Page 60 of Close to You
‘How long are you home for?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure. There’s a fair out Bristol way in a couple of weeks – but that should be down and back in a day. You can come if you want…?’
He knows I won’t, but that isn’t the point.
‘I’ll see what I have on,’ I reply, which is a not very subtle code for ‘no’.
We continue along the path, which is gradually starting to fill with more and more walkers. There are some in flip-flops and shorts; others with hiking poles, backpacks and enormous water bottles, as if they’re on their way up Everest. The route takes us in a full loop until we arrive back at the car park. It’s just off a country lane, half a mile down the road from the rugby club. There’s a barrier that was installed after an outcry in the local paper because of apparent doggers during the summer nights – though it never seems to be down.
The day is getting warmer and it doesn’t feel as if either of us is ready to head back to the flat yet. It’s taken us a while to find this groove, but perhaps morning walks on a sunny summer’s day is what married life is supposed to be.
Without needing to discuss it, we stroll along one of the other paths that quickly leads to a bridge that crosses the lake. There are signs warning of ‘deep water’ and I remember kids at school saying there was a shark in here. That was before we knew how ridiculous it sounded. I thinkJawshad recently been on TV, which got everyone’s imaginations racing.
There are waterlilies dotted around the edge of the lake, though many are massed on the soil verge. The water is low and there are footprints around the slope down from the bridge, where kids have gone wading. A family of two-point-four children are crossing the other way, with the father holding onto the youngest son’s shirt to stop him charging ahead. There are more nods and smiles. The countryside code, I suppose.
It’s after they’ve passed that David stops and half turns, resting his forearms on the rail of the bridge and peering down to the water below. I swing around until I’m at his side, elbow to elbow.
‘Yasmine’s pregnant,’ David says.
It’s the first time I’ve heard her name since the wedding two months ago.
He pauses and then adds: ‘I was wondering…’
David doesn’t finish the sentence because there’s no point. In everything that’s happened between us, we’ve never properly had this conversation. We each said that we’d like kids one day – but it was vague and undefined. There was never a timetable; never a plan.
‘We’re both self-employed,’ I say. ‘I’d have to put my career on hold. I don’t think we can afford that.’
It’s a practical reply to a question from the heart.
‘I think I might be running out of time…’
I fix on a point on the furthest side of the lake, where a deer has appeared from the trees. It stoops and laps at the water and there’s a beautiful serenity to the moment.
Sometimes I forget that David’s a decade older than me. I wonder if I can do this for us.
For him.
‘You’d have time afterwards,’ he says.
‘Time for what?’
‘To still have a career.’
I don’t reply, though he’s probably right. I’m young enough to get my body back after a birth and then, with the free time he has, perhaps he can take on the role of day-to-day carer? Perhaps that’s what he wants? Perhaps it’s what I want?
‘Maybe…’ I say. ‘But what about money?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your work is so unpredictable.’
Since marrying, we have a joint account, into which we both pay a certain amount each month. We still have our separate accounts, though I have no idea how much David has squirrelled away – if it’s anything at all. He’s never asked about my accounts, either – although I want the flat to remain in my name. I want it to bemine.
‘We can figure it out,’ he says. ‘I think we’re ready to be parents.’
‘We’d need something bigger than my flat.’
‘That’s the other thing – perhaps we can look for a house…? Something with three bedrooms – or four?’
