Authors: Janelle Harris
Mark drops his head and doesn’t say a word.
‘I don’t blame you,’ I admit. ‘I think I’m crazy, too.’
Mark slips his finger under my chin and tilts my head a little until my eyes are looking into his. His sparkling blue eyes have faded, and dark circles hang under his eyes like heavy baggage. I know something so terrible has happened that his usual shine has been wiped away and may never come back.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I ask finally, as my crying dilutes to heavy sobbing.
‘Of course.’ He smiles. ‘You can always ask me anything.’
I drag some air between my teeth and force it back out with a muffled hiss. ‘Did you really try to kill me?’
I don’t disguise the intensity of the question with any frilly language. I’m not sad or apologetic when I speak. Neither am I accusatory. They are just six words strung together to form a painfully serious question. Nonetheless, they stick in my throat like specks of shattered glass. I know mad, murderous villains don’t usually go around confessing to unsuccessful slaughters. But I have to ask. I know in my heart that I will believe the answer Mark gives.
‘No, Laura; I never tried to kill you.’
I sink back against the soft pillows and breathe. I have to actually tell myself to draw breath in and let it back out or I might just stop.
I can ask about the kids now.
Mark knows I’m a good mother. Even if he doesn’t love me anymore and wants to be with Nicole, he won’t stop me from seeing my children. My heart still hurts that things between Mark and I will never be the same, but people separate. It happens. We can still be good parents together. Mark takes my hand in his, and I don’t pull away. I close my heavy eyes.
‘Are you going to stay until I fall asleep?’ I whisper.
Mark squeezes my hand. ‘Sure.’
Later, when we’ve been alone in silence for a long time, Mark lets go of my hand, but I don’t stir.
‘Laura? Laura, are you asleep?’ Mark asks softly.
I groan, but I’m too tired to form words.
‘I had to let you think you were in danger,’ Mark whispers. ‘It was the only way.’
I don’t move or even breathe. Mark must think I’m asleep or he’d never confess something that horrible.
Oh, my God.
The next day wind pinches my ears as I stand outside the gates of a large apartment block. It’s taken us over an hour on the train to reach the quiet area in the suburbs and another twenty minutes of walking in arctic-like conditions to find the large, intimidating tower.
Mark talked the whole journey like an excited child rambling off his Christmas wish list. I didn’t say very much. I couldn’t stop thinking about his strange revelation the previous night. I don’t understand why he worked so hard to mess with my head. I desperately want to quiz his callous efforts, but I can’t find an approach I’m comfortable with. Just being alone with him is challenge enough for my frayed nerves. But I didn’t want to stay in the apartment with Adam and Nigel either. I glance at my watch, counting down the hours until Ava will be released from the hospital.
Mark continues to natter speedily, unaware of my serious reservations about his sincerity. He fills me with short stories and little anecdotes from a life he swears we once lived in New York.
‘It’s just more stuff you don’t remember, Laura,’ he says.
Bullshit.
Mark follows every sight and sound along our way with an enthusiastic, ‘Do you remember this?’
It’s exhausting trying to scratch my brain to recognise the shabby paint stripped door of a little bakery or the special of the day outside an Irish bar. I just don’t know if I’m trying to remember something that really happened or something Mark wants me to think happened. Every now and then, a little glimmer of a something lights up in my head and Mark gets all excited and literally jumps up and down. But just as often, I realise I’ve seen something similar back in Dublin and I’m actually revisiting that.
Mark takes my hand, and even though I want to pull away, I don’t. He leads me up short steps towards a slim revolving door.
I jerk instinctively.
‘C’mon,’ he insists dragging me forward.
‘We can’t go in there,’ I stutter.
‘Of course, we can,’ he says holding up a small, silver key.
‘What’s that for?’
‘You’ll have to come inside to see.’
I shuffle along so close to Mark that I accidentally step on the back of his heels. I hang my head and brace myself to be manhandled by security back out onto the street. Mark breezes past the large glass reception desk in the corner of a huge hallway with finely polished porcelain tiles and elegant marble pillars. The girl behind the desk glances up briefly, waves, and turns her attention away from us. The crossword in front of her appears to be of far greater concern than our trespassing. Before I realise it, we’re standing in the lift heading for the sixth floor.
Christ, that’s high,
I think, once again worrying about the murderous tendencies of my husband.
‘Here we are,’ Mark announces as we step out of the lift and onto a long corridor with three different coloured doors spaced evenly along the wall. A red, a green, and a blue door face us, and I stroll towards the red door without hesitation and wait for Mark to follow.
I stare at the gold numbers on the door, scrunch up my nose, and shake my head. ‘Number twenty-one M,’ I ponder out loud.
I lift my arm sluggishly and twist the ‘M’ ninety degrees. ‘Ah, number two-one-three; that’s more like it,’ I say standing back to admire my handiwork.
Mark laughs.
‘What?’ I snort, looking back at him.
‘You always do that,’ he says happily. ‘And it always just falls back down again.’
Mark’s right. As he speaks, the last gold digit considerately backs up his story and swings back to its original spot.
Mark places the key in the lock and pushes the door open to reveal a very spacious and beautiful apartment.
Damn, that’s impressive.
I often fantasise about a life like this. I imagine myself a busy office executive complete with tailored suits and fabulous shoes coming home in the evening to my impressive New York apartment. It’s elegance and class meets contemporary comfort.
Mark convincingly plays the patronising actioner as we wander from one impressive room to another. He introduces each room by their respective title and waits gleefully for a reaction. I play up to his enthusiasm.
It’s fun
. I politely admire the choice of bold wallpaper and heavy suede curtains. I love it. It’s as though I’ve chosen every inch of the décor myself. There’s not one thing I would change.
When we’ve toured the whole apartment at least three times, Mark’s excitement dwindles slightly. He drops my hand for the first time since we’ve entered the hall and leaves my side to sit in the cream window box inside the large bay. I follow swiftly. I can’t bear to be alone. A potent smell of mothballs and stale, eucalyptus air freshener lingers in the air. Something about the distinctive combination of fragrances presses on the already knotted ball bouncing around my stomach. A subconscious presence seems to be chasing me, and I can’t shake the feeling that the apartment may be haunted. A sharp ache stabs my temples. I slam my eyes shut and pray for the pain to stop.
The lighting is blindly dim and a few solitary candles struggle to create ambiance as they dot strategically around the room. I stub my toe off the kitchen table and serenade Mark with colourful profanities as I make my way to sit beside him. He looks horribly disappointed, and if my toe wasn’t swelling to compete with the size of my ankle, I’d make an effort to admire the romantic atmosphere.
Mark kisses my hand lovingly and waits for me to shut up before handing me a long-stem red rose with a note attached.
‘Read it,’ he suggests, ignoring my violent fit of sudden sneezing.
‘Stupid hay fever,’ I sniffle, balancing on the edge of the window seat with one hand on my nose and the other massaging my aching toe.
‘Just read it, Laura! Please?’ I see less of Mark’s romantic smile and more of his gritted teeth.
I nod to agree and unfold the moist page that I suspect has been doused in my very expensive, designer perfume.
‘Margarita,’ I ask, confused as I read the smudged letters. I wonder if we’re going to play an exciting guessing game and I tingle with excitement.
‘Marry me?’ Mark snaps. ‘It says fucking marry me.’
I laugh. Mark hops up from the window seat and stands in front of me stomping his foot on the ground. It clearly isn’t the sensuous proposal he was hoping for, but the disaster only makes me love him more.
‘Yes,’ I say standing up to face him. ‘I would love to marry you.’
Mark kisses me. It’s a real Hollywood-style kiss. He even flings me back over his knee and drops me close to the ground as he presses his tongue softly against mine. Unfortunately, I don’t have an A-Lister’s makeup crew on hand and I come back up looking a lot more like Medusa than Jennifer Aniston.
Mark playfully teases my adventurous ‘up do’ and kisses me once more. And I’m happy. So very bloody happy. There’s only one thing that could make the moment more perfect, and I hope Mark will feel as excited about it as I did.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I blurt.
Mark falls painfully quiet.
‘I did a test this morning,’ I explain cutting into the thick silence.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks shakily.
‘Well, I wasn’t too sure at first, but by the fifth positive test, I was pretty convinced.’
‘A baby?’
‘Yeah, a baby.’ I smile. I really hope it’s okay to smile.
Mark isn’t saying anything. His exaggerated sighs and strange facial expressions are making me nervous.
‘What about work?’ he says sounding almost disheartened.
‘What about it?’ I reply walking to the dining room table and picking up a pile of paper as thick as a dozen encyclopaedias. ‘Ava and I will work something out. She can take on the bulk, and I’ll be a silent partner.’ I lift the pages above my head and let them scatter to the ground.
Mark stares at the mess.
‘You don’t sound pleased,’ I say sadly.
‘I’m just a bit shocked, that’s all,’ Mark confesses. ‘You’ve always been a career girl. You said you never wanted kids!’
‘I did. I know…and I meant it at the time. But I have your baby growing inside me now. No job in the world could make me feel as happy as I do right now.’
Mark bends in front of me and untucks my blouse from my slim, pencil skirt. He slowly opens the bottom buttons and exposes my quivering tummy. He runs his hand across my bare skin and kisses it softly.
‘Hey there,’ he says speaking very seriously to my belly button. ‘I hope you know how lucky you are. You have got the most amazing mom in the world.’
Mark pulls himself up again and kisses me once more. ‘I love you,’ he whispers. ‘Thank you for making my life so perfect.’
We make love for hours on the soft carpet inside the window. In hindsight, it may have been a good idea to close the curtains, but the city lights shine beautifully and I can't imagine a better setting to realise that Mark is no longer just my best friend and lover; he is my family.
~~~
‘Laura…Laura…Laura,’ Mark calls repeatedly.
I can hear him clearly, but my lips aren’t moving to respond. I look around. I’m lying on the ground in a twisted heap. Mark is sitting beside me with my head resting on his knee.
‘You okay?’ he asks running his fingers through my hair. ‘You banged your head really hard that time.’
I try to sit up but fall back quickly, almost feeling sick from the reeling of my head. ‘What happened?’
‘You fainted,’ Mark explains. ‘It was my fault. I’m so sorry. I was pushing you too hard to remember stuff.’
Mark continues to run his hands gently over my face.
‘I remember,’ I admit groggily.
Mark’s holds his breath and I can feel his knees tremble as they shake my aching head.
‘You do?’ he asks.
He doesn’t sound convinced.
‘Yeah,’ I say, staring into his bloodshot eyes. ‘You proposed to me here, didn’t you?’
A sparkle ignites in Mark’s eyes, and he jumps up with a burst of energy I wasn’t expecting. He reaches his hand out, seeking mine, and pulls me to stand up, too. My legs are wobbly, but I force them firmly onto the ground. I want to be beside him.
‘This is amazing,’ Mark says. ‘You have remembered something all by yourself. I knew this would work. I knew it.’
I tilt my head to one side, intrigued. ‘You knew what would work?’
‘Coming back here. I knew coming back to our old lives would fix you.’
I pull away from him. ‘I didn’t know I was broken.’
Mark’s excitement fades as quickly as it began, and he looks horribly sad once more.
‘We’re all broken, Laura. But once you remember that then we can heal together. I love you,’ he says wrapping his arms around me.
I fall into his warm hug and smell his sweet aftershave as I enjoy a familiar comfort. I need him. The more I remember from my past, the more I fall in love with him all over again. I’m still afraid, but not of Mark anymore. I’m afraid of what else I will remember.
Maybe I drove him away? Maybe it’s my fault he loves Nicole now and not me?