‘It was, my love. It was. And we should talk about it.’ She knew the words were easy, but the practice was so much harder. Moved by his tenderness, she hoped that maybe this new-found openness was a beginning, the start of finding the words that would allow them both to unburden all they kept hidden. It was a thought as terrifying as it was welcome.

‘You’re always nagging me about peeing at the back of the toilet and slamming the shower door or losing my car keys, but just for once, I’d like you not to nag me about shit that doesn’t really matter and I’d like us to sit down and talk, really talk, about all the difficult stuff.’

‘It never seems to be the right time.’ Her body stiffened. My fear overwhelms me, Mario! It silences me! How do I break the habit of the quiet I have kept for nearly all my adult life?

‘I know. Like, right now, I have to get back to work.’ He shuffled from her and sat up straight, wiping his face, his expression a little embarrassed, and she matched him, gripping the towel closed over her chest where it gaped and trying to pull it down over the bulge of fat on her knees. ‘But I hope, Bess, the right time will come up and we can really chat.’

He reached out and ran his thumb over her newly shaved legs, letting his callus trip over the three little nubs, scars that reminded her of another time when conversations were just as hard to have, and she was carrying the same burden of distress at the secrets she was keeping. Secrets from a day when she had sported three round plasters soaked with blood – a day when how she viewed herself had changed forever.

‘I’m sorry, Mario, about the text and for making you scared. I never meant for that to happen.’

‘I’ll see you later,’ he said from the doorframe, where he lingered, his eyes searching, as if trying to place her.

‘Yes, I’ll see you later. And Mario?’

He paused on the landing and looked back at her.

‘I just wanted to . . . I just wanted to say . . .’ What did she want to say? I still love you! I have always loved you! I want us to be close again, like our old love in our old life? ‘I . . . I am sorry.’

Her husband nodded slowly and ran down the stairs.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

August 20th 1984