‘You said you couldn’t remember what you’d told her.’
‘I don’t need babies to make our lives complete, Nick. I want children, yes. Trying for kids felt like the next stage in our relationship, and I admit, I would be very, very sad if I never had them. But I don’t miss something I’ve never had. And from the minute I met you, all I ever wanted was you.’
She thought she could see the hint of a smile pulling at his lips.
‘Does that mean you’ll give Melanie another go? I thought she was pretty good.’
‘She didn’t say much.’
‘Not sure that’s the point. She’s there to make us talk.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me all that before?’ said Abby after a minute. ‘The stuff about feeling rejected.’
She had always known that their infertility had driven a wedge between them, but she’d never suspected that it had made him feel unloved, unwanted. Was that enough of a reason to condone or forgive what he had done? Abby wasn’t sure.
&nb
sp; ‘Because it would have sounded like an excuse.’
He paused and looked up at her.
‘Did you ever feel like that too?’
Abby gave a little shrug. ‘Sometimes, when it all seemed so difficult, the IVF and the hormones and the moods and the arguments we used to have. I thought it might have been a sign that we shouldn’t be together. But then I remembered all the good times . . .’
‘There were a lot of good times.’
There was a loud grumble, and Abby realised with embarrassment that it was her stomach.
‘Was that you?’ asked Nick.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘Want to have dinner? Alba is just around the corner.’
It used to be their favourite restaurant when they lived near Clapham Common. They’d go there every Friday night and laugh and chat till closing time. She smiled at the innocence of it all. The calm before the storm.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said quickly.
‘Abby, we’re still husband and wife. I think that just about qualifies us to share a pizza.’
‘I want my own pizza, thanks. I’m starving.’
A black cab rumbled past, and before she knew it, Nick had got the driver to stop.
They were there within a minute, and as they found a table on the patio area, the waiter recognised them, which surprised Abby, as they had been gone from the area for three years.
‘I miss this place,’ said Nick casually as his eyes scanned the menu.
She missed this. She missed the small simplicities of their life.
She thought of the Joni Mitchell track that Nick used to play on the drive down to Cornwall, ‘Big Yellow Taxi’, with its lyrics that reminded you that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.
She thought about Ros and Dominic, who had never had the opportunity to grow old together, to laugh, to row, to eat pizza together on a Friday night, to do all the things that couples did, and suddenly her heart ached.
As if he was reading her thoughts, as if he could look into her mind and see The Last Goodbye, Nick spoke.