I swallow. ‘A few months.’ The last time had been in Istanbul, where I went to surprise him on one of his trips. It was a disaster and I shut the memories down immediately. It’s not even the sex that I miss – it’s the closeness.
‘Months?’ Leo repeats, and he sighs. ‘I was away too much, wasn’t I?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish I could stand up out of this chair and walk home and be your husband again.’
It amazes me how the conversation flips from our recently non-existent sex life to Leo’s wheelchair. I frown at him and say carefully, ‘You don’t need to walk to be my husband, Leo.’
He flicks his gaze away from me, towards Lucien in the park. ‘If I am in this wheelchair,’ he says quietly, ‘I can’t be the man I need to be.’
‘That’s not true. You’re still the same man you always were. And you won’t be in the wheelchair for long. I know it’s frustrating, but you will get there, I know you will.’
He looks back to me. My heart aches at the sadness in his gaze. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘I haven’t given it a moment’s thought,’ I lie.
‘You should at least think about it.’
‘I won’t. And you shouldn’t either. Keep your focus on getting better.’
‘I just don’t know how I’m going to get back to work if I can’t walk,’ he murmurs absent-mindedly. As I disentangle myself from him and slide off the bench, he tries to catch my arm to stop me leaving. I pull away from him easily. ‘Don’t go, Molly.’
‘Lucien has gone too far,’ I point into the distance, where Lucien is on the other edge of the park, still chasing the butterfly by the looks of his sporadic leaps into the air. I start to walk after him, and then I break into a jog and then the closest thing to a sprint I have any desire at all to ever achieve. I am running to the dog – but much more than that, I am running away from Leo.
As I run, I give myself one luxurious minute to be completely selfish, and I send up a prayer into the universe that Leo will be stuck in that wheelchair for the rest of his life, just so that I can keep him in mine. I feel immediately guilty and I’m furious with myself, and I try to chase the thought right out of my mind.
By the time I reach Lucien, he is flat on his belly in the grass and I know immediately what that means. I groan as I clip the lead onto his collar and then again when, as feared, I take a step back towards the bench and the dog refuses to budge.
‘Come on, Lucien,’ I mutter. I drop the lead and run ahead of him, which sometimes gets him moving again, but he just stares at me. My frustration quickly mounts and I pick up the lead and tug gently. ‘Don’t do this today!’
‘Lucien, come,’ Leo is approaching at speed on the pathway and he calls to the dog. Lucien leaps to his feet and runs for Leo, pulling the lead from my hand. I puff the air from my lungs and run my hands through my hair. Lucien heels at Leo’s side – I know he’s just a dog, but I swear he is trying to look innocent.
‘I hate it when he does that!’ I exclaim. ‘I spend so much of my life trying to be good to him and it’s like he’s trying to punish me for it!’ Leo leans over to scoop up Lucien’s lead and I snatch it out of his hands. This time, Lucien follows me and I walk past Leo in a huff. He quickly catches up with me again. ‘Doesn’t he understand that the more he does that, the less likely I am to walk him? What’s the point of having a pet if all he does is cause me frustration?’
‘He’s a dog, Molly. I don’t think he’s analysing his decisions in any depth,’ Leo says carefully. ‘He’s just lazy, and he used up all his energy chasing the butterfly. It’s not personal.’
‘Well, it’s not good enough. And I’m not going to put up with it anymore. He can’t have it both ways,’ I say sharply, and when Lucien gets distracted by a piece of rubbish on the ground, I pull him back into line. I’m not rough with him, but I’m not as gentle as I would normally be. Immediately I feel guilty again and that unwelcome sensation adds to the turmoil of bad feelings simmering in my gut.
‘Molly,’ Leo says quietly. ‘You’re angry with me. Don’t take it out on Lucien.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ I snap, and I know I’m being childish and churlish, but we were having a moment back there and really connecting. Why did Leo have to bring up his work right in the middle of it? It was like a slap in the face – a disappointing, painful reminder of why all of this closeness and tenderness between us is utterly pointless. ‘I think we should just go back to the rehab centre.’
‘No.’
‘What do you mean, “no”?’
‘No, I’m going to stay until you cool down and then we are going to talk about what just happened back there.’
At this I stop dead in my tracks and I hook the lead over the back of the handle on Leo’s chair, then I all but stomp back in front of him.