Page 112 of The Love of My Life
Then it was all very simple.
‘Ruby,’ I called. ‘Ruby, find your shoes. We’re going for a long drive in the car.’
I couldn’t allow Emma to do it. I couldn’t allow her to live another moment of this nightmare alone.
John wanders up to Emma and me, as we sit in silence. He wags his tail for a moment before heading off inside, in search of food.
I don’t know if Emma’s too tired to talk, or perhaps too nervous, but she sits perfectly still, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She’s wearing the beanie hat again.
I track a bird as it crosses the bay. Emma’s taught me what these birds are before, but the name eludes me now. This drives her mad: she’s always said I never listen to a word she says, but I do. Did. I thought about her words late at night when I was dropping off. When I sat at my desk, writing obituaries. I thought about her words when I was driving, walking, eating, and I did that because she was the only person who had ever made sense to me.
I prise her left hand from her and slide off her wedding ring. I put it in my pocket. Emma inspects her bare hand, silently, but doesn’t look at me.
After a few moments I sense her body sag.
The bird cries, looping round above us. ‘We’re not married,’ I remind her.
Emma shakes her head. ‘No.’
I take her hand back. ‘But what’s clear to me is that we should be.’
She looks at me, sharply, then looks away.
‘Emma?’
I watch her, patiently, until she turns to look at me again. In the fast-falling darkness her eyes are deep seas. Unknown oceans, but I can learn them again. They’re the only ones I want to swim.
‘I will trust you,’ I tell her.
She hesitates. The bird loops over us again, wings still as it rides a current.
‘I will trust you,’ I repeat.
‘But will you? Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘But – really?’
I nod.
‘I know you, Leo,’ Emma says.
‘I also know me. Better than you might think.’
The bird disappears into the inky horizon, still calling.
‘I want us to get married. Properly. With Ruby in a sweet little dress, stealing the show. We don’t have to tell anyone, if you don’t want to have to explain it. But I want us to be married.’
After a long pause, she drops down onto her elbows. I drop down onto mine.
‘When Ruby and I were driving up here, I was trying to imagine shuttling her between two different houses for weekend custody. Us learning to become friends, trying to co-parent. One day meeting someone else. And it felt miserable. I don’t want that, I want us. I’ve only ever wanted us.’
Emma nods, almost imperceptibly.
‘Do you?’ I ask, when she doesn’t say anything. ‘Do you want us?’
She switches round to face me, resting on one elbow. Then: ‘Yes,’ she says, quietly. ‘More than anything.’
