Chapter 4 #2
Relief fills Connor’s stubbled face, and his features soften. I hadn’t realised until then how much tension he’s been carrying since we left his house.
“Okay. Where do you want to start then?”
“Let’s start with clothes, then we can move on to other rooms if we have time after?”
We grab a few boxes from the garage and make our way upstairs, Connor in silence and me humming a random song I heard on the radio on the drive over.
We spend the next half hour emptying my wardrobe and drawers.
The more clothes I pack, the louder my humming becomes as I desperately try to block out the negativity of my own thoughts.
Finally, all of my clothes have been packed, including, much to Connor’s feigned disappointment, my pyjamas.
I move on to the bathroom while Connor packs any odds and ends I’ve missed.
“Tilly?” Connor calls down the corridor. “Do you want this fluffy bunny toy? ’Cause if you don’t, I’ll take it. This thing’s fucking soft!”
“Erm, that’s not actually mine,” I answer as I throw my pathetic amount of toiletries in a bag and start back towards the bedroom.
“Don’t tell me it’s Rhys’s? I just rubbed it on my face!”
Connor’s mortified expression pulls a soft laugh from me as I walk through the doorway.
“Why the hell did you rub it on your face anyway?”
“I told you – it’s fucking soft.”
For a second, Connor seems to consider rubbing it on his face again, regardless of who it might belong to, but I speak before he has the chance.
“It’s the baby’s.”
Connor’s eyes widen and shoot to mine in confusion and surprise.
“What baby?” he asks quietly.
“Rhys and I are, were, trying. Rhys bought that when we first decided we were ready to start a family. Actually, he asked me to go and choose one for him, but the sentiment is the same, right? Baby’s first toy from their daddy. It’s been sitting on that cupboard gathering dust ever since.”
A strangled silence passes between us while Connor tries to think of something to say to break the tension and I mentally beat myself up for making him uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. You can just leave it where it is. That was bought for my baby with Rhys and, obviously, that’s not going to happen now.”
Connor nods, eyes still on me, and places the toy softly on the cupboard.
Trying to avoid his penetrating gaze, I pick up the closest thing to me and throw it into a box, not knowing or caring what it is or who it belongs to.
We pack in silence after that, letting the weight of what’s been left unsaid press down on the dusty boxes.
After several torturously awkward minutes, we’re done upstairs, and I decide the best way to move forward, or at least the easiest, is to pretend the baby conversation never happened.
“Want a coffee before we start on the downstairs stuff?” I say, still not looking in his direction.
“Sure, lead the way.”
We each carry a box downstairs and leave it in the hall on our way to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and take two mugs out of the dishwasher without realising they’re still dirty. I put them back and take two from the cupboard instead.
“How do you have it?” I ask, turning around.
Connor is sitting at the contaminated end of the table, exactly where Olivia had been pressed against it, yesterday.
Saliva fills my mouth as my stomach turns.
I barely make it to the kitchen sink before I vomit violently.
Once the retching calms, I instinctively move to brush the hair away from my face, but I find it’s already being gently held behind my head.
Instead, I wipe the tears away from my eyes and realise I’ve vomited all over Rhys’s favourite rugby mug. What a shame.
Connor releases my hair, and I get myself a glass of water to rinse my mouth, then rinse away the vomit. Ordinarily I’d have bleached the whole kitchen after something like this, but I can’t find it in myself to care enough to clean up with more than a courtesy rinse.
“You okay?”
Connor finishes making the drinks as I lean against the counter.
“Yes.” I take the mug he offers me between my two hands, letting it warm me. “You were just sitting where it happened, and it threw me.”
“Where what happened?” Connor’s tone is calm, but his eyes are downright murderous. “Talk to me, Tilly.”
“I found out yesterday that Rhys has been cheating on me with women he picks up at the gym. I found him with one of them right there at the table.” I decide to forgo the added detail of it being all my fault.
I’ll save that little pain-nugget for another time.
“They were fucking on the table Rhys’s parents bought us as a wedding present. ”
Unfortunately – or fortunately; I’m not entirely sure which yet – Connor seems to know what’s running through my mind.
“It’s not your fault,” he says with such confidence I almost believe him. Almost. “He fucked up, not you. He ruined this, not you. You shouldn’t give him another thought.”
“That’s easier said than done. We’ve been together for seven years. We’re married,” I reason, making the muscle in Connor’s jaw twitch.
“For now. You’re married for now.” He sets his coffee cup on the counter and disappears in the direction of the garage.
Assuming he’s just going for more boxes, ready to pack the rest of my belongings, I take a minute to calm myself and enjoy my coffee.
What I do not expect is Connor walking back into the kitchen with two hammers and a mischievous look on his face.
He takes my mug and puts it next to his own and hands me a hammer.
Putting his hand on the small of my back, he leads me to the kitchen table and asks, “Do you want the first hit?”
Yes, I abso-fucking-lutely do.
A sly grin creeps across my face as I take the hammer from Connor, step forward and swing.