‘Either? Both? I can’t tell.’
‘What are you seeing?’
‘Darkness. Nothing but darkness. But we can’t expect it all to run smoothly the first time, can we? You know what Edison said: “I haven’t failed, I’ve just found ten thousand ways that didn’t work.” Let’s leave her for the thirty minutes and see if anything changes.’
But it doesn’t.
The computer screen remains black.
Chapter Forty-Four
Anna
My head is spinning. I’m dazed, disorientated. There’s a sense of having been picked up and dropped somewhere else entirely, and in a way I have. I am back at home in the UK. In bed. On the wall is the black and white framed photo of our wedding day. Adam’s forehead touching mine. My flower crown circling my head. On the bed next to me, my husband.
‘Adam.’ I burst into noisy tears.
‘Hey.’ He scoops me into his arms. At first I am stiff. Scared that if I move, Oliver will take it as a signal that I want to be brought back but I can feel my body is still, the movement only in my mind.
Adam’s mind.
The place where we’ve met in the middle.
I cling to him and he rhythmically strokes my back.
‘It’s okay,’ he says, but that only makes me cry harder. It isn’t okay. It isn’t okay at all. I try to calm myself. I’ve lost all concept of time, unsure how long I’ve been here. How long I have before I’m back in the Institute with my husband. My husband who can’t talk, laugh, move. Who can’t press me close to his body and whisper my name into my hair. I don’t want to waste a single second.
‘Adam.’ I wriggle backwards so I can see him properly. My fingertips brushing his face, his collarbone, his chest. Tracing the map-shaped birthmark on his arm, reassuring myself he is here, he is real and solid. I search his eyes for a sign that he knows that our meeting is only fleeting, that this is not our reality, but there is nothing.
‘Adam, I…’ What can I say? What should I say? What would be the point of telling him that this version of him, of us, is one his mind has conjured. That his real body lies broken in Alircia, kept alive by machines. I look around the room. The Yankee candle I always burn in the evenings is flickering on top of the drawers. I inhale; instead of the sterile smell of the scanner – bleach and disinfectant – there’s the aroma of lavender. It’s so real. I am incredulous that it isn’t. I tug the corner of the duvet towards my face to wipe my tears; it smells of Comfort fabric softener.
It smells of home.
‘Anna?’
A hint of a frown passes across Adam’s forehead. My throat tightens. Normal, I must act normal.
But I can’t.
For the second time, I wind my arms around his neck and press my body close to his. He hasn’t shaved and his chin scratches against my cheek. Before, I would have complained at this but instead my laughter merges with my sobs until I am hiccupping, not sure what I am feeling.
I am feeling everything.
I pull away from him, giggling.
‘Okay. Tears I could understand, but laughter? Should I be paranoid?’ He adjusts his boxers. ‘Nope, nothing hanging out there. Want to share the joke?’
‘Sorry… I’m just… happy.’ It’s too small a word to describe how utterly joyous it is to be with him at home where everything is so… perfect.
‘Right. Well, happy. Yeah… me too.’ He grins. ‘Still hasn’t sunk in, has it?’
‘Ummm. No?’ For one horrible second I think he is referring to the accident. That would explain his ‘tears I could understand’ remark. While I wait for him to speak, I wipe my eyes with my pyjama sleeve.
‘Not for me either, but the book told me your moods would be up and down. Crying is normal.’
‘The book?’ I’m not following him at all. There’s a book about yacht accidents?
‘Yeah. I know you told me to stop reading it since I told you it said it will take nine months to get your extra weight off, but I know see-sawing emotions are because of your hormones. It’s only to be expected in your condition.’ He smiles as he places a hand on my stomach.
‘In my…’ A movement in my belly knocks the air from my lungs. I place my hand on top of his, my eyes straying down towards my bump.
My bump!
‘That’s all it is, isn’t it, Anna? Hormones.’ His eyes darken as he studies me. ‘Everything’s been better since Alircia, hasn’t it? Or since this little one?’ He gently pats my tummy. I begin to cry again, shifting myself up to sitting so I can reach a tissue and mop up my tears.
‘I’ll go and make you a tea.’ He swings his legs out of bed.
‘No.’ I grasp his wrist, not wanting him to leave me, however momentarily. I remember what Mum wished she’d said to Dad. ‘Adam, I… I would cope okay without you, you know. I’d be okay on my own.’
He turns and studies me. I can’t remember the last time we properly made eye contact; not fleeting glances at each other while we talked about the mundane, but properly drank each other in. In this moment I feel so connected to him, but when he speaks his tone is clipped and I realize I have inadvertently upset him.
‘I know we’ve had a tough few years and the pregnancy isn’t a sticking plaster; we have to work at healing the wound but—’
‘Christ.’ I cut him off. ‘Where did you get that analogy from? The book?’ Automatically I fall into the defensive. Why does he take everything the wrong way?
‘So what if I’ve been reading up? Some of us want our family to work.’
‘I want our family to work!’ I’m crying again. I can’t believe we’re bickering.
‘So what’s all this “I’ll be okay on my own” bollocks?’
‘I just… I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that if anything happened to you… I wouldn’t want you to worry.’
‘Ah. This is antenatal anxiety—’
‘I love that you’ve researched all of this. Really. I’m sorry.’ I take his hand. I don’t know how much longer we have and I don’t want to waste a second.
‘Don’t be. It’s really common. Let me go and make a drink and we’ll have a cuddle.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘It’s okay. I remember you’re off caffeine. I picked up some more chamomile on the way home.’ He unpeels my fingers and I am left alone as his footfall thuds down the stairs. I’m terrified I might never see him again. While I blow my nose, I scan the room. In the corner, the chair heaped with a pile of Adam’s T-shirts. His red Coca-Cola one. His faded brown Oasis tour T-shirt. The sight of my jewellery box causes my fingers to flutter to my neck. I’m wearing my star pendant. The one I’d packed away when Adam and I started going through a bad patch. When I was unable to conceive. I trace the curve of my belly with my fingertips.
I’m pregnant.
I try to gauge how far along I am. Six months? Seven? Eight? It’s impossible to tell. My body feels heavy. I pad over to my drawers and lift out the tissue paper-wrapped parcel. Back in bed I gently unwrap it, lifting out the tiny lemon sleepsuit and the Percy the Parrot cuddly toy.