In the meantime, I clean and change Rory, checking for any signs of a rash. Dr. Schur said he was underweight and malnourished, but that’s not my fault. I’ve tried to feed him. I did everything they said in the books.
Sitting on sacks of rice, I feed Rory, who finishes a whole bottle, sucking on air to get the last drops. I burp him against my shoulder, praying that the milk stays down. He doesn’t fall asleep immediately. He watches me as I make another two bottles in case we have to leave in a hurry.
I find a steak-and-mushroom pie in the freezer cabinet and use the microwave in the storeroom to thaw it out. I cook it up with a packet of frozen vegetables and serve my feast on a paper plate with plastic cutlery. Scanning the shelves, I find the most expensive bottle of red wine and open that as well, raising a glass to Mr. Patel and toasting his generosity.
“This is the life, isn’t it?” I say to Rory, who watches me eat. “Wouldn’t it be nice to stay here forever?”
I know that’s impossible. At six in the morning someone will show up to open the supermarket and the deliveries will begin—the bread and milk and newspapers. At six thirty the doors will open and the early risers will drift in, picking up supplies on their way to work.
“I feel like something sweet,” I say to Rory, whose eyes are growing heavy. I walk to the freezer chest and open the sliding lid, perusing the tubs of premium ice cream.
“Will it be Ben & Jerry’s, H?agen-Dazs, or Bessant & Drury’s? Why not try them all?”
I start with three tubs, tasting each one. I’m opening a fourth when someone knocks on the front doors. A young couple, teenagers, are signaling me. They’re both drunk and holding each other up.
“We’re closed,” I yell.
“We need cigarettes,” says the boy, waving a twenty-quid note.
“Try the pub.”
“They kicked us out.”
“Not my problem.”
The girl twists up her face. “Don’t be such a cow. You can open for one minute.”
“Can’t do it. Register’s closed.”
The boy slams his hand against the doors, making them vibrate. He does it again and I have to warn him that I’ll call the police.
He steps back and looks around until he spies a plastic milk crate. Picking it up, he hurls it against the glass, but it bounces off and hits him in the shin. It must hurt, because he’s hopping around. His girlfriend kicks at the door.
“I’m calling the police,” I say, holding up my phone.
“Fat cow!” she replies.
The girl drags her boyfriend away, weaving across the road to the bus stop, flipping off a passing driver who toots his horn.
Pouring another glass of wine, I glance at the magazine covers featuring beautiful women with airbrushed bodies and celebrity couples with varnished lives, who will grow old gracelessly and cling to fame. One of them shows a woman in a bikini and sarong on a white-sand beach, where the azure water matches her eyes. A little boy is playing with a bucket and spade at her feet. I once asked Hayden if he would take me to Tahiti, but he laughed and said I’d get seasick. That was before Rory.
I want to go home. I want to sleep in my bed. I want Hayden’s arms around me and to hear him say that he loves me. We were so happy together. We could have been a great couple, envied by others, like Jack and Meghan. Not perfect, I realize that now, but worth preserving. A marriage should have children. It’s hard enough to keep one together even with a child. Without them, I don’t know if it’s possible. I saw that with Nicky—how the joy and spontaneity and laughter went out of our marriage when he was forced to wank into a cup while I was prodded, poked, and inseminated with my legs in stirrups and a stranger’s hands touching me.
Rory is asleep. I run my finger down his cheek and across his parted lips, knowing how little time we have left. There’s nowhere we can hide. I don’t have the money or the anonymity. I don’t have the energy.
Curling up on the floor next to Rory, using my coat as a blanket, I try to sleep and dream of Tahiti—the warm water and soft breeze and my little boy playing in the sand. Everything scares me—the traffic outside, the creaking of the roof, and the silence. The creature has won. He knows that. He is feasting on my inner organs, enjoying his last supper.
MEGHAN
* * *
Trapped between wakefulness and terrible dreams, I toss and turn, occasionally opening my eyes, hoping for morning to appear beyond the window. The curtains remain dark and the city sleeps.
At some point I get out of bed and walk through the quiet house. Jack is sleeping in an undersized bed in the newly decorated nursery.
“Are you awake?” I whisper.
“Uh-huh,” Jack says, mumbling into his pillow.
I sit next to him. The bed sags. “What are you thinking about?”
“Same as you.”
“Do you think he’s all right?”
“I hope so.”
The curtains are open and the branches cast shadows on the wall.
“Are you sure we can survive this?” I ask. “Maybe we’re not meant to stay together.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why did you sleep with Rhea Bowden?”
“Because I am monumentally stupid.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He takes a deep breath. I feel his chest expand and contract. “I wish I could tell you.”
“I can make it a multiple-choice question. Was it a midlife crisis? Boredom? Did you stop loving me?”
“No, no, never that.”
“She’s not younger than me. She’s not prettier.” My voice is growing strident. “Explain it to me?”
“She was there,” he whispers.
“What?”
“Rhea Bowden. She was there.”
“Mount Everest is there. You could have mounted that.”
“I don’t love her. I never did.”
“Oh, so it was just sex.” My sarcasm stings him. He shifts uncomfortably. I catch the scent of his deodorant and the warm fug of his body. “I’m giving you a chance to explain.”
He turns to face me, propping his head on his hand. “It was exciting at first. Frightening. Different. You and I had stopped talking to each other.”
“We talk all the time.”
“We talk about bills and expenses and kids, but not about each other. We don’t share our intimate thoughts anymore. We don’t talk about the future or laugh about the past. I used to believe that life was leading somewhere, but it’s not, is it? This is it! We’re simply existing.”
“And Rhea Bowden changed that?”
“No. I thought she might, but I was being stupid.” He reaches across the bedspread and touches my hand. I pull it away.
“Every time I think of you with that woman . . .”
“Don’t, then.”
“How do we get beyond this?”
“We start again. We do it for Lucy and Lachlan and Ben. We owe it to them.”
He reaches for my hand. I let him take it. “Every word I said at the church was true. I think you’re truly remarkable. And whatever happens—whether we’re together or apart—I will always love you.”
I pull back the covers and slide onto the narrow bed next to him. His arms close around me and we spoon as though trying to mold our bodies into one.
“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”
“I know.”
I notice a suitcase on the floor and a pile of Jack’s clothes.
“Are you leaving me?”
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay.”
“I thought maybe you had already gone.”