“Lara, I swear to you I only found out yesterday. I got the first plane home as soon as I heard. I left a message on your phone to tell you I was coming.”
I think of my phone lying at the bottom of my bag, uncharged for the past day. I suppose I could charge it, listen to that call, and let him prove he’s telling the truth. But I’m not sure what the point is. Either way, I was on my own.
I have been for a long time.
“I talked to Stuart. He said you didn’t want to come home, that you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“That’s bullshit!” For the first time, Alex looks furious. “I never said that. He’s a fucking liar.”
My voice is strangely calm. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. It’s all symptomatic of the same thing. You weren’t ready to be a father, you told me that yourself. I should have listened to you.”
Alex is kneeling next to me, one hand on the arm of the chair, the other balled into a fist by his side. “That’s not true. I love Max. When I heard… Christ, Lara, I couldn’t think straight. All those hours on the plane, wondering if he was okay. If you were okay…” His voice breaks. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”
I close my eyes, trying to block out the words. All my tears have dried up, and I’m a piece of fruit left out in the sun too long.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It fucking does.” A tear forms in the corner of his eye. It’s too painful to watch. I have to look away, staring instead at a wall full of medical posters.
“Alex, I’m tired, exhausted, as if I haven’t slept for weeks. I want to take Max home and cocoon myself away from the world. Forget any of this happened.” I think of my bed. Of fresh sheets. Of escaping from everything.
“We can do that.”
That’s when I look at him, and I realise he doesn’t have a clue how unhappy I am. How hurt I am, or how angry I am. I’ve coped with everything else, but I can’t cope with this, with him. Not now.
“I don’t want you to come home with us.” I say it while looking at my knees. “It’s all too much. I need some space to work out how I feel.”
“What do you mean?” His brow knits into a frown.
After all these days of waiting, it’s ironic how much I need some space. The thought of Alex coming home, of us being cooped up in the flat together, makes me feel jittery. With the emotional roller coaster of the last few days, I think I might implode.
“Can you stay at your mum’s?” I beg. I hate the way his face crumples when I say it.
“You’re breaking up with me?”
“No! Of course not.” To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m doing. I can barely believe it myself. “I need some time to think things through. You’ve been away so long, and with everything that happened…”
“Then what, Lara? What do you want me to do? To get on my fucking knees and beg? I will if that’s what it takes. I love you. Don’t fucking do this.”
“I love you, too,” I tell him quietly. He looks up at me through thick, dark eyelashes. His eyes glint beneath the light.
“Then why?”
Though it kills me, I keep my gaze firmly locked on his. There’s a lump the size of a rock in my throat. Making my voice husky. Low. “Because I can’t go on like this.”
“Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.” He reaches out, takes my hand. “Please, tell me.”
I’m finding it hard to breathe. Even when I take a mouthful of air, it fights against me, catching in my throat, refusing to reach my lungs. “Just give me some space.”
* * *
A week later, Max is home and we're living a strange kind of half-life. I've taken unpaid leave from the clinic, promising to return next week, though the thought of it claws at my heart like a hungry animal. I spend my days watching Max improve, smiling when he starts crawling again, clapping the first time he pulls himself up to standing. He holds on to the coffee table, his eyes wide and his plump legs wobbling. The expression on his face i
s hilarious, as if he can't believe he's finally done it.
The next moment, he falls unceremoniously to the floor. Whimpering, he reaches up for me.
“Come here, you clever boy,” I say in a sing-song voice. “That didn't hurt.”