‘Still nothing,’ I reply, and we sit down opposite each other at the kitchen table.
He nods almost imperceptibly; a silent touché, neither one of us capable of providing.
I sit for a moment trying to find a neutral topic of conversation, something that isn’t about work or finances or the state of the house, something that won’t give rise to vexation.
‘Jude’s looking well,’ I offer.
He nods.
‘Marriage seems to suit her,’ I continue.
‘Time will tell.’
‘What does that mean?’ I ask, wishing immediately that I hadn’t, seeing Robin’s hackles rising.
He shrugs and I, not wanting a fight, stand to empty my cup at the sink, my back turned to him.
‘You used to look at me the way Jude looks at Adam,’ he says quietly.
I turn to him, drying the cup. ‘They’re young, and in love.’
‘Aren’t we?’
My brow furrows, confused by his question. ‘We’re middle-aged and in the thick of life. “In love” is what happens at the start,’ I say, hoping to sound breezy, to stop him burrowing deeper.
He stares into the bottom of his cup. ‘Love. Life. It’s all one big trap.’
I stand for a moment, frozen by his remark, stunned that he could ever consider our family and life together a trap.
‘What does that mean?’ I ask, aware that he’sstruggling with work, but hoping, perhaps against my better judgement, that we,I, am not part of the problem.
‘It means I have nothing beyond this basic existence. Whatever happened to travelling, to seeing something of the world?’
‘It’ll happen. Finances just aren’t in our favour at the moment,’ I console, as keen as he is to strap on a backpack and leave our ties behind.
‘Because of this house!’ he snaps.
I stop, take a breath, guilt rising inside me that the house and business I inherited is a weight round our necks, far too big and old and tired for two impoverished creatives.
‘We’ve gone over this countless times. We can’t let go of the house; it has too much history, too many memories, and we’ve always agreed we want to keep it for Carly. You know how much she loves this place, far more than I ever have. We just have to ride it out; money will come in again.’ I hope I sound more convincing than I feel. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get over this block, or if Robin will find his vigour.
He shakes his head. ‘Life could have been so much better if I hadn’t given up my career for yours.’
It takes me a moment to compute what he’s just said, a momentary calm before the storm, and then it hits me, full force, the thing I’ve feared most – that Robin would one day grow to resent his decision to give up his life in London for mine in Edinburgh.
‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ I whisper, the hairs on my arms standing on end, my whole body cold.
‘Me too,’ he says emotionlessly. He lifts his head, looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘Something needs to change around here, or else this could be the end.’
Shock tears through me like the crack of a whip and I am at once winded and astutely alert. Robin is deeply unhappy, and I am to blame for trapping him here. My brain can’t make the connections. I scramble for the words to respond but before I find them, Robin gets up, pushes his chair in with a screech and disappears out of the room.
After a time standing clutching the sink, my mind fizzing with questions –The end of the shop?Or the end of us?Where did this come from? What did I do? Does he want out? Does he love me? –I run from the kitchen and down to the basement.
‘Elsa?’ I call, my heart racing.
‘Whatever has happened?’ she asks in her faint Dutch accent, quietly closing the door to the bedroom where Bill is napping. She places a calm hand on my back. Her wooden bangles jangle as she gestures for me to join her in the living area. It’s only when I sit down that I notice the tears streaming down my face.
I retreat into her orange corner sofa and look up at the legs of strangers passing by outside. She offers me a box of tissues, sits beside me, and waits.
