but there was already a smattering of silver roots at the scalp. Twisting the rest of my hair up into a high bun, I reached across to my underwear drawer. Rifling beneath the knickers for the packet of folic acid I kept at the back, I popped a tablet out of the foil, chucked it to the back of my throat and dry swallowed as best I could. Although we had yet to discuss trying for a baby, I’d been taking the supplements for a while. I’d read an article saying new research had shown it was beneficial for women to take folic acid in the months prior to conception so that the body could build up the reserves it needed to create a healthy foetus. I’d seen no harm in starting the course of tablets immediately – I figured I needed all the help I could get.
As I crossed the threshold of the bathroom, I took off my dressing-gown and Jason wolf-whistled. I gave my bum a wiggle and he laughed.
‘I thought you were going to leave me alone in here all night.’ He held up his hands. ‘I’m starting to prune.’
Caramel-skinned and with eyelashes so long they should have belonged to a girl, he had this tendency to dip his chin ever so slightly whenever he looked at me, as though he was shy and this was the first time we had met. A small movement, it was a mannerism reserved for me and me only, a physical tic that harked right back to when we first got together.
I stepped into the tub, my slender frame allowing me to position myself at the opposite end to Jason with room to spare. He’d added too much bubble bath and thick white foam covered the surface of the water.
‘I’m worth the wait,’ I said, scooping some of the foam onto my palm and blowing it at him. It disintegrated into a snowstorm of sausage and marble shapes and, as they lazed their way back down to earth, some of the shapes descended onto Jason’s face and hair. Once they’d settled, he directed his lips at each of the blobs, dislodging them with exaggerated puffs of air.
I moved towards him and closed my eyes, ready for the kiss. As his mouth met mine I heard water slopping over the sides of the bath and onto the floor.
He pulled away, leant back and ducked his head. The moisture turned his blond hair an immediate sheeny black. Resurfacing, he smoothed it from his forehead and blinked the droplets from his lashes. He reached for a bottle of beer balanced on the linen basket. Taking a gulp, he wiped away the sweat on his forehead. I swivelled round so that I could lie back onto his chest. Following my lead, Jason slotted his thighs around my hips.
‘A few weeks and it’ll be our wedding anniversary.’ Steam sheeted off his shins and up to the open window. ‘Shall we have some people round? To celebrate.’
‘We could have a barbecue? Make the most of this Indian summer.’
‘Done.’
He paused, thinking.
‘But then we should do something with just us. A meal?’
I imagined the evening to come. The awkward silences, the search for conversation.
‘Sounds good.’
I loved being married to Jason. I loved our everyday life together. I did not love our anniversary.
Ask any couple what happens when they celebrate their special day and they tell the same story: at some point in the evening one or both of you will take great pleasure in reliving how you got together in minute detail. You will dwell, misty-eyed, on the first flirtation; retell the moment of your meeting to each other over and over again, with lots of ‘and remember when’s and ‘then you said to me’s and finishing of each other’s sentences as you marvel at the Sliding Doors twist of fate that helped two become one.
But that never happened with us, and it never would.
Neither of us had ever spoken it out loud, but the only reason our paths crossed was because we had both attended the same conference. And the only reason we were at that conference was because we’d both lost our children. Coordinated by the NSPCC, its theme was child safety and its aim was to improve the communication and procedures between everyone from Interpol to the Scouts. It was held over three days at one of those hotels that are all stale pastries at breakfast, patterned carpets and overheated rooms. Jason and I had been