Page 77 of The Moment I Met You
‘Again, again!’ they shout, quite obviously playing a favourite game here.
‘No, I need a break,’ he says, kissing each one on the forehead and gently lifting them down to the floor. ‘You’ve worn me out, demon spawn.’
There are a few moments of pouting and attempts at persuasion, but eventually they give up and start running around the garden instead. I am fascinated by them, as I always am with small children – the sheer energy, the way they can switch moods so quickly, their amazing capacity to be happy and thrilled with the most mundane of things.
They are adorable as well, these two – both boys, I remember, though it’s hard to tell under all their layers. Blonde hair, chubby faces, cherubs in duffel coats.
They run, and they shout, and eventually, one of them sees me.
‘Mummy!’ he shouts, pointing in my direction. ‘There’s a strange lady looking into our garden!’
Harry looks over, sees me lurking there. I meet his gaze, see the shock in his eyes, the colour drain from his skin. The smile freeze on his lips.
Chapter 29
I arrive home before him, having driven uncharacteristically fast for the whole journey. Almost as though I couldn’t even bear for his car to be close to mine.
After I was spotted by the bobble-hatted child, Harry and Alison stared at me in horror. I stared back with even more, utterly humiliated.
‘Sorry!’ I said, smiling so as not to scare the twins. ‘Just being silly! Harry, can you please follow me home?’
I quickly texted Olivia and told her to stay out for a bit, and headed back. Now, I am here, in this clean, clear, pristine environment of ours, waiting for him to return. I have got myself a glass of wine, and I’ve got him a glass of the home-brewed cider one of his clients gave him as a gift.
I look around at the bungalow, at this house that has never really felt like my home.
I see all the indications of a good life. A happy life. Walls that bear framed pictures from our wedding day. Mementoes from birthdays. There is food in the kitchen, clothes in our wardrobes, a car in the driveway. There are bookshelves, there are coats on hooks, there are toothbrushes sitting together in the bathroom. It is a good house, near the sea.
To the outside observer, it would appear as though we had everything – and yet I realise that I could happily walk out of this building and never come back. That I could wave goodbye to the years I have spent here, and move on.
The bigger question is whether I could leave Harry and never come back.
As I sit and wait, part of me wonders if he will even come straight home, or if he will avoid me until I ‘calm down’. It would be a classic Harry move, now I think about it, to come up with an excuse to duck the upcoming confrontation and see if the stormy waters will still.
If he does that, I decide, I will track him down and roll him off a cliff. I will take making a fuss to a whole new level.
I am saved from my fate as a murderer by the sound of him arriving. The door opens and I hear him taking his coat off before he comes through, wheeling his chair towards me at the kitchen table. His hair is ruffled, and his cheeks are pink from the cold.
He takes one look at me, one look at the glass I pass to him, and says, ‘Is that the cider home-brew?’
‘Yes.’
‘I hate the cider home-brew.’
‘I know.’
He nods, accepting this act of petty revenge, and takes a deep breath.
‘Elena, I don’t know what you think you saw back there, what you think is going on, but—’
‘That’s not what I want to talk about,’ I say, interrupting him. ‘Not yet, at least. I wanted to talk to you about that night, in Santa Maria. I wanted to talk to you about what you remember.’
‘You know the answer to that,’ he says, frowning. ‘I don’t remember much at all.’
‘But you remembered not buying the ring?’
‘It’s … complicated. I remember bits and pieces.’
‘Do you remember this bit?’ I ask, laying the photos down on the table. ‘Or this piece?’
