‘Come on, then. You’d better show me what this bedroom looks like.’
The weekend is perfect. That’s the only way I can describe it. Away from the threat of the ringing telephone, the nectarine-scented air of the house, the memory of Lola’s tiny, broken body curled up in the driveway, I can push away the thought that Rupert lied to me, even if it was by omission. I tell myself that to keep this life we are living, I can look past the secrets he’s kept – that we all have things we don’t want others to know about – and I begin to relax, realizing that this is exactly how I wanted my married life to be. Rupert cooking breakfast as I sip coffee at the breakfast bar, a post-coital glow making both our cheeks turn pink, long walks in the damp, drizzly rain into pubs with roaring open log fires, good ale and hearty lunches, sitting in the hot tub under the stars, champagne glasses in hand as our breath streams out into the cold night air, matching the steam that rises from the water. It’s as we sit in the hot tub, Rupert’s thigh pressed against mine, that I broach the subject one last time.
‘We never did finish that conversation, you know.’ I sip at my champagne, the bubbles going to my head as the water heats me from my core.
‘Which conversation?’ Rupert leans his head against the padded cushion on the moulded seat and closes his eyes. Sweat trickles from his temple, running down the side of his face. It’s too hot in the water, but frost is already starting to glint on the surface of the terrace, and I can’t face getting out just yet.
‘The one about children.’
Rupert opens one eye to look at me, and then closes it again. ‘What about them?’
‘Well, do you want them?’ I sit forward, raising my shoulders out of the water. I resist the urge to hiss in a breath as the cold night air hits my skin. ‘I’m not asking about Caro, or anything, I’m just asking if one day in the future you want to have kids.’ I let out a small laugh, a tiny shrug. ‘We are married, we should probably talk about it at some point, so why not now?’ I am feeling much more like my old self, like the old Emily, thanks to this weekend. The old Emily would never have hesitated to ask Rupert what he wanted.
‘I think I would always have the concern that something might go wrong, if we were to get pregnant, after what happened with Caro,’ Rupert says finally, ‘even though I know you and Caro are not the same.’
Em isn’t Caro, and she never will be. I splash water over my face as the words float through my mind, holding my hot palms over my eyes.
‘But I wouldn’t say never,’ Rupert says, sitting up. ‘One day it would be nice to have a family. For there to be three of us, instead of two.’
‘That’s all I’ve ever wanted,’ I say quietly, and I let him untie my bikini top, and we don’t leave the hot tub until much, much later.
Rupert is relieved that Emily seems to have forgiven him for being economical with the truth. He didn’t lie to her, he would never do that, but he admits that he didn’t quite tell her the whole truth about what happened with Caro. And now thanks to Sadie, Emily knows more than he wanted her to. He glances across at her as she snoozes in the passenger seat next to him. It’s been the perfect weekend – he must remember to thank Will for suggesting it – the only blot on the landscape is Emily’s mention of children. It’s not that he doesn’t ever want them, he didn’t lie about that, it’s just that every time he thinks about babies, he thinks of his child that never was. He hadn’t handled things very well when Caro had told him they were going to have a baby.
‘Aren’t you pleased?’ Caro is perched on the edge of the expensive sofa, the only comfortable seat in the house, the pregnancy test in her hand. The other hand lays protectively against her still flat stomach.
‘Pleased?’ Are you mad? he nearly says, but doesn’t, because no one ever mentions the word mad in front of Caro. ‘God, Caro, it’s not that I’m not pleased, but it’s a hell of a shock, and let’s be honest, is it really the right time?’ He scrubs his hands tiredly over his face, and lets his words sink in for a moment. Rupert had come home just a month before to Caro locked in the bathroom, threatening to slash her wrists. He’s not sure he could cope with her mood swings and a baby.
‘Darling, it’s never the right time.’ Caro gets to her feet and comes to him, laying her hand flat on his chest. She fiddles with the buttons on his shirt, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘Everyone agrees on that. But just think, a little me or a little you. How lovely would it be?’
‘It wouldn’t be lovely, Caro,’ he pushes her hand away, panic overwhelming him, ‘it would be hard, and I don’t know that your… that your mental health could take it. You’ve been ill, Caro, a baby might just be too much for you.’
‘Oh, just fuck off, Rupert.’ Caro pulls her hand back, snatching up the pregnancy test. ‘Who says you’ll get to make the decision anyway? It’s my body.’ And she flounces from the room, leaving Rupert feeling like the bad guy, even though he’s just worried about her. It’s what she does. Manipulates the situation so he is the one in the wrong.
Now, he pulls up at the house, nudging Emily awake and carrying their things indoors. Emily will understand that he wants to wait a while, he thinks, as he fills the kettle, pulls out
