‘What a magnificent feast,’ he observes wryly. It’s dry white toast, jam, strong black coffee and some unidentifiable stewed fruit with yoghurt.
‘Remember, little bites, chew carefully, swallow slowly.’ He raises his eyebrows at me and I lift my hands as if in surrender. ‘I know that you know how to eat, I’m just repeating what the nurse told me.’
Leo takes a bite of the toast. He chews slowly and thoughtfully, then swallows and there’s visible relief on his face as the food makes its way to his stomach. By the time he turns his attention back to me, I’ve resumed my place in the chair beside his bed and am sipping at the awful hospital coffee again.
‘So, how long have we been married?’
I glance at him. Is this the time to tell him? His attention is back on the tray again and I don’t want to distract him. I should check with Craig Walker too – how much upset can Leo take? Better to wait. I keep my answer simple. ‘Three years in December.’
‘What date?’
‘Trust me, that’s one thing you’ve never remembered.’ I’m trying to make a joke, but it’s not at all funny to me and it shows in my tone.
Leo winces. ‘Can you tell me anyway? Maybe I’ll try harder this year.’
‘December third.’ He’s trying to be funny but I don’t want to smile at him because this is Leo and it’s his fault this is a sore spot for me. I think back to our first two anniversaries – both of which I spent at home alone. The first year, I was almost proud of the noble sacrifice I’d made in allowing him to work. The second year, I felt nothing but seething rage because he didn’t even call.
‘Right,’ says Leo with some determination. ‘December third. There’s some kind of rule about anniversary gifts, isn’t there? What’s three years, paper or glass or something?’
‘I have no idea. But the first year, you were in Iraq and the second year you were in Syria, so if you really are going to make an effort to buy me something, buy me three of whatever you pick and that might just make up for the other two years.’
I watch the flickering slide show of emotions pass over Leo’s face. First there’s a frown, but it’s quickly replaced by curiosity and then concentration. I lose his focus in an instant – but I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s wondering what happened in Iraq and Syria to inspire a visit from him, and he’s wondering what the resultant stories were. He’s wondering how quickly he can get up to speed with everything he’s forgotten, and how soon he will get back to work.
I don’t want to be angry with him, but I am instantly furious. Head injury or not, I want to thump him and yell at him and storm out of the room. I try to calm myself, but I unthinkingly crush the paper coffee cup in my fist and it makes a lot more noise than I would have expected. Leo’s gaze shoots towards me and he interrogates me with his eyes. I feel the tension of my fury all the way from my head to my toes.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ I say. There’s a tremor in my voice. Leo watches me silently. ‘I’m telling you about the anniversaries that you missed because you were on assignment, and you’re already wondering what stories you were working on. You’ve just woken from a coma and you can’t move your legs or remember a thing about your life three weeks ago, but you’re already thinking about getting back to work. Right?’
There’s silence for a moment, then Leo murmurs, ‘And yet, you’re still here.’ An expression of bewildered wonder suddenly crosses his face as he stares at me. ‘I must be the luckiest bastard on the face of the planet.’
I stare at him blankly. We have had arguments about his work so many times I couldn’t even guess the number of them and I am bone-weary of the fight. I have been crushed by this – all of my hopes for our future together ground to dust by this very problem and the fury of us each trying to figure it out. But now, without the memories of those previous fights, Leo has gone off-script and I don’t know what to say. He’s supposed to argue about how important his work is, and I’m supposed to argue back that I’m important too – and then we each get riled up, and the yelling turns to screaming and the bitterness rises in each of us and drowns everything else out.
This very argument ruined the best thing in my life and I’m still grieving for what might have been. And now, far too late, Leo has inadvertently suggested that it doesn’t need to end the way it always did. A tiny glimmer of gratitude like that could have changed everything.
I’m annoyed to look up and find that he is still staring at me, his gaze searching. My irritation is not his fault because he can’t even remember marrying me, let alone anything that came after, but then again, it is his fault, all of it, and I’m still angry and I’m still hurting. I can’t stand the eye contact for more than a second, so I wrap my arms around my chest and frown at the floor.
‘The skull fracture must have done more damage than they realised,’ I mutter. ‘This is not how our arguments go.’