Читать книгу Freaks - Darren Craske - Страница 15

The love story ended on the beach. You know, I thought we were so happy, so together, so in-tune. I thought we were linked. But you did it again, that thing. And right then, right there at the beach, I realised.

You’d done it at dinner the night before. I was telling you my plans, suggesting a future for us, and you, you pulled away, you went somewhere else. Your eyes were not on me. I don’t think you heard my words. I think you were looking for another future, one just for you. You were looking out of the window.

And, now I think about it, you’d been doing it for years. You were always late. Even on that first date I read the menu twenty-two times before you arrived. You didn’t even look flustered. I don’t think you’d rushed. Twenty-two times, Emma. I counted. I remember.

You were always pulling away.

It didn’t matter where we were, we could be anywhere, you were always looking the other way, always moving away from me.

Your course at the university, your placement, your friends. None of that was for me. I was unwelcome.

It hit me on the beach.

I was talking. Do you remember what I said? I doubt it.

Emma, I was talking about the house that you said you liked. I was explaining how we could afford it. I’d done the sums. I had stopped to explain it all to you.

And you kept walking. I was no longer talking to you, I was no longer looking at your face. I couldn’t see your eyes, your mouth, your fringe. I was left looking at your back, at your shoulders, at your ponytail. I was left looking at the shapes the soles of your feet made in the sand. I was left watching you walking away from us.

And I knew I couldn’t stop you. I knew I couldn’t follow. I knew I needed to let you go.

That’s why I turned. That’s why I went back to the car.

That’s why I went home.

Our love story ended on the beach.

We were walking along the sand. You were talking about that house, the one I’d needled you to view, the one I’d said we needed, the one I’d said I couldn’t live without. You’d laughed, kissed my forehead, called me a drama queen. This walk was your way, a romantic gesture, you’d wanted to tell me how you’d figured out the sums, how we could afford that house. And I didn’t even reply to you, I didn’t nod or even smile.

Jamie, I’d wanted to tell you a week ago, I’d wanted to tell you at dinner last night. And then it hit me, right when you were talking about rising interest rates and first-time buyer incentives, right then I realised that if I didn’t say my words out loud then my head would explode into a million squidgy pieces.

‘I’m pregnant but I shouldn’t be,’ I whispered. I kept on walking, kept my eyes fixed on the pier, too scared to even look your way. I knew that if I saw even a flicker of joy, then I’d shatter into smithereens. The wet sand tickled my toes and on any other day I’d have made you take off your trainers and raced you into the sea. On any other day I’d have been telling you just how alive I felt, that I loved you, that having our baby growing inside of me made me feel normal for the first time in my life.

‘I wanted to tell you yesterday,’ I whispered. I wanted to tell you what the doctors had said. ‘I wanted to say, “My heart doesn’t work properly”, I wanted to say, “50 per cent”. I wanted to tell you that I’m not ready to take the risk.

‘I can’t have this baby.’ The words rushed out.

I kept walking. I stretched out my arm to where I thought you’d be. My fingers strained to touch you. I hoped that you’d fold your hand into mine. Just for that moment, I hoped that you’d love me enough not to mind that I was faulty.

I stood still.

I buried my toes into the wet sand to stop me moving further away from you.

I turned, but you weren’t there.