I woke up alone on the morning of my thirtieth birthday. Even Lucien had abandoned me that morning, having already taken himself outside, or to Mrs Wilkins’s for breakfast. For a long time, I didn’t bother to do much more than to open my eyes and stare at the ornate ceiling.
I felt as if there was a heavy weight on my chest that morning, even as I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I leant on the counter and stared into the mirror, surveying my bleary eyes and increasingly lined face. Maybe I needed a day at a spa. I glanced at my hair, and decided at the very least I needed a visit to the hairdresser – my colour was only a few shades lighter than my natural shade by then, but the roots were starting to grow through.
And then I saw it – a tiny patch of silver, right above my right temple – just a centimetre or two wide, so narrow that no one else would ever have noticed it. I lifted my hair and stared at it, tilting my head this way and that, trying to see if it disappeared. No, I was definitely going grey. I was thirty, and my hair was turning silver. Was it worry? Was it going grey prematurely like Mum’s? Or maybe it was a perfectly appropriate thing for my hair to do, given I was now in my thirties?
There were balloons at work and flowers from colleagues and Mum took me out for lunch, but the whole time, I felt forgotten. This was not how it was supposed to be. Leo should be home by now to make a fuss over me – instead, I got an email from him that was nothing more than a promise to call me later that night.
I went to Penny’s house for dinner and we lamented our absent husbands while the kids bounded around and distracted us with hilariously poor tricks they’d been trying to perfect since receiving a magic kit at Christmas. But eventually Penny grew tired of dropping pointed yawns in my direction and told me that she had to go to bed. Shortly after I got home, Leo called and I listened wearily while he talked about the amazing interviews he’d been conducting and unconvincingly attempted to downplay the danger he’d been in outrunning a rebel squad earlier in the day. He did not seem to notice my depressed mood, or at least, if he did, he didn’t bother to acknowledge it.
Later, I climbed the stairs to our bed and stared at the ceiling again. The house felt endlessly empty and I thought about the life and colour and sound of Penny’s house, and the inevitability of my greying hair. I was aging, faster and faster by the day it seemed.
That’s when I decided that if Leo was going to leave me for eight months out of the year, I would have to build my life without him until he was ready to settle down. So my thirtieth birthday drew to a close; I had a tiny patch of grey hair at my temple, but I also had the seed of a new dream in my heart.
I wanted to have a baby.
36
Leo – September 2015
‘Okay, we’re going to get you up on your feet again now, are you ready?’
I’m concentrating so hard that sweat has soaked through my clothes and I feel it pooling in the curve of my lower back. I nod towards Tracy and grunt as I pull myself up to a standing position against a frame.
‘One… two… three… four…’
My legs give way, and I collapse again. Tracy is operating a pulley system which easily catches me as I flop, and she is triumphant.
‘Yes! That was almost five seconds before I had to assist you, Leo – that’s brilliant progress!’
I am out of breath, and as she lowers me into the chair, I focus on regulating my breathing again. Tracy the physiotherapist might be an attractive young woman, but she’s also a brutal taskmaster and I am finally making some progress. Rationally, four and a half seconds in a standing position does not seem like a victory, but it is something – and even though progress is still slow, at least I’m moving in the right direction.
‘Again?’ she says, as soon as I have recovered.
I grip the standing frame in my hands and take a moment to focus. Closing my eyes for a minute, I picture myself walking – running – standing proudly on the karate mat – dodging a bullet on the battlefield – chasing a toddler down a hallway – standing to kiss Molly again. ‘Again,’ I say flatly.
Tracy adjusts the pulley in readiness and says, ‘Go when you’re ready.’
I haven’t told Molly about the minor milestones I’m achieving while she’s at the office. It’s not that I’m deliberately keeping it a secret from her, rather I’m looking forward to surprising her one day. When I’m strong enough, I’m going to stand up to greet her when she returns from work one afternoon.
‘You’re the most motivated patient I’ve ever worked with,’ Tracy tells me as she leaves that day, and I nod.
‘I have a lot to lose and a lot to gain.’