I climb the stairs and fall into the bed fully clothed – Lucien at my side. I curl up around Leo’s pillows and I breathe in deeply, and think about my husband. I am trapped in this situation with him, at least for now, and I feel a bewildering sense of panic as I consider the possibilities for the next few weeks or, God forbid, even months.
I have so much going on in my own life; so much healing to do – so much planning to do. I don’t have the time nor the brain space to deal with scaffolding and guiding as Leo recovers… nor could I ever abandon him – not now, when he needs me. But can I handle the continuing walk down memory lane? I feel dread at the very thought of it – it’s too soon; things are too raw. I am still too angry with him and I am too vulnerable. And what if he never recovers?
That thought is like cold water dumped onto my self-pity. I take a few deep breaths. My situation is crappy, but his is infinitely worse. It’s uncomfortable and scary, but being here for Leo during this time is the least I can do.
10
Leo – February 2011
Friday was a day devoted entirely to anticipation. By the time I headed to Circular Quay to meet Molly, I felt as though I’d been waiting a very long time to see her again, although it was actually less than twenty-four hours.
I took a seat at the bar where I could keep an eye on the door and ordered some water as I surveyed the place. It was, as I’d expected, an exorbitantly priced restaurant. But there were cosy booths and tea-light candles on the tables and folksy music playing in the background; this was a place constructed for intimate dinners. I could forgive the pretentious nature of the establishment given the unmistakable message Molly had sent with her choice of venue.
I looked at the door just as she entered, and saw her scanning the room, looking for me. She was wearing a soft pink dress with delicate folds across the front. The skirt fell to her knees, the neckline was high, and the sleeves were elbow-length. There was nothing at all seductive about her attire, but there didn’t need to be – I would have been equally captivated had she stepped through the door wearing a hessian sack and gumboots.
‘Ms Torrington, lovely to see you,’ the waitress approached her as I did, and after a quick glance at me, returned her attention to Molly. ‘Your booth is ready.’
‘Hello, Molly,’ I said quietly.
‘Hi, Leo,’ she smiled back at me almost shyly, and we followed the waitress to the table. Molly slid into the booth and I followed her but sat opposite her – I wanted to keep my thoughts clear.
It had occurred to me as we flirted the previous night that Molly had met every challenge I’d issued head-on. I was confident that I knew how to speak to women – I’d had plenty of chances to hone my dating game to a fine art over the years – but I might just have met my match in Molly Torrington. The challenge she presented was enthralling.
‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week,’ I said, as soon as we were seated. ‘And you have been thinking a lot about me.’
She stared back at me, unfazed. ‘Oh, I have, have I?’ she laughed softly.
‘You have. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have worn that dress.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with my dress?’ she glanced down at herself and frowned at me.
‘It’s beautiful. And so are you.’
‘Well, what did you mean, then?’
‘I bet when you pulled on that dress tonight, you were thinking about the look I’d have on my face when I saw you walk in here.’
‘You are awfully cocky, Leo Stephens,’ she raised an eyebrow at me. ‘And actually, that wasn’t what I was thinking,’ she added pointedly. I looked at her questioningly, and she leant forward and said softly, ‘When I pulled this dress on earlier, I was thinking a lot more about the look I’ll see on your face if I decide to let you take it off later.’
The image she’d painted was so vivid that my mind completely shut down. For a moment or two I stared at her blankly, then cleared my throat and shifted in the seat as I said unevenly, ‘Now who’s being cocky?’
Molly shrugged and picked up the wine list as if we’d just been discussing the weather.
‘I’d like to remind you that you started this conversation. White or red?’
I was still trying to re-engage my brain. ‘Lady’s choice. How’s your day been?’
‘It’s been good. Productive. And yours?’
‘Peaceful,’ I said. ‘I convinced my physiotherapist to let me get back to work on Monday, although I’m not cleared to head back to Libya yet, but at least I’ll be able to start writing up the story I was working on.’
‘Congratulations,’ she said, and put the menu down. ‘I’ll order bubbles then, since we’re celebrating again.’
We ordered drinks and our meals, and I told her about the Libyan article I was planning and she told me about the acquisition she’d just completed.