The House of Secrets by Sarra Manning (29)

 

Zoe had lost the baby on 27 November.

The embryo had been between eight and nine weeks old. About the size of a jelly bean, one of the doctors had said.

Lately, Zoe had been rewinding those eight or nine weeks to a Sunday morning at the beginning of October. Summer about to give way to autumn so the days were sun-dappled and warm, but the nights had a chill. They were staying with her parents in Yorkshire for a week in their lovely stone cottage on the edge of the Dales before Ken and Nancy went off on their big adventure to South-East Asia.

Zoe and Win had waited for her parents to go to church before they made love in the guest bedroom with the headboard that banged against the wall, her father’s history books, arranged by military campaign, on the shelves next to her mother’s WI files.

‘I really hope that they don’t come back early. Sometimes the vicar keeps his sermon very short,’ Zoe had said before she’d peeled off her T-shirt.

Then she’d straddled Win, who’d grinned and said that actually he’d much rather have a lie-in so if Zoe was determined to have her wicked way with him he was just going to lie back and think of England.

Zoe could still remember the blissed-out look on Win’s face as she’d ridden him slowly and then, when he was already halfway to heaven, she’d paused.

‘Did you just hear a car on the drive?’ She’d frowned. ‘Seriously though, did you hear a car pull up?’

‘Zoe! Really?’ Win had shaken his head as if he couldn’t think about anything but Zoe, all around him, on him, but he’d frozen under her and…

‘Oh well, too late to stop now,’ Zoe had said and she’d taken him inside her again, hands pinning his to the bed and laughed. ‘Unless you really would prefer to catch up on your beauty sleep.’

‘Serves you right if they duck out before the sermon,’ Win had managed to groan and Zoe remembered the enraptured but goofy look on his face and how she’d been overwhelmed with love for him. The sunlight streaming in through the window had turned their skin golden and she was sure that was the moment they’d overridden all the progesterone released into Zoe’s body by the tiny contraceptive implant that had created a little ridge under the skin on her left arm. That was the moment they’d made a baby.

The baby should have been with them by now. A little boy, fair of face and hair, blue eyes, which would later focus into a solemn and wise gaze, skin as soft as rose petals and Zoe, even Win too, would have loved him fiercely and quietly and deeply.

She thought about that little boy now as she and Win walked through Highgate Woods late on a Sunday afternoon, past what they thought of as ‘their’ bench. They stopped so Florence could take a drink at the little trough at the back of the water fountain then headed towards the playing fields.

‘We’d have a baby,’ Zoe said because she couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to talk about this or she’d burst. Not even burst, but slowly collapse and deflate. ‘If things hadn’t ended like they did, we’d have a baby now.’

‘I know,’ Win said quietly. ‘I know we would.’

He didn’t say anything else but shot Zoe an anxious glance as if they weren’t navigating the uneven path but stepping over landmines, walking unarmed into enemy territory.

Soon, they came to the field. Cricket was over for the day. The men in their grass-stained whites packing away wickets and bats. Florence circling Zoe and Win hopefully, waiting for her plastic ring to be thrown. Win sent it skimming as far as the benches that bisected the field, then sat down next to Zoe on a log.

‘I never used to believe those stories about women who didn’t realise they were pregnant until they went into labour, but I was pregnant and I didn’t know.’ Zoe braced her palms on the log, so she could stretch out her legs. ‘I was still having my periods, still had the contraceptive implant. And that pain. I insisted it was just indigestion and you told me to go to the doctor but I always know best, don’t I? If I hadn’t left it so long, if I’d gone to the doctor sooner, then maybe… things would have turned out differently.’

‘We still would have lost the baby.’ It was the first time that Win had spoken of the baby, instead of referring to what had happened as ‘it’ or ‘the accident’ or even occasionally ‘the pregnancy’.

‘Maybe I wouldn’t have lost one perfectly good fallopian tube though.’ This was the first time she’d been able to say that particular truth out loud. Even thinking about it could make her tremble so she’d always pushed the thought back into the dusty corner where she’d hidden it. Enough! It was time to face the facts, no matter how cold and hard they might be. ‘I’ve made an appointment with my GP to get a referral to see a consultant at University College Hospital. It won’t be for a couple of months, but you’ll come with me, won’t you?’

‘If you want me to,’ Win said in a voice that was as neutral as Switzerland but that might have been because his attention was elsewhere, hand shielding his eyes so he could scan the field for Florence who’d gatecrashed a picnicking gang of teenagers. ‘What happens at the hospital?’

Zoe blew a strand of hair away from her face. ‘It’s at the Reproductive Medicine Unit. I have what sounds like an MOT for my lady bits,’ she said with a grimace. ‘That’s before I even get in to see a consultant.’

Win nodded but didn’t say anything else. There were times he seemed a different person from that golden boy of last year. Now he could be so hard, impossible, to read. Zoe sighed. ‘You know, Win, I always thought being an adult would be more fun than this.’

‘I hear you. I thought I’d eat ice cream for every meal and in between meals too,’ Win said. ‘I never expected that there’d be times I’d crave vegetables.’

‘Or that I’d look forward to an early night. Being an adult can be very dull.’

‘Oh, I think there are still some things about being an adult that can be very exciting.’ Win turned to her with a smile that made Zoe’s heart falter. Something in the curl of his lip, the way his eyes darted down to Zoe’s breasts, which was… unexpected. It had been nine months since that sunny Sunday morning when they’d last made love and since then, it had been the last thing on Zoe’s mind. On Win’s mind too, she’d thought.

They both glanced towards the end of the field where Florence had outstayed her welcome and without having to discuss it, they got up to retrieve their errant hound. ‘Being a kid was horrible,’ Win said. ‘I had no control over what happened to me. I always thought that when I was a grown-up, nothing bad would ever happen because I wouldn’t allow it.’

Zoe took his hand. ‘Win, you can’t plan against bad luck. It’s luck. It’s random.’

‘I wish you could though,’ he said wistfully, waving at Florence as they got nearer, though she pretended that she couldn’t see them. ‘A comprehensive flowchart to cover all eventualities so that random bad luck simply couldn’t occur. It could take up the big long wall in the kitchen.’

‘Because that would look much more aesthetically pleasing than the framed David Bowie album covers you were going to put up there instead,’ Zoe said drily and Win smiled. ‘Anyway, you can’t plan for random good luck either. I’m pretty sure that they balance each other out. Right?’

‘I’d have to work out the probability to be certain,’ Win insisted in his stuffiest voice, the one he used to pull out to make Zoe laugh, and she laughed now, but she thought it might be from sheer relief that they hadn’t completely lost who they used to be.

They hardly talked at all on the way home. Ever since that charged look he’d given her, his veiled reference to their once healthy sex life, there’d been a tension between them that was so different from the tension of a relationship in turmoil, the awkward gaps, the silences, the things left unsaid.

It was the kind of tension that made Zoe feel as taut as the telephone wires overhead, as they turned into Elysian Place. Zoe unlocked the front door and Win came up behind her, too close, so he could lower his head, nuzzle away the fall of her hair and breathe in the scent of her. It felt primal, maybe even a little intrusive, but Zoe stood there and let him.

It had been a long day. They’d sanded down the skirting boards and doorframes in the upstairs hall to prep them for painting and Zoe hadn’t showered yet, so Win would smell the faint, tired tang of her perfume, the sour note of sweat and another fragrance lurking beneath it all, that she didn’t have words or descriptors for but knew it was unique to her – in the same way that Win had his own scent that would sometimes make Zoe bury her face in one of his shirts or jumpers when she was sorting out a wash. And now Zoe thought about just how many times Win had buried his face between her breasts, inhaled and then sighed in satisfaction as if he were home.

Too many times to count. A life of times. But lately, not at all. Before, Zoe wouldn’t have thought twice about turning around, looping her arms around Win’s waist, tucking her head into the crook of his neck, but now it felt like such a brave thing to do.

‘Florence,’ Win muttered and with a sigh, Zoe let Win go so she could unclip Florence from her lead and harness, then take her into the kitchen for fresh water and food.

Win had followed her into the kitchen and was standing in the doorway. They hadn’t turned the lights on and the night was slowly, imperceptibly drawing in, so again, it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

The gap between them got smaller and smaller until Win was standing in front of Zoe. She’d never wanted to kiss him as much as she did right then. Not even in the days when all she did was imagine what it might be like to kiss him.

‘Hello,’ Win said, as if they were meeting again after a long time apart.

Zoe smiled. ‘Hello.’ She pressed her hand to his face. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’

Win kissed her then. Not the lazy, heatless kisses of a couple who’d known each other for thirteen years, but as if they’d never kissed before. His touch, his taste, all shockingly new all over again.

But even after all this time, they still fitted together. Win’s mouth on hers, Zoe’s hand in his as she led him up the stairs.

It was a lot like the first time all over again. And it was a first time in this new house as well as slipping back into the old and familiar routine as Win undressed her. Zoe raising her arms so he could slip off her T-shirt, presenting him with her back to kiss as he unclipped her bra.

Then it was Zoe’s turn to unbutton his shirt, palm her hands over the ridge of each of his ribs, her touch firm enough not to tickle because she still remembered what Win liked.

‘Hello,’ Win said again, when they were lying on the bed that they’d bought together all those years ago, and he was about to slide inside her. ‘Hello, old friend.’

‘Hello, hello, hello,’ Zoe whispered in his ear, as she wriggled, then tightened her arms and legs around him. ‘Hello, I’ve missed you.’

She’d never take this for granted again. She vowed, as Win’s hands gripped her upper arms, to savour every second. She wanted to memorise all the little details that she thought had been forgotten but were now flooding back. The hitch in Win’s throat, the flush on his face, the way he stared down at her, his gaze as blue and as deep as oceans.

She waited for his first thrust, was so ready for him, but he stilled, fingers on the slight pucker of skin on her left arm.

‘Your implant?’ he muttered. ‘Did you have it removed?’

She had as soon as she’d registered with her new doctor. She’d wanted it gone. Now really wasn’t the time to be remembering all this.

‘It’s fine. It doesn’t matter,’ she said, trying to pull him down on her, in her.

‘So, are you on something else?’ Win asked, holding his body very still. ‘Because I don’t have any protection.’

Protection. He wanted to protect her, but Zoe didn’t need protecting any more.

‘Let’s do it anyway,’ she said rashly, trying to wriggle against him. ‘Let’s just see where fate takes us.’

Win didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Let’s not.’ He rolled away from Zoe to lie on his back.

‘Win!’ Zoe didn’t even have the will to be angry with him. She was too disappointed. Too frustrated because Win had wound her up, then left her with nowhere to go. ‘Is this going to be yet another thing that we don’t talk about? I thought we were getting back to being happy and God knows, sex used to make us both happy.’

‘I’m all on board with having sex,’ Win said through what sounded like gritted teeth. ‘I am not on board with you getting pregnant through sheer carelessness, not after what happened last time.’

It was a fair point. Reasonable, responsible, though three minutes ago reason and responsibility had been the last things on Zoe’s mind.

Win lifted a hand. ‘I could still get you off… if you wanted.’

‘Not really in the mood now,’ she said, flopping onto her back too.

Win was saved from having to reply by a whining and thumping of a paw at the door. With a sigh he slid off the bed to mollify a furious Florence. ‘I’m going to grab a shower, OK?’

They hadn’t put the lights on and the room was in shadow. Zoe snapped on her bedside lamp. She lay there for a while, felt her body begin to quieten, her heart return to its usual steady pace. She listened to the sound of the shower running, then rolled over and pulled Libby’s diary out of the drawer of her nightstand.

It had been a while, out of respect for Win’s thoughts on the subject of Libby and her diary. At this precise moment, Zoe didn’t feel that inclined to respect Win’s wishes on the matter. She was heartily fed up with respecting Win’s wishes, his boundaries, the half a dozen things he wasn’t ready to talk about.

But now, seeing the familiar scrawl, Zoe was surprised to find that she’d missed the other woman. At least Libby was trying to live her best life, Zoe thought, as she turned to July, only to find that Libby had forsaken her; the diary for that month was little more than a record of appointments.

A postcard from Aldeburgh signed only H but Zoe recognised Hugo’s handwriting.

So, Hugo had children. Once again, Zoe was baffled by Libby’s bad life choices. If the decades hadn’t separated them, if she had been friends with Libby, then Zoe would have taken her out, plied her with booze and told her in no uncertain times that while Freddy was bad news, Hugo was even worse news. He was married, had kids, was going through a messy divorce and the best thing Libby could do was forget both of them.

‘Plenty more fish in the sea,’ Zoe would say, even though it was the singularly most annoying thing to say to anyone who was having relationship problems. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with being single.’

It was a conversation she’d had countless times with countless friends – though those friends liked to point out Zoe had gone straight from Tony Cortes to Win, with no waiting, no cooling off period and so she had no idea what being single was really like.

And she never wanted to find out, Zoe thought. She heard Win step out of the shower and she turned back to the diary, squinting to make out the words of Libby’s first proper entry in weeks.

Zoe put a hand to her own stomach. To the scar. Even in the dark, Win had avoided touching the jagged line down the right side of her belly. Not some neat little keyhole incision. No time for that.

Libby’s fears set off her own fears again. Zoe imagined them as a set of dominos arranged on the floor in an endless, intricate pattern and if she wasn’t careful, didn’t watch her step, then they’d all come tumbling down. She put Libby’s diary away. Shoved it right to the back of the drawer just as Win came back from his shower. Skin pink from the hot water, hair slicked back, in just a pair of shorts.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ Zoe sat with her back to the nightstand, one hand behind her at an awkward angle to shut the drawer. ‘Looking for something. Didn’t find it. Not to worry.’

She was tripping over her words, as if she were guilty of something. But she was also nervous because she hadn’t seen Win like this, practically naked, for a long, long time. Despite his accident, Win still had a long, lean runner’s body, deceptively strong, which had always come in handy for carrying suitcases and hefting bags of charcoal back from the shops during barbecue season.

It had always turned Zoe on, added a dark thrill to their lovemaking, that Win could pin her down, hold her captive.

Despite the fact that she absolutely wasn’t in the mood now, Zoe couldn’t help the little shiver as Win came towards her, his gaze intent. ‘Shower’s free,’ he said, while his eyes said something completely different.

‘Is it? I should head for the bathroom then.’ Zoe made no effort to move from the bed as Win shook his head.

‘No point. Not when I’m about to get you all messy,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while…’

‘It’s been nearly a year!’

‘But I do dimly recall that there are a multitude of things I can do to you, with just my hands and mouth, that will still have you screaming my name. In a good way,’ he added, when Zoe raised her eyebrows sceptically.

Zoe wanted them to be all right and she wasn’t averse to screaming Win’s name in a good way but she was still cross enough that Win was going to have to do better than that. Work much harder.

She folded her arms and tilted her chin in a mutinous way. ‘These things you’re going to do, what exactly are they?’

Win rested one knee on the bed, a tiny, teasing smile on his face. ‘They’re not the kind of things I can explain. It’s probably best if I just show you.’

‘Fighting talk, Mr Rowell,’ Zoe said, resisting the smile that wanted to lift the corners of her mouth. She leant back against the pillows, arms still folded. ‘Go on then, do your worst.’