I can’t imagine ever wanting someone else. It doesn’t make any sense that I would bring another woman to this bar. I try to console myself with the intensity of the guilt. If I had for some unfathomable reason met up with another woman here, there’s no way I would have gone anywhere with her afterwards.
‘I loved it when we watched TV together,’ Molly continues with a smile. ‘I loved how you’d be so engrossed in your book that I’d assume that you were ignoring the show altogether – and then something really stupid would happen and you’d suddenly have this in-depth commentary on the entire show and I’d realise that you were totally paying attention to it.’
‘I loved the way that you snore,’ I said, and she protests loudly.
‘Excuse me, Leo. I do not snore.’
‘You do,’ I assured her with a grin. ‘You always have, it was adorable – this classy, beautiful woman in my bed, and she sounds like a buzz saw as soon as she’s asleep. And I read last night in this baby book that pregnant women tend to snore more, too. You probably sound like a dragon with a sinus infection now.’
‘You’re going to pay for that,’ she assures me.
‘Am I now?’
‘You are. Literally. You can pay for dinner.’
I chuckle, then nod and go to the bar. As I return to Molly, I have a sudden impulse to take a walk with her. I’d love to link my fingers through hers and stroll together, swinging our hands between us gently. I look at my thighs, flat and useless against the wheelchair. They are already losing muscle tone and starting to shrink.
‘What’s up, Leo?’ she prompts gently. I’m surprised she even noticed my discomfort, but it reminds me again how well she knows me.
‘The biggest downside to being stuck in a wheelchair is that I can’t hold your hand while I am walking,’ I say. She stands and slips her handbag over her shoulder.
‘Is that really the biggest downside?’
I laugh reluctantly. ‘You make an excellent point,’ I say. ‘The biggest downside to being stuck in a wheelchair is, of course, being stuck in a wheelchair.’
‘Hopefully not too much longer,’ Molly says, and I glance at her.
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Even though I’ve not made any progress at all?’
She shrugs. ‘I’m still certain you will eventually.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I told you the other night, I won’t think about that, and you shouldn’t either,’ she says, and she smiles. Her quiet faith in me is a comfort and a reassurance. ‘Let’s go home and look at some photos, hey?’
I’m relieved to leave the bar. Whatever secret it contains, I’m not sure either of us is ready to expose it.
29
Molly – December 2012
At first, married life seemed amazing – just as I knew it would be. When Leo was home, everything felt right in my world – and when Leo did leave, he did so with obvious reluctance. In those early months I felt more adult than I had ever felt in my life to that point. I was a wife, with an amazing husband, and a house to renovate and a charity to run and laundry to do – by myself. No more dumping dirty clothes on the floor, knowing the housekeeper would sort it for me while I was out. I was finally – belatedly – a ‘grown-up’.
Some nights, Leo and I would sit up late and talk about the future. I’d known him to be ambitious but I watched his determination to build his career take a leap to new heights as soon as we were married. He was constantly talking about the next big story.
‘This could really build my career, Molly,’ he’d say.
‘Your career seems to be going pretty well already,’ I’d assure him, but quietly, I was confused. His career was built. He was already world-renowned in the industry since he won the Pulitzer – what greater heights did he think he could achieve after that accolade?
‘It’s about making a name for myself,’ he’d tell me, as if that was the explanation I was missing. We had the conversation often enough that I came to wonder if Leo was just trying to justify the constant travel to me, or the dedication he displayed towards his work. We were newly-weds, and I knew I had a lot to learn before I’d really understand my husband – that was part of the beauty of standing hand in hand and facing a life together. We had endless years to sort these confusing little things out. I was still finding my way with the Foundation in those days too, and I’m sure he was just as bemused by some of my ideas for my own work.
Sometimes, particularly in the intimacy of our dark bedroom late at night, we’d talk in whispers about the family we’d raise one day. It said a lot about our courtship that we hadn’t even discussed kids until the early months of our marriage. I just assumed we’d agree on the subject, and we almost did.
‘We’d never fit a kid in here,’ I warned Leo, the first time we talked about it.
‘No,’ he sighed. ‘We probably wouldn’t. Although I reckon you could fit one of those little baby beds next to the bathroom?’
‘Leo!’
‘Okay, okay! But we can figure that out later, can’t we?’