Chapter One #2
“I couldn’t find you,” he says to me irritably as he approaches. “What are you doing over here?”
“Just taking a break. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”
“A migraine?”
“I don’t think so. No aura yet anyway.”
He frowns. “Want me to get you a bottle of water?”
I exhale, trying to let go of my anxiety. We might have argued, but he genuinely cares about me. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”
He leans on the fence next to me, and I turn back and lean beside him. “Beautiful sunset,” he says. It’s nearly 8:15 p.m., and the sky to the east is now a blend of tangerine with a touch of grape, while the Pacific Ocean looks like marmalade.
“Yeah.” I watch a fishing boat heading back toward Paihia, no doubt laden with snapper.
I can smell alcohol. After our argument earlier, Jude poured himself a Scotch, and he’s had several glasses of wine here. He’s not drunk yet, but he’s on the way. He rarely drinks to excess, so I know he’s upset.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks.
I look down at the fence and pick at a piece of moss growing on the wood.
He huffs an exasperated sigh. “I said I’m sorry. What more do you want me to do?”
That irritates me more than anything. “You always say that. But you never apologize properly. You say, ‘I’m sorry, but…’ and then go on to explain your point of view again. Your apologies are never genuine or heartfelt.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. He just stares moodily out to sea. Now I’m getting the silent treatment.
“I might head home,” I say wearily.
“It’s only eight fifteen.”
“I’m tired and my head hurts.”
“Yeah, go on, run away like you normally do.”
I glare at him. “I don’t run away. I walk away from arguments as a coping mechanism because I get upset.”
“Walking away makes it impossible to talk things out.”
“You make it impossible to talk things out. You never admit you’re wrong. It’s always my fault. And I try so hard.” My eyes sting.
“Here come the waterworks,” he says sarcastically. “You know they don’t work on me.”
“I don’t turn them on to manipulate you, Jude. I’m upset, and it makes me tearful.”
He blows out a breath. “I’m so exhausted. You used to be such fun. This is wearing me out.”
“Then let’s not argue. I love you. I don’t want to argue with you.”
He doesn’t say anything.
He does lift his right hand to run it through his hair, and as he does, the ring on his middle finger glints in the sun.
One of his exes, Chrissie, bought it for him.
It was a long time ago, after he left university, and he says he wears it because he likes the Māori pattern on it, not because she bought it.
I know that he asked her to marry him, though, but she turned him down, and they broke up shortly afterwards.
I’m convinced that, deep down, he still has feelings for her.
I asked him once and he got angry with me and said it all happened years ago, and I’ve never mentioned it again, but it’s always there, niggling, like a tiny stone in your shoe.
I bite my bottom lip. “Do you still love me?”
He looks at me then. His eyes are a very light brown, the same as a fox’s. “Yes,” he says simply. “But my position has become untenable.”
“What do you mean?” I ask impatiently.
“You talk about your sister all the time,” he snaps. “It’s all I hear, whenever I’m with you.”
My jaw drops. “That’s not fair.” I know he’s not correct because I purposefully don’t mention her or her problems at all as I know the subject annoys him.
“It is fair,” he insists. “You’re constantly speaking to her on the phone, answering her texts, talking to your mum about her, and worrying about conceiving and fertility when we’re not even married and haven’t talked about children at all.”
I blink. There’s no point in firing accusations back because it’ll just result in an out-and-out war.
I change tack and try to accept my part in the problem.
“I know it’s a big part of my life at the moment, and I apologize if I talk about it too much.
But it is a huge concern of mine. I’m not getting any younger, and I have endo, and it plays on my mind, that’s all. ”
“You’re twenty-nine. You talk as if you’re forty.”
“Yes, I know, but even if we were to start trying now, we’d have to wait a year before they’d even consider IVF, and even if it only took three rounds the way it took Mum, that means I’d be thirty-three, and I know it’s not old but every year makes it harder, and—”
“Donna fell immediately!”
“That’s because her endo is classed as mild. Mine is moderate.”
“You said it was mild to moderate.”
“Well… yes… but it’s not an exact science…”
“You’re imagining the worst. There’s no reason to assume you’ll have the same problem as Kim.
And your personalities are different anyway.
She’s making things a thousand times worse by stressing out about conceiving.
Simon told me that their sex life has gone completely out of the window.
All she thinks about is getting pregnant, and she refuses to have sex while she’s having a cycle. ”
“That’s because the doctor told her not to, so it doesn’t interfere with implantation!”
“Babe, don’t you get it? Is having a baby really worth ruining their marriage?”
“It’s not ruining it. I mean, I know they’re struggling, but in sickness and in health and all that. Relationships have their ups and downs. They’ll pull through and it’ll make it stronger when they eventually do get pregnant.”
“They won’t,” he says simply, looking me in the eyes as if he’s a doctor trying to tell a patient she has an incurable disease. “And it’s going to destroy them.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.” I blink away tears. “If she thought like that, she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning. She has to have hope.”
“No, she needs to come to terms with the fact that it’s not going to happen. She needs to focus on Simon and their marriage.”
“He wouldn’t leave her because she can’t get pregnant!”
“No. But he will leave her if getting pregnant is more important to her than his happiness.”
I stand stiffly. The music in the Quad behind us has been turned up and the conversation has risen to match it. Nobody’s taking any notice of us.
My life developed tiny cracks some time ago, and they’re spreading through me. Through us.
I’m not stupid. Jude tolerates Kim and doesn’t like Simon at all, and he certainly doesn’t care about their marriage. “What’s going on?” I ask. “What’s this about?”
“Don’t make this more than it is.”
“No, I know you well enough to realize there’s an undercurrent here. What aren’t you telling me?” I go cold. “Is… is there someone else?”
He huffs through his nose, a disparaging snort. “Yeah. Blame the guy, as usual.”
“What? What are you talking about?” I’m getting angry now, and my head’s banging.
“I don’t want kids,” he says.
We fall quiet. The sun has nearly set, and shadows are creeping across the paddocks.
Behind us, the music and laughter feels faked and forced, like a soundtrack someone is playing to try and cheer us up.
A mosquito flutters past out of the corner of my eye; Jude is going to get bitten, because he always does, but at this moment I don’t care.
I feel as if he’s physically slapped me, or punched me in the stomach, and it hurts just as much.
I blink. “What?”
“You never thought to ask me,” he says. “All this time you’ve been babbling about babies and getting pregnant and when we’re going to start and how many kids we’re going to have.
You haven’t once asked me whether I want them.
Well, I don’t. Kids are a drain on your finances and a pain in the ass.
I don’t want to give up my freedom, and I’m certainly not going to end up like Simon, as a baby-making machine.
Life’s stressful enough without introducing the struggle to conceive and everything that comes with it. ”
My heart hammers. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t be what you want, Beth.” His eyes hold resignation and defeat as he meets my gaze.
“So that’s it?” I say softly. “You won’t even talk about it? There’s no chance of compromise?”
He shakes his head. “If you want children, you’re going to have to find someone else to have them with.”
We stare at each other for a moment. Is he expecting me to say I change my mind? That I want him more than I want children?
I don’t say anything. Eventually, he gives a short, humorless laugh. He looks away at the ocean. Then he turns and strides back toward the Quad.
I twitch and go to follow him, but his parting words keep my feet planted to the ground.
Technically, I suppose I’ve never asked him the straight question, “Do you want kids?” But the subject has been in the air for most of the time we’ve been together.
We’ve talked about Kim, and pregnancy, and conceiving, and how difficult the process can be.
He’s had plenty of opportunities to tell me he doesn’t want children.
The worst part is that I know he means it, and I understand why he’s saying it.
Of course it’s stressful for the guy. But I thought our relationship was stronger than this.
I thought he’d understand, and that he’d stay by my side when we made the decision to start a family.
I didn’t realize he didn’t want one at all.
My hand rises to my throat, finding the small gold pendant in the shape of a heart that he bought me for Valentine’s Day. He put it around my neck this morning and fastened it himself. On the back it just says ‘Love J x.’
Carefully, I undo it at the back, hold the heart, and let the chain fall into my palm. Then I slip the necklace into the pocket of my jeans.
The Ark is a ball of light in the semi-darkness, glowing like a jewel. I look at my friends and colleagues, who are all having a great time, dancing and chatting, without a clue as to how my life has just fallen apart.
Turning, I walk away, down the drive, and before long the darkness swallows me whole.