‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been thinking things over since the cemetery.’ He stumbles, stops, and starts again. ‘Since before then. Since, well… ever.’
‘Thinking over what?’
‘When I got nicked all those years ago.’
‘What about it?’
‘I was wondering…’ He stops, scratches his neck and then fiddles with the sleeve of his army jacket. He takes a breath and looks directly at me. ‘I guess I was wondering if you were pregnant with my kid.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
I stare at Jason and it’s like being back in Graham’s office all over again. That feeling of dizziness; the confusion, the anger.
‘What are you talking about?’
I’m shouting but it’s too late now. Graham is leaving the office but he stops and stares across the car park to us. I can feel him questioning me. He knows I’m separating from my husband, that I’m accused of propositioning a client – and now I’m shouting at a strange man in his car park. I’m falling apart. Perhaps this is why I’ve been confined to my desk? Maybe he actually believes Declan.
Jason seems unaware of anyone other than me: ‘I was thinking that you and I, well, y’know and then, well—’
‘Get in the car.’
I unlock it and Jason does as he’s told, slotting into the passenger seat as I start the engine. His clothes reek of stale cigarettes, like the smell that clings to walls and carpets and never quite goes. It reminds me of being young and there’s comfort there – even though I haven’t smoked in more than twenty years.
He clears his throat but has only got out the words, ‘I think’ when I shush him.
‘We’ll talk in a bit,’ I say.
I keep an eye on the rear-view mirror as I drive. There’s no particular logic behind it but I don’t want to be heading in the same direction as any of my colleagues. I don’t want to be stopped at traffic lights when Natasha or someone else pulls up alongside me and gets a good look at who’s in the passenger seat. There’s little chance anyone would know him – but that’s not the point. This is my workplace and I can’t have it crossing over with home. I’ve got too much going on as it is.
I drive with little direction, taking turns without much thought, not knowing where I might be going. I suppose it’s fate when I realise what we’re close to. There’s a turn-off that becomes a narrow lane and then a dirt track. When it’s rained heavily, it’s impassable in anything less than a 4x4. A wet autumn will see leaves stick to the mud and then more dirt compacting on top. Nobody bothers to clear it because there’s little here. For now, there is only a thin, dry carpet of dirt. We bump over that and then rattle over a cattle grid, even though I’ve never seen cows in the area. Eventually, I pull onto a patch of tarmac that has long since been abandoned. The cracks splinter in all directions, plants and weeds sprouting through the gaps. The trees hang low on all four sides, turning daylight into something close to night.
The engine is switched off and we sit facing front. I can’t bring myself to look at him.
‘You shouldn’t have come to my work,’ I say.
‘I know, Rosie – but it’s been eating me up.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
Rosie is what Wayne used to call me and then Jason copied him. It’s a teenage nickname that isn’t who I am any more. Ellie only ever used my actual name and no one’s called me Rosie in decades.
Jason is chastened and goes silent, so I speak next: ‘Why do you think I was pregnant? When do you think I was pregnant? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He unclips his seat belt and wriggles to free his jacket from underneath his backside. ‘Before now, the last time I saw you was five or six months before the fire. We didn’t use a johnny or anything…’
He’s right – but I hadn’t thought of what we did in that detail for a long time. I remembered the sex, of course – not because it was anything special, more because I regret everything about it. I’ve been fixated on the act, while he’s seemingly spent a little over twenty years going over the specifics.
‘Is that what you’ve been thinking about all this time?’ I say.
Jason takes a few seconds to answer. I’ve probably embarrassed him. I don’t want to know for sure but there’s a good chance he hasn’t been with a woman in all this time. It’s no wonder he’d fixate on a precise instance.
‘Even when I was on remand,’ he says. ‘I guess I thought…’
‘Why would you think I was pregnant?’
A shrug: ‘Because I didn’t see you at all. Not in court, not in prison. I wondered if it’s cos you were hiding something.’
‘You thought I was hiding a baby?’
Another shrug. ‘Or an abortion.’
For the second time today, I can’t quite process what I’m hearing. It’s like being told stories about someone else.
‘None of that happened,’ I say. ‘None of it. It’s all in your head, Jase. I didn’t visit you in prison because I’d moved on. I’d started seeing Dan by the time you were in court. We got married a year after that. I’ve only ever been pregnant once – and that was with my daughter eighteen years ago. When I conceived her, I was already married and you were in prison.’
I twist in my seat, fighting against the seat belt and then unclipping it so I can turn properly. I want to see his face, to know that this delusion he’s had is exactly that.
I press it because I need to see that he gets it: ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Jason?’
He nods solemnly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It looks like he’s going to cry but I know I can’t offer the assurance or comfort that he needs.
The car suddenly feels warm and the windows are starting to steam. I open my door and offer the best condolence I can with a firm ‘come on’.
Jason follows my lead and we start walking through the trees, following the barely there trail that we used to know so well when we were teenagers. It’s overgrown now, with leafy bushes and fallen trees invading the path. We continue on anyway, crunching our way around the blockages where necessary.
The babble of the river quickly becomes a thunder and it’s not long before I can see the water as well as hear it. The trail starts to follow the river, widening out until we reach a clearing that’s ringed with mossy low shrubs. For the first time in a long time, I can see the watermill on the edge of the bank. It’s ringed by a six-foot chicken wire fence that’s covered with red and yellow ‘keep out’ signs. The building itself is like a shrunken lighthouse, with a circular base that has a dome on top. Attached to the side is the waterwheel. A century or more ago, it was used to grind grains. I’m sure it was repaired and replaced over the years but, by the time we were teenagers, it was our hideaway. There’s a large, rotting wooden circle that looks as if it could disintegrate at any moment. I can’t see if any of the actual paddles are still intact. It would have once been majestic but now it’s a crumbling mix of nails, screws, hooks and wood.
A chill licks along my spine that isn’t because of the cold.
Jason and I stop in the clearing, listening to the roar of the river as we stare towards our old playground.
‘Ellie says it’s coming down soon,’ I say.
‘I can’t believe it’s still here.’
It’s hard to hear much over the water, so we cut back towards the woods, finding shelter under the canopy of a sprawling oak. The watermill sits on the edge of my vision in the same way it does my thoughts.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jason says.
There’s sincerity in what he says and that only makes me feel guiltier for my part in everything.
‘I should’ve visited you,’ I reply. ‘Or written back at the very least. It wasn’t fair.’
He shrugs. It’s not like he can disagree.
‘I couldn’t face you,’ I add. ‘I was immature and stupid. Still getting over Wayne and the crash.’
Jason nods. He must know this is true. He’s had twenty years to think about it.
‘I was the rebound...’
He somehow makes it sound like a statement of fact and a question at the same time.