Do I really love him? Still? What if I did?
If I still loved him, then it is for nothing anyway, because he doesn’t love me anymore and even if he did, he would always love his job more. If I still loved him, then at some point very soon his memory is going to return and I’d have to lose him all over again. If I still loved him, then my plans to move on and start afresh without him would be doomed to failure.
So I have to not love him – I have to make sure that I don’t love him.
My eyes fill with tears and I know immediately that I’m not going to be able to stop them. I lower the coffee cup back towards the table, but move so fast that it spills all over my thighs and then I panic. I’m flapping my hands and the tears are turning to sobs and Leo is watching all of this with a bewildered kind of shock on his face. He catches my shaking hands in his, and then he says very gently, ‘Did you burn yourself?’ I shake my head, and I look at him, stricken and embarrassed. ‘What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?’
‘I just need a minute,’ I say, and I pull out of his grasp and run to the bathroom at the back of the terrace near the laundry. I close the door behind myself and I lean on the basin and stare at myself in the mirror, then I splash my face with cold water again and again, but it’s not working. There’s a gentle knock against the bathroom door, and Leo calls hesitantly, ‘Molly? Can I open the door?’
‘No,’ I choke.
‘Come on, Molly. Come out.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t stop crying.’ Admitting this aloud makes me cry even harder and I’m mortified. Leo doesn’t remember me well enough to know this is a one-off. He’s going to think I’m one of those weepy women who cries at the drop of a hat. He’s going to hate me. He already hates me – he’s just forgotten. Oh God! This is all so miserable.
Leo pushes the door open. The sight of him there and the concern in his eyes only makes things worse. He catches my hand and gently tugs me towards him and when I’m close, he pulls me all the way down onto his lap. I try to pull away. ‘I’ll hurt you, I’m too heavy,’ I protest.
‘Don’t be silly, you’re a lightweight,’ and he pulls me against him and wraps his arms around me, and after a minute, I relax to lean against him. ‘Cry,’ he says.
‘You must think I’m some kind of hysterical idiot.’
‘You’re telling me what to think now,’ he says wryly. ‘What a nag!’
I manage a laugh at his pitiful joke, and then realise I’m just going to have to ride this out and deal with the aftermath later. So I press my face into his neck and I breathe in his scent and I feel his arms around me and I let it all out. I’m relieved and I’m grieving and I’m ashamed all at once. I cry and I cry, and he waits patiently, rubbing my back and occasionally murmuring comforting words into my hair.
When I finally feel the storm has passed, I extract myself from his embrace and stand. I straighten my dress, and I step back into the bathroom. I wash my face, and dry it on the hand towel, and then I finally make eye contact with Leo.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say stiffly.
‘I’ve put you through hell,’ Leo says quietly. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’
I look down at the floor. He has no idea just how right he is about that first statement – he has put me through hell. But he also has no idea yet how wrong he is about the second. I really do have my share of the blame for the way I’m feeling right now.
18
Leo – March 2011
I was gone for six weeks in the end. We emailed a bit, and I called Molly a few times to satisfy myself when the missing became too distracting. I kept those calls to a minimum, though, because each time I spoke to her, I felt the sound of her voice pulling at me. I’d ring expecting to feel relieved to talk to her, and hang up desperate to go home.
Our return flight landed back into Sydney airport mid-morning. I watched the hours tick past on my phone, waiting for 5 p.m. so that I could call her. When I did, she answered on the first ring. ‘Are you back?’
‘Hi. Yes, I got back this morning.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and I could hear disappointment in her tone.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Why are you only calling me now?’
‘I thought you’d be at work.’
‘I don’t give a shit about work if you’re back. Can I see you?’
‘Please. Yes, I’d like that.’
She was on my doorstep within twenty minutes and as I opened the door to her, she barged inside and pushed me hard up against the wall. Her kiss was hot and hungry and it took me some time to realise there were tears on her cheeks. I pulled away from her and stared at her flushed cheeks and the puffiness of her eyes.
‘I missed you so much,’ she blurted.
‘I missed you too,’ I admitted.
‘I was so worried about you.’
‘I told you I knew what I was doing.’