‘You were greedy.’ Fiona raises her voice, to ensure I can hear her above the noise of the sea and the wind.
‘Yes, I was,’ I admit. Because that is it. In a nutshell. I was greedy.
‘I don’t get it. You had a permanent sing-along, dance-along, lifelong-adventure buddy in Mark but that wasn’t enough for you. You had to hoover up another guy.’
‘Well, I don’t see it that way. I—’
‘You don’t get to live two lives. You are just one person. One body. You have to pick a life. Why wasn’t one enough for you? You stupid bitch. You already had it all.’ Fiona’s insult is pushed out with a smile, but I can’t pretend to myself that she isn’t having a go. She clearly is more than confused. She’s not shouting to be heard above the sea, she’s shouting because she thinks I need telling. I stop and face her, it’s the least I can do. I’ve seen Fiona lose her temper before, many times. She is the epitome of the fiery redhead. Yet I’m shocked that her face is almost unrecognisable, twisted and split with what I now see is fury. ‘Do you have any idea what a freedom it is to be able to send a text, just a simple bloody text about what is on your mind, without having to second, third, fourth guess how he might take it?’
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Once you’re married, there is no such thing as coming on too strong, is there? You can’t be the crazy intense woman. That’s such a bloody luxury. Do you know how lucky you are that you got to be totally, one hundred per cent yourself because that’s what it means to be married?’
‘Well, not really for me,’ I point out. She splutters out a sound of indignation from her nostrils. She’s raging but a moment’s reflection must reveal that it was never that for me. The opposite. Having two husbands cost me the opportunity to be myself.
‘Which one of them were you planning to get old with?’ she demands. ‘Or were you going to hobble on your Zimmer frame backwards and forwards between the two?’
‘I don’t know,’ I stammer. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’
‘You hadn’t thought at all, had you? What about when you were sick? Who looked after you? One of them would, that’s for sure. You were never on your own. You never had to crawl out of bed and drag yourself to the chemist for tissues and paracetamol. They probably think the sniffling, snotty version of you is cute, do they?’
It obviously isn’t the moment to tell her that I haven’t been bedbound-ill once in the four years since this started. Mums rarely get the chance to be bedbound; bigamist mums have no chance at all. I had to push on. Instead, I remind her, ‘When you were ill, I brought you chicken soup. I went to the chemist for you.’
It is true: sometimes Fiona was like my third child. I’d drop everything to help her. As I know she would me. Even now. Wouldn’t she? She is furious with me at present, but I just have to ride out the storm. She’ll forgive me. Of course she will. Why else would she rescue me and bring me here to safety?
‘I’m struggling with this, Kylie. Because I don’t know who you are. What you think and feel, what you say, what you do. There’s no consistency about you! And without consistency, you are nothing. You might as well be dead.’ I recoil from her. It’s just a phrase, I tell myself. People say it, they don’t mean it. Except in this past week, for me, that seemed a scarily real possibility. I might very well have ended up dead. How can she say that to me now? She glares at me and adds, ‘You can’t be on two teams. You’ve got to pick a side. Tell me which one of them you loved the most?’
‘I don’t know why it matters. It’s not as though I’m going to get to choose between them. One of them abducted me. The other no doubt hates me just as much. I’m not going to be able to save either relationship.’
‘Just pick one!’ she shouts.
‘I took immeasurable risks for Daan, I lost friends for him. That shows I love him.’
‘You don’t know what love is.’
‘But I do. Twice over. I love them both.’
‘That’s not allowed.’
‘I know, but who decided it wasn’t?’
She raises her hands and for a moment I think she is going to hit me. Instead she pulls at her own hair. I guess she is trying to make me choose between them as some sort of therapy. Facing up to things. I’m frustrating the hell out of her. We stand on the cliff edge, drenched, incensed, bewildered. I imagine Daan walking away and I feel all the things I am going to miss about him. They hit me like stones. His loud, low, long laugh, his funny stories, his promise of the unexpected, a bright future. Then I think of Mark. His pride in his children, his solid, steady work ethic, his earnest interest in the land, our shared history. My bones snap.
‘Mark,’ I blurt. ‘Mark, Oli and Seb outweigh Daan. I guess they always did. I was never able to leave them. I’m glad it was Daan who abducted me. I choose Mark.’
‘Right, good, I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up. Finally.’ The dark night, the noise from the waves smashing, the wind whipping is disconcerting, overwhelming. Her breathing is as fast and shallow as mine. But something skitters across her face that looks a lot like triumph. We look at each other and it is as though it’s the first time we’ve ever really seen one another.
And I suppose in a way it is.
We see one another
