Page 23 of The Lie
Romy stretched and yawned. ‘God, I’m so tired,’ she said.
‘Shall I drive you home? Or you could stay here … No pressure,’ he added, not wanting her to think he was expecting sex, or taking advantage of her when she was so upset.
She seemed to be considering his offers. Then she met his gaze. ‘Would you mind if I stayed? Don’t think I’ve even got the energy to make it home.’
Romy fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. A person sleeping is so vulnerable that Finch almost felt guilty as he watched her. He had watched Nell sleeping when she was very ill, always convinced she wouldn’t wake again. But this was different. It was as if he were being given special privileges in seeing her long lashes fluttering on her cheeks, her hair falling over her eyes, her lips twitching slightly – as if she was talking to someone in her dreams.
When she woke in the night, she cried out, and Finch took her in his arms. She was trembling. He stroked her head, kissed her hair, told her it would be all right – as if she were a child. And she fell asleep again almost immediately. But he did not. He was struggling with a childish jealousy. Yes, Romy had clearly been keen to see him last night. And it was understandable that her thoughts would be consumed with Michael at a time like this. But he was filled with foreboding.Is she really doing this solely to protect her son?
17
‘Will you go back first thing?’ Finch asked, as they sat at his kitchen table on Sunday night, dazed and pleasantly tired from an afternoon on the beach. He had made a cheese and parsley omelette, tossed some leaves in dressing and toasted chunks of stale baguette. Setting the plates on the table, he poured them some wine.
Romy nodded. She had thought she was hungry, but the food seemed to stick in her throat. She was dreading going back to the flat. It wasn’t her home now, but it was obviously so familiar – especially with Rex in residence – that being there seemed to wipe out the months since she had left, negate the gains she had made without Michael in her life. Her gaze wandered round the room and settled on one of the many photos of Finch’s pretty, smiling wife that seemed to surround them, reminding her that she was not the only one with a past that was, perhaps, hard to leave behind. ‘Tell me about Nell,’ she said, anxious to divert her painfully circular thoughts. ‘What was she like?’
For a moment, Finch looked as if he might refuse. But then she saw his expression lighten. ‘I don’t know where to start. I’ve spent so much time since she died idealizing her that I’ve sort of lost the balance of who she really was.’
Romy had asked herself many times in the past week how she would feel if Michael died. She knew one thing:she didn’t want to remember him under the pervasive shadow of that letter. ‘I’m not sure what’s wrong with idealizing someone you love, especially when they can’t disappoint you any more,’ she said.
She noticed Finch’s fleeting frown and realized she had sounded bitter. ‘That didn’t come out quite right.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘Michael and I are not like you and Nell, as I’m sure you’ve worked out.’
‘But you loved him.’
Tears pricked behind her eyes. ‘Of course I loved him.’
Neither spoke for a while.
Then Romy said, ‘Your past is so pure and uncomplicated, however painful it was losing Nell.’
Finch’s mouth tightened. ‘What is it about your marriage that makes you so angry?’ he asked, his brown eyes perplexed.
Romy flinched. ‘I’m not angry,’ she said, the lie making her flush.
Finch gave a small shrug and reached across the table, laying his hand over hers. Romy had to bite her lip hard to stop herself crying from frustration. She was not only upset about what had happened historically between her and Michael. She was also upset with his current – albeit unwitting – insinuation into her relationship with Finch. She’d been enjoying the feeling recently that this washertime to make decisions about how she spent her days, and with whom. Perhaps be a bit selfish. But the family she had thought was on the way to independence was once more calling …
Rex and Leo were in the kitchen when Romy returned to the flat on Monday morning. Rex was frying eggs, waving a spatula at Leo as he loudly made some point.
Their backs were to the door and they didn’t hear their mother come in. For a moment she just stood and watched them, seeing them, almost for the first time, as grown men. Her mind went back to tea after school at the same kitchen table. She had always insisted on toast and jam, biscuits and fruit while they debriefed about their school day. That was the moment – fresh from the coalface – when she’d heard amusing vignettes of teachers, learnt about friendship conflicts, success or failure in tests and on the sports field before they disappeared into their bedrooms and became buried in their homework. She’d loved that time – the cosy, predictable routine, the knowledge she built up about her boys’ lives. Knowledge she’d always felt sad that Michael didn’t share.
‘Hey, Mum.’ Leo sprang up and came to give her a hug.
‘Want a fried egg?’ Rex asked, lifting the pan from the hob before coming to kiss her.
She shook her head, then made herself a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.
‘Have a nice weekend?’ Rex asked, mouth full of toast. Romy thought he looked a bit rough, his tan beginning to fade.Suffering from too much alcohol and not enough sleep, she decided, although she couldn’t bring herself to disapprove. She could hardly talk.
‘Lovely,’ she said, unable to hide her pleasure. She quickly bent her head to take a sip from her cup. When she looked up, she saw Leo, his eyes quietly appraising. Rex was too busy with his breakfast to notice.
‘How’s Dad?’
‘Much the same,’ Rex said.
‘Did you speak to the doctors?’
‘No one’s around at weekends. There’s a meeting about him this morning, according to Super Nurse, with the stroke-management team. We’ll find out more when we go in. But …’ he glanced at Leo ‘… from what I understand, they seem to be saying he can be discharged soon.’
Romy’s stomach flipped. She stared at her sons. ‘I know there’s been a lot of discussion about his rehab, but surely he’s not ready to come home yet.’ Although, through her panic, she vaguely remembered someone telling her that stroke patients did better at home.
