‘I don’t need your help,’ I snap at him.
He backs off, hands held high. ‘Sorry, of course not. My bad.’ He steps away and looks out of the window instead. At the snow I’ve come to love and hate. Its frozen, ice-locked purity. After another moment, he says, his tone subdued, ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. You must be wondering why I’m here.’
‘Top marks.’
‘Robert rang me a few weeks ago. He thought I should fly out to visit you. I didn’t want to at first. It felt like the wrong thing to do. Disastrous, in fact.’ He comes close again, and this time I don’t push him away. ‘But then he rang again, and told me—’
I interrupt him. ‘You’re too late. We’re on our way back to London soon. As early as tomorrow, maybe.’
‘I know.’ He leans his forehead against the glass, closing his eyes. ‘Robert told me just now.’
I’m silent for a moment. ‘He should have let me know you were here.’
‘I asked him not to.’
‘Why?’ I’m tense, furious with them both. How dare they interfere?
‘You know why.’ Dominic looks round at me, studying me with wary incredulity again. ‘I wanted to be here last week, but . . . Well, I’m here now.’
‘And you can go away again.’
‘I deserve that, I suppose.’
‘You haven’t exactly been in a big hurry to visit.’
‘There was something I had to do first. It wasn’t easy.’ His face is bleak. ‘I spent a few days sitting with Felicity, telling her everything I could think of, holding her hand, letting her know how much I loved her. How much we all loved her. Then I turned off the ventilator myself.’ He’s very pale. ‘She only lived for thirty minutes. I buried her last week.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’ He searches my face, frowning. ‘Well, I said it was time to let Felicity go. I just didn’t realise how hard it would be, in the end. She was such a huge part of my life.’ He draws an unsteady breath. ‘Like you.’
‘I’m sorry about Felicity.’ I pull out the chair from under the desk. ‘But I’m not part of your life anymore, Dom. And you’re not part of mine.’
‘Understood.’ He closes his eyes as though in pain, then opens them again, meeting my gaze directly. ‘One question though, Rachel, Catherine or whoever you are now . . . Is it mine?’
I sit down and pass a hand over my swollen belly. ‘It’s a she,’ I say. ‘And what kind of stupid question is that?’ I glare at him, angry now. ‘Of course she’s yours. I never played away. You’re the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Sally?’
‘We never . . . It wasn’t like that. It was a flirtation, that’s all. I only ever had eyes for you.’ Dominic comes towards me and I shake my head. ‘Please, Rachel, Cat . . . don’t do this, don’t push me away. I’ve tried living without you and I can’t do it. And now this.’ He stares at my pregnant bump. ‘Whatever mistakes I made, she’s my baby too. You can’t shut me out.’
‘You only married me to get revenge for your sister.’
He nods, looking almost sick. ‘True.’
‘So why the fuck are you here?’
‘Because I’m in love with you,’ he blurts out, then looks away, staring out at the mountains, his face contorted with agony. ‘I bloody well fell in love with you.’
I stare at him. How can I believe a word he says?
‘I thought I’d get over you eventually,’ he mutters, still not looking at me. ‘But it didn’t happen. After the first month without you, I started walking past your parents’ house, even dropping in sometimes, hoping you’d eventually come home. But it was only ever your mum there, alone.’ He grimaces. ‘I begged Ellen to let me know how you were.’
‘But she refused?’
He nods. ‘I told myself it was for the best. Until Robert called me out of the blue. Told me about the baby. I couldn’t believe it at first. But then I saw it was just another of those cruel tricks life plays on us sometimes. Only this is a trick that doesn’t have to be cruel. Not unless we let it.’ He pauses. ‘Robert also told me some other things about you. That you’re depressed. Badly depressed. That he’s never seen you like this before.’
I close my eyes.
Dominic drops to his knees beside me. ‘Listen, I know you’re deeply unhappy. I know you’re out there on the edge with no one to hold your hand. I know because I feel like that too. And maybe I don’t deserve a second chance, after all the shit I put you through. But you’re no saint either. Are you?’
I look at him warily.
‘My condition could be hereditary,’ I remind him.
‘Then let me be there for you both,’ he says quickly. ‘Whatever the outcome, we can face it together.’
He takes my hand and I don’t pull away this time, though I’m tempted to kick him in the balls instead. But that would be a Rachel response, and I’ve promised myself to be Catherine as much as possible. To keep taking the meds and going to the therapist and put all that horror behind me. For the baby’s sake, if not for myself.
‘I love you.’ He kisses my hand gently. ‘Let me be your husband again. Let’s put the past behind us and try to make a life together.’
‘Because of the baby?’
‘Because it’s what we want. What we both need.’
I almost hate him for that. ‘I don’t need you,’ I tell him hotly. ‘I don’t need anyone. Not even Mum and Dad.’
‘Really?’
He turns my hand over and presses his lips passionately to my palm.
I shiver, trying to pull away, and he reaches up, grabbing hold of my shoulders. ‘No escaping this time, you hear me?’ He’s breathing hard, his eyes intent on my face. ‘You may not need your parents. But you need this. I know I need it. In fact, I think I may be addicted to you.’
I struggle but he’s too strong. He holds my face still while he kisses my mouth. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a hard, searching kiss. A let’s-go-to-bed kiss.
It reminds me what I’ve been missing.
Craving, perhaps.
‘Oh God.’
I clutch at his hair and drag him closer, our mouths fused together in heat. Someone must have turned the thermostat up again, I think, because I’m so hot all of a sudden. I can hardly breath, my skin is feverish, and I’m shaking with urgency.
There’s no point pretending I don’t want him.
I may even love him.
He looks round at the narrow bed behind us. ‘Now,’ he says thickly, and kisses my throat, already unbuttoning the front of my white dress. ‘Here.’
‘Say my name first.’
‘Names are for ordinary people. Not us.’
I hold him off, frowning. ‘You don’t even know if I’m Rachel or Cat.’
‘I don’t care who you are. Only what you do to me.’
‘You’re crazy.’
He lifts me easily out of the chair, despite my swollen belly, and I lock my legs about his waist. ‘Then we’re made for each other, aren’t we?’
‘Bastard!’ I growl into his neck as he carries me across the room.
‘Bitch!’
‘Don’t waste time undressing,’ I tell him urgently.
Dominic throws me down on the bed, landing heavily beside me. ‘Who said anything about undressing?’
I keep my eyes wide open as we love each other the way other people hate. Neither of us can help being this rough with each other. It’s pure instinct.
But such wild behaviour is normal for people like me and Dominic. We’re made for each other, he said, and he’s right. This thing between us is elemental, unrestrained by ordinary rules and expectations. It’s natural, not something we need to pick apart in a clinical setting and psychoanalyse. It stems from our personal baggage and how we’ve learnt to deal with it. The violence of our lovemaking is what sweeps everything clean every time and brings us back to ourselves, back to some semblance of sanity. Back to life and out of the darkness.
Just before climaxing, he cries out, ‘Rachel!’
I don’t correct him.
He may be right, after all. Who knows?
Afterwards, cradled in the circle of his strong arms, I gaze out of the window at the white mountains, and my eyelids grow heavy as I listen to the steady drip-drip-drip of thawing snow.