Chapter 3
THREE
Lewis didn’t even kiss her hello anymore. Lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes, he went straight to the fridge. ‘Any beers?’
‘No, all gone, sorry. There’s some wine in there, though.’
Lewis turned, frowning. ‘There’s football on tonight, too.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll see if Connor’s about. He might want to go down the pub and watch it. What’s for dinner, anyway?’
Gracie was now engrossed in the news. ‘I thought we could get a takeaway.’
‘Gracie, you know we’re still paying the bloody IVF off and I thought you were trying to be good this week.’ She sighed as Lewis went on, ‘And I’m sure it would make you feel better losing some of that weight of yours.’
‘Not you as well!’ Gracie couldn’t listen to any more. ‘What is it with everyone today? It’s my body, it’s my problem. If I don’t want to lose weight, then I won’t.’ Her face reddened. ‘And as for not being made of money, it’s all right for you to piss off down the pub and spend more than a takeaway costs without a worry.’ She was on a roll now. ‘“Gracie, are there beers?” “Gracie, what’s for dinner?” We’re a partnership, Lewis. Or we used to be, at least. So, no, don’t stay in with me and have a nice evening. No, you just go, meet Connor, do what you do with him. Talk shit, watch football. I don’t really know what your problem is anymore.’
‘Problem? The problem –’ Lewis was shouting too, ‘– is that we haven’t had sex for weeks, Gracie. Weeks! And do you want to know why?’
Gracie bit her lip, dreading but already guessing what was coming.
‘I just… I’m struggling to love you as you are.’
Too late, Lewis realised the enormity of what he’d said, and ran to her side to hug her. But the words could never be taken back. That was it, they were out there. Hurtful words swirling around the room, like a wasps’ nest of secrets – one of which had just stung Gracie right in the face.
Like a bull about to go into the Plaza de Toros Las Ventas, Gracie’s nostrils flared. Stifling a sob, she fled to the bedroom, slammed the door and locked it.
Fired by his guilt, Lewis nearly pulled the handle off as he tried to open it. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that when you are feeling this way. But shutting yourself away in there again, well it’s not going to help. We never spend time together. Your head is always stuck in that bloody computer. There are only so many Hyster Sisters you can talk to, surely?’ His voice now shook with emotion. ‘And as for money, I’ve said before, we could always get a lodger. It’s not healthy keeping the spare room as a bloody shrine.’ He paused, sounding more contrite when he spoke again. ‘Life needs to move on, Gracie. There are no babies and there won’t be any babies.’
Silence. Realising he had now stepped over the line in magnificent fashion, Lewis’s voice softened. ‘If you’re going to be like this, Gracie, I’m going to go out now. We do need to talk, I know that. Let’s have a date night on Thursday, like we used to in the good old days, eh? We can work it out, I’m sure.’
Still no answer.
Lewis sighed, grabbed his coat, closed the front door quietly behind him and walked slowly down the stairs.
Feeling ashamed and like he had been watching the same old sad drama over and over again for the past six months, a massive wave of sadness washed over him.
They had been his babies too.
Sighing heavily, Gracie pulled her laptop out from under the bed and placed it on the bedside table. So what if she wanted to chat to women who’d been through similar situations? She needed their support at the moment.
It was a relief to her that Lewis had gone out, to be honest. The fact was, they hadn’t had sex for weeks. Quite frankly, it hadn’t bothered her. By not mentioning it, she had hoped he wouldn’t even think about it. But who was she kidding? He was a man in his sexual prime and, to give Lewis his due, this was the first time he had moaned about the lack of it, so he wasn’t that bad. Unless he was getting it elsewhere, of course? No. Gracie shook her head just thinking that. Whatever Lewis’s faults, he would never be unfaithful. He had always had the ultimate respect for her and she for him. It was just so bloody sad that it had come to this.
Before their baby-making had commenced, she had adored sex too. They could never get enough of each other. They had been known to sneak out of work to have a quickie in a lunch hour on more than one occasion.
But as soon as there was another reason for the whole love-making thing, God, how things changed! Her ovulation date turned sex into a military operation. And if, for some reason, Lewis was working away or just not in the mood, she would fly into a foul temper, distressed at the thought of her body clock ticking away loudly for yet another month.
Poor Lewis, he said he had felt like a performing seal. Even with the promise of a daily blow job, it wasn’t fun anymore. They started living the cliché that too much of a good thing drains away the excitement.
And now she knew that she couldn’t have children, she was the one who wanted it less. Secretly, she was slightly scared that she might never want sex ever again.
Some of the Hyster Sisters (one of the many self-help websites Gracie had frequented since her hysterectomy) had said that the operation had been the best thing that had ever happened to them: that they were horny all of the time and, with no periods to stop them, had the sex drive of a twentysomething again. She imagined they were all older than her, had kids already, and that probably most of them were lying. Gracie didn’t even have the urge to masturbate.
She undressed to her pants – too big, too grey, not sexy – and checked herself in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. She moved her forefinger across the dark red hysterectomy scar that ran above her pubic line. She hated that scar. It depicted loss – and what man in their right mind would find that attractive? A long ugly line across such a delicate area.
They had to cut her a little wider than normal as it was an emergency and they had found a fibroid as big as a melon – the reason that her babies had been kicked out, apparently. God knows why they had not picked that up on the scan. Her sister had said she should make a case against the hospital. Gracie had neither the mental capacity nor the inclination to do this.
When she came round, weak, white as a sheet, with tears spontaneously flowing down her cheeks, she was told that there had been complications. She had lost nearly all the blood in her body and there had been no option but to take away her womb and ovaries.
She was evidently a very lucky girl to be alive.
Gracie didn’t feel lucky.
Unable to walk unaided, she spent the next four weeks looking at her bedroom ceiling and living off porridge and soup. And when not surrounded by the distraction of friendly faces, she was wrapped in a shroud of complete despair.
How useless was she not to be able to keep those little dots safe and warm? To have let some big ball of muscle fibre take over and take away her new life: her new life as a family of four.
Now a shelf of flesh loomed above the scar. She felt she looked awful. All that bullshit about love being more than skin deep: it was no wonder that Lewis didn’t fancy her anymore. He obviously didn’t love her enough. Gracie was glad that she had a therapy session tomorrow.
After her ‘operation’, Rob Warhurst – so much more than just her boss – had softly and kindly suggested that therapy might help and offered to pay for six sessions for her. He was a good and wise confidant, so Gracie took heed, acknowledging that she still needed to let out so much anger and grief.
She pulled on one of Lewis’s big T-shirts and, despite it being just 7 p.m., got into bed. She flicked on her laptop. Her screensaver flashed up and she had to shut her eyes. She knew she should delete it.
It was a scan of the twins. They had danced around that day, not staying still for long enough to be measured. The 3D photos were in her sock drawer. She had only been able to look at them once since she had lost them. Lewis had said that maybe it would be cathartic to throw them away.
Lewis , she thought, is a dick.