Chapter Twelve
I find Robert with Jez’s friends in the library. ‘Hey,’ I say, aware that everyone is watching me. ‘I wanted to thank you for the scarf.’
He smiles, and stands up to touch it gently. I wonder if he can see my pulse pounding in my neck. ‘It looks beautiful on you. Feel like a walk?’
‘In these boots? You’re joking, right?’ I laugh but he doesn’t join me. ‘I’ve got my snow boots in the kitchen. Can we go out that way?’
When we step out from under the eaves into the early evening twilight, my foot sinks nearly to my knee in the light snow. ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever seen this much snow.’
‘Do you really think we’ll get out of here tomorrow?’
‘Mrs Campbell said so, and I get the feeling she’s never wrong. Why, are you anxious to get back?’
We start walking towards the gatehouse where the spa is. With all the snow, the landscape is disorientating.
‘Me? No way,’ he says. ‘I’d happily spend another week here. You must be dying to get back, though.’
I shrug. ‘I’d rather relax here.’
He stares at me. ‘You? Relax? I don’t believe it. I’d have put money on you forcing the coach driver at gunpoint to get you to the airport.’
I try to laugh in the face of this unflattering picture. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly relaxed about the delay.’
He nods. ‘You mean now that you’ll be back at your desk on Tuesday.’
I’d love to wipe that smug look off his face, but I can’t because he’s right. I may have made peace with an extra day off but I’m not about to quit my job. I love it too much.
‘What did you ever see in me?’ I whisper, my eyes beginning to sting.
‘You mean aside from your great arse?’
My mitten makes a gentle foof on his shoulder when I slap him. ‘That’s what the masseuse said.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. Inside joke… Robert, I… I’d like to know what happened between us. I was a bit baffled by the way you left things.’
He stops, and squints out at the tree line. ‘I know. I’m sorry about that. You deserve the truth. I just don’t think you’re going to like it.’
‘Well, I didn’t like getting dumped for no reason, so I can’t see how it’ll be any worse, really.’
My heart is hammering in my ribcage. I’m sure I don’t want to hear whatever he’s got to say, but I need to.
‘I’ve never talked very much about my family,’ he says. ‘I’ve told you that I come from Hampshire and that I have a brother, Tim.’
‘That’s not true?’
‘No, it’s all true. I just haven’t told you everything about them.’
‘Well, if they’re like my family, they really need to be experienced to be believed.’ I try to laugh but I sound like a migrating goose. ‘I can’t see how your family has anything to do with our relationship.’
‘Carol, I look at you, and your life, and everything is exactly the way you want it. You said it yourself. You won’t tolerate anything less. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, anyone so composed and together and, well, perfect. Your looks, your clothes, your flat, even your job is just the way you want it.’
I want to tell him how not perfect my life is. How I’ve worked so hard these last years that my friends have been whittled away to just Marley. How, if she doesn’t call, I sit at home on weekends watching DVDs. How I spend most of my workday worrying that someone will be declared a better analyst than me and then I’ll lose the only thing that gives me a purpose. Or that I’ve insulated myself from emotions for so long that I hardly remember how to feel them.
But I don’t get the chance, because then Robert says, ‘I don’t come from a perfect family. And I’m as far from perfect as you can get.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is true! I’m not talking about leaving the toilet seat up or chewing with my mouth open. I mean really far from perfect.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘Do you know what spina bifida is?’
I shake my head.
‘It’s a birth defect that can cause the spinal chord and nerves to be exposed in your back. Both my brother and I were born with it.’
‘But I never noticed anything…’
‘My case is mild. There’s no protrusion. In fact, it wasn’t even diagnosed until after my brother was born. His case, though, is severe. He’s paralyzed. His spine is deformed and he’s in a wheelchair. He needs a lot of hospital care and there are a lot of emergencies.’
‘That’s why you disappeared sometimes.’
He nods. ‘They’re not always medical emergencies, but Tim gets down, as you can imagine. Sometimes I just go over to cheer him up.’
My mind plays back over our relationship in light of this new information. ‘What happened in September? You stuck around that month.’
‘Mum and Dad took him away to Devon.’
I nod. ‘Does he live on his own?’
‘Carol, he can’t even shit on his own. He lives with my parents… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be harsh, but this isn’t a condition where the patient sits contentedly in his chair with a rug over his legs like in some BBC drama. It’s ugly and messy and horrible.’
He used words like that in our last phone call. ‘And you broke up with me because you didn’t think I could handle your brother having this condition?’
He slowly shakes his head. ‘Carol, you don’t understand. I have it. Even if you could deal with Tim, and the amount of time I spend with him, I have this too.’
‘So you’re going to get worse?’
‘No, I won’t get worse, but it’s a hereditary condition. It’s not a hundred per cent certain but there’s a big risk that my children will have it. Maybe like Tim. I know you want children one day. Two would be perfect, remember?’
We were away together in Venice when I said that, sitting in the Piazza San Marco drinking wine. ‘This is a lot to take in,’ I say, wishing I’d never hear the word perfect again. ‘I thought you were just cheating on me. Or a spy.’
He smiles. Then his expression clouds over again. ‘I’d love to be able to ignore this. But I don’t want to feel like you could do better, like I’m not quite what you want. This can never be fixed. I know you don’t want that in your life.’
‘You haven’t given me the chance to decide.’
‘I’m saving you the trouble. You didn’t love me enough, Carol.’
‘How do you know that?!’
He shrugs. ‘Because you didn’t say it when I did. If you feel it, you say it. It’s not that complicated.’
He looks at the sky.
‘We should go back inside. It’s getting cold.’
‘So that’s it? End of discussion?’
‘There’s nothing left to say, is there? What good would it do to say that I still feel exactly as I did months ago, that when I look at you my heart leaps? Or that when I remember the situation I want to cry… that I’d do anything for this to be different? It won’t change anything. Your feelings aren’t strong enough to overlook this. I know you. You can’t stand weakness and imperfection. You don’t accept it in your life. As much as I might want it, nothing has changed.’