Page 121 of The Life We Almost Had

It took almost nine months for me to adopt Harry. The wait was torturous. During that time, I lived in constant fear that someone else would swoop in and take my boy away. I hadn’t been on the waiting list to adopt, of course, but thankfully Nancy had recognized the bond between us and rather than placing Harry with foster carers, which would have broken my heart, she continued to care for him while she championed my application from beginning to end. It was her expertise, her patience, that allowed me to untangle the red tape and bring Harry back to where he belonged.

Home.

‘I don’t know what it is about you two,’ she had said, watching me during one of my frequent visits. ‘He cries almost constantly when you’re not here.’ On cue Harry released one of his infectious giggles while I blew raspberries on his tummy. ‘And yet with you he’s happy. Content. It’s like you were meant to be.’

Sometimes she would raise her eyebrows, an inviting of confidence,and I’d smile, and nod, and tell her yes. It did feel like Harry was mine. Once. Just once she asked me why I thought Adam had left me the address of her care home.

I had shrugged. ‘I can’t say for sure but I’m very grateful he did.’ Never sharing that I could say, but didn’t. There was no logical reason for Harry being left here while Adam lay dying across the other side of the world. How a baby, my baby, who scientifically speaking had never existed, now lays contentedly in my arms as though he belongs there.

And he does.

Over time, I have stopped trying to figure it all out.

‘There are more mysteries to the universe than we can ever unravel,’ Oliver had said. ‘Things that are beyond the realms of scene, of probabilities.’ Hearing this allowed me to stop endlessly googling neuroscience and consciousness and trying to find a rational explanation.

There isn’t one.

From time to time, I spring awake in the middle of the night. Sheets tangled and drenched with sweat, heart pounding as I wonder what would have happened to Harry if I hadn’t remembered the notebook. The address. But generally I don’t allow my mind to go there.

‘I’ll stick this one in my boot and drop it at the Parkinson’s charity shop in the morning.’ Josh hauls the box I’ve labelled ‘Donations’ into his arms. ‘I think that’s the last one.’ He pounds downstairs.

‘Thank God for that.’ Nell wipes her forehead with her sleeve. ‘I’m knackered. You ready, Anna? We’ll be late.’

I shake my head. I’m not ready and yet… ‘Can you give me a few minutes?’

‘Of course. Come with your Aunty Nell.’ Nell stretches out her arms and Harry crawls across to her. His dungarees are filthy at the knees. I was mortified at the amount of dust that had been uncovered when the furniture was carried out. Nell scoops him up and plants a kiss on his check. He giggles. He loves her so much. Again, I question whether I’m doing the right thing, tearing him away from his bedroom with the yellow ducks marching around the walls, his home.

‘Let’s get you strapped into the car, little man,’ she says. ‘I’ll give you another lesson on girls.’

Her footsteps recede. The front door closes and I am alone with my memories.

‘Do you remember the day we moved in, Adam?’ I murmur into the empty space. We had felt so grown up that we could afford a house with a spare room.

‘For guests,’ I had said.

‘Like who?’ Adam had asked. ‘Nell and Josh live minutes away and so do your family. And my mum and dad…’ He didn’t have to finish. I knew it was a source of sadness they didn’t know him properly as an adult, that they weren’t around to see the man he had grown into. No matter how old we are, I think that ultimately we all crave the love and approval of our parents, don’t we?

‘I suppose you want to turn it into some sort of man cave?’ I had lightened the mood. ‘A games console and a mini fridge stocked with beer.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Adam had slipped his arms around my waist and muzzled the back of my neck. ‘You can’t fit many cans in a mini fridge; I need a full-sized one, and a pool table, and a Pac Man and—’

‘Umm, you have seen the size of the room.’ I had spun around and gestured with my hand.‘But then you do overestimate the size of things.’ I backed away with a smile. Mock outrage crossed his face.

‘Iwouldtell you what’s enormous.’ Adam had sprung forward, tickling my ribs until my knees buckled and we were both lying on the rough, hessian carpet. ‘But you’d never believe me.’

‘What,’ I had laughed. ‘What’s so enormous?’

‘My love for you.’ He was suddenly serious, holding me with his eyes.

‘Adam, I…’ I didn’t know what to say. I had never felt so happy. So content. So complete.

‘And you know what would fit perfectly in this room?’

I shook my head, maintaining eye contact.

‘A cot.’ He had dipped his head, his lips feathering over mine. ‘This will be a nursery.’ His hands undoing the button on my jeans, his jeans. In that moment we had no doubt that our lives would be exactly what we wanted them to be: long and happy. Together.

Now, I wipe my eyes. There has been too much time for sadness. I conjure another image, determined that all my tears today will be happy ones. I wander into our bedroom. There’s a dark rectangle on the carpet, where our bed – now dismantled and in the removal van – used to rest. The memory of our first night here brings a smile. We had bought a double air mattress while we saved for the wrought-iron bedstead I’d coveted.

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