‘Leo…’ she whispered. I heard the pain in her voice and I tensed further.
‘Don’t,’ I said. The word was clipped and much harsher than I intended, but I was struggling hard to remain open to the conversation. Every instinct within me was telling me to shut it down. I hadn’t intended to go this deep – I was going to keep it lighter, and to summarise the high level points. My father was an arsehole. I survived. Life goes on. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Molly. I don’t need your pity. The night I hit that bastard was the night I was born. When he scurried out the door I knew that I was a better man than him. I woke up the next morning and I felt like I ruled the world – and it was that night I saw the news article about the Iraq war. I redefined my own destiny. I could be someone important – someone good.’ I felt moisture strike my chest from her cheek and I realised Molly was crying. Tears I could handle – tears for me were a whole other story. ‘Don’t cry about it,’ I whispered, and I was suddenly struggling not to cry too and it was humiliating and infuriating.
Could she tell? God, I hoped not. I clenched my jaw and stared hard at the ceiling.
‘I can’t help it,’ she whispered into my chest.
‘Don’t. Please.’
‘I love you,’ Molly said suddenly. ‘I love the way that you see the world. I love the way that you show it to me. I love the way that you care for me. I love the man you are, Leo. But I hate that you had to go through that to become this man.’
I love you… I gently lifted her shoulders and she raised her face towards me. Her cheeks glistened in the semi-darkness.
‘I love you too,’ I said. I was looking right into her eyes and the words left my mouth as easily as any other words would on any ordinary day.
But that was no ordinary day… That was the day that I knew I wanted to spend my life with her.
23
Molly – August 2015
It’s Sunday and it’s raining outside – a steady drizzle that makes me very glad that I don’t need to leave the warmth of the house until later in the afternoon – Leo and I are going to have dinner together at the rehab clinic.
Before I go downstairs I dig out our wedding album from the top of the wardrobe in our bedroom, and I cradle it against my chest as I walk.
I take a seat at the couch and rest the album on my lap. The couple who stare back at me from the cover feel like old friends that I have long since lost touch with. I wonder where they ended up, I could ask, and Leo would smile at me and respond with a reassuring, They were so in love, I’m sure wherever they are, they’re happy.
Before I have time to look further, I hear a sound at the back door. I push the album on the shelf under the coffee table and leap to my feet, smoothing a hand over my fringe as I run towards it. I assume it’s Mrs Wilkins, but she always calls out so as not to startle me.
‘Hello?’ I call uncertainly as I approach.
‘It’s me,’ Leo replies. I unlock the back door and he smiles at me. The driver is standing beside him, holding an umbrella over his head. ‘Hello, love.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask him, scanning his face for signs of anger or pain – has his memory returned?
He smiles quizzically, and he gestures towards the door. ‘Can I come in?’ I hastily move out of the way. ‘What are you up to?’ Leo asks, when he has said his goodbyes to the driver and we are in the kitchen.
‘I only just got out of bed. I was just about to make a coffee; do you want one?’
‘That sounds great.’
‘I thought you were resting this morning too? Weren’t we just doing dinner?’
‘I missed you,’ he says, and I glance at him. He’s staring at me intently. ‘I was trying to reminisce but I kept running into blank space, so I thought I’d come and see you.’
‘What were you reminiscing about?’
‘I think I remember a lot of the months when we were dating. I actually remember now when you started the Foundation, and how hard you worked in those first few months. I remember being worried about you.’
‘You worried about me working too hard?’ I laugh a little. ‘Good thing you don’t know my husband then.’ He smiles at my silly joke. ‘So what was it you were trying to figure out?’ I prompt, while I prepare the coffee.
‘I can’t remember how we went from “dating” to “engaged”. Did I propose to you? How?’
Marry me, he’d whispered. Rain had been pelting down around us, and the adoration in his gaze and the reverence with which he’d whispered those words would have convinced me even if I had been at all uncertain. I glance at the window; lines of water are running down the glass in rivulets towards the ground. Suddenly I realise why Leo is here unannounced, and why I went for the wedding album this morning… He proposed on a day just like this one.
‘Go through to the dining room,’ I suggest quietly. ‘I’ll show you a photo.’