Page 30 of Downfall

“Will you be going away for the summer?” My mother asks.

Normally it’s a given. Verona is too hot, too stifling to stay. Anyone that can afford to escapes for July and August and returns with the autumn. But this is an election year.

Paris tilts his head. “Probably not.” He says. “I will need to be here, to support my uncle.” His eyes turn to me and my mother asks the question before he can say anything further.

“But does Rose need to stay?”

I wince. Perhaps she’s trying to buy me some respite. Give me a little breathing space. It would be exactly her kind of thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder after all, doesn’t it? Give us a little time apart and no doubt when we see each other next we’ll fall madly back in love and everything will be fixed. I can practically see the plan forming in her head.

Paris tenses, just a little, just enough. “Not necessarily.” He replies. “But she will.”

I bite my tongue, swallowing the relief that was almost there, that was almost granted. He’s making me stay. He’s keeping me here, beside him, like a god damn slave.

“She is your wife. It would be expected that she stays with you.” My father says pointedly, throwing my mother a look that clearly says ‘shut the fuck up’.

My mother smiles, simpering. “Of course.” She sips her wine and I take a gulp of mine hoping it might soothe the sting but it barely touches it.

“We’ve been married five years.” Paris states and both my parents watch his face eagerly for any hint of what his next words might be. “Long enough for us to realise what we want.”

My mother bites her lip. My father’s face is hard. Does he think Paris might be saying he wants a divorce? Is that what he’s thinking right now?

Paris looks across at me. Thank god the table is so big that he can’t touch me in this moment but somehow I know what the next words will be. What awful thing he’s about to declare.

“…We’ve decided to start a family of our own.”

My mother gasps with visible joy. My father thaws instantly.

The necklace that Paris gave me feels suddenly like a noose around my neck. The diamond is suddenly a millstone dragging me down and I’m drowning.

Right here.

In front of them all.

Only they can’t see that. My face betrays nothing. My lips are curled in the tiniest of smiles as if I’m bashful, shy even.

“Oh Paris.” My mother exclaims clapping her hands. “Rose.” She leans over the chair and hugs me.

I can’t speak or this mask will break.

“We’re not pregnant yet.” Paris says. His eyes twinkling in triumph. “But very soon I’m sure we will be parents and you will have grandchildren.”

“Blumenfelds.” My mother says. “Our grandchildren will be Blumenfelds.”

“Yes.” Paris says smiling like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted too.

I take another sip of my wine, only it turns into a gulp. And I’m telling myself over and over that this won’t happen. That I won’t let it. That for once in my life I’m not going to be railroaded into something I don’t want.

“A toast.” My father says raising his glass. “To Paris and Rose. My daughter and son-in-law and our future grandchildren.”

“Paris and Rose.” My mother echoes.

“And our children.” Paris says his eyes fixed on me.

I raise my glass. Still I have nothing. No words. Just an awful, bitter pain that writhes worse than ever.

And I toast as if I’m happy about this.

Only deep down that’s not what I’m thinking. Deep down I’m imagining him dead. My husband. I’m imagining that’s what we’re all cheering for, that’s what we’re all joyful about.

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