Читать книгу The Map of Us - Jules Preston - Страница 7

‘Where do you think we went wrong?’ Matt said.

‘10.37am, April 22nd,’ I said.

‘Oh,’ he said.

He put his glass down on the table and stared absently out of the window. A dog was barking at a paper bag somersaulting down the January street. I felt responsible. Not for the paper bag or the barking dog. I felt responsible because the absence that we both felt was my fault.

Sometimes people don’t want simple answers. Most of the time, in fact. They say they do, but they don’t. Not really. My soon-to-be ex-husband didn’t. Not like that. Not right then. I could see him trying to compute the information. He was struggling. It was all too clinical. Too precise.

10.37am. The exact moment when our marriage fell apart. Or started to. Or finally shattered into a million unrecognisable pieces. He wanted something else. Something vague and meaningless.

‘I don’t know.’

Would have been good for starters.

‘What do you think?’

Would have been a fairly safe follow-up.

He wanted to talk about it. I had just made sure that the conversation started without a heartbeat. I didn’t do it on purpose.

‘Oh,’ he said again, as if that would resuscitate anything. It didn’t.

I said nothing. That didn’t help. What else could I say? I had already answered his question. And with a level of accuracy that I rarely manage to achieve in my day job.

I couldn’t help myself. Me being me isn’t always easy on those I love.

Loved.

Both. I guess.

It’s complicated.

Read the report.

It’s all in there.

Read it.

You’ll see.