Chapter Eleven
Beth
“Why don’t you take the day off?”
I frown at Kim as I have a spoonful of Cornflakes. “I’m not sick.”
“Not physically.” She gives me a gentle look. “Emotionally, yes I think you are, and I think you need more time to rest. I’m working from home today, so we can spend some time together, too.”
I stir the Cornflakes around in the milk.
Yesterday, after the text conversation with Archer, any remaining energy I had completely dissipated.
I lay listlessly on the sofa for the rest of the day, dozing off several times, half listening to Simon mowing the lawn in the distance, and Kim working out, strains of music filtering through the closed door.
She’s right; I do feel emotionally sick. Inside, I’m a constant whirl of emotions, going from relief to guilt to pleasure to sadness and all the way back to relief again. I do need time. Time to process what’s happened, and to decide what I’m going to do next.
So in the end I agree. I call Stefan and tell him I won’t be in and apologize, but he’s fine about it; I can’t remember the last time I had a sick day, and he has several other vet nurses he can call on to cover.
In the morning, while Kim works in her office, I have a long bath, hoping the hot water will soak away the aches and pains I seem to have developed after a night of tossing and turning.
Then, after pulling on a pair of comfy jeans and an oversized tee, I join Kim in making some sandwiches, which we take onto the deck and eat under the shade of an umbrella, enjoying the warm summer day.
Simon is a high-school teacher, and he’s gone to work. Kim is much more relaxed without him around, which makes me unutterably sad. I feel that I should ask her if she’s thought about what she’s going to do, but it’s a beautiful day, and right now I’m not sure I can face the answer.
Instead, we talk about this and that—our parents, our jobs. I’ve just finished my sandwich when there’s a knock on the door.
Kim frowns. “Postman?”
“He’s already been, remember?”
We both get up and go into the kitchen, and then I see the car on the drive outside.
“Fuck, it’s Jude.”
“You want to run in the bedroom?” she asks. “I’ll tell him you’re asleep or something.”
I hesitate, tempted, but then lift my chin. “No, I can’t ignore him forever. Let him in. Don’t leave us alone, though.”
“Okay.” She goes over to the front door.
Trembling a little, I fill the kettle to give my hands something to do, and I’m just switching it on when I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn to see Jude walking into the kitchen.
I lean against the counter, and he slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
He’s wearing a black polo shirt that goes well with his dark hair.
Unusually, he hasn’t shaved, and he has a day’s worth of stubble that makes him look incredibly handsome and a little dangerous. He still makes my heart race.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
Kim comes into the kitchen with us and starts putting teabags into cups. “Would you like a drink?” she asks Jude.
He shakes his head. “No thanks, I’ve got to get back to the Ark shortly.” He looks at me. “I heard you were off sick and wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re never sick.”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I just needed some time to think.”
He nods slowly. He watches Kim as she starts emptying the dishwasher, then says to me, “Can we talk?”
“I don’t think there’s any point.” I stand stiffly, conscious that I’m frightened about being alone with him. Not physically, but because he has a way of getting around me—he always has. And if he starts talking about getting back together, I might not be strong enough to resist him.
“All right, I’ll say it here.” He’s half-amused, half-annoyed. “I regret what I said on Saturday evening. I’d had too much to drink, and I was tired. I’m sorry.” He looks into my eyes as he says it with feeling.
I shift from one foot to another. “Okay.” I frown. “It doesn’t change anything, though.”
He tips his head to the side. Usually, he’s quick to react, impatient and irritable, but today he waits for me to explain myself.
“You were right,” I tell him. “You don’t want kids, and I do. That’s not something we can work around.”
He leans on the counter. “I know what I said, but it’s not that I don’t want kids. Like I said yesterday, it just seems crazy to be worrying about your fertility at this stage. We have, like, a dozen steps to take before we reach that.”
“I know what you’re saying.” How can I make him understand? “But it’s like we’re both setting out on a journey, and we’re talking about what road we’ll take and what we’ll see on the way, and we don’t even know where we’re going yet! If our destination isn’t the same, then what’s the point?”
“Well, the journey’s half the fun, isn’t it?”
I glare at him. “Only if you know where you’re going! What’s the point in investing all that time and effort in a relationship if you have no intention of staying together?”
“I’m not saying we wouldn’t stay together. I’m saying that sometimes your destination changes over time, and it seems dumb to me to set it in concrete now.”
My head is spinning; I don’t know what he’s trying to say. “You’re saying that you might change your mind about having kids?”
He shrugs. “Or you might decide you don’t want them eventually. Who knows? I’m barely thirty and you’re still in your twenties. Why are we even talking about this right now?”
He thinks he can work on me, and that he can change my mind. He’s so fucking arrogant.
“You’re talking as if we’re eighteen.” I’m frustrated that he can’t see my point of view. “If we were teens, or even twenty-five, I’d agree a hundred percent, but we’re not. A woman’s body clock is a real thing, whether you want it to be or not.”
“I get that. But I come back to the point that worrying about your fertility is only going to make things worse.” He looks at Kim then. She’s pouring hot water over the teabags, and she turns to pass me my mug and sees him looking at her. “Tell her,” he says. “Tell her what happened last night.”
She stares at him, then looks at me, startled. I look from her to him. “What’s going on?”
“I spoke to Simon this morning,” he says. “Go on, tell her.”
She glares at him. “This is none of your business.”
“It is my business when it’s having a direct effect on my relationship. Tell her.”
She sets her jaw, still looking at him.
Irritated now, I say, “What happened last night? I thought you went to bed before Simon?” We all watched a movie last night. He was noticeably quiet, and he stayed up playing a computer game after we both said we were going to bed. I wasn’t even sure if he slept in the same bed as her.
Eventually, she looks at me. “We talked for a couple of hours last night when he eventually came to bed. And in the end, we decided our marriage is irreparable. We’re going to get a divorce.”
My jaw drops. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re having enough troubles, and I didn’t want to influence you.”
I can’t believe it. “Kim…”
“Tell her what you said to him,” Jude prompts.
She sets her jaw. But then she says, “I told Simon I wish we hadn’t done the IVF. I wish I hadn’t pushed so hard.”
I press my fingers to my lips. I’m so shocked, my head is spinning. I look back at Jude, and his lips twist. He gives me a pitying glance and a slight shrug as if to say, Told you so.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I whisper. “If you’re trying to use this as evidence to support your own case, it won’t work.
” My voice gets louder. “Kim is upset and hurting. Of course she’s going to say it was all a waste of time.
But that doesn’t mean it’s the same as what we’re going through.
It wasn’t all about kids, Jude. It was about commitment, and you making me feel as if I was permanently temporary. ”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Permanently temporary?”
“You know what I mean. I always felt as if you hadn’t quite decided whether you wanted to stay with me.”
Now he looks impatient. “That’s bullshit. I was—am—fully committed to you. I’ve never cheated on you or even looked at another girl.”
His eyes are hard, direct. Oh God, does he know about me and Archer? My heart bangs, and for a moment I feel a little faint.
But then he says, “You know I hate it when you accuse me of being unfaithful.” His father cheated on his mother, and he’s ultra-sensitive about it.
I look at Kim. Her brow is furrowed, and she sighs.
“You’re good together,” she says. “Don’t throw it all away like I did.
Jude’s right. Stress plays a huge part in fertility, I think.
Worrying about it won’t change anything.
If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen. And if not… don’t let it ruin your life together.”
I don’t say anything. I feel confused and upset.
I didn’t expect this turn of events, and it makes me uneasy.
Yesterday, I was convinced Jude and I would never work.
Not just because of him not wanting children, but because I felt he didn’t put enough effort into our relationship, and it was just too hard.
But am I giving up too early? Maybe all relationships are like this.
They all need work. Perhaps the blissful happiness we see at the end of a movie—the happily ever after moment—isn’t a thing in real life.
I look at Jude, remembering the arguments, how sensitive he was, how I had to tiptoe through our conversations so I didn’t upset him. How little we had sex, and how he was so unable to comfort me when I needed it.
And then I think about Archer, and the way he held me all night. The eagerness with which he made love to me, and his gentle, considerate care.
But he’s Jude’s best friend. Oh God, could I have screwed this up any more?