Page 57 of The Lie
She moved towards him and pulled him into a hug, feeling his arms go round her, squeezing her tight. Of course she’d realized. But she wished Michael hadn’t shared his feelings with Leo. It wasn’t fair on their son and it felt like pressure.
Leo pulled back and looked into her face. ‘You’re OK, aren’t you, Mum? Dad worried me, saying you were so miserable. I’ll totally help you with the carer thing. I know I’ve been a bit useless recently, what with work …’
In that moment Romy wanted so badly to be honest with her son, to tell Leo everything, about Grace, about Finch. And to expose for what it was the fantasy that hovered over them all: that she and Michael might soon be together again.
‘I’m fine, sweetheart,’ she lied, touched by his concern. ‘And you haven’t been at all useless. But I’d really appreciate some help finding a replacement for Daniel.’
She heard a sound in the hall, and as she opened the door she was confronted by her husband, hovering just outside, balancing on a crutch. She felt as if she’d been caught out in something shameful.
‘Hi, Michael.’
‘You two having a conference?’ His smile was eager, almost childlike.
‘Yes,’ Romy said brightly, trying to shake off her thoughts. ‘We’ve been talking about you – in secret, of course.’
Michael raised his eyebrows, manoeuvring himself to lean against the wall with a sigh, his crutch still clutched in his right hand. ‘What trouble I cause these days,’ he said, with such exaggerated weariness that Romy found herself laughing.
‘Have you been rehearsing that?’ she asked, the laugh beginning to take on a mind of its own and burgeoning into a hysterical giggle. It didn’t feel so different from the crying that had overtaken her at the weekend.
Michael also began to chuckle. ‘You malign me, my dear,’ he said, with a dramatic eye roll, then added, ‘I’ve been rehearsing that, too.’ The pair of them were well away now, Michael’s drawn face losing years in a second as he let himself go and laughed with her – about nothing, really – until both were gulping and wiping tears from their eyes.
Their son looked on, nonplussed.
‘Sorry, Leo,’ Romy managed to gasp before dissolving into giggles again.
But the exertion was too much for Michael, and Romy watched him slowly slide down the wall, then keel gently left, until his head was resting on the cream carpet.
‘Dad!’ Leo jumped to rescue his father, his face a picture of concern as he began to heave Michael upright. But Michael was unfazed. As he settled back on his crutch, he gave Romy such a wide grin that, for a second, she forgot Grace. It was just her and Michael, the two of them, making each other laugh.
Later that evening, after Leo had gone, she helped Michael get ready for bed. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress in his T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, clean and sweet-smelling from his wash, when he took her hand as she mechanically plumped his pillows, staring up into her face with a yearning that made her stomach flip.
‘It was fun, laughing like that.’
Romy nodded, not wanting to snatch it away, but feeling uneasy, standing there, her hand in Michael’s.
‘Will you kiss me goodnight?’ Michael asked. Then, perhaps seeing her face, he added, with a quick smile, ‘No agenda.’
Romy hesitated. She would give him a friendly kiss – had done so on a number of occasions since the stroke. But she knew, from what Leo had told her earlier – and the softening of their mood since the laughter – that Michael might be angling for more than just ‘friendly’, despite his assertion to the contrary. She balked at the thought of anything that could presage a sexual invitation. Bending quickly, she dropped a brief peck on his cheek, at the same time withdrawing her hand from his grasp.
Michael’s expression stilled, but he continued to gaze at her as she turned away.
‘Not as bad as last time,’ he said quietly, as he pulled his weak leg onto the mattress and lay back on the pillows. ‘At least you didn’t flinch.’
Romy was shocked, not so much by his words but by the obvious bitterness behind them. ‘Michael …’
He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Don’t pity me, Romy.’
There was silence in the room. Romy busied herself picking up the clothes he had discarded and folding them, placing them on the chair. ‘I’m not,’ she replied briskly, although, to her own ears, her protestation rang weak and dishonest.Michael believes I’m pitying him for his disability, she thought. But her disinclination had nothing whatever to do with his current physical condition.
She took a deep breath. This was it. Leo’s declaration had made her realize she couldn’t continue in this no-man’s-land with Michael for a second longer. Moving the clothes aside, she sat down on the orange armchair facing the bed. This was the moment she’d been avoiding for what seemed like two lifetimes.
‘I’ve told you about my friend, Robert,’ she began, ‘and that we’ve broken up.’ Michael nodded. ‘Well, his wife died a few years ago, but he has a stepdaughter, who he’s extremely fond of.’ Romy swallowed hard. ‘She’s thirty-two now, apparently. And her name is Grace. Grace …’ She realized she didn’t know Grace’s surname – Nell’s before she’d married Finch.
Michael was watching her, impassively.
‘She’s called Grace Twiston now.’ Romy stared back, searching his face for the tiniest twitch. ‘I don’t know what her surname was when she was sixteen.’ Michael still didn’t speak, but she saw a flicker of something in his eyes.
Her husband pulled himself up on the pillows, his expression hard to read. Romy waited.He knows what I’m talking about, she thought.He knows.
