Shades of shame colour me. I recall the times I’d nagged him for trailing dirt over the floor after practice, for leaving his kit – damp with sweat and crusted with mud – on the bedroom floor. I should have been grateful Adam was keeping fit. Keeping in shape. It will give him the strength to fight this. The human body is powerful, resilient. Something to be respected and admired. My brief glimpse yesterday into Adam as he was reaffirms my faith that he can recover.
I can’t allow myself to think otherwise.
Nevertheless, Dr Acevedo’s ‘3 per cent chance of recovery’ drives me to my feet. Impatient to repeat the trial again.
Not because I think Adam won’t survive.
But still there’s an urgency to my pace as I stalk back up the hill to the Institute.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Anna
Eva studies me, playing the silence game once more. We are waiting to see which of us will be the first to break.
It’s me.
‘Okay, maybe I am embellishing how good I felt afterwards so you give the go-ahead for me to do it again today, but yesterday was mostly a good experience.’
‘Mostly?’
‘There was a part where we started to argue. It was almost automatic. I was so pleased to see him. Pleased is an understatement but somehow we began to bicker. We stopped though, moved on.’
I pick at my nails, suddenly feeling close to tears. Life should have been easier in the reality Adam created, shouldn’t it? If we didn’t have perfection there, what does that say about him? What does that say about us?
‘We talked a little bit before about the communication in your relationship,’ Eva begins.
‘The lack of,’ I say.
‘Yes. It’s interesting that yesterday in Adam’s mind you’re pregnant but, understandably, you have years of bitterness that built up during your infertile spell. Without that being addressed, there’s always likely to be underlying resentment.’
‘But…’ I don’t know what to say. It’s like having the chance to create your ideal box of chocolates and yet putting in one that you hate. A rogue Turkish Delight amongst a plethora of strawberry creams and crunchy pralines. ‘I felt… I felt upset but I wanted to move past it quickly and make the most of the time we had. Is it odd it felt so real?’
‘No. Oliver hoped it would. That’s why he wanted a direct connection rather than viewing images through a computer. The ultimate virtual reality as though you were really there, experiencing it all. Anna.’ Eva leans forward. ‘You do know that this isn’t real? That this isn’t a permanent solution for you to be with Adam?’
‘Of course.’ But I can’t help second-guessing what my next experience will be like. The one after.
‘Oliver will only need you to repeat this a few times before he’ll need to find other participants. It can’t be a balanced trial with only your results.’
‘I know.’ Oliver keeps telling me this but every time it’s hard to hear. The thought of being shipped back to the UK and left to sit by Adam’s bed, wondering what he’s thinking while I wait for him to wake up, is unbearable.
Two years. Twelve years. Twenty years.
‘But you’re happy for me to try again?’ I ask.
‘If you’re up to it, then yes.’
I rush out of the room to find Oliver, a ‘thank you’ trailing in my wake, before Eva has even put the lid on her pen.
Again I am lying on the patient table next to Adam but this time I’m more excited than scared.
‘We’re almost ready,’ Sofia says. ‘We still haven’t got to the bottom of why the computer didn’t record so in the event that it happens again, we’re relying on you to remember as much as you can.’ She slips the goggles on me and then the headphones. The table slides into the scanner and I wait for Oliver to speak.
‘I’m going to count you down now, Anna,’ he says. I wait impatiently for the count of one.
I am back at home. In the bath. My fingers instantly stray to my stomach. I’m smiling when I feel my bump, under the coconut bubbles. I place both hands across my belly.
‘Hello, little one.’ The water ripples. There’s a twisting inside of me. Something hard pushing into my skin. It’s such a joyous feeling. I trace the shape of it – an elbow? A heel? Before I can identify what it is, there’s a shift and my stomach is a smooth, hard mound once more. ‘I’ve waited for you for an awfully long time,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t wait to meet you. You are so loved. So very loved.’ I haul myself out of the bath, unused to the weight of my body. I want to find Adam. While I dry myself, I continue talking in hushed tones. ‘There’s Great-Nan. She’s a little forgetful but you don’t need to worry about that. You’re unforgettable. Then there’s Grandma – that’s my mum – she’ll be knitting you Christmas jumpers until you’re my age most likely, but you can allow her that because she’s the best baker. Wait until you taste her scones.’ I flap the towel towards my feet in the vain hope it will absorb some water because I can’t bend to reach them. ‘There’s Aunty Nell. If you’re a girl, she’ll teach you about boys, and if you’re a boy she’ll tell you what girls want.’ I shrug on my dressing gown. ‘And then there’s Uncle Josh. I dread to think what he’ll teach you.’
I open the bathroom door and step outside, stubbing my toe on the bookcase that still waits in pieces on the landing to be built. Some things never change.
‘Adam. I’ve almost fallen over that bookcase again,’ bursts out of me before I can keep it in. I hobble downstairs, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. ‘Adam?’
He’s prone on the sofa. Picking at a bowl of Kettle crisps that rests on his stomach. A can of lager on the floor.
I hover, midway on the stairs, the pain in my toe disappearing.
My husband.
I waddle towards him, awkwardly drop to my knees and cover his face in kisses. His lips taste of cheese and onion.
‘If that’s because I bought you Philosophy bubble bath rather than Asda’s own brand, then you’re welcome.’
‘It’s not because of that. It’s because I love you.’ I can’t stop smiling. ‘Josh does too, even though he said to tell you a one-legged, half-blind ape could save more goals than you do nowadays. We, umm, spoke the other day.’
He laughs but admits, ‘I do feel a bit old to be part of the team now. I think I’ll give it up.’
‘Don’t give up,’ I say decisively. ‘Don’t ever give up on anything.’
‘I thought it would make you happy?’
‘You being fit, strong. That’s what makes me happy.’
Idly, I run my fingers over his wrist. The space where his watch used to be. He never wears one anymore.
‘I’m waiting,’ he says.
I look up at him quizzically.
‘For my rollicking over the bookcase?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, but then I think of Eva explaining to me that Adam and I bottling everything up has led to our underlying resentment. ‘Actually, it isn’t.’
‘Here we go.’ Adam sits up.