Page 44 of Before You Say Goodbye

“I hate the narrative that goes with it.” She almost spat the words. “It’s so frustrating. Women arenotthese delicate little flowers, you know? But almost half of the human population of the planet could kill us any time they wanted to if the mood took them. That must be a really difficult position to put yourself in, as a man. I think it’s something that most women subconsciously recognise but don’t really think about until something happens to them. Something like what happened this morning.”

He reached sheepishly for her hand. She let him hold it gently in his.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are, Bowie.”

He took a sip of his coffee, his pancakes virtually untouched. He looked sad in a way she hadn’t seen him before.

“I know it was a mistake. I don’t think you’d ever hit me. You just surprised me and I reacted.”

“I surprised myself, too. It’s just . . .” He hesitated.

“Go on.”

“No. It’ll sound like I’m making excuses and there really are none. I shouldn’t have done it; it’s as simple as that.”

She was glad to hear him acknowledge that his sudden impotence and the way he’d reacted in the shower were two entirely separate problems. She knew why he’d done what he did — he was overwhelmingly frustrated and afraid of letting her down — but that didn’t excuse it. She understood — sex had always been their thing. Even when Bowie had been feeling unwell, they’d always found ways to be intimate with each other. It was inevitable this would challenge his sense of who he was and the way their relationship worked, and — although it was not unexpected — it was premature. Neither of them had counted on it happening while he was still as physically capable as he seemed to be at the moment. It made her wonder.

“Can we talk about your penis now?” she asked.

He laughed, spitting out coffee into his saucer. She smiled.

“Sure,” he said. “Why the hell not.”

“Do you think it could be related to your medication?”

A person in Bowie’s condition would ordinarily be in the early stages of a palliative care plan, but Bowie had made it clear he didn’t want any of that. Easily embarrassed and frustratingly private, he’d checked his family were happy to nurse him until he succumbed, then rejected his GP’s offer to arrange for community nurses to come to the house and help him manage his pain. He had a professional carer at home in the form of hissister. Maddie could look after him just as well as anyone else. His GP had reluctantly agreed to honour his wishes, prescribing him a cocktail of drugs to ingest every day to help him manage his symptoms.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Is there anything on your mind?”

“No.” He shook his head. She had no real reason not to believe him. She felt sure he knew that he could talk to her about literally anything. Still, something had been bothering her since the day before — their day at the theatre — and she felt she needed to ask him about it.

“This isn’t because of Clara, is it?”

She knew he’d been surprised, and he was. His head snapped up at the mention of her name. Autumn’s heart sank. Her gut rarely lied to her when it came to reading people, but she realised she’d been hoping her suspicions about the two of them would be wrong.

“You have had sex with her, haven’t you?” she asked his questioning expression. He took his hand from hers and rubbed it across his face.

“How on earth did you work that out?” he asked.

“Female intuition. She avoided me at all costs and then became my very best friend, all in one afternoon. Women tend not to do that unless they’ve slept withyour boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you.”

“I don’t care if you’ve slept with half of London,” she said, mimicking the words he’d said back in New York. “I only care that you’re happy and about the way you treat me.”

“Nice circle back.” He smiled. “You should be a writer.”

“So, if it’s not her, whatisgoing on, then?” she asked again.

“It isn’t anything to do with her. I really hope you’ll believe me. We were together for a little while, three or four years ago, then Marley wanted to move to New York and I wanted togo with him. She wanted to stay here and I didn’t ask her to come anyway. She’s nice, we got on well, but she wasn’t what I was looking for. I think she felt the same about me. Clara is great. I can only assume she avoided you to begin with because she didn’t know how to handle the situation, then acted like your best friend because she wanted to make up for her weird behaviour.”

Autumn could tell Bowie was being honest. She hated the fact she’d felt the need to ask him about it, but she felt better for hearing his answer. She’d lain awake for hours pondering Bowie’s sudden inability to perform and arrived at the conclusion Clara must have something to do with it in the very depths of the night, when thinking rationally was always most challenging. Now, she felt a sudden urge to spill her darkest fears to him.

“I believe you, Bowie. Can I ask you something else?”

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