‘How do they go?’
‘They quickly escalate to yelling.’
‘My head still hurts too much for yelling. How about I promise that this year, not only will I be in the right country for our anniversary, but I’ll organise something appropriately romantic and sufficiently meaningful to undo the damage I did the first few years?’
This is more familiar. When I’m upset, Leo has always had a tendency to make promises he won’t keep.
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ I sigh, and then in a clumsy shift of topic that Leo is apparently happy to allow, ask him, ‘How’s the breakfast?’
‘Amazing, although I’m still going to let you bring me some proper food later in the day if you really insist on doing so.’
I laugh weakly. ‘Okay. I’ll go out later if you like.’
‘Actually, why don’t you go back to your hotel and have a shower and a decent nap, and come back when you’re ready?’
Automatically I shake my head. I don’t want to leave him. I feel I need to stay in case he needs me – there’s no one else here who knows him. I move to argue, but instead a yawn creeps up on me and I try to stifle it.
Leo looks at me pointedly and says, ‘I’ll be okay for a while.’
‘Are you telling me I look terrible?’ I reach for my messy fringe and pat it self-consciously.
‘You look beautiful. I still can’t believe for even a second you’d marry someone like me.’ The compliment and his self-derisive comment are so unexpected that they undo me altogether and the tears rise. This time they won’t be stopped. I blink compulsively and then stand and turn away from him, hoping he won’t notice. He gently touches my back. ‘I was trying to make a joke, Molly. I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve always been terrible at jokes.’ I give up on my quest to hide the tears. One escapes and runs down to my chin and I wipe at it with the back of my hand. ‘I’m just tired, and well…’ I shrug and turn back to the bed and cover his left hand with mine. I squeeze his fingers gently. ‘It’s just so good to have you back, Leo.’
Leo turns his hand over and links his fingers through mine, and his hand contracts. It’s another automatic gesture, I’m sure, but I can see the very slight hesitance in his face after he’s made it – an internal battle between who he knows me to be – a stranger – and who he is being told I am – his wife. He’s probably thinking that he will feel more comfortable about me once his memory returns, and now I feel entirely guilty that he’s about to discover the opposite. A second tear runs down my face.
‘Get out of here,’ he says. ‘Go rest. I’m okay, I promise.’
‘Okay,’ I whisper, and then release his hand and move away from him. He watches silently as I pick up my handbag and walk to the door, where I hesitate again. He’s only been awake for a day. What if he takes a turn for the worse and I’m asleep?
‘Go!’ he says the word with feigned exasperation, and I nod and leave the room.
I do desperately need sleep – I’m going to need my wits about me to get through this.
6
Leo – January 2011
I have always hated text messaging. I hate the lack of context and tone, and the abbreviations and spelling mistakes that seem rife with the medium. But I had spent the entire day after that discussion in the park feeling a confused mix of guilt and concern for Molly Torrington and I didn’t want to crowd her. As darkness fell, I looked up her number and sent her a message. I hope you’re okay after this morning, Molly. Leo.
Her response came before the phone was even out of my hands. I’m really sorry I’ve made you drag all of this up. I appreciate your honesty with me. There’s not really anyone I can talk to about this and I think it’s going to take some time to process. I read her message a few times and then it struck me that for all the times I’d asked myself, what would Declan have me do? in the last twenty-four hours, this time at least, the answer was obvious: You can talk to me about it whenever you need to.
The truth was, I wanted to talk more about it, and that was quite a shocking realisation. The night Declan died, when I finally left the hospital and arrived back at my apartment, the silence had been suffocating. I tried to sleep but couldn’t, and eventually went to my parents’ house. Dad and Mum both got up and I told them the news, and they tried to offer me condolences but I just couldn’t explain my grief to them, or give voice to the terrible guilt I felt. After that, I’d never really spoken about it again. It had been too shocking and too raw at first, then life moved on and I put it behind me.
Molly didn’t reply straight away to my offer of a further chat, and I put the phone down and went into my kitchen to scout around for some food. When I heard the text tone sound, I wandered back to scan the screen. Do you have plans tonight?