Simon steps inside, his dress shoes clipping against the wooden floor. When he’s sat down, he leans forward, clasping his hands together. “Aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He carries on as if I haven?
?t said anything. “I was with Elise.”
“Is everything okay?” Simon’s daughter and I may not be bosom buddies, but I still care.
“Not really. It seems her accountant’s made a mess of her tax return, and it’s sparked an investigation. We’re going to have to get someone else to look at the books.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmur. “I hope she isn’t too upset.”
He shrugs. “We’ll sort it out. She still wants to take a table at the gala.”
That’s good. With only four weeks to go, it would be a pain to have to find another donor.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say. My heart starts to speed up; it’s one thing to think about doing something, but the execution is something quite different. Tears spring to my eyes before I can even say the words.
“I don’t think the marriage counselling is working.”
Shock freezes Simon’s face. It takes him some moments to collect himself enough to respond. “You said you weren’t angry...”
“I’m not angry.” I scoot forward, trying to cut down the distance between us. “I’m not saying this out of anger, or because I’m being a bitch. I’m not saying it because I want to hurt you or upset you—”
“Then what is it, Beth? You know how busy I am. I’m doing my best here to keep things together. What more do you want?” For the first time, he sounds passionate.
“I just think that if our marriage was your first priority, then you’d come to counselling, regardless.”
“I have a job. A daughter. Do you want me to ignore them? Just look after little Beth and pretend nothing else matters?”
I drop my head into my hands. “No, that’s not what I mean. Of course those things are important. But we’re not moving forward here. Only backward.” When I look up, he’s staring angrily at me. I try not to cower away.
“Then tell me what to do. What will make you happy?”
I open my mouth but no words come out. Instead I’m remembering Louise’s suggestion. That I should choose me, work on my own self-esteem. I can’t remember the last time anybody asked me what would make me happy.
What would?
I try to imagine myself staying in this marriage. Waking up with Simon every day. Choosing a life of contentment, of companionship, letting him take care of me the way he takes care of his clients and his daughter. And there’s nothing wrong with that life—it’s one I longed for when I was at my lowest.
But will it make me happy?
“I don’t know.” It feels as if it’s a confession. “I don’t know what will make me happy.”
“Then maybe you’d better find out,” Simon suggests. “I love you, you know that. You’re the best thing that happened to me in years. But I can’t fight for you if I don’t know what I’m fighting against. We can go to all the counsellors in the world, but until you decide what the bloody hell it is you want, we’re just talking into thin air.”
17
When Niall doesn’t turn up to class for the fifth week running, I feel my patience starting to run thin. For the past month I’ve done nothing except analyse what I’m supposed to be feeling, what I’m supposed to be doing, and he just seems to have disappeared. It’s as if he’s set fire to a touch paper and then run away so he doesn’t have to watch the explosion.
More than that, though, I miss him. When I look around the classroom I feel a sense of despondency, even though the kids seem happy enough that Michael is paying them some attention. As nice as the stand-in is, he isn’t Niall, and I’m beginning to realise he’s the one thing missing from my life.
What will make you happy?
I’ve been stuck on that question for over a week. Thinking through Simon’s words every night when I close my eyes, trying to see a way through. And every time my thoughts drift toward Niall, to that kiss, to the way he touched me until my body felt as though it was on fire.
He made me feel alive. Something I’m not sure I’ve felt for a long time.