true, at least. He is always networking, trying to bring in new business. It’s not fair the burden falls to him. Especially when I can’t give him the one thing that he wants.
Another child.
He has always been the one desperate for a sibling for Archie. I’ve been reluctant to agree. Truth be told, I’d been horrified when I found out I was pregnant with Archie, as I’d been so careful. George has stopped asking me for another baby. I hope it’s because we can’t afford one right now, because the thought that he might still want a large family – but not want one with me – is almost too much to bear.
I look at him across the kitchen, my handsome husband with his mop of dark hair and blue eyes that look permanently worried. He is slipping away from me. For a split second I wonder how much money the journalist had offered Marie. What we would have to say to generate enough interest to rocket our bank account from red to black, but I dismiss it instantly.
There are things I will never tell no matter how high the stakes.
‘How’s your morning been?’ I ask George as I lift the box from the worktop. He puts Archie down.
‘Go upstairs and wash your hands while Mummy and I make you some lunch.’
‘Okay, Daddy. I’ll fly.’ Archie stretches his arms into wings and zooms around the kitchen twice before he thunders upstairs.
George takes the box from me and puts it back down. ‘What the fuck, Leah?’
I swallow hard. ‘You shouldn’t have—’
‘I knew you weren’t coping.’ George tips the box onto its side and out spills bottle after bottle of antibacterial cleaner, hand wash, disinfectant wipes. Disposable gloves.
‘I… I am…’ I’m coping because of the contents of the box, not in spite of them.
‘You’re not. You haven’t got eczema again at all, have you?’
I stare miserably at my gloved hands. ‘No.’
‘You need help.’
‘It’s because of the anniversary.’
‘I know.’ His voice is quiet. His expression despairing. ‘I know how difficult it is for you. All of you. But remember the last time? I can’t go through it again, Leah. I’m not putting Archie through it. If you need to go and stay somewhere—’
‘A psychiatric hospital? I’m not mad.’
‘I’m not saying you are but you need specialist—’
‘I’ll ring Francesca. Make an appointment.’
She had helped before. She was the one who came to the police station and fought for me when they wouldn’t let me go. She explained the truth to them, however implausible it had seemed. My pulse accelerates as I remember the disbelief etched on their faces. The suspicion. She managed to persuade them I was innocent.
That time, I was innocent.
‘George? I said I’ll ring Francesca.’
‘Okay.’ There’s such weariness to that one word. He doesn’t follow it with ‘when?’ or ‘call her now’ and I know what he is thinking.
‘I know she’s expensive but Marie says we’re due some large royalties. I can cover the cost. Soon the anniversary will have been and gone and everything will be back to normal, I promise.’
‘You can’t put a price on mental health,’ he says. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Thanks. I’ll see what she suggests.’ I flash him a smile that he doesn’t return.
After a silent sandwich – even Archie is subdued, picking up on our tension – George disappears into his study.
‘What shall we play with, Archie?’ I ask.
‘Are your hands too sore to play trains, Mummy?’ He studies my face.
My throat swells as he looks at me with concern. ‘I’m never too sore to play with you, Archie.’ Not a direct lie, but not the truth either.
Archie scampers upstairs, returning minutes later, his thick winter gloves covering his hands.
‘Now we’re the same.’
I blink back tears as I watch him struggle to push the carriages around the track, hating myself, and loving him more.
It is just Archie and me for dinner. George is heading out again. After we’ve eaten, Archie asks if he can go and watch George get ready. He loves it when George smothers his chin in shaving cream, a Father Christmas beard.
I settle myself in front of the TV, channel-hopping, trying to find something upbeat – there are far too many crime series on. Channel 4 is halfway through an episode of Come Dine With Me but I watch it all the same.
My mobile trills its old-fashioned telephone ring. Anxiety cackles in my ear when I see where the call is coming from.
Why is he ringing me? But I