I pause before I answer this question. I had no choice but to resign once Dad found out about Leo and me, but that wasn’t actually why I did it. I left because I was working with him for all the wrong reasons, caught in a cycle of seeking my father’s approval at the cost of my own happiness. But for our relationship forcing the issue, I’d probably still be working away at Torrington Media, trapped in a life that was never really mine. Leo was the catalyst, but the end result was my freedom.
At the time it seemed that there was something quite mystical about the way that falling in love with Leo had changed my world. But looking back on this now, I am torn between a sense of relief and gratitude to have stepped out of that life and a feeling of having been cheated out of the future I should have stepped into. Leo and I started a journey together, but he wandered off on his own after such a short time and left me to carry on in my new existence alone. I’m still glad to be where I am, and I’m still grateful to him, but at the same time even this train of thought leaves me feeling an aching sense of disappointment for what should have been. I thought I was leaving Torrington Media so that Leo and I could build a future together. It never occurred to me for even a second that we could fail to do so – I thought the love I had for him could overcome anything.
‘I left because I wanted to,’ I say eventually. ‘I kind of fell into that career when Dec died, and by the time you and I met, I desperately wanted to leave but I just didn’t know how. I run a charitable foundation now – it’s a much better fit for me.’
There’s a sound at the door as a woman pushes a cart of meal trays past. I hear the rumble of Leo’s stomach at the thought of food, and he watches the door hopefully. When the attendant doesn’t return, he sighs.
‘If they tell me I can only eat apple puree today, I might cry.’
‘You don’t cry.’
‘If you know me as well as you seem to think you do, that statement should tell you how much I need some real food,’ he says, and one corner of his mouth turns upwards and I see the smile echo in his eyes. That’s Leo’s charming smile – and while I haven’t actually been the target of it for a very long time, I find that I’m still not immune to its powers.
‘Give me a minute and I’ll go see if I can talk them into letting you try something more substantial, okay? If you’re allowed to eat, I can sneak something else in for you later. The hospital food looks awful.’
I return a minute or two later, a triumphant smile on my face and the tray in hand. ‘They said I have to watch you like a hawk but you can try solid food if you’re really that determined to,’ I tell him wryly.
‘Thanks,’ he says. I feel his eyes on my face as I organise the tray for him and I’m suddenly very self-consciousness. As I peel the lid back on the packaging of some jam-like substance, a thick strand of hair falls over my face and I press it away with my shoulder awkwardly. The wayward lock of hair immediately falls forward again and Leo reaches forward hesitantly, then very slowly tucks it behind my ear.
I feel a million things at once. There’s a tenderness in the gesture that has been lost to us for so long that I’ve actually forgotten to miss it. I’m almost floored by how wonderful it feels to have him touch me like that again. There’s a dangerous pummelling of emotions right at my gut – our attraction has always been intense, even when everything else went to hell – that side of our marriage still worked. But there’s a grief in it all too for me – because I know that once Leo gets his memory back, this automatic affection will disappear again and it needs to, because our marriage is over. At this thought, I want to step away and protect myself from the hurt that’s inevitably going to return, but I don’t want to confuse him further. Instead, I smile almost shyly at Leo, and then I push the tray towards him.
‘Did I make you uncomfortable?’ he asks. ‘It just seemed like a natural thing to do.’
‘No, no,’ I shake my head hastily. ‘I just know this is all new to you. It must feel like you met me yesterday.’
Leo shrugs and peers at me thoughtfully. ‘I felt as if I’d done it a million times before, even if I don’t remember. Strange, isn’t it?’
When we met, I had a pixie-cut – Leo eventually told me he hated it. It was such a severe look – not one that suited me at all – but toughening my image up had seemed necessary when I was trying to forge my way in that world. I remember the raised eyebrows from the board at the first meeting I attended in my floral dress and with my hair loose and swinging to my waist. I’d quickly learned to at least present an air of authority and ruthlessness and had changed my look completely to match, but it had never felt right to me.
When I finally resigned, I donated my working wardrobe to charity and I grew my hair out over our first year together. Leo used to tuck it behind my ears all the time; sometimes he’d stand right in front of me and tuck both sides at once and then he’d kiss me playfully until I was all dishevelled again. I flush at the memory and step away from the bed. Leo’s attention, thankfully, is on the tray of food.