But there’s a reason for me telling you all this. Look, Red. I’m a single father to nine-month-old twins and, hand on heart …’ As he says this, he presses his free hand to his chest and looks deeply into Audrey’s eyes, ‘I’m struggling. They need a mother. Normally I wouldn’t move this fast but … well, I think you know me quite well now, and … what I wanted to ask you tonight was: will you marry me?’
Audrey lets out an audible squeal. In the last thirty seconds she’s gone from thinking she’s lost the man she loves to a proposal of marriage. In the last heartbeat, she’s been offered something she’d thought might elude her forever: the possibility of a husband and children – a family to call her own – and, in this moment, she realises how desperately she wants it. She flaps her hand up and down, fanning her face. She can’t stop herself from grinning.
Ralph gets up from his seat, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a red velvet box. He clicks it open and turns it to face her. Inside, there’s a brilliant diamond solitaire. He gets down on one knee, takes Audrey’s hand in his and asks her again: ‘Audrey Bailey. I love you and I need you. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?’
‘Yes,’ breathes Audrey. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ And Ralph takes her left hand and slides the engagement ring onto her fourth finger, kissing it as he returns the hand to her.
‘Waiter!’ he calls. ‘Champagne!’
John lived in what I imagined estate agents would call a ‘delightful barn conversion within striking distance of the Penzance seafront’. I always wondered, given he was presumably worth millions, why he didn’t upgrade – move to a bigger place closer to the sea – rather than use every available square inch of space to accommodate the twins and Anastasia. Now, as the sun began its return journey towards the horizon, I approached the door of John’s house. It was pretty, I’d give him that.
‘Hi,’ said my brother, opening the front door. His brown hair was cropped short and he’d lost weight since I last saw him a couple of months ago, his jeans hanging off his hips, his neck scrawny under the collar of his striped shirt. He looked me up and down, too, and I wondered what differences he saw in my own appearance.
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Mind the bikes.’
The hallway was chock-a-block with the detritus of family life: not just the twins’ bicycles propped up against the walls, but a Michelin man of a coat rack laden with the family’s outerwear; a shoe rack stuffed with more shoes than I imagined four people could ever own; and, on the floor, violin cases, school bags, riding boots, and sports bags, presumably also belonging to the twins. I picked my way behind John through to the living room, trying as I did so to block the unwelcome image of my brother’s mother-in-law, Valya, lying dead on the hall floor, her neck twisted, lips blue, after falling headlong down the stairs and I wondered if he thought of her every time he crossed the hall.
In the living room, John picked up a few tatty pony magazines and stacked them on the coffee table – a small gesture that did nothing to take away from the sense of clutter that threatened to overwhelm the room. He flopped into an armchair and I sat down on the sofa next to a curl of sleeping cat. I knew better than to expect an offer of tea or coffee. Hospitality was not John’s forte. This was just a fleeting visit anyway – a quick catch-up before I drove back to Truro.
I nodded at the empty living room. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Swim-squad training.’
‘Ah, okay. How are they? All good?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s fine.’ He didn’t ask after Mark, but then I didn’t expect him to. There was something about Mark not having a job that made people not want to talk about him. Besides, when it came to John and me, it was understood that I was the one who had to make the small talk. John just didn’t.
‘How’s she been since Valya … you know?’ I didn’t want to say the words out loud, but I felt the question needed asking since this was the first time I’d seen John in the hall. Would her eyes have been open? I shivered.
‘As good as can be expected,’ John said. ‘It was a blessing, I suppose. Good timing. We were on the cusp of putting her into a care home.’
‘Because of her dementia?’
‘Yes. It had got quite ridiculous. She didn’t know who Anastasia or the twins were, let alone me. She had no idea where she was.’
‘I’d no idea it had got so bad.’
‘Why would you?’
‘True.’ I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even seen Valya. Months and months ago. ‘So – how’s work?’
John did something with computers, though I’d no idea what. He’d worked his way up the IT departments of various blue-chip companies before quitting his job as CIO to run his own company. Although he always looked stressed, he was usually busy, which I presumed was a good thing.
John ran his hand through his hair. ‘Same shit, different day,’ he said. ‘How’s Mum?’
I exhaled hard through my teeth: a big sigh. Where to start? ‘Physically she’s fine,’ I said. ‘The hospital gave her the all-clear – took off the neck brace. No signs of shock. She’s a bit stiff and achy, but nothing to worry about.’ I paused.
‘Okay. And?’
‘Well, as I said in my message: you’re right. There’s definitely something different. She’s vague. I don’t know … like, staring into the distance as if she’s miles away, and not hearing me? I had to say quite a lot of things twice.’ I paused. ‘Do you think it’s the accident, or is she always like that?’
John rubbed his upper lip with the side of his finger. ‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘She’s going that way, definitely. Whether the accident’s made it worse, I don’t know.’
I looked at the floor, then back up at John. ‘I should know, shouldn’t I?’
His look said yes, you should. ‘Don’t you speak to her every week?’ he asked.
‘I used to. I don’t know what happened. It just kind of petered out when we moved down here. I guess I thought I’d see more of her so I stopped calling …’
‘But you don’t see much of her, either.’
‘I know. It’s just … argh. When I did see her, I got the feeling she didn’t particularly want me there. That I was interrupting her weekend. She almost used to tell me off for going down and that’s the last thing I want when I’ve fought my way down the bloody A30 just to see her.’ I ran my hand through my hair. ‘God. I’ve got so much going on at home. So much to cram into the weekends. I guess I just stopped.’
I looked at John. I was hoping for empathy; some sort of understanding. There were a hundred things begging for my attention these days: work, finances, keeping things normal while Mark was unemployed – not to mention the all-consuming desire to conceive. I’d become almost obsessed with the idea of how it would feel to hold a tiny, living, breathing human being in my arms; the baby-scent of his or her skin. When I saw women out with prams, it was all I could do not to lean into them and scoop up the babies; to hold them against my shoulder and gaze at their tiny little features.
‘I know. We’re all busy. But you should try, Lexi,’ John said. ‘It takes – what – an hour to get there?’
‘I know … it’s just … you know.’ I almost said it. I almost told him about the difficulties I was having conceiving but, as the words formed in