Page 73 of The Lucky Escape

I didn’t say anything. He looked … bloated. His cheeks were rosy through his tanned cheeks and his usual razor-sharpjawline had been replaced with something softer. It was the man I used to love, but fuzzier around the edges. Carol launched herself at him and he picked her up so she could lick his face, fussing with zeal at his return. If she was at one end of the spectrum, I was at the other. My mind raced at a million miles, scrambling to find a way to feel.

Hug him,was my first reaction.It’s Alexander!

And then:No, don’t bloody hug him. IT’S ALEXANDER.

It’s really cold,I reflected, rubbing my arms.I’m glad I put my slippers on.

I watched Carol lick his face, delighted.He looks so sad,I started to think, before realizing I shouldn’t care.WHO CARES IF HE LOOKS SAD?I decided.SHUT THE DOOR IN HIS FACE.

Then:Maybe he’ll finally say sorry.

And then: Neither of us is saying anything, maybe I should say something.

Finally: No, don’t speak first. Make him squirm.

‘Annie,’ he repeated, and I interrupted, disbelieving: ‘What are you doing here?’

He went to speak and thought better of it, as if he’d figured out getting this far he’d now run out of steam.

He put the dog down and she issued a stern bark, warning him that it was time to come inside, now.

‘Can I get out of the rain?’ he asked, taking her cue, and hand on heart it was probably the first time in ten years I’ve ever heard him sound even the smallest bit unsure. He genuinely didn’t know how I was going to respond, and I could tell. It made me thaw just a little towards him. He seemed miserable.

‘Why should I let you?’ I replied, aware of how my arms had snaked around myself for protection.

‘Annie, please. It’s freezing.’

‘It’s also the middle of the night.’

I said it sternly but stepped aside right after, making it clear he could inch by me. He stepped inside and muttered a thank you, lingering as I closed the door like I needed to grant further permission for him to go through into the lounge.

‘Where’s your key, anyway?’ I asked.

‘I got drunk and threw it in the Singapore Strait.’

‘I see.’

He followed me, Carol lurching ahead to pick up her favourite ball to play with him, and he took in the sight of the place. I switched on a lamp and walked behind the kitchen island to the mug tree. Why is it that when we don’t know what else to do, we make a cup of tea?

‘I’ve missed being home,’ he uttered quietly, leaning on the countertop opposite me. I threw two teabags into mugs and squinted at the light cast out from the fridge when I got the milk.

The noise of the boiling tap served as a way to silence any rebuttal I might give. He missed being home? The bloody nerve of him! He stayed standing even after I handed him his drink, and I had to fight the urge to wander to the sofa to get comfortable, choosing to rest against the wall by the freezer. How much could there really be to say? Surely not so much that I’d need to settle in for it. We were going to get married and then didn’t because he left. I didn’t want a big chat about it. After everything I thought I might say when I finally saw him, I suddenly cared less than I ever had. I had nothing except vague pity for the bedraggled ghost in front of me.

‘Alexander,’ I sighed. ‘Why are you here?’

He considered it. He settled on: ‘To say sorry. To fix it.’

Carol settled in at his feet, put out at lying on the cold concrete floor instead of the snuggly sofa but happy he was there. I didn’t know what to say.

Eventually I asked, ‘Why did you do it? Why did you just leave that way? You abandoned me.’

My voice wavered enough to betray my steely expression. I’d had the moment so many times in my head – rehearsed what I’d say if I ever saw him again – but it was too painful to make it some big dramatic scene. I’d deliberately left my misery behind in Australia.

‘I don’t know,’ he whispered. ‘I wanted to get a reaction from you, I think.’

‘A reaction,’ I repeated. Blood pulsed in my ears.

Alexander bit down on his bottom lip as he decided how to explain what he meant. ‘It was like being with a robot,’ he settled on. ‘You never screamed or shouted or got mad. I’m fairly certain you were faking most of your orgasms. There was no … passion. I love you, but sometimes I don’t even know you.’

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