Who We Were Before (6 page)

15

EDWARD, DECEMBER 2009

‘C
ongratulations!’ I grin at Kate and Giles, thinking how happy they look on their wedding day. Married, with a baby on the way. A pang of jealousy goes through me. I can’t wait for that to be me – married, anyway, even if the baby will never materialise.

Kate leans forward to kiss my cheek. She looks absolutely gorgeous, her small bump rising up beneath the white lacy dress. ‘Thanks, Edward. Maybe you guys will be next.’ She wags a finger at Zoe and me. ‘If you like it, you better put a ring on it!’ Her faux Beyoncé makes me laugh, even though I agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment.

Giles cringes and covers his ears. ‘Don’t give up your day job, my wife. Right, we’d better go say hi to my aunt and uncle.’

They disappear into the crowd, and I smile down at Zoe. I know it’s not very charitable to the bride, but as lovely as Kate looks, Zoe’s definitely the most beautiful woman here. Her dusky-pink bridesmaid dress sets off her dark skin, and her curls are swept up in some intricate hairdo I can’t wait to dismantle. I glance at my watch. A few more hours and then I can get her into our room.

‘So what do you think?’ I give her a playful nudge. ‘
Are
we going to be next?’ The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I’m not quite sure what’s possessed me, except maybe all the champagne I had earlier. Usually, I steer all conversations away from the future, because I know that if I bring it up, I also have to bring up my condition. And things with Zoe are so good right now, I don’t want to give her any
hint
of a reason to end it.

Selfish, I know, but these past few months have been incredible, and not just because I’ve had sex at least once a day. Zoe and I have spent almost every night together, and now I understand the meaning of
‘whirlwind romance’. Zoe’s the whirlwind: always doing something, always interested in something, always dragging me out to some fringe play in the East End or a new pop-up burger joint in a godforsaken place the Tube doesn’t even stop at. Even though I complain, secretly I’m glad we go to these things – although I’d never tell her that. With Zoe, I feel like I’m escaping the box I put myself in, and I like that feeling.

The thing is, I
do
want to get married. Thanks to some complications from when I had mumps as a child, I already know I
can’t have the 2.4 kids. I’ve never told anyone, but then, I’ve never needed
to. I never felt someone was ‘the one’, not like I do with Zoe. I haven’t even told my mates, who’d probably think it was cool I wouldn’t have to worry about knocking someone up. I never thought much about it, either. It all seemed so theoretical until now – until I found a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

I may have given up on children, but I’m not going to give up on marriage. I want the vows, the forever commitment. And I want it from Zoe . . . if she still sees a future with me after I tell her I can’t have kids. I swallow hard, hoping I won’t need to do that tonight. I’m not ready to risk this being over, not yet.

‘Let’s just enjoy the evening,’ Zoe says finally. She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and something twists in my gut. ‘Oh, look, they’re about to cut the cake!’

I watch her push through the throng, releasing the breath I didn’t even realise I was holding. I’m off the hook for tonight, but . . .
does
she see a future with me? Because I can’t imagine it with anyone but her. I want us to be next, like Kate said. I want Zoe to want that, too.

‘Edward?’ Zoe looks back over her shoulder. ‘Come on!’

I nod and make my way towards her.
Slow down
, I tell myself.
You’ve plenty of time to be together. You’ve the rest of your lives.

Hopefully, anyway.

16

EDWARD, SATURDAY, 5 P.M.

I
’m passing through the archway away from the fountain when my phone buzzes. I hope it’s not Zoe, I think, fishing the mobile from my pocket. The last thing I want is to talk to her right now, to hear her feeble excuses for why she took off.

But no, it’s Fiona, thank God. ‘Hi. Everything okay?’ A couple more hours, and she’ll be here. I can’t wait.

‘Actually, no.’ Her voice is glum. ‘There’s some sort of problem with the train – I couldn’t understand what the announcement said
 – and we’re stuck on the track for the time being, in the middle of bloody nowhere. They’ve called an engineer, but they don’t know how long it’ll be. Apparently all the trains are delayed now.’

‘That’s awful. Are you all right?’

‘Well, I’ve got champagne, so I’m fine.’

Typically upbeat
, I think. I love that about her.

‘Hopefully it won’t take too long and I’ll get there for a late dinner,’ she says. ‘I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, can you find me something to wear to bed tonight? I packed so fast I forgot my PJs.’

‘Okay.’ My voice emerges, sounding strangled. Find her something to wear to bed tonight? Is that some sort of manoeuvre to uncover my true intentions?
I
don’t even know my true intentions. And what the hell do women wear to bed, anyway? Zoe always slept naked . . . until she started coming to bed fully clothed, right after Milo died.

‘Right, better go. I need to save my battery.’ Fiona clicks off, and I slide the phone back into my pocket. Well, at least her request has given me something to do, something to focus on, other than the detritus of my life and my runaway wife. Now, where can I buy pyjamas? I fish out the map the hotel gave me, noting an advertisement in the corner for the Galeries Lafayettes. Perfect.

I flag down a taxi and hop in, leaning back on the seat as it wends through the streets. A strange feeling descends as the shopfronts flash by: a feeling like I’m in an alternate life that isn’t mine. I’m in the middle of Paris, off to a mall to buy something for a woman who isn’t my wife – a woman I’ll spend the night with. It’s so far from where I thought I’d be this morning that I almost can’t grasp it.

But isn’t this what I want? A new start? A clean break from the past? A chance at being happy again? Christ, if Zoe can seek solace somewhere besides me – even if it is just a glass of wine down the pub – then
lie
about it for two years, surely I can find some pleasure of my own.

‘We are here, monsieur.’

I blink. I hadn’t even realised we’d pulled up to an ornate façade, whose windows are slathered with photos of glamorous women. Shoppers rush across busy streets and into the mall in a steady stream, and I step from the car and join them. Not too long ago the thought of shopping was enough to send me into my man cave. But over the past year, shopping has become one of my favourite pastimes . . . besides work. On the evenings when I finish my projects and Fiona’s not free, I take myself off to a mall near the office. The blinking lights, the music and the constant buzz of people remind me that life does exist. Although I still can’t claim to enjoy shopping itself, I have to agree with Fiona’s assessment that my new wardrobe is a million times better than my old one – not that my wife’s noticed. For the first time in my life, I’m actually ‘on trend’, or so the personal shopper told me. Despite all my time in the mall, I wouldn’t know a trend if it slapped me in the face.

I push through the revolving door and enter the perfume section, the heady mix of fragrance hitting me between the eyes. To my right, a woman sprays scent in the air, and it hangs like mist before dissipating. Even though I can’t see it any longer, the smell washes over me in waves. It’s
Flower
by Kenzo, the scent Zoe used to wear right up until – well, I don’t know. I rarely get close enough to smell her any more.

My feet stop, as if they’re frozen. I breathe in, memories tumbling over me like sharp stones down a slope, each one coated in that fragrance. The day we decided – or, more accurately,
Zoe
decided – we could do forever, after all. Our small but intimate wedding ceremony, where she threw her arms around me and kissed me before the registrar even had a chance to declare us husband and wife. The watch she gave me the next morning as we lay in bed, the one I’d been craving for months. The delivery suite, where Zoe was determined to smell nice despite the sweat and slop of labour, and Milo’s sweet face when he first appeared. For the first few hours, he was so scrunched up, we actually did call him Flower, waiting for him to unfurl. A million and one wonderful gifts are wrapped up in that fragrance, their boxes now barren and empty.

But even as the same old loss and pain ricochet through me, another realisation does, too. I was happy, yes, and I loved Zoe with all my heart, but our relationship was never really equal. She was the one calling the shots, making the final decisions: when it came to marriage, babies and even dealing with death. She’s the one who’s gone off, who’s chosen to disappear.

I’m through with running on her time, I think, sliding off the watch I’ve worn since our first day of marriage. I’m done with catering to her needs and desires. From now on, I’ll make my own schedule. I’ll make my own
life
.

I step on the escalator. It rises up, carrying me higher and higher, away from the lingering scent.

17

ZOE, FEBRUARY 2010

‘I
’ve got something for you. An after-Christmas present.’ I roll over onto my tummy and smile up at Edward. ‘Something to tide you through the long, dark days of winter. It’s always so depressing once the festive season’s over and everyone goes back to being a zombie.’ A lock of dark hair flops over his forehead, and I reach out to push it back as my heart picks up pace. God, I hope he likes his gift.

‘An after-Christmas present?’ Edward raises an eyebrow, looking a little nervous. I can’t say I blame him. As a joke, I gave him a particularly hideous, itchy Christmas jumper in a garish orange adorned with a deformed-looking elf. Kudos to him, though: he actually wore it to the pub that Christmas night.

I grope under the bed, then pull out a gift-wrapped package. ‘Here.’ I hand it over then cross my fingers, hoping this will be the magic bullet to make him smile again. Ever since Kate’s wedding and that awkward conversation about our future, things have been a little weird between us. We haven’t talked about it, but I know my response – or lack of response, really – hurt him, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since.

Because I
do
love him. I
do
want to be with him. I still don’t think marriage is for me, but I know what we have is special, and I want to enjoy it as much as we can, every day. Taking this step forward means it’ll hurt more if things don’t work out, but for the first time, I’m willing to take that risk.

I hand him the box and he turns it this way, then that, shaking it.
‘Open it!’ I laugh to cover my nerves.

Edward carefully undoes one corner, and I grab the box. ‘We’ll be here forever. Just rip the paper!’ I grab hold of a corner and tear off a strip, and before I know it, there’s a pile of silver wrapping on the bed. ‘Sorry, but you’re killing me,’ I mumble as I hand him the cardboard box.

‘Whoa!’ Edward shakes his head, then jimmies open a corner – not hard, given my lack of Sellotape skills – and lifts the lid.

‘What’s this?’ He fishes out a key, laying it in the palm of his hand.

My heart feels like it’s trying to break out of my chest. ‘It’s the key to my flat.’ My voice is shaky, and I clear my throat. ‘I love you.’ God, it’s been a while since I’ve said those words. ‘And I want to be with you, like, all the time. So I was wondering . . . if you want to move in?’

My fingers grip his as I meet his eyes, and my heart sinks at his tense expression. He doesn’t look happy. He looks more like a rabbit trapped in the headlights.
Oh, shit.
I knew I shouldn’t have done this. I should have waited longer, should have—

I slip my hand from his grasp and slide the duvet cover over my legs, my movements jerky and stiff. ‘Forget it. Just forget I said anything. If you’re not ready or whatever, that’s fine.’

Edward takes my hand again. ‘Zoe, no: that’s not it at all. I love you, too, so much. It’s just, well, there’s something you need to know before we go any further.’

Oh, God, here we go.
‘You’re really a woman?’ I try to smile, but the corners of my mouth wobble.

‘Ha. Funny.’ Edward squeezes my hand and takes a deep breath. ‘I had mumps when I was thirteen.’

‘So?’ I can feel my brow furrow, and I try to relax it a bit. What the hell does mumps have to do with living together?

‘So, one of the complications can be issues with fertility,’ he says, like he’s just admitted he has bubonic plague. ‘I can’t get you pregnant. I can’t get anyone pregnant, apparently.’

Relief whooshes through me so quickly I feel lightheaded. That was what he needed to tell me? That he can’t get me pregnant? I’ll take that over other possibilities any day.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,’ he says, biting his lip, ‘but I wasn’t sure how serious you were about us. If it’s really important to you, I can get some more tests done, see if there’s other options, maybe, or—’

I lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips, cutting off his words. ‘
You’re
the main event. The star attraction.’ I smile to take that solemn look from his face. ‘Children, well . . . I’m not
against
the idea, but I can take them or leave them.’

Edward sits back. ‘But what if you do want them, say, two years from now?’

I shrug. ‘I dunno. We can deal with that if it happens, I guess. We can see some specialists, like you said, or we could always adopt. There are plenty of kids who need two good parents.’ I wince. ‘Oh, God: us as parents! Can you imagine?’

Edward laughs. ‘You’d have the whole wardrobe knitted before the child was born. Poor thing.’

I clunk him on the head. ‘Lucky thing, you mean. You should see what I’ve knitted for Kate’s baby! Anyway, there is a plus side to all this, you know.’ Apart from removing any pressure about marriage, and babies, and all that. ‘Bye-bye birth control!’ I rummage
in the drawer by the bed and chuck the packet in the rubbish. ‘I hate
those pills.’

Edward watches me with a grin. ‘I love you, Zoe.’ He starts to ease me down on the bed again, but I squirm away.

‘What?’ he asks, suddenly looking worried again.

‘You never answered my question. Will you move in?’

He smiles and moves lower and lower, down my tummy and over my thighs. ‘Let me answer you another way.’