Page 30 of The Life We Almost Had

I felt beautiful. Now everything felt ugly. Our marriage showered in a confetti of faded dreams.

Furiously I dragged the cotton-wool pad across my skin,removing all traces of the make-up I had worn to work. From around my neck I unfastened the silver chain I wore most days. In my jewellery box was the gold star pendant Adam had bought me for our first Christmas together. My stomach tightened painfully. He hadn’t called me Star for ages. I really should have tucked the necklace somewhere I didn’t have to look at it every day, but I knew that wasn’t the solution. Out of sight was definitely not out of mind.

I pulled out the drawer of my dressing table. Nestled under the pile of underwear, once black and lacy, now washed-too-often-no-longer-white and bought for practicality rather than fun, it lay there like a dirty secret. Gently I pulled out the parcel, unwrapping tissue paper as fragile as my heart. Inside was the tiny lemon sleepsuit covered in bears and the brightly coloured cuddly parrot we’d bought on a whim, the weekend we arrived home from honeymoon when we had begun trying for a family of our own.

‘This parrot looks like the one we set free the week we met,’ Adam had said. ‘Our future child absolutely has to have it. We shall call him Percy.’ I still could picture us. Me carefully carrying the shopping bag as if it was as precious as the baby we thought we’d create. Adam’s arm protectively around me. At home, I had sprawled on the rug, Percy Parrot in my hand, the sleepsuit spread over my stomach, while Adam had thrown logs on the fire.

‘Will you still love me when I’m fat?’ I had grinned, waiting for his jokey response.

‘I’ll love you forever, Anna,’ he had said as he crouched before me. My flippancy had melted away as he kissed me long and hard. His hands unbuttoning my shirt. Fingers brushing against my flat stomach, feather light. Stupid but I had thought that I’d fall pregnant that night.It felt too perfect for it not to happen. Afterwards, Adam had tugged the throw from the back of the sofa and covered us and we had toasted our future with elderflower cordial. I’d been determined not to drink. Adam vowed to be alcohol-free in support.

‘What do you think of names?’ I had nestled against him.

‘I’m rather fond of them. It would be confusing if we didn’t have them.’

‘Idiot. How about Charlotte?’

‘Too formal. Iris?’ he had suggested.

‘Too old-fashioned. Harry?’

‘Too wizardy.’

I had pushed him.

‘Sorry,’ he had said, rubbing his shoulder. ‘That was your grandad’s name, wasn’t it?’

My phone began to ring, pulling me from that memory. It was Mum.

‘Hello, I was just thinking about you. Well, about Grandad.’

‘What about him?’ Mum asked.

‘About his name.’ As soon as I had said it, I kicked myself.

‘You’re thinking about names? Anything to tell me?’ Mum sounded so hopeful.

‘Mum. You know we’re not starting a family until I’m where I want to be in my career.’ It pained me every time I had lied to her over the past few years but I couldn’t face her disappointment each month, along with my own. I had never told her we were trying. I hadn’t told Nell. She was so busy with Alfie and Emily. Two children under five – she called it a nightmare, to me it was a dream.

‘Your dad would be proud of you being made Head of Year,but more than anything he’d want you to be happy. There is no right time to start a family, Anna.’

‘I know. We will one day, I prom—’

The slam of the front door saved me from making a promise I couldn’t keep.

‘Adam’s home. Can I call you back?’ I wanted to put the sleepsuit away before he came upstairs.

‘It’s okay. Nan just wanted me to tell you there’s a programme about a man who travelled the world on foot on BBC later. She thought Adam might enjoy it.’

‘Thanks.’ I had no intention of watching it. Adam didn’t need another reminder of the life he’d given up for me. He was no longer working in a travel agency but in the administration department of the council. He didn’t hate it but he didn’t love it either.

We said goodbye and after I had stuffed everything back into my drawer, I trudged downstairs wishing Adam and I could talk about our disappointments as readily as we used to talk about our dreams, but we didn’t seem to be able to. Or perhaps it was that we didn’t want to. Afraid of what we’d say. Afraid of what we’d hear. Did he blame me? He must have and I just couldn’t bear to listen to him say that he did. Still, as I headed towards the kitchen I vowed that I would make an effort. Instead, I found myself snapping, ‘Did you get the bits I asked you to from Tesco?’ My eyes scanned the kitchen for shopping bags.

‘Fuck. No. Sorry. Bad day. I—’

‘Everyday seems to be a bad day.’ I bit back and I knew that tonight wouldn’t be the night for meaningful conversations. Again.

‘Hello to you too.’ Adam turned his back on me and washed his hands at the sink before flicking on the kettle. I crossed my arms, waiting for him to realize he’d forgotten the milk.

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