When I Lost You: A Gripping, Heart Breaking Novel of Lost Love. (14 page)

‘What the hell?’

‘It’s a gas mask.’

‘I know what it is. Why do you need it?’

‘It’s just a precaution.’ I opted not to explain to her why I now carried it with me religiously after a close encounter during my first military embed in Iraq, when the patrol I was travelling with had stumbled upon a cache of shells laced with sarin.

Molly shifted forward on the bed and gingerly flicked through the items in my case.

‘Leo, there are four outfits in here and the rest is protective gear.’

‘In the field I don’t really change clothes much… It’s a war zone – no one is going to notice or care.’

Molly looked from the suitcase to the first-aid kit I was now nursing in my elbow and burst into tears. I had never seen her cry before, not even when we talked about Declan. I sank onto the bed beside her and rubbed her back.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said slowly. ‘How can any of this be a surprise to you? You run a media business.’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just didn’t let myself think about it.’

‘Look, you knew my job was dangerous.’

‘Of course I did,’ she said, raising her chin. ‘That doesn’t mean I have to like it.’

We slept at her house that night, and we didn’t say goodbye. Instead, we made love and fell asleep in each other’s arms, and then I rose in the middle of the night to go to the airport.

As the plane left the runway at 6 a.m. that morning, I looked out of the window at the city below, and for the first time in my life I wished I didn’t have to go.

I
’m
on my way to pick up Leo for our outing later that week when my phone rings. I look down at the caller ID and consider ignoring it, but at the very last second I pick up the call.

‘Molly, this is Melissa from Dr Walton’s rooms. I realise your husband has been ill, but you’ve missed two appointments now. Are you still requiring Dr Walton’s care?’

‘Yes – yes, I am – I just… It’s been so busy. We’ve been overseas and I’m still trying to get back on top of things here. Maybe the week after next?’

I hear shuffling papers at the other end of the line.

‘Are you sure you should leave it that long? You haven’t had any of the tests Dr Walton ordered, and it’s been five weeks since your last check-up.’

It has been necessary for me to compartmentalise my life lately, just to stay on top of things. The challenges in
this
particular compartment are just going to have to wait a few more weeks.

‘No, I really can’t spare the time until then. It has to wait.’

When I hang up, I don’t put the appointment in my calendar, which I know means I’ll probably forget it.

W
e have
to enter the terrace from the alleyway behind to avoid the cement steps leading to the front door. As I unlock the back gate, I hear the sound of paws on the paving stones in the courtyard next door. I grin to myself as I swing the gate open, and Lucien leaps through the opening in the fence from Mrs Wilkins’ yard and makes a beeline for Leo. He’s running so fast that his paws skid, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen his tail wag so hard.

Leo doesn’t say anything at all, even as Lucien leaps onto his lap and licks his face, which would normally earn a stern word or two. Lucien is so excited that he cannot sit still. After a minute or two, he settles enough to accept a pat and Leo rubs the dog’s back and his ears. He leans low so that their heads are close and I hear the surprisingly strained voice of my husband as he murmurs, ‘It’s good to see you too, buddy.’

And then Lucien loses his mind again, leaping off Leo’s lap to jump up against my thighs and then run around in circles in the tiny courtyard space, chasing his tail. Leo laughs quietly for a moment, and then glancing at me, says incredulously, ‘After everything you’ve been through in the last few weeks, it’s the sight of me holding the dog that makes you cry?’

‘I’ve cried plenty,’ I mutter, and wipe the tears away with the back of my hands. There’s another sound from the courtyard next door and then we hear Mrs Wilkins calling.

‘Leo? Leo, is that you?’

Mrs Wilkins’ cane appears through the gap in the fence, quickly followed by the rest of her. She clutches her spare hand to her chest in delight at the sight of Leo in our courtyard and makes a sprightly shuffle towards us.

‘Hi there, Mrs Wilkins.’

‘Welcome home, Leo! Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right. You gave us such a scare.’

‘I think I gave myself a scare this time too,’ Leo says, and Mrs Wilkins bends to kiss his cheek.

‘I didn’t know you were coming home today. I would have cooked for you.’

‘It’s just a visit,’ I tell her quietly. ‘I’ll let you know when his real homecoming is so you can bake him a feast.’

Mrs Wilkins smiles at me. ‘Come, Lucien! Let’s give these two some privacy.’

Lucien is still chasing his tail and panting now as if he’s going to collapse, but as soon as Mrs Wilkins indicates that he should follow her, he shoots one last look towards Leo and disappears with her through the fence. I walk to the back door and unlock it, and I wait for Leo to comment on the extensions.

‘Molly,’ Leo says suddenly, and cautiously. ‘Where is my motorbike?’

‘You sold it.’

‘Why would I sell
it?’

‘Because your beautiful new wife wanted to extend the kitchen. And that meant there was nowhere to store it.’

‘Oh.’ I hear the disappointment in his voice.

‘It was
your
idea, you know,’ I said, frowning at him.

‘I hope you realise how much I loved that bike.’

‘Apparently you loved me more.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ he mutters, and when I gasp at him, he laughs at me and raises his palms in mock surrender. ‘I’m kidding. I obviously do.’

‘Well, you
did
sell it voluntarily… but I could see you missed it, and then you loved me even more when I bought you a new bike for our first wedding anniversary. We keep it at a storage facility over in Surry Hills.’

‘What kind of bike is it?’

I pause and concentrate, trying to remember. ‘I think it’s a Ducati – maybe a pan – panimari? Something like that.’

‘A
panigale
?’

‘Probably.’

‘You’re right. I do love you even more now.’

‘That’s all it takes?’

‘Yep,’ Leo laughs, but quickly sobers and I wonder if he’s thinking about whether he’ll ever be able to ride it again. I force myself not to think about that. He and I rarely rode together, but every time we did, it was amazingly freeing. I loved trusting him like that, holding on and closing my eyes and letting the world fly past us.

I felt invincible on the back of Leo’s bike, because he seemed invincible. On some level, I still can’t quite believe that he is actually stuck in that wheelchair at all.

‘Come inside,’ I say as I swing the door open. I’ve already been through the ground floor with a tape measure, so I know his wheelchair is going to fit. Leo moves inside and I carefully step around him and flick the coffee machine on. When I turn back, his gaze is sweeping over the entirely new kitchen.

It was a difficult project – it took months to design and then even longer to complete. I was proud of the end result and the modern country look we’d achieved, with marbled bench tops and beautiful French doors on the cupboards. I was fairly sure Leo agreed at the time, but staring at him now, I’m starting to wonder if that was the case at all. I can see the tension in his upper body – the muscles of his shoulders are locked tense and there’s a vein pulsing in his neck.

‘You know, when we did this renovation, you told me you were cool with it,’ I frown at him. He tears his gaze from the kitchen to me.

‘I don’t care about the kitchen. I’m trying to understand what you just told me about the motorbike.’

‘I told you, we needed the space––’

‘You misunderstand me. You bought me a motorbike – the bike I’d been dreaming of for years, apparently – for our first anniversary. And I wasn’t even
here
for it?’

‘No,’ I said, and I turned away from him to the coffee machine again.

‘Were you furious about that, Molly?’

‘I wasn’t the first year.’ I really hadn’t been – I had been sad, of course, but I wasn’t angry – I knew there was a good reason as to why he wasn’t there. It was only when he missed our second anniversary that it finally occurred to me that what had seemed like a one-off was actually going to be the standard.

‘And the second year? What was that like?’

I don’t answer him.

‘Molly, for God’s sake!’ He’s frustrated enough to raise his voice and I turn back to him and frown. ‘Don’t you understand how frustrating it is when you drip feed me information like that? What happened on the
second
year?’

‘You didn’t come home. You didn’t call. You didn’t even email me,’ I snap at him, and Leo stares at me in disbelief.

‘What? No, I wouldn’t have done that.’

‘That’s exactly what you did. So forgive me if I don’t really want to reminisce about that day with you.’

‘Did you… Did you remind me?’ he asks. He sounds uncertain, and it strikes me how infrequently I have heard Leo use such a tone. I shake my head at him. ‘Maybe I just forgot?’

‘You did. You were busy in Syria – it just slipped your mind.’

We’d had a number of icy phone calls in the days that followed, with Leo apparently bewildered as to why I was so furious with him. I know it was stupid and passive aggressive and immature, but I didn’t ever remind him. Something must have jogged his memory a few days later because he sent flowers. I was so livid I threw them straight into the bin.

I open the fridge to take out the milk and automatically begin to make us each a coffee. Leo is still behind me, and after a minute or two, I glance back at him.

‘What else have I missed, Molly?’ he asks.

Everything
.
Every other damned time I needed you. I gave up my family for you, and you’re never here for me.
‘A lot.’ I slam the fridge door closed and the sound echoes throughout the apartment. ‘It’s not fair to talk about it with you when you don’t even remember it, plus we’re just going to argue about it and I can’t do that right now. So can you please just drop it. When your memory is back, if you want to talk about how I feel about your travel, I’ll talk to you all day and night until you’re satisfied but for now –
please
– can we just make this topic off limits? I can’t see how any of this is going to help you get your memory back.’

Leo falls silent, and I make the coffees and then carry them through the dining room and into the lounge. I set the cups on the low coffee table and then push the sofa out of the way so Leo will be able to reach his cup. He comes through behind me, and I watch as he pauses at the wall of photos I’ve hung beside the new dining room table. Silently he surveys the twelve large images, his eyes scanning the neat rows of identical black frames. There’s a canid shot that I took at the beach of Teresa and Paul and the boys, and there’s also a photo of Brad and Penny and their kids. Then there’s a photo of Anne and Andrew on our wedding day, and finally one I took of Lucien with Santa Claus at a charity day at his vet clinic one Christmas. But the rest are all of Leo and me together. I watch Leo’s face as he scans them, but his expression remains neutral. I think about the portrait of a marriage I have painted through those photos. We are smiling in every single one; we are embracing in most of them.

They are all from when we were dating, or our first year of marriage. I think about the rest of the room, and the endless arguments we have had here, and the countless times when I have been alone in this space and acutely aware of Leo’s absence. I have spent more time alone here now than I have had moments with Leo anywhere: the wall of photos is a lie.

He touches the new dining room table and he smiles a little to himself when he sees the silk irises in a vase, then moves on to the living space where I am waiting. There are new couches here – a plain beige upholstered set that I’ve brightened up with some bold pillows.

I had desperately wanted to stay in my beautiful apartment on the harbour, but Leo was determined not to move from this terrace. Gradually I came to understand that it was important enough to him that I should be the one to compromise and I was happy to do so, if it meant he would be more comfortable.

And so instead of shifting Leo into my world, I moved here, into his world – and then we set about turning
his
space into
our
space. By painting and replacing the furniture, we have gradually turned Leo’s somewhat dark bachelor pad into a beautiful, fresh space where I can feel at home too. But Leo does not remember all of the careful negotiation that went into making this new look happen, and I am suddenly nervous. He is looking around, taking it all in, but he’s guarding his reaction so closely that I know he’s not pleased.

‘I promise, Leo. You really were on-board with all of this,’ I tell him. ‘There’s no change here that you didn’t approve.’

‘
Approve
?’ he repeats, then he laughs. ‘From what I remember of you, I’m finding it hard to imagine that you’re a well-behaved, submissive wife.’

I laugh too. ‘But I mean – we worked on all of this together. You even helped me pick the shade of white on the walls.’

‘There are shades of white?’

‘There are actually hundreds of whites to choose from when it comes to painting. It was kind of fun – you picked your favourite five and I picked mine, and then the next weekend we painted patches of them onto the walls and finally we agreed on this one. I think this was called something like “True White”.’

‘So you’re telling me we spent several weeks trying to decide on a white, and in the end we went with white?’

‘When you put it like that…’

‘Did I
tell
you I was having fun? Because, I hate to break it to you, I was probably lying if I did. That sounds like my worst nightmare.’

Leo speaks absent-mindedly and I know he’s only making one of those wry jokes that he throws out all of the time and he doesn’t mean anything by what he has said – but even the idea that he might not have enjoyed those weekends has shocked me.

I am stunned to realise that the
only
part of the entire renovation that he’d actively participated in was the paint selection, and if my memory serves me correctly, we were actually part way painting those samples onto the wall when we had a minor squabble about the spacing between them. Leo painted a streak of paint onto my cheek, and when I squealed in protest, he rubbed his face all over mine – inadvertently getting paint all through his beard. I remember that playful encounter ended with us making love on the drop sheet. But now that I really think about it, I can’t remember if Leo actually helped make the final decision at all.

‘Don’t you like the house like this, Leo?’ I ask him suddenly.

‘I don’t
not
like it,’ he says, unhelpfully. ‘I mean – it’s beautiful. I’m sure I told you how hard I had to save for this place, and when I moved in here, I felt like I’d
made it
. Although, looking at what you’ve done with it now, I realise it was a pretty dingy sort of shoebox back then. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll get used to it again, it just doesn’t feel like my home anymore. Not yet, anyway.’

God!
What if he’d always felt like that? I thought I was the hero of our relationship when we negotiated our living arrangements. I thought
I
had done all of the compromising – all of the peacekeeping. For the first time ever, I wonder if what I actually did was agree to the geography, then force my home onto him anyway.