The Forgetting(8)
Stephen takes hold of my hand. ‘Don’t apologise. Ask me anything. All I want is for you to get better. And you will, I promise.’ There is an earnestness in the way he speaks but also a trace of something else: a hint of doubt, like the faint remnant of an erased pencil mark, and I wish I hadn’t heard it, that I could believe wholeheartedly this will soon be over.
Stephen rubs the pad of his thumb along my wrist and there is a powerful instinct to pull my hand away, thrust it beneath the hospital sheet. It is a feeling as impulsive as jerking my hand away from a naked flame. Guilt nettles my skin and I glance at Stephen, at the concern with which he is watching me, remind myself that he is my husband. He loves me, and intimacy like this is normal.
I study this man I do not recall marrying – his freshly ironed shirt, neatly clipped fingernails, gently tousled hair – and wonder what this must be like for him: to find himself married to a woman who does not remember who he is. I wonder what our marriage was like, thirty-six hours ago; whether we were happy, whether we were passionately in love or whether we had settled into a prosaic, comfortable rhythm of domestic life. I wonder whether we make each other laugh, whether we have the same interests, whether we are one of those couples who do everything together or lead largely independent lives.
Stephen continues to stroke my wrist, and I resist the urge to withdraw my hand.
‘What do you want to know?’
I’m unsure how to answer. Because I know it is impossible for him to tell me everything. There is no way he can fill every blank page, no way he can narrate the detail of every thought, every feeling, every hope, every dream I’ve ever had. There is no way for him to remake me as I was before, reinstall my memory as one might reboot the hard drive of a computer. He cannot, I know, deliver me back to myself. And yet that is what I need him to do.
‘Tell me everything about us. About our relationship. From the beginning.’
LIVVY
BRISTOL
Livvy closed Leo’s bedroom door with a muffled click, tiptoed away, looked at her watch. Ten past one. She should have time before he woke to clear her emails: reply to friends, deal with some life admin, confirm her meeting at work next week to discuss her return to the office.
As she made her way down the stairs, her phone pinged in her back pocket and she pulled it out, opened a WhatsApp message from Dominic.
How are my two favourite people? Hope all’s okay. Lots going on here. One of the architects made a mistake with some calculations and tried to pin the blame on me, but unsurprisingly I had all the paperwork to prove her wrong. Not a great end to the first week though. I miss you both. Let’s try to make sure Leo’s asleep when I get home tonight so we can have some proper time together. D x
Livvy tapped out a swift reply, wanting Dominic to see it before he went offline and back to work.
Sorry it’s stressful there. That’s the last thing you need. We miss you too. I’ll do my very best to get Leo down on time, but he doesn’t always do as he’s told! Can’t wait to see you later. I love you. Xxx
She watched the two grey ticks turn blue, saw Dominic go offline, knew he’d phone or text when he was on his way home.
Entering the sitting room, she thought about the letter she’d written for him last weekend and slipped into the outside pocket of his suitcase before he’d left for his first week away: The bed will be so empty without you. I hope you know how much I’ll miss you. He hadn’t mentioned it until she’d raised it during their video call last night, and he’d apologised, told her his head had been so full of the new job that he’d forgotten to thank her. ‘I loved it. Feel free to leave a surprise letter in my suitcase every week.’
Livvy’s eyes roamed over the clutter of toys strewn across the sitting room floor. Tidying away the finger puppets, wooden building blocks and cloth books, she wondered how she and Leo managed to make quite so much mess in a single morning. When she’d first moved in with Dominic just over a year ago, she’d loved how immaculately uncluttered his house was, with its impeccably co-ordinated furniture and subtle colour scheme. Her previous boyfriend, Tom, had lived in Livvy’s flat for two years and she couldn’t remember a single occasion he’d offered to clean up or hang out the washing. Sometimes she wondered why she’d put up with his laziness for so long and felt a quiet sense of relief that he’d broken up with her when he had. She still loved the tidiness of Dominic’s house – their house – but sometimes it did feel like an uphill battle, trying to keep things in order with a six-month-old baby in tow.
Her phone pinged again and she glanced at the screen, saw a message from Bea.
Hey. Hope you’re okay. I just bought two tickets for that Cuban jazz band we saw a few years ago – remember, that night we didn’t get home until 3am and you were presenting at that conference the next morning! ? They’re playing on the 8th at 9pm. Do you fancy it? I’m sure Mum and Dad will babysit. We are WAY overdue a proper night out! Xx
Livvy read the message, remembered the night her sister was referring to. She felt as though it belonged to a different life: pre-marriage, pre-motherhood, when she and Bea would hang out two or three nights a week. She was aware of a pang of nostalgia for those days, a sense of freedom she simply didn’t have now.
Rereading the message, she thought about how much she’d love a night out with Bea. But with Dominic away, she knew it just wasn’t practical. And these days, by nine p.m. she was invariably heading for bed.