The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty Two

Again I have nothing. I let the silence hang and he lifts his glass to his mouth and downs the rest of his drink.

"I wanted to give you space. Time to heal. The day I found you on that bathroom floor I saw my entire fucking life flash before my eyes. People say that and it always sounds like a cliché, but it's what I saw. I saw myself alone. My wife and child dead. I don't know what would have happened to me if I'd lost you that day. I blamed myself." He scrubs a hand furiously over his face. "If anything had happened to you it would have killed me. I know I shouldn't have brought you here so soon after. I blame myself for that. I knew you were struggling, but I honestly thought it might help, the change of scenery, to get away from the house, the nursery." He nods and his voice is raw and bare. I can't bear it. I can't bear him blaming himself for this. For any of it.

"I never wanted him, Oliver," I say as I pull at the slice of skin around the finger, peeling it back from the rest of my body. "The baby. I never wanted him." The words are out really before I have a chance to second guess them again. I should have told him long ago. I should have tried to expel the guilt long ago. Selfish or not. He deserved to know who I was.

"What are you talking about?"

I'm afraid to look up and see the look of horror on his face but I know I have to. I take a deep breath and lift my head up. He looks confused not horrified. "I never wanted a child. Not for one moment during the pregnancy. Before I told you I was pregnant I considered having an abortion, and I made an appointment with the clinic —Gabby was going to come with me —but I cancelled it. I was afraid, and I knew I could never do that to you. I'd never have been able to live with myself if I aborted our child without your knowing about it. But I didn't want to be a mother. I didn't want a baby. I wasn't ready for it." The words keep coming, unstoppable. I don't want to stop them. "The moment they told me he was gone was the first moment I felt any love for him. It was the first moment I felt he was something other than this strange thing taking up space inside my body. I didn't understand what could be wrong with me for feeling that. For only loving our child when he was dead. I still don't understand what's wrong with me. But I did grieve for our child, Oliver. I did love him. I do love him. I just didn't realise it until it was too late, and I blame myself for what happened. I blame myself for everything." I take a deep breath and wipe my face with the sleeve of my cardigan. When will they stop?

He says nothing for a long time. He just looks at me as though he doesn't recognise me or understand the words I've just said. Finally, he sits forward on his knees and lets out a long tired breath. Turning his head to stare hard at a point in front of him for what again feels like hours.

"When did you start hating me, El?" He asks turning his head back to me. "After you got pregnant? Before? After he died? Or have you always despised me? Deep down. Did you hate me the instant told you I loved you?" He laughs a small bitter laugh.

"What? No." I edge forward again on my chair. "I don't hate you. Oliver, I've never hated you, please don't say that." I shake my head.

"Well, you don't fucking like me, do you? And despite what you said earlier in front of him I seriously doubt you love me either. I doubt you ever have." He widens his eyes. "What the fuck are we doing here? What is this, Eloise?"

I open my mouth to speak. Then close it again. Yet again I have nothing. What are we doing? Being in a marriage? Is this what marriage was? Lies and deceit and guilt and pain? I caused this. I shouldn't have said yes. Something occurs to me then, something that I hadn't thought about for hours in fact. Which in itself is strange.

"Are you sleeping with Nicole?" I ask him.

His eyes widen as he studies my face.

"You believe him?"

"No," I shake my head. "I don't know. Are you?"

"No I'm not," he states and I nod. He sounds sincere. I still don't know why Aidan would have said it. Is he really that underhanded to make something like that up? I don't think he is. Just thinking about Aidan for a moment makes my chest ache. Someone told him he'd said. Someone. Who would tell him that?

Sasha.

The thought is loud and clear. Sasha told him something. Why would she make it up? Nothing bloody makes sense. I'm so tired.

I watch as Oliver reaches down to refill his glass. "We'd been spending some time together though. She was helping me look for a house."

I'm wide-awake again. "A house?"

As he lifts his glass to his mouth and gulps, my mouth waters fiercely. I'd never gone much for spirits but my body is tense and thrumming and I'm sure something strong and alcoholic would help calm and soothe it a little.

"A house," he confirms. "Out of state. A friend of hers is a realtor. I thought you could do with somewhere quiet to write, and I thought we could do with somewhere to relax at weekends. It was going to be a surprise. My anniversary gift to you." He drops his eyes from my face and stares into his glass.

"Oh," is all I can say. More guilt.

I stand and cross the room to switch on one of the lamps. The light is fading fast and it feels like I've been in this room for days not hours. On the way back I reach down and lift the bottle of Jack Daniels from next to Oliver's leg and uncap it and take three large gulps. The painful sting on the back of my throat as I swallow is comforting. He watches me the whole time, soft and warm. Softer and warmer than I deserve.

"Why aren't you angrier at me?" I ask him as I hand him back the bottle.

He takes it and tops up his glass again. "I am angry at you," he says, his eyes fixed on mine. "What do you want from me? Screaming? Shouting? Crying?"

I take my seat and give a shake of my head. "I just thought you'd be angrier at me that's all. I thought you'd despise me."

"I adore you," he says simply. "I always have. Since the moment I laid eyes on you I've adored you. The second you walked into that hotel bar that day I knew I wanted you to be my wife. I wanted you to want me the same way. But you never have."

I glance down and pick off another piece of skin. "Do you ever think you made a mistake?"

"With what?"

"Asking me to marry you. Marrying me?" I ask. I feel my bones starting to soften ever so slightly with the ingestion of Oliver's whiskey.

"No," he states.  "I'm not blind. I wasn't blind then, either. I knew how you felt about me when you agreed to marry me. I just thought in time you'd change your mind. I thought I could change your mind."

"I tried. I tried so bloody hard, Oliver. I care about you; I love you and I care about you, deeply. And there were times when I felt like I was truly in love with you." I need him to understand. Why I don't know but I do.

He nods and lifts his glass, his eyes holding mine as he swallows. "And how hard did you have to try for him, baby?"

My breath falters. "What do you mean?"

"You're in love with him. Clearly," Oliver says. I feel something happen in my body. There's a noise, like a bomb going off quietly, and then everything is dreamlike and silent. Heavenly actually. "I'm still not blind, Eloise. I stood there for a while watching you —watching you look at him how I always wanted you to look at me. You're in love with him."

I try and bite and swallow back the shameful guilty tears. He doesn't need to see them again. Not now. Then I realise these ones aren't shameful or guilt leaden.

They're relief. Like the day at the dentist.

So Aidan didn't have to ask the other question in the end. Because Oliver knew the answer anyway.

Yes," I say. "I'm in love with him."