‘Would you ever move into my apartment?’
He sighed and shrugged, but I already knew he didn’t feel comfortable with that idea. I wished I could understand better why he hated my place so much. The Bennelong Apartments was one of the most sought-after locations in the country.
‘We could buy something new,’ I suggested. ‘Well, something old, I mean – like this – I know you prefer this style. But bigger. With another bedroom.’
‘Just one kid, then?’
‘How many were you thinking?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it before… I didn’t expect to find myself in a position where it would be a possibility. Maybe a few? Maybe we could mix our family up? Some of our own kids, and maybe foster some others?’
‘I think we could do that.’ I smiled at the thought. Leo was going to make an amazing father.‘So maybe one day we find an old place with loads of bedrooms. That way we’re covered no matter what happens.’
There were so many things to learn about each other and so many compromises to be made – but still, my world with Leo felt close to magical. In that first year, I woke up every morning feeling amazed, and every night – even if Leo was somewhere godforsaken dodging bullets – I’d get some kind of communication from him, even if it was just a text or a note left on the pillow before he flew out. He was always home for longer between trips than he was away, and he was rarely away for more than a week or two at a time.
If that first year had been a taste of what the rest of our lives looked like, I would have been the happiest woman on earth.
30
Leo – August 2015
‘Tea?’ I offer Molly as we step inside the terrace after dinner.
‘Oh yes,’ she says, and she kicks off her shoes and sighs as she wriggles her toes. ‘That would be lovely. Would it be terribly unromantic of me if I change while you make it, though? I can’t tell if it’s the baby or too many carbs back in Rome, but this dress is definitely tight around my middle.’
‘Go for it,’ I say, and she disappears up the stairs. I shift myself towards the counter – and I instantly feel like a complete idiot as it belatedly occurs to me that I can’t actually reach the tea bags or the kettle. Even if I could, I couldn’t carry the cups anywhere while I operated the wheels on my chair.
If there’s ever been a time in my adult life when I want to throw a tantrum this is it. I groan, but I take a few deep breaths and get the mugs out of the cupboard and sit them up on the bench near the kettle. I stare at the mugs, and then I try to pull myself up on the counter with my hands. If there’s water in the kettle, I might be able to knock the ‘on’ switch. I can kind of lift myself, but I need both arms to do so, and my balance is terrible – I can only do it for a few seconds at a time before the room tilts. On my third attempt, I almost fall out of the chair and I realise I need to stop because if I do wind up on the floor, Molly is going to have to help me back up.
That is not going to happen.
Molly quietly joins me in the kitchen a few minutes later. I straighten in my chair, and point to the kettle. ‘I can’t reach,’ I say, unnecessarily, because I can see from her shocked expression that she’s just realised this too.
‘It’s okay,’ she says. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘I just wanted to make you a cup of tea,’ I say. My words are forced – tightly wrapped in frustration and anger.
‘Leo,’ Molly says calmly. ‘It’s fine, we’ll adjust.’
But I do not feel fine. I feel a thunderous sense of outrage that tempts me to run and hide from her. God, if she was already about to divorce me, what chance do I have of holding onto her now? I take myself to the couch and leapfrog onto it, but I have to adjust my thighs with my hands and this is so maddening that I want to give up altogether and just fall into a puddle on the floor. I see my wife approaching and I shake myself mentally. Get your shit together, Leo. Be better than this, at least for Molly’s sake.
‘You’re okay?’ Molly prompts, as she rests the two cups on the table and sits beside me.
‘I’m fine,’ I say.
She reaches under the coffee table and withdraws the photo album, and she gently places it on my lap. There’s no dust on the cover, only fingerprints around the edges – and I realise that she’s looked at it recently. I stare down at the image on the front for a moment before I can speak.
‘God, Molly,’ I breathe, ‘look at you! How the hell could I forget that moment?’ I run my fingers over the page and let them come to rest near her face. Molly and I are embracing in the photo, standing in a park somewhere with the sun setting behind us. She’s staring at the camera and beaming that mega-watt smile. Her eyes are alight with love and happiness.
‘It was a good day,’ she murmurs. She’s not looking at the album.