t talked about this, but—’

‘Edward.’ My voice emerges as a croak. ‘Come sit beside me.’ I grab
his hand and try to tug him up, but he resists.

‘Just wait a second,’ he says, trying to free his hand.

‘No, really, sit here.’ I give another pull, but still he doesn’t budge. God, this will descend into farce soon. ‘Please.’

My voice must sound desperate, because he gets to his feet then sinks down beside me, defeat written all over his face. I turn towards him, my heart pounding. ‘I love you, you know that. Right?’

He nods, his eyes fixed on mine.

‘And we’re happy together. Amazingly happy. This year has been one of the best of my life, too.’

Edward nods again slowly. ‘Exactly. So don’t you want that to
continue? Forever?’ He pushes a curl behind my ear. ‘I want to promise
you I’ll always be there, through thick and thin. I want to do
that, Zoe.’ He moves the ring towards me again. ‘Don’t you?’

His gaze holds mine, and silence stretches between us for what feels like ages. I want to be with him, of course I do. But how can you promise forever? You can’t; I learned that the hard way, and I can’t bear to think of the two of us being strangled, eventually, by impossible vows. Better to stay as we are, in this perfect place, without expectations or ties that bind. We’re together because we choose to be, and nothing else. My mouth opens and shuts as I struggle to find a way to convince him, but he turns away.

‘I love you, Zoe.’ He gazes at the ground, his voice breaking, and my heart nearly breaks along with it. ‘But I want that commitment: commitment to the future, to us. I want to call you my wife, and to be your husband. I thought you wanted that too.’

I reach out and touch his cheek, moving his head towards me again. ‘I’ll commit to us and to where we are now with all of my heart. But as for marriage . . . I’m sorry, but . . . I can’t.’ My voice drops to a whisper as sadness presses down. Why? Why did he have to do this?

‘Do you think . . .’ Edward clears his throat. ‘Do you think you’ll ever want to get married?’

For the first time, I wish I could read the future. I wish I could tell him that yes, eventually, I’ll come around. That one day, I will believe in happy endings, soulmates, and all of that. Maybe someday I will – although it doesn’t seem too likely. All I know is that right now, I just can’t do it. I can’t blithely promise forever when I’m blind about the years ahead. I won’t do that to Edward. Or myself.

‘I don’t know.’ I wrench the words from my throat.

‘Right.’ Edward’s face is pale and pinched, and he leans forward to put his head in his hands. I hold my breath, my heart galloping. Is he going to walk away from me? Am I going to let him?
Can
I change my mind? Can he?

‘I . . . I need to go,’ he says finally, meeting my eyes. ‘I love you, but I need to go.’ He levers himself off the bench and walks slowly
away, as if working against an invisible force. Every bit of me longs to call out, to say come back . . . but for what? We’ve reached an impasse,
a barrier neither one of us can lift for the other to crawl through.

I gaze down at the brightly wrapped box, still containing his watch. Then I get to my feet and walk in the other direction as tears stream from my eyes.