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28. SUMMER 2013

Catherine had run after Robert, hoping he would stop. She ran out into the middle of the road and stood there in her dressing gown, watching until the lights of his car disappeared round the corner. She stayed out there for some time, waiting for him to reappear — sure that he would change his mind and drive home again. But he didn’t.

She stayed up all night, hoping that he would at least phone her, but he didn’t do that either. She phoned him, leaving messages, but he ignored them all. She tried to imagine where he was, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine his location, but she could picture him reading the book — imagining which part he was reading and how it would make him feel and a fury swelled up inside her at the violence of this attack. She couldn’t go to bed, she couldn’t even sit down. She couldn’t keep still, her body twitching. She paced up and down, boiling the kettle, making tea, swilling it down, then making more, waiting for him. She wanted to make him understand why she hadn’t told him. It wasn’t for her, it was for them. For Robert, but mainly for Nick. Her silence had been to protect their son and Jonathan’s death had sealed it. There had been no need for anyone else to suffer. But Robert hadn’t come home.

It is light now and she is exhausted. Her limbs are heavy, weighted down like ballast, as if all the tea she has consumed has found its way into them, filling them up and making them heavy. She is a squishy, puffy, soggy thing. When she moves she can hear the liquid moving around inside her. Her head is awash too, buffeted by images she can’t control and memories which have washed up and won’t go away.

She wants to close her eyes and never open them again. Not to die, but just to sleep for a very long time. She drags herself upstairs, lies on the bed, and shuts her eyes. It is almost a relief that Robert knows now, about the death anyway. He has a right to know that much at least. She should have told him before. She should have told him everything before but now she is too tired to think. It is lack of sleep, but it is shock too: the shock of Robert’s anger and his hatred towards her. She had not expected that and it frightens her to think of it, so she embraces the shock and allows it to numb her and close her down. It is not unpleasant to feel nothing and she will make the most of it while it lasts.

She is in a deep sleep when her phone rings. She grabs it, her eyes still shut, dragging herself back to now.

“Hello?” She opens her eyes to check the number. No number, just the word “call.” And no voice either, at the other end.

“Hello?” She tries again and waits, and listens. They listen to each other, neither saying a word: he doesn’t need to, she knows who he is. He is waiting for her. He doesn’t say it, but she can feel it.