The Book of Love Page 11

‘There are no rules.’ Dom was reaching across Lydia pouring from a bottle of Merlot.

  ‘Yes, there are, and that was against the spirit of the whole thing.’ Erin raised her palms skyward and looked at Nigel for confirmation ‘It’s where we write the things that are sometimes difficult to say and tearing it out afterwards, that’s just not on.’

  Nigel shook his head. ‘Don’t look at me. I’m still getting over the fact that you write to one another in a leather book.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Dom’s eyes seemed to narrow in her direction. ‘It’s something that until now, we’d kept between us.’

  Erin sighed. ‘Give me the page.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And pass me the wine.’ She frowned. ‘Don’t top up everyone else’s glass and not mine. Do not decide how much I should or shouldn’t drink. I manage my medication and alcohol intake perfectly without your passive control, thanks very much.’

  ‘Christ,’ Lydia said quietly. She was flattening the crease marks in her white linen trousers with her palms. ‘Give her the goddamned page, Dom.’

  ‘I was pissed when I wrote it. She’s not having the page so let’s talk about something else,’ Dom smiled.

  ‘Nah, we’re quite happy listening to your shit, aren’t we, Lyd?’ Nigel seemed to be enjoying himself.

  Erin watched him down half a glass of wine in one go before speaking.

  ‘We should have a book, Lyd,’ Nigel said. ‘Imagine all the angst we could have saved if we wrote stuff down instead of rowing about it.’

  Erin laughed. ‘Oh, no that’s wrong! We often row about it. Though to be fair, it usually leads to a face to face discussion. Like now. That’s sort of the point of it.’ She ate some crisps from a bowl, licked her fingers. ‘Give me the page, Dom.’

  He laughed. ‘You are not getting the page.’

  ‘We’d have filled a few books by now, Lyd.’ Nigel filled his own glass again. ‘Book one – all about Nigel’s “snoozing sperm”,’ he lowered his voice. ‘Book two, we’d fill with Lydia’s “lazy ovaries”. Book three we’d talk about the universe fucking with us by making us fall in love when we both want children and definitely can’t have them together.’

  ‘Nigel—’ Erin tried to interrupt.

  ‘Book four would be all about the decision to give up IVF as a bad investment and instead concentrate on our careers. My eventual head teacher role will be my baby – when I have responsibility for two thousand other people’s babies.’

  ‘We haven’t given up,’ Lydia whispered. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘And Lydia’s businesses,’ Nigel added, ‘they’re her babies. She has two already and is now expecting her third.’

  Erin looked to Dom for help but he was staring at the scorched grass by his feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told her friends. ‘I’ve suspected but …’ She took Lydia’s hand. ‘Why have you never told us?’

  Lydia’s teary face looked straight at her. ‘Tell my friend who’s lost a child how desperate I am to have one. Tell my friend who has beautiful twins how IVF has failed for us and make her feel as if she has to apologise for them. I don’t think so.’

  Erin felt Dom’s eyes on her too. ‘I’d like to have known. I’d like to have been there for you.’

  ‘You are here for me. Without knowing it, you’ve helped with the workload and general support when I’ve needed it.’

  ‘So,’ Erin leaned on an elbow, spoke through her fingers. ‘You weren’t really on several mini-breaks in Wales this year.’

  Lydia attempted a smile. ‘No. I either had my legs in stirrups having eggs harvested or my legs in stirrups having a few embryos put in – embryos which ultimately didn’t like the taste of my womb.’

  She had miscarried too …

  Erin had so many questions but found herself realising something as she noticed Dom’s absence from the conversation. ‘You knew all of this?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Nigel told him,’ Lydia added quickly. ‘And not with my approval – I didn’t want anyone knowing. I only ever intended telling people when I got pregnant. And Dad and Mum know nothing at all. I don’t want to give them anything else to worry about.’

  Erin closed her eyes. Sophie … Sophie had recently undergone memory tests and everyone, especially Dom, was still reeling from the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. Since the news he’d become expert at dodging any discussion about it.

  ‘You want another drink, ladies?’ He waved at a barman walking by, ordered himself a neat whisky. Erin and Lydia shook their heads in unison. Nigel jerked his head. ‘I’ll have one of those too,’ he said.

  ‘Is it why you’ve never married?’ Erin braved her next question and Nigel snorted.

  ‘I ask her to marry me once a week. She’s the one who sees no need.’

  ‘She’s right here,’ Lydia sighed.

  ‘Guys, guys … we all have something,’ Dom said. ‘Everyone has something we have to deal with. Us, you guys, even Hannah.’

  Erin shook her head in annoyance. ‘Hannah’s not here. We’re talking about Lydia and Nigel.’

  ‘I know, I’m merely adding that Hannah has a thing too.’

  ‘I’m not even sure what you mean.’ Erin stopped short of tutting aloud.

  Dom looked surprised. ‘She’s fallen in love with a man she can never have.’

  Erin took his wine glass and drained it, stood and walked around the other side of the table to where Lydia sat and wrapped her arms around her from behind. ‘I’m sorry. And if you felt you couldn’t tell me before, I’m glad I know now. I’ll try to be someone you can talk to.’

  ‘What about him?’ Dom asked, obviously still thinking that a change of subject was what was needed. ‘Walt. Do you think he’s in love with Hannah?’

  Erin felt a light kiss on her hand just before Lydia pulled away, nodding slowly. ‘He seems to be.’

  And Erin’s stomach sank deep. Fear for all of her friends suddenly flooded her system. Love; something she’d been raised to believe was the strongest force in the world, something she’d been lucky enough to give and receive, was the thing she now considered. Was love enough for Nigel and Lydia to survive or would a child’s love become more important? Would whatever love Hannah and Walt have for one another last?

  She looked at Dom, who had known all about this, casually stretching his long arms. She chomped on peanuts – chewed on her anger. It could wait.

  Does any love last forever?

  ‘Book five,’ Lydia raised her glass, ‘where we try IVF one more time, have a child and get married and live happily ever after.’

  Everyone raised a silent glass.

  ‘And Dom, give your wife the missing page.’

  They were lying in bed, the small portable television on, both watching the latest episode of 24. A fan working at full throttle rattled in the corner blasting much needed cold air on the sticky night. When the credits rolled, Dom switched the television and the bedroom light off.

  ‘I have no idea what’s going on in that programme anymore,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Me neither,’ Erin said, resting her head on his chest as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She wasn’t tired. ‘How do you think your mum was when you saw her earlier?’

  With his left hand, he played with her long hair, twirling the end of it between his fingers. ‘The same, a bit worse. She’s not going to get better; all we can hope is that we can slow progression.’

  ‘You think she knows what’s happening?’

  ‘Christ, I hope not.’ His tone closed the subject down.

  They lay silent a while before she spoke again. ‘I was thinking we should try and get to the coast this weekend. We could take your parents with us?’

  ‘Good plan.’

  His hand had stilled, his breathing had quietened.

  ‘I thought we’d pack a picnic, bring the kids’ bikes, head down to Brighton.’

  ‘Great idea.’

  ‘Though Gerard would have to drive too …’

  ‘Erin?’ h
e sighed. ‘Is this going to be a late-nighter? You going to want to stay awake talking about what to pack in the picnic, what the weather might be like, or can I go to sleep?’

  ‘I’m leading up to what I really want to say.’

  Dom groaned. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  ‘Why did you never tell me about Lydia and Nigel?’

  ‘This again?

  ‘I only asked you once when we got home last night. Once. And despite me being really upset, you waffled. That bothers me.’

  ‘Right.’ Dom pulled himself upright in the dark. ‘Do we need the light on for this?’

  ‘Preferably not, no.’ She wasn’t sure she wanted to see his face.

  ‘Nigel swore me to secrecy.’

  ‘And I’m your wife, we have no secrets.’

  Dom sighed. ‘So, if Lydia had told you and asked you not to tell me, you’d have told me.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think I would. Because I see us as different to any other relationship I have. If Lydia had told me something and asked me not to tell Hannah or your parents, of course, I’d have respected that. But you – I tell you everything.’

  ‘Well, we’re going to have to agree to disagree. I think if I’m sworn to secrecy then that’s what it should mean. I can’t believe you’re upset by my being loyal.’

  ‘Right.’ She lay down. ‘I think you’re wrong. I think you should have told me something so important going on in our friends’ lives if you knew.’

  ‘Come here … Come on.’ He pulled her back to him as he lowered himself on the bed and she lay on his chest, flattened his chest hair under her face.

  ‘You should have trusted me,’ she whispered.

  ‘Erin, Nigel trusted me.’

  She tugged the cotton sheet, turned on her side. ‘Go to sleep, Dom.’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  Wide awake, blinking slowly, she felt the soft touch of his lips on the nape of her neck.

  ‘Night,’ he said.

  Erin bit her own lip.

  ‘Night?’ he poked her gently in the side.

  Erin got out of bed and slipped a T-shirt over her head.

  ‘Don’t do that, please, don’t leave.’

  ‘I’m not tired.’

  ‘I have to be on site at six tomorrow, can we not do this?’

  She slipped her feet into her slippers. ‘I’m going to go and make some herbal tea. I’m going to read for a bit. Go to sleep, Dom, I’m just not tired.’

  Erin flinched as he thumped his pillow.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said as she left the bedroom.

  In the hallway, she opened the console table drawer and removed the book. In the kitchen she made some tea. In the living room, she sat, sipping it, staring down at the leather cover, wearing away at the edges. It was where she should write it all down, like she always had. It was where the toughest conversations between them usually began. It was where she should try to explain how she felt let down by the fact that he hadn’t told her about Lydia and Nigel – that they should share everything. It was where he’d been the last to write something and then for some reason changed his mind. She stared back at the bedroom door and stood up, the Book of Love slipping from her lap onto the sofa.

  In the bedroom, she switched the light on. ‘Dom, I’m sorry, love,’ she said, ‘sorry you have to be up early, but we need to talk and brace yourself. This could be a long one.’

  18. Erin

  THEN – October 2005

  ‘Have you used all the eggs?’ Erin yawned and scratched her head as she searched every shelf of the fridge.

  ‘Yup, sorry,’ Dom said. ‘Thought I’d double up, keep some of the mix for tomorrow morning. That way we get a Sunday lie-in for an extra ten minutes. Jude! Rachel! Pancakes!’

  Erin pinched one from a stack and got rapped on the back of the hand by a wooden spatula. ‘Wait! And sit and eat at the table with us!’

  ‘Too much to do.’ She lowered her voice in his direction. ‘Half term has me so behind. Are you sure you don’t mind having them all day? I promise when I get finished with work I’ll do some packing.’ Her head nodded towards a two-foot-high pile of flat-packed boxes.

  ‘Why don’t you just take some time out? Go out with the girls. Have a bath? You and I can start on the packing tonight. We have at least another fortnight before exchange.’

  ‘Nope, I’m looking forward to the time on my own! And a bath is already in the plan.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘So, you two – what have you got happening with your dad?’

  Jude rolled his eyes. ‘We have to go and see Granny and Grandad.’

  ‘Well, that’s a nice thing to do for them. You know how Grandad and especially Granny loves to see you.’ Erin watched Dom study the ingredients on a bottle of maple syrup.

  ‘After that we’re going to McDonald’s for lunch,’ Rachel added.

  ‘And then the cinema to see, what’s it called again?’ Dom asked.

  ‘Nanny McPhee,’ Rachel said with a mouthful of pancake. ‘And tomorrow’s trick or treat!’

  ‘No, that’s Monday.’ Erin corrected. She needed at least another two days to think about creating witch and Superman costumes from scraps.

  ‘I told them I’ll carve the pumpkin tomorrow.’

  Erin nodded. That was tomorrow. Today she had at least three hours of paperwork to catch up on. After that, she was, she decided, going to start the packing in their bedroom – the kitchen was too daunting to begin alone. She would pack away summer clothes, take the opportunity to recycle old stuff and make a pile for the charity shop. She would go through that jewellery drawer of hers, most of which was cheap crap. She would run a bath with bubbles and soak in it without Rachel begging to come in too. She would put on her fluffy robe and slippers and watch that DVD of the second Bridget Jones movie.

  Two hours later she was dressed, sat at the same kitchen table with a pile of work and the flat was quiet but for the constant tapping of her fingertips on the laptop. Her Nokia pinged a text from Dom:

  You’ve done enough work. Go have that bath! X

  She smiled, looked at the time and closed the manila file she was working on. The rest could wait. There were packing boxes to be made.

  She had filled three with summer clothes. Trying to eat a sandwich and assemble another cardboard crate, she sang along to the Sugababes’s ‘Push the Button’ on the radio as she opened the drawer of her dressing table. Green beads. Red beads. Cheap beads. Some expensive pearls of her mother’s. She pulled them all onto her lap and began to unravel them. As she did, she allowed herself to think of their house, the house, all being well, that they’d move into in another six weeks. Two streets away, it was a modest semi, built in the sixties – totally charmless – but it had space and potential and they needed space and potential more than period features. It was another stepping stone to what Dom called their final home, whenever and wherever that might be.

  She rummaged through the back of the drawer and pulled out an old purse of hers, and an ancient wallet of Dom’s. Her fingers poked inside to see if the tiny passport photos of them both, that he’d kept in there, had been left behind. She tugged on some paper – frayed and pink, almost falling apart. She flattened it, smoothed the torn creases as best she could, rested it on top of the dressing table.

  Two passport photos remained, one of Dom and her and one of the two of them and Maisie. She picked up the one of the three of them, all smiling, all happy, all oblivious. With her fingernail she followed the tiniest trace of the baby’s mouth. Though she thought of her child often, she realised that the passing of time had meant the days that she didn’t now passed without guilt or recrimination. She looked around the room at the boxes of their lives. Leaving the flat meant leaving the place where Maisie had lived and died. Erin placed a hand on the dresser in front of her, steadied herself. She was leaving a place but taking the memories, most of them good. Her fingers touched the pink paper and she glanced at the eight rectangles made by the folds. Tilting her head, s
he read handwriting she didn’t recognise, before picking it up to check.

  The entry was dated. It was timed. A date and time branded on her brain.

  It couldn’t be.

  Churning nausea sent her hand to her mouth.

  It was.

  She stood. As her heartbeat quickened, coloured beads fell to the floor in slow motion. From somewhere, her mother’s voice nudged her as she watched the pearls land on the carpet. Pearls can mean tears. For a second Erin wondered where the silly myth had come from before she put her hand to her chest and tapped her heart. White spots appeared before her eyes as she tried her best to hold down the horror that threatened to block her throat.

  He had lied.

  Later, when any of their friends would ask, she would say it was that moment. Up until then, until that split second, as possibilities of mistakes whirled around her head, she’d not been sure. Then – certainty – under her open eyes, the second top row rectangle, just there, in her direct eyeline.

  Erin willed it to be gone, then bending over at the waist, cried like a wounded animal.

  In the kitchen the next morning, she opened the fridge, heard him approach from behind. She removed the jug of pancake batter, placed it on the countertop between the hob and the sink next to the uncarved pumpkin.

  His eyes, she could see with the quickest of glances, were heavy and bloated – his clothes wrinkled from a night on the sofa.

  ‘I want you gone before the children wake.’

  ‘Erin—’

  She placed the jug in the sink and lifted the washing up liquid bottle, squeezed it over his batter. ‘Do you hear me? Leave.’ She refused to cry anymore. ‘Don’t make me ask you again.’

  30th October 2005

  To my most beautiful wife, Erin,

  I am completely ashamed of myself. That’s the first thing you need to know, and this is the place for honesty, isn’t it? I did try to tell you once before, but then ripped that page of honesty out, decided I preferred living with you and my lies rather than without you. I knew. I knew what this would do.

  After last night, I have no option but to be honest so here, in true ‘pages’ fashion, is the whole, uncensored truth: