I wanted to laugh but knew it was inappropriate.
She slung the keys across the work surface. “It’s the green one. They’re in the far garage.” She glanced at me and her eyes narrowed. “You look good,” she said.
I smiled. “Thanks. So do you.”
She sighed but didn’t respond. “Do you want any furniture or anything else from the house?” she asked.
It hadn’t occurred to me to want anything. She’d picked out every single thing in the place. There was nothing of me in there. “I don’t think so.” I picked up the keys and followed her as she opened the French windows and headed outside to the garage block. She stopped outside the door, her mouth turned down, her eyes dark with none of the sparkle I remembered. I wanted to do something, make things better.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “It was never my intention to hurt you.”
“Of course it was intentional, Alex. You don’t unintentionally work all the time.” She took in a long, slow breath. “It’s not like breathing. You have a choice, and you chose work over your marriage every time. It came before everything; nothing was more important to you.”
“But that was the deal between us, wasn’t it? You knew who I was going in.”
She folded her arms and stared at the ground. “I know we didn’t have some kind of grand love affair—that isn’t who either of us are. We were both practical and straightforward, but I still thought it would work.” She shook her head as if chastising herself for her own stupidity. “I thought when we got married, you’d want to spend more time with me. I thought you’d grow to love me.” Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry.” I hated that I’d hurt her. She didn’t deserve that.
“It was all a long time ago.”
For me, three years didn’t feel all that long ago. It had passed in a blur. Gabby was the last woman I’d been out to dinner with. The last woman I’d taken a shower with. The last woman I’d spent Christmas with. Three years might have been a long time for her, but for me, it had felt like three weeks. Nothing had really changed in the intervening years except I was getting better quality work in chambers, and I was earning more money.
She snatched the keys from my hand and opened the lock on the garage. From what I remembered, we didn’t keep anything in this space. She opened the door and switched on the light. There were half a dozen boxes in the middle of the concrete floor and my father’s desk that looked like it had been wrapped up in cardboard and plastic. I’d forgotten it was here, but where else would it be? Christ, was this what comprised the history of my personal life? An ex-wife and a few cardboard boxes?
“Your sports trophies are in the one on top, I think. Most of the rest are the clothes you didn’t take when you left.”
“Thanks,” I said, although it made me feel so uncomfortable. I wished she had burned the lot along with my effigy.
“Do you want to go through the house?” she asked. “You can have anything you like—I’ll have to downsize when we sell anyway.”
“You want to sell?” She’d found this house just after we’d become engaged, and I could still remember her face when she told me about it. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her happier. For her, it had been love at first sight. A forever home, she’d said. But forever had only lasted two years.
“I’ll have to. I won’t be able to afford to buy you out.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that she would think I’d make her do such a thing. “Gabby, this is your home. I know how special it is to you. You found this place, furnished it, planted the garden, had it redecorated. I’ll sign it over to you; you don’t need to buy me out.” She was right. I had been selfish during our marriage, but that didn’t mean I had to be during our divorce.
“Don’t do that,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t try to do the right thing.”
“I was trying to be nice.” I was pretty sure I just conceded to something I didn’t have to.
“Exactly. Don’t be nice to me now it’s too late.”
“Okay,” I said. Maybe this was why I’d not been back in three years. I’d been avoiding facing up to what I’d done to Gabby.
“You shouldn’t have married me if you didn’t want to be a husband.”
Rightly or wrongly, I’d never considered whether I’d wanted to be a husband when I married Gabby. I hadn’t been averse to the idea of marriage, but I hadn’t really given it much thought, either. I’d gone in blind, assuming I’d just be able to continue as usual. “I mean it when I say I’m sorry.” And I was. She was right; I should never have married her. I reached out and pulled her into a hug. “You deserved a better husband.”
“I did. But we learn from our mistakes. I won’t go into another marriage thinking things will improve once I’ve walked down the aisle.” She pulled out of my arms.
I wished I could make it better for her.
“Will you?” she asked.
“What?”
“Learn from your mistakes?”
I frowned. There was no doubt I wouldn’t marry again. I wouldn’t put someone through that again. Is that what she meant?
“Maybe start by getting rid of that bloody desk,” she said.
I chuckled. “You think giving away my father’s desk will be my salvation?”
“I wasn’t kidding.” She looked me straight in the eye. “It’s a symbol. I never understood why you were so competitive with a dead man.”
My spine stiffened. “Competitive?” What was she talking about?
“You have to be better, work harder, than Alexander the Great. I’m not sure if you’re trying to prove to yourself that you’re better or to everyone else. Maybe you’re just trying to justify why he never turned up to a sports day or your university graduation.” She shrugged. “Not my problem anymore.”