The Husband's Secret(152)

            “We didn’t fight. Or we did fight, but weren’t they just normal, run-of-the-mill fights? What did we fight about? The dishwasher? The way I put the frying pan in so it hits the thingummybob? You think we come to Sydney too often? But that’s just run-of-the-mill stuff, isn’t it? Weren’t we happy? I was happy. I thought we were both happy. You must have thought I was such an idiot.” She lifted her arms and legs up and down like a puppet. “Here comes dopey Tess dopily going about her day. Ooh, tra-la-la, I’m so happily married, yes I am!”

            “Tess. Don’t do that.” Will’s eyes were shiny.

            She stopped and noticed that there was a salty taste in her mouth now along with the chocolate. She wiped the backs of her hands impatiently across her face. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d been crying. Will took a step toward her as if to comfort her, and she held up both her palms to stop him from coming any closer.

            “And now Felicity is gone. I haven’t been apart from her for more than two weeks since, my God, since we were born. That’s weird, isn’t it? No wonder you thought you could have both of us. We were like Siamese twins.”

            That’s why she was so furious with him for thinking they could all three live together: because it wasn’t entirely preposterous, not for them. She understood why they thought it would be possible, and that made it all the more infuriating, because how could that be?

            “We should finish hiding these stupid eggs,” she said.

            “Wait. Can we sit for a moment?” Will took her hand and pulled her to the table where she’d sat eating hot cross buns and texting Connor in the sunlight the previous morning, a million years ago. Tess sat down and put the bag of eggs on the table and folded her arms, tucking her hands into her armpits.

            “Are you too cold?” asked Will anxiously.

            “It’s not exactly balmy,” snapped Tess. She was all dry-eyed detachment now. “But it’s fine. Go ahead. Say your thing.”

            Will said, “You’re right. There wasn’t anything wrong with our marriage. I was happy with us. It’s just that I was sort of unhappy with me.”

            “How? Why?” Tess lifted her chin. She already felt defensive. If he was unhappy, then it had to be her fault. Her cooking, her conversation, her body. Something wasn’t up to scratch.

            “This will sound so lame,” said Will. He looked up to the sky and took a breath. “This is in no way an excuse. Don’t think that for a second. But about six months ago, after my fortieth, I started to feel so . . . the only word I can think of is ‘bland.’ Or ‘flat’ might be a better word.”

            “Flat,” repeated Tess.

            “Remember how I had all those troubles with my knee? And then my back went? I thought, Jesus, is this life now? Doctors and pills and pain and bloody heat packs? Already? It’s all over? So there was that, and then one day . . . Okay, so this is embarrassing.” He chewed his lip and continued. “I got my hair cut, right? And my normal guy wasn’t there, and for some reason, the girl held up this little mirror to show me the back of my head. I don’t know why she would feel the need to do that. I swear to you, I nearly fell off my chair when I saw my bald spot. I thought it was some other bloke’s head. I looked like Friar bloody Tuck. I had no idea.”

            Tess burst out laughing and Will grinned ruefully. “I know,” he said. “I know. I just started feeling so . . . middle-aged.”

            “You are middle-aged,” said Tess.

            He winced. “Thank you. I know. Anyway, this flat feeling. It came and went. It was no big deal. I was waiting for it to pass. Hoping it would pass. And then . . .” He stopped.

            “And then Felicity,” supplied Tess.