emotions could be overpowering and deeply irrational. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were before she began to talk about marriage.
But he was terrified of making the wrong choice. What if she was the one for him? Would he be condemning himself to a life of misery? Would he ever meet anyone like her again?
He was paralysed, trapped, dragged reluctantly into the future like a ship’s anchor scoring its way along the sea bed. In the end, there was only one way out he could face, and that was not to face it at all. He couldn’t make even that decision until the very last minute. He was hoping desperately for some vaguely defined intervention that would spare him from hurting her.
None came, so he ran. He took the Ketty Jay, in which was everything he had in the world, and he left her. He left her carrying his child, standing in front of a thousand witnesses, waiting for a groom who would never come.
After that, it only got worse.
‘Darian?’ Trinica prompted. Frey realised he’d slipped into reverie and fallen silent. ‘I asked you a question.’
Frey was taken by a sudden surge of anger. What right did she have to make him explain himself? After what she’d done? His love for her had been the most precious thing in his life, and she’d ruined it with her insecurities, her need to tie him down. She’d made him cowardly. In his heart he knew that, but he could never say it. So instead, he attacked her, sensing her weakness.
‘You really think I’m interested in a little catch-up to make you feel better?’ he sneered. ‘You think I care if you understand what happened or not? Here’s a deal: you let me go and I’ll have a nice long chat with you about all the terrible things I did and what an awful person I am. But in case it escaped your notice, I’m going to be hanged, and it’s you that’s taking me to the gallows. So piss on your questions, Trinica. You can go on wondering what went wrong until you rot.’
Trinica’s expression was surprised and wounded. She’d not expected such cruelty. Frey found himself thinking that the white-skinned bitch who had taken the place of his beloved might actually cry. He’d expected anger, but instead she looked like a little girl who had been unjustly smacked for something they didn’t do. A profound sadness had settled on her.
‘How can you hate me like this?’ she asked. Her voice was husky and low. ‘How can you take the moral high ground, after what you did to me?’
‘Broken hearts mend, Trinica,’ Frey spat. ‘You murdered our child.’
Her eyes narrowed at the blow, but any promise of tears had passed. She turned her face away from him and looked out of the window again. ‘You abandoned us,’ she replied, grave-cold. ‘It’s easy to be aggrieved now. But you abandoned us. If our child had lived, you’d never have known it existed.’
‘That’s a lie. I came back for you, Trinica. For both of you.’
He saw her stiffen, and cursed himself. He shouldn’t have admitted that, shouldn’t have let the words free from his mouth. It weakened him. He’d waited years to throw his hatred in her face, to confront her with what she’d done, but it had always gone so much better during the rehearsals in his head. He wanted her to wreck herself on his glacial indifference to her suffering. He wanted to exact revenge. But his own rage was foiling him.
She was waiting for him to go on. He had no choice now. The gate had been opened.
‘I went from place to place for a month. Thinking things through. A bit of time away from you with all your bloody demands and your damn father.’ He cut himself off. Already he sounded surly and immature. He took a breath and continued, trying not to let his anger overwhelm him. ‘And I decided I’d made a mistake.’ He thought about trying to explain further, but he couldn’t. ‘So I came back. I went to see a friend in town, to get some advice, I suppose. That was when I heard. How you’d taken all those pills, how you’d tried to kill yourself. And how the baby . . . the baby hadn’t . . .’
