His eyes were cold and hard. How dare she blame him for this?
‘I wasn’t enough for you?’
She shook her head emphatically.
‘No, Henry, of course you were … are. I … felt taken over. It was like I’d lost myself. It seemed like my life was an extension of yours. The thing with Jim was mine somehow. If we’d had children it might …’
Henry laughed cynically.
‘You’re trying to put the guilt on me for things you claimed never to want. It’s supposedly my fault because you couldn’t tell me the truth. Marrying me, misleading me, making me think we wanted the same things. As time went on didn’t it occur to you to ask if I wanted a child?’
‘But you were so certain about it,’ she said surprised. ‘So determined and so happy to be child free.’
‘So is Jim going to give you the baby you so desperately want?’ he asked childishly.
Her eyes widened and then her features creased, and it wasn’t her face at all. It was like watching a photo being screwed up. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘How can you say something like that? It’s disgusting. I’ve not done anything like that with Jim. He wanted to but I wouldn’t. I’ve told him it’s all over. He keeps contacting me, but I swear I haven’t seen him.’
‘What about Saturday?’ he said scornfully. ‘Seeing him then are you?’
She looked puzzled.
‘What do you mean? You and I are having a picnic in the park.’
‘So, it’s all over, but he came to my funeral,’ said Henry before thinking.
Imogen tilted her head back.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ he said quickly.
He put the bottle of wine in the fridge. He didn’t want Imogen to drink any more.
‘What do you mean your funeral?’ she persisted. ‘What on earth are you talking about? Have you been drinking Henry?’
He noticed the sleeves of her dress were creased where she’d obviously rolled them up earlier in the day. If only I had been drinking, he thought; if only that’s all it was, Henry Booker Frazer drinking too much and becoming delusional. But Henry Booker Frazer didn’t drink enough to become tipsy.
‘Why didn’t you say you wanted a baby?’
‘I didn’t know how to Henry. You were always telling people how lucky we were not to have them. My mum said you never stopped boasting about being child free. It was like it was something special.’
She was right, thought Henry. I was proud of it. Proud of our child-free home and our child-free evenings and weekends.
‘The manager’s job, you wanted that too didn’t you? Why didn’t you push more for it? Why weren’t you stronger?’ he demanded, while knowing the truth was that he’d never wanted her to be.
She seemed relieved it was now all out in the open. She could air her grievances at last, her grievances against a man whose only crime had been to love her. Except it wasn’t all out in the open was it, Henry wanted to shout, ‘What about my murder, maybe you have conveniently forgotten about that!’
‘Henry, you have never listened to me. I did say I was keen to take the manager’s job but you dismissed it every time. Just like you’ve often dismissed my feelings.’
‘That’s not true,’ he argued. ‘When have I ever dismissed your feelings?’
‘All the time, Henry. Mum says you’re very self-centred and I agree with her.’
The dull gnawing pain in his stomach had returned. His own fault, he should have eaten more. Getting emotional like this, on an empty stomach, was just asking for trouble. He fumbled in the cupboard for his stomach tablets, those little white pills that opened the doors into moments of painless bliss.
‘You’re getting upset,’ said Imogen, filling a glass from the tap.
