The Breakdown. B A Paris
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I get out of the car, the smell of a bonfire burning in the garden transports me instantly back to my childhood. I close my eyes and, for a few blissful seconds, it’s no longer a hot, sunny day in July, it’s a crisp, cold November evening and Mum and I are eating sausages speared onto forks, while Dad sets off fireworks at the bottom of the garden. I open my eyes to find that the sun has disappeared behind a cloud, mirroring my mood. Normally, I would go and find Matthew but, instead, I head straight for the house, glad to have a little more time to myself.
‘I thought I heard the car,’ he says, coming into the kitchen a few minutes later. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon. Weren’t you meant to be having lunch out?’
‘We were, but we decided to leave it for today.’
He comes over and drops a kiss on my head. ‘Good. Now you can have lunch with me.’
‘You smell of bonfire,’ I say, breathing it in from his T-shirt.
‘I thought I’d get rid of all those branches I cut down the other week. Luckily, they were under the tarpaulin so the rain didn’t get to them but they would have smoked the house out if we’d used them on the fire.’ He wraps his arms around me. ‘You do know that you’re the one for me, don’t you?’ he says softly echoing what he used to say when we first met.
I’d been working at the school for about six months when a group of us went to a wine bar to celebrate my birthday. Connie noticed Matthew the moment we arrived. He was sitting at a table by himself, clearly waiting for someone, and she’d joked that if his date didn’t turn up she would offer to replace her. When it became obvious that his date wasn’t going to materialise, she went over, already a little drunk, and asked him if he wanted to join us.
‘I was hoping nobody would notice I’d been stood up,’ he said ruefully as Connie sat him down between her and John. It meant that I was opposite him and I couldn’t help noticing the way his hair fell over his forehead, or the blue of his eyes whenever he looked over at me, which he did, quite a lot. I tried not to make too much of it, which was just as well, as by the time we stood up to leave, several bottles of wine later, he had Connie’s number firmly in his phone.
A few days later she came up to me in the staff room, a huge grin on her face, to tell me that Matthew had called her – to ask for my number. So I let her give it to him and when he phoned, he nervously admitted, as he so sweetly put it, ‘As soon as I saw you I knew you were the one for me.’
Once we began seeing each other regularly, he confessed that he couldn’t father children. He told me he’d understand if I didn’t want to see him again but, by then, I was already in love and although it was a major blow, I didn’t feel it was the end of the world. By the time he asked me to marry him, we’d already talked about other ways to have a child and had decided that we would look into it seriously once we’d been married a year. Which is about now. Usually, it’s a constant thought in my mind but now it seems so far away I can’t reach it.
Matthew’s arms are still around me. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’ he asks.
‘Yes, we bought Susie some luggage.’
‘Are you all right? You seem a bit down.’
Suddenly, the need to be on my own is overwhelming. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, pulling away from him. ‘I think I’ll get an aspirin.’
I go upstairs, get a couple of aspirins from the bathroom and swallow them down with water from the tap. As I lift my head I catch sight of my face in the mirror and search it anxiously, looking for something that could give me away; something which would tell people that everything isn’t as it should be. But there’s nothing to show I’m any different to the person I was when I married Matthew a year ago, just the same chestnut hair and the same blue eyes staring back at me.
I turn my back on my reflection and go into the bedroom. My pile of clothes has been moved from the chair to the now-made bed, a gentle hint from Matthew to tidy them away. On a normal day I would be amused but today I feel irritated. My eyes fall on my great-grandmother’s writing desk and I remember the money Rachel spoke about, the hundred and sixty pounds that everybody gave me for Susie’s gift. If I took the money, it would be in there, it’s where I always put things I want to keep safe. Taking a deep breath, I unlock the little drawer on the left-hand side of the writing desk and pull it out. Lying inside is a scruffy pile of notes. I count them; there’s a hundred and sixty pounds exactly.
In the warm peace of my bedroom the hard facts of what I forgot suddenly loom over me. To forget a name or a face is normal but to forget suggesting a gift and taking money for it isn’t.
‘Did you take some aspirin?’ Matthew says from the doorway, making me jump.
‘I quickly push the drawer shut. ‘Yes, and I feel much better.’
‘Good.’ He smiles. ‘I’m going to have a sandwich. Do you want one? I thought I’d have mine with a beer.’
The thought of food still makes my stomach churn. ‘No, go ahead. I’ll get something later. I’ll just have a cup of tea.’
I follow him downstairs and sit down at the kitchen table. He puts a mug of tea in front of me and I watch him as he takes bread from the cupboard, a slab of cheddar from the fridge and makes himself a quick sandwich, pushing the two together and eating it without a plate.
‘That murder has been on the radio all morning,’ he says, crumbs dropping to the floor. ‘The road’s been closed and the police are all over it, looking for evidence. It’s insane to think it’s all happening five minutes from here!’
I try not to flinch and look absent-mindedly at the tiny white crumbs on our terracotta stone floor. They look as if they’re stranded at sea with no help in sight. ‘Do they know anything about her yet?’ I ask.
‘The police must do because they’ve advised her next of kin but they haven’t released any details. It’s awful to think what someone must be going through right now. Do you know what I can’t get out of my mind? That it could have been you if you’d been stupid enough to take that road last night.’
I stand, my mug in my hand. ‘I think I’ll go and lie down for a bit.’
He looks at me, concerned. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You don’t look great. Perhaps we shouldn’t go to the party tonight?’
I smile sympathetically because he’s not a party person, he’d much rather have friends over for a casual dinner. ‘We have to, it’s Susie’s fortieth.’
‘Even if you still have a headache?’ I hear the ‘but’ in his voice and sigh.
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to talk to Rachel.’
‘I don’t mind talking to her, it’s just those disapproving looks she always gives me. She makes me feel as if I’ve done something wrong. Did you remember to get my jacket from the cleaner’s, by the way?’
My heart sinks. ‘No, sorry, I forgot.’
‘Oh. Well, never mind, I guess I can wear something else.’
‘Sorry,’ I say again, thinking of the present and all the other things I’ve forgotten lately. A few weeks ago, he had to come and rescue me and my trolley-load of food at the supermarket when I left my purse on the kitchen table. Since then, he’s found milk where the detergent should be and detergent in the fridge, and has had to deal with an angry call from my dentist over an appointment I forgot I’d made. So far he’s laughed it off, telling me I’m in overload because of the end of the school year. But like with Susie’s present, there have been other times when my memory has failed me, times he doesn’t know about. I’ve driven to school without my books, forgotten both a hair appointment and a lunch with Rachel, and last month I drove twenty-five miles to Castle Wells, unaware I’d left my bag at home. The thing is, although he knows that Mum died when she was fifty-five and that towards the end she was forgetful, I’ve never actually come out and told