Arrived. Hotel like something out of TOWIE. How are things? Send me a photo! xxx
‘Amber,’ George says warningly. ‘I thought we’d agreed not to keep texting.’ She stares at her handset, willing an image of Mabel to pop onto the screen. ‘Please, babe. Turn the thing off and put it away.’
‘How can I?’ she responds crossly. ‘What if there’s a problem? What if Ruby needs to get in touch urgently?’
‘She won’t. She’s fine.’ He sits down and puts his arm around her. ‘Oh dear, you’re so tense.’ He starts to knead the solid flesh between her shoulders. Her body wants to yield to his touch, but her mind won’t let her. ‘What shall we do first?’ he murmurs. ‘Go for a swim? Use the spa?’
Amber shakes her head. She would love a swim but can’t bear the thought of wearing a swimsuit in public, which is why she deliberately didn’t pack one. He digs his thumbs into her resistant muscles, then reaches around her and starts to undo the buttons of her shirt.
‘George … please don’t. The curtains aren’t drawn. People can see in.’
‘Only if they’re up a tree – we’re on the second floor! Anyway, I don’t care.’
‘Well I do.’ She wriggles free and jumps off the bed. ‘It’s too early. I’m not – not ready.’
His face falls. ‘I’m just trying to make the most of our time together.’
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry.’ She goes to the window and looks out at the bare trees, blowing in the sharp February wind.
George is clearly not about to give up. ‘We could order afternoon tea,’ he says. ‘In bed. Home-made finger sandwiches and little cakes.’
‘You know I’m trying to cut down on sugar.’
‘But this is our holiday, we’re allowed treats.’
‘I’m not.’ She feels herself welling up. ‘Ruby hasn’t replied.’
‘Give her a chance. I expect she’s playing with Mabel, or making her afternoon snack.’
‘It’s too early for her afternoon snack. Something must be wrong.’ She starts composing another text, but he walks over and snatches the phone out of her hands.
‘You’ve got to stop this.’
‘Hey! Give it back!’ She cannot allow him to look at her phone.
‘No. I’m putting it in the safe.’
‘You can’t! Give it to me. Please … It’s my phone. I need it.’ She stretches out her hand, demanding its return.
‘If you’re going to spend the whole time checking on Ruby, we might as well go home now.’
‘Suits me,’ she replies, her palm still facing upwards.
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes I do.’
‘You were the one who wanted to go away for the weekend; it was your idea.’
‘Actually, it was Ruby’s. Give me the phone. Now!’
There are a few seconds of silent stand-off, then he angrily tosses it onto the bed. Amber grabs it immediately and unlocks the screen.
‘Have you any idea how much this is costing?’ he says. ‘I really pushed the boat out. I was trying to please you; I thought it was what you wanted.’
She finishes the text. Still waiting for my pic. Everything okay?
It’s his turn to stare out of the window now, his chest heaving as he breathes out his anger. Amber takes off her boots and puts her feet on the silky bedcover. Shoving aside some cushions, she lays her head on the crisp white pillow, clutching the phone to her chest like a comfort blanket, only there’s not a shred of comfort in the cold, unresponsive metal.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says limply. ‘I know I’m being hopeless and difficult. I’m trying, but it’s so hard.’
He turns around to face her. ‘What’s wrong, Amber? Please. Throw me a bone.’ He waits for her to respond, but she has nothing to give him. ‘We’ve known each other since we were kids; we’ve always been so close, but you’re treating me like a stranger. I was really hoping this weekend would bring us back together.’
‘It’s not an instant fix,’ she says. ‘I can’t suddenly switch back to how it was when it was just the two of us. Things have changed. I’ve changed.’
‘I told you, I still find you attractive—’
‘I mean inside, George. I’ve changed inside. I’m not the same person I was before Mabel was born.’
He frowns at her, trying to understand. Her heart goes out to him. How can he understand when he doesn’t know the truth? But this is not the time to confess.
‘Would you like to go back to work?’ he says after a long pause. ‘I know we decided you’d take the full year off, but if you’d rather … We could get a nanny, or send Mabel to nursery.’
She shakes her head wearily. ‘I realised months ago I wouldn’t be able to go back. Remember those long hours I used to do? All that tedious entertaining – sometimes I didn’t get home until three in the morning and then I’d have to be up in time for a breakfast meeting at eight. It was stressful enough then, without having a child to look after. Impossible now.’
‘Why didn’t you say, if that’s what’s been worrying you?’ A flash of hope crosses his face. He comes towards her and sits on the edge of the bed. ‘Maybe you should start looking for a different job. Something part-time, more local. It could be really exciting – a whole change of career.’
Amber sighs. ‘Just the thought of applying for things right now makes me feel exhausted.’
‘When you feel up to it … There’s no rush.’ He pats her shoulder. ‘It’s worth thinking about. It could be the answer.’
There is no answer, she says to herself. No answer, no solution. It’s just how it is. She made this bed and now she must lie in it, no matter how uncomfortable the mattress or how troublesome the night’s sleep.
‘Yeah, it’s an idea,’ she replies, leaving it at that.
He takes her hand and squeezes it. ‘It’s going to be okay, Amber, I know it. When we found out you were pregnant, it was the best moment of our lives – that and our wedding day. Remember how amazing it felt?’
She closes her eyes. Of course she remembers. Sitting on the loo clutching the test, staring at the two pink lines while the emotions she’d been holding down for all those months broke free and rose suddenly to the surface. A heady mix of intense joy and sobering responsibility. Of all her achievements, this was the one of which she was most proud. She’d done it. Finally gone and done it.
George kisses her, breaking the spell. ‘I can’t imagine being without either of you now. I know you love Mabel as much as I do, and you take really good care of her, there’s no doubt about that; you’re a fantastic mother.’ He hesitates.
Her eyes open and she blinks at him. ‘But …? But what, George?’
‘You seem so unhappy,’ he says, his voice breaking. ‘I can’t bear it and I don’t know how to put it right.’
‘I’m tired, that’s all, just tired. I’m going to take a nap now, if that’s okay?’ He casts his eyes down. ‘So that I can enjoy the evening. I don’t want to fall asleep in my Michelin-starred starter.’ She attempts a feeble laugh.