He had taken me out to dinner but he barely ate; fiddling with the corner of his napkin, refilling his glass more often than usual. I had convinced myself he was going to break up with me as I pushed my chicken breast, oozing with garlic butter, miserably around my plate. Over the strains of classical music, I’d drunk in every last detail of his handsome face over the flickering candle. The black curls I loved to run my fingers through. The scar on his forehead.
‘Marry me, Katherine.’ His words sprang out of nowhere, and my hands rose to my chest to hold his question close to my heart. ‘I’ll look after you. I’ll be a good husband. I promise.’
‘Yes!’ I didn’t take a second to think about it. I loved him, I did, although it wasn’t with the all-consuming, flame-hot love I’d felt before, it was real. Solid.
We had toasted: bubbling champagne tickling my nostrils. Later, we’d lain in bed, sheets tangled around our legs, his fingers rhythmically stroking my hair; I had thought I had never been so happy. But as I was nodding off my subconscious whispered I had been this happy once before, and the last thought I had, before sleep tugged me under, was of Jake.
There’s a squeal of brakes. The crunch of metal. It’s dark. So dark. I cannot see and panic tornadoes through me.
It’s hot. Unbearably hot. Acrid smoke seals off my throat. I cough and cough, my lungs burning with the effort of trying to drag in air. My ribs feel as though they will shatter. ‘Jake’. I’m calling his name over and over but I think it must be in my head because I can’t hear. Just for one solitary moment there is perfect, perfect silence before my senses roar back to life. Someone is screaming, anguished cries my ears will never forget but I don’t think it’s me. I can’t move. I can’t think. I’m trapped and I’m scared. So scared. There is something warm and sticky running down my face and, as it trickles down my nose, I can smell the blood. Every cell in my body urges me to move. To run. But I can’t. Jake!
I was drifting on the edge of consciousness. One foot in the past, one foot in the present, not able to step fully into either, not entirely sure where I wanted to be. When the roaring in my ears began to subside and my pulse rate started to slow, I became aware of Nick’s steady breathing as he slept beside me. The sheets were damp with sweat, my pillow damp with tears. I scrubbed at my cheeks with the sleeve of my pyjamas, mopping up my guilt. Even in sleep I couldn’t reach Jake. Even in sleep, it was too late. And it was always, always, my fault.
The sound of the doorbell breaks Nick and I apart. Lisa must be here. Feeling sick, excited, scared, I rush down the hallway, skidding to a halt in front of the telephone table, tugging a brown, curling leaf from the pale yellow roses Nick bought me yesterday. I hope Lisa can sense this is a happy home, despite the increasing strain we’ve been under trying to expand our family. A perfect home for a child. Strip away the polish, the bleach, the lemon cream cleaner and underneath there’s love and laughter, and that’s what matters the most really, isn’t it?
‘Lisa.’ My voice is an octave too high as I step back and welcome her inside. We hug and my clothes dampen as I press against her wet coat. We’ve spent hours chatting on the phone every day but it feels odd to have her here.
‘Come through,’ I say gesturing towards the lounge.
‘Kat, this is gorgeous.’ Lisa shrugs off her mac and spins around on tiptoes. I have a flashback to our ballet classes. Pirouettes and tutus. Hair brushed into buns. ‘And you have a piano now. I’m so pleased. You always wanted to learn.’
I had begged my parents for music lessons but Dad thought the arts were a waste of time, though I got the feeling Mum would let me if she could. Dad only tolerated me being in the drama group in sixth form because I got extra credit towards my extended project, and the points would count towards uni.
‘I’m trying to teach myself but it’s not as easy as it looks.’ In truth, I have probably spent more time dusting it, imagining the row of silver picture frames that would display photos of our happy smiling family. Dewei, head thrown back, roaring with laughter, in a swing; tossing bread at the ducks; baking cookies together, steam rising from gingerbread men, the tips of our noses dusted with icing sugar. I could imagine Dewei balancing on the piano stool when he was old enough, banging out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ while I smiled and clapped. Then the adoption fell through, and the image in my mind had to change to Mai, and it was never quite the same. I think, even when we first signed the paperwork Richard had filled in for her, I half expected something to go wrong. And now the picture frames in my mind remain blank and empty.
The sound of a throat clearing causes us both to look up. Nick hovers in the doorway looking like a guest in his own home. I cross the room and take his hand. His palm is as sweaty as mine.
‘Lisa, this is my husband, Nick.’
‘Hello, Nick. You look even more handsome in the flesh.’ Lisa shakes his hand. His face milk-white. He’s as nervous as me.
‘You two haven’t met?…’
‘I saw his photo in the Sunday magazine,’ Lisa says, and I frown. She hadn’t mentioned she’d seen a copy when we first met the other day. ‘Mitch showed it to me. In the pub?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I’ll make some tea.’ It isn’t until I am leaning against the worktop as the kettle gurgles and splutters, I realise it was Mitch who first showed me the photo in the Sunday supplement, and he gave his copy to me to keep. How could he have shown Lisa? But he could have bought another one, I suppose. I lift the tea tray and rattle down the hallway. Approaching the lounge I hear Nick exclaim: ‘I can’t believe it! Not Kat?’
They both turn to me as I enter the room.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Lisa’s eyes are wide. ‘I thought, being married, you’d have told Nick everything.’
7
Now
‘Why didn’t you tell me you used to be on stage?’ Nick takes the tea tray from me, and I wipe my palms on my tunic top, feeling horribly exposed. But, of all the things Lisa could have revealed about my past, this is hardly the worst; still, when I find her gaze, I see a flicker of something in her eyes, and I feel a cold lurch of fear. Have I made a mistake inviting her into my home, into my life?
‘It was only school productions and all such a long time ago now. I was hardly Jennifer Lawrence.’
‘She’s being too modest.’ Lisa is smiling warmly now, Nick too, and I think it must only be me who can feel the atmosphere spitting and crackling with secrets. ‘Kat was really good, always the starring role. And you loved it, didn’t you?’
‘I loved a lot of things then but it doesn’t mean I do any more,’ I say, and a flash of something crosses Lisa’s face and I know she’s thinking of Jake too. Thinking she loved him more than me. That she loved him first.
The clock in the hallway chimes. The crudités sit untouched on the coffee table, the cucumber drying, the peppers shrivelling. Lisa has told Nick how she tried to lighten my hair with Sun-in and it went orange, and I’ve shared that Lisa used to copy out song lyrics and use them for her English homework, but we still haven’t talked about babies.
‘More tea?’ As I stretch my arms forward to lift the tray I catch a faint whiff of sweat and I draw my elbows in tightly to the sides of my body.
‘Shall we talk about the real reason I’m here?’ Lisa’s eyes lock onto mine, and panic pinballs in my chest. For an instant, I am back in that night with the pain and the blood and the endless screaming, until she says: ‘The surrogacy?’ And I empty my lungs of air and urge myself to calm down. The smell of sweat is stronger now, and I excuse myself.
Upstairs, I strip off my jumper and wipe my underarms with baby wipes before spraying deodorant and pulling on a clean top.
Back in the lounge, Lisa has moved from the armchair into the spot I vacated next to Nick. Their heads are close together, thighs touching, and I feel a stab of jealousy remembering how we fought for Jake’s affection – until I realise she is showing Nick something on her phone.