Chapter 49
Eve
I take a deep breath before knocking.
I hear his footsteps coming through from the kitchen, and then he opens the door, and he’s standing there.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Can I come in?’
He hesitates. ‘Yeah.’ He walks up the hallway and into the kitchen, and I shut the door behind us.
The kitchen is markedly devoid of baby things. Benny’s bottles are gone from the countertop, his carrier isn’t in the corner. If you didn’t know, you’d think Will lived alone.
He turns around and leans against the sink.
‘I’m here to apologise,’ I say, not sitting down. ‘I’ve been selfish, and distracted, and my priorities have been really, really out of whack.’
Will doesn’t respond.
I swallow before continuing. ‘I’ve been so caught up in getting to the top and making myself untouchable... but I’m not untouchable. Losing you, like this, has hurt so much. And I did it to myself. I deserved it.’
Will shakes his head. He speaks quietly. ‘It wasn’t a punishment. This distance was what I needed, not what you deserved.’
‘I needed it too,’ I say. ‘I might not have wanted it, but I needed it.’
We stand in silence for a moment, the ticking of the kitchen clock the only sound. A picture of Nina and Benny is pinned to the fridge, and I study it, wondering how it makes Will feel, seeing that every time he makes his breakfast.
Will follows my gaze and breathes out, his breath juddering. ‘It’s all such a mess.’
I walk towards him and hold out my arms. He hesitates, and then lets me hold him for a moment.
‘Where are they?’ I ask, when he pulls away.
He swipes at his eyes. ‘At Nina’s mum’s.’
I nod. ‘What happened?’
‘I think she’s got postnatal depression.’ The bags under his eyes are so pronounced, he looks like a different person. ‘She just drinks and cries.’
Solutions clamour around in my head. Go and speak to her, book a therapist, call the GP, get community support, hire a childminder, take some time off work.
‘I’m really sorry, Will,’ is what I actually say.
‘I miss them.’ His eyes pool with tears again. ‘I really miss them.’
My heart twists as I think how lonely he must be. His wife — his best friend — and his son, leaving him here alone. And me, too.
‘I know,’ I say.
I pull out a bar stool and sit down. For a long while, I ask questions and Will answers them. He tells me how Nina stopped getting out of bed, how she lay there while the baby cried, how he couldn’t bear to come home from work but spent every hour he wasn’t home worried about what was going on. He explains how they fought, how lost sleep made him irritable and irrational. When he talks about the day she left, his eyes fill again.
‘She wasn’t the same person,’ he chokes. ‘She just wasn’t, Eve. I know mental illness, it’s my fucking job. But Jesus...’ He shakes his head, as if he wants to expel the memory from his mind. ‘I can’t fix this one.’
‘I can’t even imagine.’
Will looks at me for a second, and then raises his eyes to the ceiling, chuckling.
‘What?’
‘Go on.’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Give me your gold. Solve my problems.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not here to do that.’
‘No.’ He hoists himself up onto the counter and runs a hand through his hair. ‘I know you’re not.’ He looks at me seriously. ‘Thank you.’
‘Any time. I mean it.’
Will picks up a pen that’s lying by the toaster and starts twiddling it between his fingers. The gesture reminds me of Adam, and I look away.
‘You know what’s annoying?’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Now that you’re here, I really do want your advice.’ He glances at me hopefully, a lopsided smile on his face.
‘Tough shit.’ I grin.
‘Wow.’ He widens his eyes. ‘Where is Eve and what have you done with her?’
‘It’s taking every last drop of my resolve,’ I say. ‘Trust me.’
‘Hmm.’
I sit, biting my tongue. It’s hard. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ I say.
‘Good. Give it to me.’
‘Well, I promised myself that when I came here I’d just listen,’ I explain. ‘I’d give you the floor.’
‘I appreciate it.’
‘Yeah.’ I hesitate. ‘But also, I’ve got so much stuff in my head that I want to give you and I feel like I might not sleep if I don’t tell you what I think.’
Will laughs loudly. ‘ There she is.’
‘But,’ I hold up my hand, ‘I want you to take it or leave it. I don’t just want to... push it on you. So could you give me half an hour in your office?’
He narrows his eyes. ‘Sounds suspish.’
It’s my turn to laugh. ‘I promise I won’t mess with your work and get you sacked.’
‘I know it’s your specialist skill.’
I stick my finger up at him.
‘Go ahead.’ He nods towards the stairs.
In Will’s attic-cum-office, I sit at the desk. His laptop is open, and I start a new Word document and open the internet browser.
I do my research: support for new mothers, postnatal depression therapy groups, couples communication tips, workplace rules for those supporting someone with a mental illness. I write out the names and numbers and websites, listing them in order of helpfulness. It takes me almost forty-five minutes, but Will doesn’t interrupt me. When I’m done, I print what I’ve collected and fold the pages in half.
When I get back down to the kitchen, Will has put the kettle on.
‘Here you go.’ I hand him the paper.
He goes to open it, but I put my hand on his arm. ‘Not now. Save it for when you feel like you want my advice.’
He smiles at me. ‘I could just call you.’
‘I can’t leave this house without offloading.’ I shrug. ‘What’s your diagnosis for that?’
He shakes his head, laughing. ‘I don’t think the world has quite got words for you yet, mate.’
I take over the tea-making duties and Will goes through to the living room. I bring our cups through and sit next to him on the sofa.
‘I missed you,’ I say. ‘Like, a lot.’
‘I missed you, too,’ he says, and I can see that he means it.
* * *
It’s still morning, so I decide to walk home, moving slowly along the streets in the last remnants of the heatwave. People are milling everywhere; the upcoming weather forecast has reminded them that the sun isn’t to be taken for granted. It’ll disappear again soon enough.
I am filled with a strange sense of calm, like the feeling I get when I finish on the exercise bike and my heart rate slows as the endorphins kick in. I reflect on what I’ve gained and what I’ve lost. I feel like I’ve been recalibrated, like my vision has been adjusted. Jess and Will are what’s important. People are what’s important. Kirsty is heart-breaking collateral damage from my own inability to see that.
I pass by a pet shop window. Inside are rows of tiny collars, some with bells, some patterned, some plain. I step inside without thinking, drawn to one at the back of the display: a bright orange tweed band with tiny palm trees all over it.
Palmgroves.
I take it to the till and pay, my mind somewhere else. I reject a carrier bag, and step out onto the street with the collar threaded through my hands. I bend it between my fingers as I keep walking, my pace getting faster now. This is important. This is important.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.