‘I don’t think you can regulate yourself, Leo. I think you get so caught up in that world that you disconnect from this one. So yes, I think the solution is you not working in the field anymore. You can still write, you can still be a journalist, you could even be in a foreign posting if that was what you wanted – the baby and I would move with you. But you couldn’t cover conflict anymore – not in person – because your addiction to that adrenaline rush is our kryptonite.’
She flicks the shower off and steps out, and I pass her the towel. She wraps it around her body to dry herself, and I catch the edge of it again and very gently pull it back away from her. I run my eye back down over her body. Her belly is slowly but surely expanding, and she’s glowing with a ripe fertility that is immensely attractive to me. I raise my eyes slowly up to her face and see her fighting against an answering response.
‘We have to have this conversation eventually, Leo,’ she whispers. Fleeting sadness crosses her face. ‘Everything hinges on this for us.’
‘I know,’ I say, and I swallow. ‘But we have time to figure this out. We don’t have to come up with a solution right at this minute – or––’ I drop my eyes again, and then I dare to offer her a grin as I glance back to her face, ‘even in the next half hour?’
Molly sighs and walks away from me.
‘Where are you going?’ I call, and she throws a glance over her shoulder.
‘To the bedroom, obviously. Try to keep up.’
33
Molly – December 2013
Leo promised me that he’d be home for Christmas. It had been such a difficult year – we’d spent most of it apart, and I couldn’t wait to reconnect with him. He had been gone for so long by that stage that I kept forgetting what his scent was like, and I’d taken to brushing my face along his clothes in the wardrobe every now and again, trying to catch a hint of it.
‘Christmas,’ he kept saying, whenever I told him I missed him or complained when he told me about yet another delay to his return home. ‘I’ll make it up to you at Christmas, I promise.’
With a few days to go, Leo emailed to say he’d be arriving in Sydney at six in the morning on Christmas Day – and although I never met him at the airport, this time could I make an exception? Everything was falling into place. We were going to have Christmas Day together, our first focused entirely on us.
I envisioned a sleepy day, cuddled up together in bed – and so it didn’t worry me at all that I was so excited on Christmas Eve that I couldn’t sleep. I considered staying up all night, but eventually drifted into a light doze. And then the phone rang at four o’clock on Christmas morning.
The shrill burst of the mobile on the pillow beside me sent me into an adrenaline rush and I was trembling by the time I pulled the handset to my ear. I tried to guess what the news was before I answered – plane crash? Car accident on the way to the airport? Stray bullet? Was he dead, or just injured?
‘Leo?’
‘Molly, honey – I’m so sorry. Everything is okay. I’m sorry to call so early but I had to ring while I had the chance. What time is it there?’
‘There? Here? What do you mean? Why aren’t you on a plane?’
His silence was all the answer I needed. Now I wasn’t sure which was the nightmare – was it the dream I’d just been having, or this?
‘I couldn’t leave, Molly. Have you seen the news? There’ve been protests – thousands of people marching––’
‘You mean, you won’t leave.’
‘I can’t.’
Leo’s frustration was palpable, and I was awake at last enough to hear how bad the phone line was, and I knew we weren’t going to be able to speak for long. I wanted to rant at him, or at least to tell him how much he was hurting me and how miserable I was about it. Instead, I sat up in bed and pushed the hair out of my eyes. Lucien lifted his head sleepily to glare at me and then suddenly stood and walked until he was able to drop himself over my lap. I sank my spare hand into the softness of his fur and let the warmth of his body be a comfort.
I hated every single thing about that moment – even our dog was now so accustomed to me being upset and alone that he knew exactly what the signs were and how to help. Alone was bad, but alone for Christmas was a new low. I could have gone to his family but everyone knew how excited I had been to spend the day with Leo. I was embarrassed even at the thought of turning up and telling them all that he hadn’t come home.
‘So when will you be home?’
‘I don’t know.’