‘It doesn’t have to be. If you want a child you could adopt.’
‘No. I’ve told you already that wouldn’t be fair. There are plenty of couples like Louise and Bill out there, who can offer a child way more than I can. It would be selfish of me, unfair to them and to any child to take one. What I had to offer this baby was my blood; he or she would have been a baby I could have felt would be better off with me.’
‘You have plenty to offer. You will be a wonderful dad. I can see that from the way you are with Charlie, the way you are with Gemma and Blake and Mia. I can see it, full-stop. More than that, you told me not to limit myself—neither should you. Try to meet a woman. Maybe the next time you opt for “physical gratification”, don’t walk away. Try a date instead. Give it a shot.’
Yet even as she said it emotion squeezed her gut at the idea of Marcus with another woman—Marcus holding another woman’s baby.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m not cut out to be a family man.’
Bitterness infused his tone as he placed the crystal tumbler on the table with a thunk.
‘I told you my parents died—I didn’t tell you how. They died in a fire. They got high and must have decided to light candles, or cook something. I woke up to the smell of smoke. I rushed to find Elvira but she wasn’t there. My parents must have taken her out of her cot. I legged it into the lounge. The flames were awful. I found Elvira but I couldn’t wake my parents up. I got Elvira out and then... I didn’t go back in. Our neighbours held me back, said it was too dangerous.’
April released the breath she hadn’t even realised she held. ‘Then you couldn’t have gone back in.’
He picked the glass up, cradled it in one hand. ‘That’s a matter of opinion. Maybe I could have fought harder—maybe I should have fought harder. Nothing would have stopped me going back in if Elvira had still been in there. I hesitated for just a minute, and in that minute the roof caved in.’
‘Where were the emergency services?’
‘On their way. They were too late.’
April didn’t know what else to say. She could picture the scene in vivid detail: the choking, gagging fog of smoke, the intensity of heat from the red-orange flames shooting up into the dark Lycander sky...the same sky she could see right now. And the twelve-year-old boy watching, knowing that inside the building his parents lay, unable to help themselves.
‘You cannot blame yourself.’
‘Who would you suggest I blame?’
‘Anyone but yourself. What happened was a tragedy, but it was brought about by a chain of circumstances and choices that were not your fault.’
‘One of those choices was mine.’
‘You didn’t make a choice—you hesitated for a moment. That is not the same thing at all. Plus, your neighbours were right—you might well have died if you’d gone in.’
He raised a hand. ‘Enough. I appreciate you’re trying to make me feel better, but you can’t. That moment of hesitation changed everything, and whilst I can’t go back and change it I can at least learn from it.’
But what had he learnt? Not to love or be loved. No wonder he had never been able to let Louise and Bill in. She could only imagine the immense guilt he must feel about accepting love from a different set of parents.
No wonder he felt he was unworthy of love—he believed he had contributed to his parents’ death. Just as she believed she had contributed to Edward’s. So if she couldn’t make him feel better, perhaps she could at least let him know she understood.
‘You’re right. I can’t make you feel better. But I do understand.’
She moved closer to the sofa, wanting him to see her face.
‘There’s something I haven’t told you. Dean and I had a baby. A little boy called Edward.’
His hand jerked and whisky slopped over the side of the glass he had picked up once again. He deposited it on a table as he rose to stand beside her.
But she stepped away.
‘Don’t—please. I don’t want to break down. I just want to say it. I told you about the disaster that was my marriage...how Dean made me feel like nothing. But somewhere, somehow I found the courage to leave him. I had it all planned. But the plans went wrong. Because, you see, I made a stupid decision—tried to be too clever. I should have walked straight out. Instead I decided to pack. Dean found me, guessed what I intended and went nuts. Snatched Edward. I couldn’t stop him. He swatted me aside as though I truly was nothing. He ran off with our son, put him in the car and drove off. He’d been drinking, he didn’t secure Edward properly, and there was a storm—rain pouring down, visibility atrocious. There was an accident and they both died.’
Marcus opened his mouth but she shook her head.
‘There is nothing you can say. Nothing anyone can say. When I lost Edward I lost everything. I fell apart, sank into a pit of despair. The only reason I climbed out was because of my family—they cared for me, looked after me, and I pulled myself out, created a new life for myself. A life that I can manage. A cage, if you like, but it’s better than the pit. I still know how it feels to look back and see that line in the sand—the before and after, the moment when if you could go back you could change history.’