My fork is in front of my face with a small piece of salmon and rocket sitting on it. I’m not sure if my mouth is open, but it most certainly should be as I stare in disbelief at my husband. I can’t believe the complete and utter bullshit he’s spewing to a potential client right now.
“We’ve thought about it on and off over the last few years.” He turns to me. “Haven’t we darling?” I look at him blankly and place my knife and fork down. The little appetite I had, gone in an instant. “But to be perfectly honest,” Marcus continues, “we like our life the way it is. We have a nice home, we enjoy our jobs and like to be able to take off for a holiday any time we want. Starting a family would change all of that.”
I look down at my plate and swallow past the lump that’s just appeared in my throat for some reason. Actually, the bullshitting virus my husband permanently seems to be suffering from must be spreading, because that’s a big fat lie I just told myself. I know full well why the lump has appeared in my throat. It appears every time a conversation starts up around the topic of having children. The instant the words family, children, baby or pregnant are mentioned around me, it appears, that lump, that tightening in my chest and then it starts. It’s like my blood turns to ice but not liquid ice. No, no, more like little jagged crystals of ice, scratching their way through my veins. It starts at my toes and works its way through my body until the sharp, cold, pointy pieces push through the chambers of my heart. All the while, images of him… of us… of that afternoon and night flash through my mind. Images of when he left me all alone with my fear, my pain and the blood, so much blood. Who would’ve thought that there’d be so much blood?
“So what is it you do for work, Nina?” Charlotte Walters asks me. I pick up my napkin and dab at my mouth and above my top lip, which is probably displaying beads of sweat after my freak out of a few seconds ago. I look up at Charlotte and her brown eyes meet mine, she gives me a slight smile and I have the distinct feeling that she knows that I was just now on the verge of a psychological breakdown… That I’m always on the verge of some kind of breakdown when I’m around my husband or brother, or parents.
“I have a chain of four, hair, beauty and day spa salons.” Her eyebrows raise with a look of surprise but before she can speak, Marcus interrupts us, “Keeps her busy and out of trouble, doesn’t it sweets?” I don’t even look at him. I know I’ll be in trouble later. I know he’ll throw a little hissy fit about the fact that the conversation has steered to the topic of my career and hasn’t been all about him. My husband is an egomaniacal arsehole sometimes, but I know how to calm him down and I’m an expert at stroking his ego.
“Just one night, just for one fucking night, could the conversation not have ended up being all about you?”
I stared out of the window of the taxi, not bothering to face him as I replied, “Charlotte asked what I did, so I answered. Besides, it was you that mentioned how much we both love our careers.” I use air quotes and finally turn around and face him.
“Well, it doesn’t set a good impression telling them the truth. I know Andre Walters, he would see it as a sign of weakness. I want his business and the last thing I need him to be thinking is that I’m weak.” It’s Marcus’s turn to stare out of the window now.
“Just tell them it’s me. Tell anyone that you need to that I’m the one with the fertility problem, I’m the one that can’t conceive.”
“Well, let’s face it Nina, there’s a bloody good chance that is the case.” He remains staring out the window, oblivious to the effect his words have on me. I wipe the tears from under my eyes and remain silent for the rest of the journey home.
I take off my makeup and clean my teeth. I’ve kept my bra, knickers and hold-up stockings on and hopefully, this will provide enough incentive for my husband to show me some attention. It’s been almost three weeks… three whole weeks since we last made love. Since we had any kind of sexual contact really, apart from the odd kiss on the cheek. Marcus had never been particularly affectionate and now, now I feel more like his sister than his wife and lover.
I climb into bed and press myself into him from behind. Sliding my stockinged toes, up and down his leg and my hand around his hip trying to reach into his boxers. He grabs my hand, takes it in both of his and brings it up to his mouth and kisses the back of it.