‘Why, yes!’ Elsie looks excited by the prospect of helping Ava. ‘Meditation could be the perfect way to untangle all those thoughts and let the memories flow again. You should try it.’
Ava looks up at me, hopeful, maybe even as excited as Elsie at the prospect. We have yoga teachers at the club. If she really wants to try it, then I’ll get her on one of the classes. No sweat. ‘We’ll look into it,’ I assure her, returning my attention to John, keen to get some more squirming out of him. ‘So, a dating website, huh?’
Slowly, purposely slowly, he takes his shades to his face and covers his fuck-you glare. ‘Haven’t you got somewhere to be?’
‘Nope.’ I raise my hand to signal the waitress, looking to Elsie. ‘Which site did you find him on, Elsie? Date a Moody Bastard? Free to a Good Home?’ I chuckle when Ava smacks my arm, and Elsie giggles, too.
‘It was Twilight Love, actually.’ Reaching across the table for his hand, she squeezes it affectionately. ‘I knew the moment I saw his profile picture that there was cotton wool under all that steel. And I was right.’
‘Awwww.’ I place my hand over my heart and turn gooey eyes onto John. ‘You big softy, you.’ He’s going to lay me out soon.
‘We should go,’ Ava says sternly, sensing the killer vibes emanating from John’s big black body. She gives me a warning look to rival John’s. ‘I’m tired, Jesse.’
Just like that, I’m snapped out of my teasing mood. What am I thinking? She’s exhausted. Shit. ‘We’ll leave you two to it,’ I say, scanning Ava up and down.
‘Goodbye,’ John grunts.
‘It was lovely to meet you, Elsie.’ Ava pushes a smile through her exhaustion. ‘And thank you for your offer. I’ll think about it.’
‘Of course. John will give you my number if you decide you’d like to try it.’
As we wander over to the bike, Ava looks up at me, and I just know what’s coming. ‘I think I’d like to try yoga.’
‘We’ll talk about it when you’re not so tired.’ I brush off her statement for now. We’ve argued enough today.
Chapter 22
When we get home, Ava doesn’t head upstairs to take a nap. Instead, she goes straight to the kitchen and starts pulling open doors and drawers. I stand at the door watching her, unsure as to whether I should step in. I know exactly what she’s doing. Since we saw Sarah, she’s been visibly more stressed, swaying between worry and anger, and I can see her mind racing.
‘How am I supposed to recognise a woman who tried to steal my husband if I don’t even know where we keep the fucking mugs?’ A door slams, and she stills, though her body is rolling, fired up by her anger.
‘The mugs are in the top left-hand cupboard,’ I say quietly. ‘The plates in the bottom right-hand one. The knives and forks are in the drawer under the hob, and the breakfast cereals are in the pantry cupboard. In the morning, after I’ve made love to you, you come down and put on the coffee machine. Then you take a shower and get ready while it brews. You put a load of washing on around eight, and you make the kids’ lunches. You rub moisturiser cream into your hands every time you get them wet, and you always put the dishwasher on before you leave to take the kids to school and go to work. After dinner, you let me tidy up. That’s my job. To load the dishwasher while you help the kids with their homework. And when we’re done, we snuggle on the couch and watch some TV before you load the coffee machine for the morning and get the kids’ cereals laid out ready for when they’re up. Then I carry you to bed and make love to you.’ I pause for a beat, finding it so hard to say such simple things without letting my voice crack. ‘You fall asleep on my chest. I know if something is on your mind because you’re restless. Mostly, you don’t move from my chest all night. And when you wake up, you roll off me and I spoon you, waiting for you to push your arse into me. Waiting for you to tell me you’re ready to be woken up with some sleepy sex. And then we start all over again.’ I swallow and bite down on my back teeth, my devastation returning tenfold. All those simple things. Gone.
Ava slowly turns, and I see the river of tears pouring down her distraught, beautiful face. ‘I want to do it all. All those things. I want to do them all. I want my life back. With you. With the kids.’ Her voice is becoming distressed, and she takes the side of the worktop to hold herself up.
I’m across the kitchen and hugging her to me before I have a chance to think, letting her cry her despair into my T-shirt. My own tears tumble into her hair, our reality too much for both of us. All I can do is hold her. Be there for her. Love her. And all she can do is depend on me for . . . everything.
‘Will you do something for me?’ she whispers into the material of my T-shirt.
Stupid question. ‘Anything.’
‘Will you show me our wedding pictures again? Will you tell me who all the people are?’
I stall answering, but only because I don’t know if I could take her breaking down some more. Seeing her so hopeless and fraught is soul crushing. ‘Sure,’ I answer, knowing I can’t deny her that. ‘Want to do it now?’
She fists the material of my T-shirt, breathing in as she looks up at me. Her eyes. Her gorgeous dark brown eyes are welling, and I reach up to wipe under them. ‘Please.’
‘Come on.’ I lift her from her feet and gently help her get her legs around my waist. ‘Comfy?’
Her answer is her face in my neck and her arms circling my shoulders tightly.
Walking us to the study, I place her down on the couch and plump a cushion for her, helping her to get comfortable. Her small smile of thanks should please me. It doesn’t. It hurts, because she should never have to thank me for being her husband.
I wander over to fetch the laptop and settle beside her, whirling my fingertip across the mouse pad. The screen comes to life, and I click the file for our wedding shots. A massive smile immediately spreads wide across my face. ‘Look how beautiful you are.’ So much fucking lace, I didn’t know whether to worship her or rip it all off. ‘Do you know how hard it was for me to keep myself under control that day?’
‘Well, no, since I can’t remember a stupid . . . wait, are those handcuffs around our wrists?’ Edging forward in her seat, she gets up close and personal with the screen. ‘They are. They’re bloody handcuffs!’
I smile, smug. ‘Your mother wasn’t best pleased.’
Ava snorts, obviously imagining Elizabeth’s reaction. ‘I can’t believe you handcuffed me on our wedding day.’
‘Believe it.’ I point to the screen. ‘Hard evidence right there.’
She’s silent for a moment, observing as she relaxes into my side, her palm lying on my bicep. ‘Just tell me one thing.’
‘What?’
‘Are you older than my mother?’ She looks up at me seriously.
Is she fucking kidding me? If I didn’t have a computer on my lap and her tucked into my side, I’d drop to the carpet and smash out fifty press-ups. Older than her mother? ‘Do I look older than your fucking mother?’ The nerve. I feel a stressed sweat coming on. How old does she think I am?
‘Well, Mum’s early forties. I’m guessing you’re there or thereabouts.’
It takes me a few seconds to process her words, and then I realise . . . ‘Ava, your mother is sixty.’ Relief sends me dizzy. In her head, her parents are the same age they were in her last memory, and her last memory was when she was in her early twenties. ‘You’re not in your early twenties any more, baby.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she whispers, looking down at her stomach, remembering the stretch marks that tell her she’s a mother, then to the boobs she’s clearly not happy with.
‘Look.’ I gently nudge her with my elbow before she falls into despondency, pointing at the screen. ‘You know who that is.’
‘Kate. She looks a bit miserable.’
Ava’s right. She looks like she’s licking piss off a stinging nettle. Then I notice Dan and Sam in the background. And I remember. ‘She and Sam weren’t talking,’ I tell her.