We climb the stairs together. When we reach the bed a great exhaustion swamps me and I sit heavily on the mattress. He crouches down and gently takes my shoes off. I look down at him, at the way his luxurious eyelashes sweep down to his cheeks, and a crazy, totally inappropriate thought pops into my head. I want to have sex with him. For a second there is intense guilt and then the consoling thought. It’s not crazy. It’s just instinct. My body has no intellect of its own. Every time it’s near him, it just wants to copulate.
I close my eyes and let the instinct slink away in shame. Tenderly he kisses my palms and closed eyelids. Then he stands up and I lie down. Quietly, he covers my body with the duvet.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
He nods gravely, draws the curtains closed and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I hear him hesitate outside the door, then take a few steps, stop, come back to the door. But, after a pause, he goes downstairs.
I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling in disbelief. My mind turns round and round desperately, like a rat in cage, trying to find a way out. There must be another way. Slowly my hands cup my belly. I hear BJ climb the stairs. I put my hands down and turn to my side, facing away from the door, and close my eyes.
He comes in and stands over me.
He knows I am awake. I feel him sit on the bed. ‘I love you, Layla. Whatever happens I love only you. You’re my life. Without you nothing else matters.’ His voice breaks, but I don’t open my eyes. Tears slip out of my closed eyelids.
‘I’m going out now. There are things I need to sort out, but I’ll be back in an hour. Just rest, OK?’
He kisses my head and then I hear his footsteps run down the stairs. I know then that he has made his decision, and he can live it. And now he is doing everything in his power to facilitate that decision. I wait until I hear the front door close before I get up. I walk out of our bedroom and turn right, heading to the nursery.
I open the door, seeing the cot that Lily and I bought, and the full horror of my situation hits me. My knees give way and I slump to the ground outside my baby’s room. My arms pull tight across my body, as if I am cold. I realize that I am actually in a strange, dreaming state. It feels as if my heartbeat has slowed down.
In that oddly still moment, I remember my mother taking me to a tarot reader as a small child. As if it had happened yesterday, I clearly and distinctly remember her telling my mother, ‘I cannot read her cards now, Mara. Her destiny is special. A great sacrifice will be asked of her. If I am still alive then, I will read her cards for her.’
Even as a small girl I had picked up her sense of unease and dread, reverberating on a level beyond language, beyond what is cognitive. I didn’t even need to understand her to feel it.
‘What do you mean?’ my ma had asked.
But she would say no more.
I stumble down the stairs and find my purse. I root around in it with trembling hands and find my mobile phone. Taking a deep breath, I call my mother.
‘Ma,’ I say into the phone. It is shocking how level and even I manage to keep my voice. A few hours ago, I wouldn’t have understood how anyone could appear unmoved when they are dying inside. Now I know. The cold, hard part of me has detached itself enough to be able to function without the rest of me. Appearing unmoved is the price you pay for being able to speak at all.
‘Ah, I was just about to call you,’ my mother says cheerfully.
‘Why?’
‘I’m in a shop and I’ve seen the cutest little coats you’ve ever seen. I’m getting a pink one for our Liliana. Shall I get a blue one for Tommy as well?’
It is like a body blow. The only way to deal with it is talk about something crazy. ‘Why are you calling him Tommy, Ma?’
‘BJ told me that both of you had decided on that name.’
An involuntary smile escapes my stiff features. Oh, BJ. How sly you are.
‘Have you changed your mind then?’ my mother asks.
‘No. No, we haven’t. We are going with Tommy. Yeah, get the blue coat for him,’ I tell her.
‘All right, I will. What did you call me for?’
‘I wanted the phone number of that tarot card reader you always go to. I’ve forgotten her name.’
‘Queenie, you mean?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one.’
‘I’ll text her number to you. Do you want to go and see her then?’
‘Yes.’
‘We can go together if you want.’
‘No, Ma. I was planning on seeing her today.’
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No. Nothing is wrong. Just wanted to ask her something.’
‘She should be free now. She doesn’t work on Mondays. Too quiet on the pier. I’ll text her number to you now. Speak to you later tonight.’