What could she say to that? Nothing. She was silent.
“Our childhood has left marks on her. She is anxious. She has underlying issues that need to be addressed. She will get that time now to unravel the burdens our years
of living rough left on her. She will get help, finally.”
Sophie nodded; she had no words to describe how glad she was. “How are Ian and John?”
“They are missing their mother; and they are missing you. Their new nanny is good to them, but she does not read Peter Pan.”
Sophie didn’t smile. She’d lost the ability. “I have a new family now.”
“You work for someone else?” It displeased him and frustrated him all at once.
“Temporarily. Yes.”
“Yet you are here.”
“Yes.”
And for the first time he saw the paint in her hair and on her shirt and he smiled. “I am asking you only for dinner.”
His smile hardened her heart. It had been his smile that had turned her admiration into love. Her longing from lust to love. “And I am asking you to leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Don’t you get it, Alex? You broke what I felt for you beyond repair. You made it ridiculous and untenable. It’s not just that I needed time to get over it. To forgive you. There is no forgiving this.”
“Only because you think I tricked you into marriage,” he murmured sharply, aware that the street was busy.
“You told me that’s what you did!”
“And maybe I even believed it then. But Sophie, how could I not love you?”
“Don’t!” She stamped her foot. “Don’t use that word. You have no idea what it is to love someone.”
“I am telling you the truth …”
She lifted a hand and slapped his cheek hard, and then she sobbed. Grief and shock mingled inside of her. “Don’t. Just … don’t.” She spun on her heel and ran down the street. It was crowded but she was slight and she weaved effortlessly through the hoards of commuters. Only at the corner, with traffic flying in all directions, was she forced to pause.
Alex, one hand lifted to his burning cheek, strode purposefully down the pavement towards her. He didn’t know what to do to fix this, but he had to get through to her. He watched as his wife looked in both directions, and then flicked her head over her shoulder, to see where he was. Her eyes clutched to his, and then her mouth opened and she winced.
It all happened incredibly fast. One moment she was looking at him in surprise, and the next she was crumpling to the footpath. He reached her just in time to thrust a hand beneath her head and save it from hitting the ground. But there was still blood beneath her. Where was it coming from? Had something hit her? A car? A bike?
With fingers that shook, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled triple nine. The ambulance appeared swiftly, but Sophie did not properly regain consciousness.
The next two hours passed in a blur. Despite the fact they were married, Alex was kept in the waiting room. The floor was linoleum, the walls were pale blue and a fluorescent light flickered with troublesome inconsistency.
No one ever kept Alex waiting. For many years, doors had opened swiftly as he approached them. People paused conversations to hear what he had to say.
And yet hospitals and illnesses were levellers like no other.
With Sophie in a room, having suffered God knew what kind of accident, he was simply a man, waiting to hear about the woman he loved.
And the waiting was agonising.
Finally, when Alex was about to jump out of his skin, a doctor appeared and called his name.
“Hello, I’m Maggie.” Her expression was perennially kind. She had a soft easiness to her that spoke of many such conversations.