The simple compliment brings a lump to my throat. It’s been so long since Harry has even noticed me.
‘I’ve been a bit of a dick this week,’ he says, exhaling a weary breath. ‘I don’t know what comes over me sometimes.’
I don’t like to tell him that his ill-temper is normally directly related to the level of his drinking. But I’m not sure what’s brought on this change of heart, so it remains unsaid.
‘I’ll try,’ Harry says. ‘From now on, I’ll try to be a better husband. God knows you deserve more. You’ve never done anything to hurt me.’
I think guiltily of the dark thoughts in my heart.
‘I feel as if you’ve gone away from me,’ I say. I know because I feel as if I’ve been away too.
‘Things will be different now,’ my husband assures me. ‘You’ll see. No late nights. Work will take second place. We can start to go out again. Have fun.’ Harry stops walking and turns me towards him, taking me in his arms. ‘I love you,’ he says. ‘I haven’t told you that lately, have I?’
The tears that spring to my eyes block the words in my throat. I want to say, ‘I love you too,’ but it just won’t come.
‘We’ll start over again.’ Harry is burbling away, excitedly. ‘It’ll be just like old times. We can do up the flat a bit if you like. Get a new kitchen or bathroom?’
Why does he think that this will patch over what’s been going on between us? I’m not the slightest bit interested in a new kitchen. Surely he knows that much about me?
What I need is for us to sit down and unpick what’s gone wrong. Why do we not want the same things any more? Where has the love we had disappeared to? What if I decide that I want to have children? How would Harry feel about that? I know that it’s not on his agenda, but it may now be on mine. Since I found out about Ella’s pregnancy, I keep having little visions of myself with my own child. And I like what I see. If I wrap my arms around myself, I can actually feel it and get a rush of maternal love that I’ve never experienced before. At the moment, I can’t even bring myself to raise that with Harry. What if he refuses point blank to have another baby? What if he is absolutely sure that his family is finished when mine hasn’t even started?
‘Or we could have another holiday,’ Harry blusters on. ‘Just the two of us. Go abroad somewhere. Wherever you fancy. The Seychelles. We haven’t been there. Or what about the Maldives again? We enjoyed our honeymoon there. Didn’t we? You can choose. What do you say, Grace?’
I don’t want another holiday. This one has been unsettling enough. The thought of just me and Harry being alone together on the other side of the world, with nothing but a five-star hotel and a beach, frankly, fills me with dread.
Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for an answer but, instead, crushes me to his chest. I stay there, hardly able to catch my breath.
This should be making me happy. Deliriously happy. Isn’t this what I’ve wanted to hear? Harry wants to be a better husband. He wants us to try to salvage our relationship. It should be music to my ears. So why do I feel so numb? Aren’t I the one who was vowing, just a few short hours ago, to work on my marriage again?
But when push comes to shove, there’s still an empty space in my heart and I’m not sure any more that Harry is capable of filling it.
Chapter Fifty-One
Harry is the model husband throughout dinner. He tops up my glass regularly whilst passing over his own. He’s not exactly teetotal, don’t get me wrong, but he’s nowhere near as drunk as he’d normally be at this time of night. He laughs at jokes in the right place and doesn’t pick fights with anyone – particularly Noah. It’s a long time since I’ve seen him so relaxed.
Flick’s spaghetti Bolognese is quite wonderful and she glows proudly as we praise her, taking all the glory. Despite trying not to, I catch Noah’s eye and it’s clear that he’s the creator of our meal. He smiles wryly at me and my traitorous tummy does backflips.
After dinner, Ella and I offer to clear up. Thankfully, Noah goes through to the lounge with the others and doesn’t hang back to help as he usually does. As Ella stacks the dishwasher and I wash up the pans, the sound of their laughter drifts through to us.
‘Harry seems particularly mellow tonight,’ Ella notes as she picks up a tea towel to dry the pots and pans. ‘And very attentive.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘All well with you two?’
I shrug. ‘I think so.’
How can I even begin to explain to Ella how I feel? Normally, I’d talk to her about everything, but this time I have to keep my own counsel. It would be unfair of me to put her in a difficult situation with Flick and if she knew how I felt about Noah, that would be really awkward for her. Plus I don’t really know what has triggered Harry’s about-face. Perhaps he’s had a blow to the head or diving off that cliff has somehow reset his wiring. It’s the only thing I can think of. If you’d asked me yesterday or even this morning, I would have been sure that we were on the verge of splitting up. Now it seems as if something has brought Harry back from the brink and he’s willing to try to put our relationship back together.
‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘You and Art seem to be getting on well too. Did you manage to talk to him earlier?’
Ella shakes her head. ‘I wanted to. But I just can’t do it, Grace,’ she confesses, voice lowered. ‘I’ve tried but the words won’t come out. It should be so easy to say, but it isn’t.’
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Tired,’ she admits. ‘All I want to do is sleep.’
‘You shouldn’t be on your feet. Someone else could have taken a turn with the tea towel.’
‘I’m fine,’ she insists. ‘I’ll sit down in a minute. In fact, I might head off for an early night and leave you party animals to it.’
‘No more twinges?’
‘A few. But I’m sure it’s just the baby wriggling around.’ Her hand massages her tummy. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Take it easy,’ I advise. ‘I’m sure you could have done without us lot here all week, bickering.’
She giggles at that. ‘It’s lovely seeing you, Grace. It seems as if everyone is settling down to enjoy the rest of the week. I guess when you introduce a new male into the pack there’s always going to be a bit of chest-banging.’
Is that what Harry’s problem was? Something as simple as that?
‘You’ve got to admit that Noah is a hard act to follow,’ she adds. ‘He’d threaten any man.’
‘Yes.’ Can’t deny that and don’t intend to. Then before I can check myself, ‘Do you think that Flick really loves him?’
Ella avoids my eyes, busily drying a casserole dish. ‘As much as Flick loves anyone.’
‘Do you think she’ll really ask him to marry her?’
‘Not if she’s got any sense. I think if she goes too quickly with this one, he’ll run for the hills.’ She puts the dish down. ‘You know what she’s like. She’s full of wild talk that she never carries through.’
I sigh to myself. That’s pretty much what I thought. I just hope that she doesn’t hurt Noah when she gets bored and the fall-out eventually comes.
Chapter Fifty-Two
We make coffee and take it through to the others. Art jumps up to serve it and I sit down next to Harry. His arm goes round my shoulder and he pulls me close, which is most unlike him.
I can’t imagine what has got into him today. Has he somehow read my mind? Did he feel that he had pushed me to the edge with his drinking and this is his idea of damage limitation?
The love-bombing continues. He strokes my arm and fusses with my hair while I sit there like a little puppet, wondering what on earth is going on. I can’t remember Harry ever being like this before.
Across the living room, the scene is much the same. Flick is curled up on the sofa, head in Noah’s lap. She’s toying with his shirt buttons, stroking his chest, running her fingers along his thighs.
Did she put some sort of love potion in the spag bol?
I wonder.
If she did, then it seems that Noah is immune to it as he looks fairly impassive while she continues her overt exploration of his body. Harry snuggles up closer to me. The same, however, could be said about me, I guess.
Ella drains her coffee – decaff for her – excuses herself and, with a heartfelt yawn, heads off to bed early. Art reaches for the remains of a bottle of whisky that’s on the table at his elbow. ‘Fancy another nightcap, Harry?’
‘Enough for me,’ Harry says, holding up a hand. He leans in towards me and whispers in my ear, ‘I thought we’d have an early night?’
I don’t think that he means to go to sleep. He’s clearly been feeling amorous all evening. Instead of feeling pleased or thrilled or getting butterflies in my tummy at the thought of making love, I just feel a cold dread all over.
‘You go up without me,’ I say, trying to keep my voice level. ‘I thought I might have another coffee.’
‘Come on, love,’ he cajoles. ‘You know you can’t get enough of my body.’
I flush with embarrassment. What has got into Harry? This is hardly the way to make things up to me. He knows that I’m not one for overt public displays of affection.
What do I do now? I can hardly say no and reject him in front of friends. Besides, the memories of our last sexual encounter are still etched on my brain and I’d hardly call it romantic. Is that simply why I feel so reluctant?
Harry tugs me to my feet. ‘I bid you goodnight,’ he says theatrically. Then to me, ‘Come on, missus. Get up those stairs!’
Much laughing. From everyone but me. And Noah.
Unwittingly, my eye catches his and he looks at me with sympathy and something that may be approaching pity. I feel sick to my stomach.
‘I don’t want you two young lovers keeping us awake,’ Flick says, somewhat tartly. Perhaps she thinks that she’s the only one who should be letting everyone know each time she has great sex, I don’t know. ‘Make sure you keep the noise down.’
‘Ha ha ha,’ Harry guffaws.
With a heavy heart I follow him to the stairs and, with footsteps as weary, I climb up behind him.
Chapter Fifty-Three
In the bedroom, I’m hardly through the door before Harry takes me roughly in his arms. Instantly, I freeze.
‘What’s wrong?’ Harry asks, murmuring into my ear.
I ease him away from me. ‘I need to go slow,’ I urge. ‘Things haven’t been right between us for a while and it’s going to take time to get back to where we were.’
‘I can’t think of anything better than starting now.’
So I stand there motionless, detached, while he fumbles with undoing the buttons on the front of my dress. When it’s open, he slides it from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. I feel awkward standing half naked in front of him. It’s as if he’s a stranger, not my husband of seven years. If we’re going to have a chance together, then I have to get past this. I have to learn to love Harry again and only Harry.
He kisses my bare shoulders – something that once would have made me shiver with delight. Now it makes me shudder with revulsion.
Harry’s mouth moves on to my neck, covering it with kisses. ‘Oh, Grace,’ he murmurs. ‘Oh, Grace.’
But all I can think is that I don’t want this. I don’t want it at all. Oh, God, what am I going to do?
As he moves lower, I grip Harry’s arms and hold him still. ‘I can’t do this, Harry.’
He looks up at me. ‘Why not?’
Hanging my head, I answer, ‘It doesn’t feel right. There’s too much wrong in our relationship for me to be able to leap around the bedroom with gay abandon.’
‘I don’t think that you’ve ever really done that, Grace,’ is his curt response. Harry lets his arms fall to his side.
‘Probably not,’ I admit.
Perhaps it’s unfashionable to admit it these days, but I’m not a highly sexual person. I’ve never been a swinging from the chandeliers type. But do you have to bounce round the bed like the Duracell bunny to be having good sex? Some might say yes. I suspect Harry is one of them. Isn’t there something to be said for tender, comfortable lovemaking? I know which I prefer. And I would have thought, after all this time, that Harry would know too.
What I need now is a cuddle, some reassurance. We should talk about the issues between us but, just as Ella finds with Art, there never seems to be the right time. If you’re ever going to resolve anything, then you both have to be willing to communicate.
‘We need to discuss this,’ I press on.
‘I don’t think we do. There’s nothing to discuss.’
I stand there not knowing what else to say. If he won’t even acknowledge that there’s a problem, we have no hope of ever resolving it.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ Harry says with a disgruntled huff. ‘I’m knackered.’
Angrily, he kicks off his shoes, pulls off his shirt, tugs at his trousers, while I watch, immobile and struck dumb.
He gets into bed and turns off the light. So, in the darkness, with the room lit only by the moon shining through the windows, I slowly undress and slip in next to him. I know that Harry’s awake as there isn’t the sound of his customary snoring, but he says nothing and doesn’t move towards me. It seems that his attempt at passion is over. Sadly, I’m heartily relieved by the fact.
I lie rigidly in the bed, both of us trying not to touch the other. There are acres and acres of space between us, not just a few inches. My eyes, gritty with exhaustion, refuse to close. Eventually, Harry slides into sleep and his snoring starts. I never thought I’d be so pleased to hear it.
A short while later, Flick and Noah climb the stairs, talking to each other in whispers, and they close the bedroom door. I can’t lie here and listen to them. I simply can’t. That would be just too much to ask.
So I haul myself out of bed, pull on a cardigan and go downstairs. The kitchen and living room are both in darkness, put to bed for the night. As quietly as I can, I make myself a mug of hot chocolate, figuring that I’m in need of some comfort. I use a pan instead of the microwave so that it doesn’t ping and wake the whole household. My feet freeze on the flagstone floor while I wait for the milk to heat. When it’s ready, I take my chocolate and tiptoe through to the living room, settling myself on the sofa. There’s a colourful home-crocheted blanket slung over the back of it. I pull that down and wrap it around me for warmth. With the fire long gone out, the night air has brought a chill to the room. I nurse my warm mug to me, enjoying the kernel of heat, and stare into the blackness, wondering what I’m going to do with my life. At the moment, I can’t see a way forward and yet it seems as if there’s no going back.
How can I begin to repair our relationship when I can’t even bear my husband touching me any more? The ticking of the old-fashioned wall clock in the silence marks the passing of the night and still no answers leap into my brain.
I don’t know what time it is when I hear a creak on the stairs, but I realise that I must finally have dozed off. I wake with a start.
In the darkness I can make out the shape of Ella creeping downstairs.
‘Ella?’ I say. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Goodness me, Grace,’ she says. ‘You made me jump.’
‘Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.’
‘I was looking for you anyway,’ she says and, even in my sleep-fuddled state, I can hear the strain in her voice. ‘I tried your bedroom door. When there was no answer, I peeped inside. It was obvious you weren’t there.’
‘Harry and I had a row,’ I confess. ‘Well, sort of. I needed some time by myself to think.’ As she comes closer, I can see that her face is white and scared. I wave my troubles away. ‘But it doesn’t matter about me. What are you doing up? Are you OK?’
‘No,’ she says. Her words catch in her throat. ‘I’m bleeding, Grace.’
‘Oh Lord. A lot?’
‘Enough,’ she answers bleakly. ‘I’m worried that I could be losing the baby.’
&
nbsp; She’s not the only one. After that fall from the bicycle I’m worried too. ‘We should get you to hospital. I’ll ring for an ambulance.’
‘No phone signal,’ she reminds me. ‘We’ll have to go to the phone box in the village.’
‘Damn.’
‘Besides, an ambulance will take an age to get here.’ Her lip trembles. ‘I’m frightened, Grace.’
I jump up and hug her. ‘Don’t be. You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it. It’ll be quicker to drive to the hospital.’ Though not equipped if anything goes wrong. What’s the worst risk?
‘I can’t ask Art,’ she says. ‘He’s out cold, drunk.’