“Ruby!” Tom had called. “Don’t go to sleep!” He and the salesman had laughed. “Shall we go for this one?”
I’d laughed, too, but for the rest of the afternoon I could feel the sensation of the baby inside me, relaxing into me, and I’d known, I’d just known that I was pregnant. Until I got home and found that I wasn’t. Of course I wasn’t. I never was.
And I looked down at the photos of the living room, with those reminders of my infertility looming so large, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to keep them or to never see them again.
My phone beeped again. Tom.
It looks good, doesn’t it? x
I replied, Yes, it does. I hate to think of people viewing it though. As I pressed Send I winced. I didn’t want him to misinterpret that. All I’d meant was that I couldn’t stand to think of people walking around it and judging it, trying to knock the price down. Not that they’d get far with Tom, as far as that was concerned.
He replied immediately. Me too. It was our home for so long xx
I couldn’t let myself think about that but as I stood in the tiny shower cubicle, banging my head on the showerhead, then mopping up the suds on the floor afterward, I thought of Tom and the messages he’d sent since I left him. All of them were nice. Helpful. Sincere. I hadn’t thought I’d hurt him so much by leaving.
When I came back from the bathroom there was another message.
I wish you were still here x
* * *
• • •
I had so much on my mind that day. I wanted someone to talk to, who could look at things with fresh eyes. I scrolled through my contacts list. There wasn’t anyone there I could trust. I might have called Fiona in Australia, but my parents were there with her and she’d be too wound up to talk.
Outside it was hot and sunny. I sat at the window and saw people in little groups going down to the river and the park. They had picnic bags and strollers with parasols and children with sun hats. Everyone seemed to be with someone. Thoughts were flitting through my mind on a loop. Should I talk to Tom? Should I suggest counseling? I cringed at the thought of hearing what he would have to say about me. Maybe I could go alone? But there was the cost. I looked it up online; I just couldn’t afford it if I was living here and on a low wage. And if I went home . . . I think that was the first day that I seriously considered going back to him. He’d been so kind. He’d had time on his own now; was he regretting the way he’d behaved in the last few years?
The phone was quiet all day. The escort calls had stopped, thank God. I’d checked the site again and couldn’t find my number there. The webmaster must have taken my threats seriously. As he should. I couldn’t help worry, though, that those guys still had my number on their phone.
By seven o’clock I had read a book and watched two movies. I could hardly remember any of them. There was too much on my mind. I stood up, restless and annoyed with myself for wasting a day. I decided to go for a drive.
It was inevitable that I’d drive past my house. As I drove toward my old neighborhood, I could feel myself becoming tense. My palms were damp on the steering wheel. I wondered what Tom was doing at this time on a Saturday. Normally we’d be in and Josh would be there. After dinner he’d either go back to his mum’s or to a friend’s; I’d drive him as Tom would have hit the wine by then and besides, I loved that time alone with Josh.
I drove up the side road next to our house and parked the car. I was worried about Tom looking out of the window and seeing me. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t know what I’d say to him. What I’d do. I looked again at the text that he’d sent me.
I wish you were still here x
I thought of parking my car in its usual place, of walking up the driveway and letting myself into the house. I could do that. My house keys were in my bag, still there from the night I’d left. I could walk in and put my bag on the hall table and go into the kitchen and look at the list on the fridge door and see what was for dinner. I could be back in my kitchen with the radio playing, cooking dinner with a glass of wine by my side. I winced. I used to need that glass of wine. Would I still need it, if I went back?
I don’t know why, but I’d assumed Tom would be at home for the evening. His car wasn’t there, though, and the house was in darkness. I wondered where he was. Was he on a date? If I stayed there long enough, would he come home with a woman, holding her hand and warning her about the uneven steps in the garden? Would he light the candles in the hearth and pour her a gin and tonic and ask her about herself, just as he’d done with me in the early days? And if I went in there, if I went into my kitchen and made it mine again, would he be glad or sorry when he saw me?
My head was aching and I didn’t know what I felt about him now. I was such a bad judge of character. I’d thought Tom was the man for me but I felt like I was stifled and struggling to breathe. Then I thought Harry could help heal me. His relaxed attitude, his affection, and the way he’d treated me as someone precious had drawn me in, but I’d meant nothing to him.
Now I was free, I didn’t know who I was or what I was worth.
* * *
• • •
I sat there for ten minutes looking at the side of my house, then started the car and drove round the corner so that I was next to the driveway. If Tom drove past me on his way home I’d just have to deal with it. The For Sale sign was placed just where the road turned. That made sense, so that people driving down each road would see it. I knew Tom would have been out there on the lawn, moving it from where the estate agent had placed it to somewhere he deemed right. He had to be right. Even if he moved it only a matter of inches, he’d feel a sense of pride that now it was done properly.
Under the light from the lamppost, I could see the woodwork on the house was freshly painted, the gates, too. There were a couple of new bay trees in huge pots on either side of the front door, and I thought of Tom going to the garden center on his own one Sunday and struggling to get those pots into the car. He wouldn’t have accepted help; I knew that.
I leaned forward and checked the garden. It was tidy and the lawn was neat. It looked as though someone had been busy there. That was usually my job and I wondered who’d been there in my absence. Tom must have paid for a professional; he’d always complained whenever I’d asked him to help me.
Car headlamps lit up the road behind me and I swore. Was that Tom coming home? I really didn’t want him to see me. Quickly I turned my key in the ignition. At the last minute I realized it was Oliver. His car pulled into his drive and he jumped out and slammed the door. He turned toward me and waved.
Reluctantly I opened my car window and turned off the engine. “Hello, Oliver.”
“Hey.” He walked down the drive toward me. “What are you doing here? Are you back home now?”