Conscious they were blocking the entrance to the check in lanes, Eliza towed her cases a few feet away, then waited for Martin to join her. He rolled his eyes again, and her fists clenched over the handles as the swirl in her belly turned into a vortex that threatened to suck the life out of her. ‘I thought we were in this together,’ she said, pitching her voice low. ‘You knew about my reservations about leaving my family and friends so far behind, about having nothing to do but stay at home and keep house for you. We talked about this and yet now you’re treating me as some kind of hanger-on. This is supposed to be you and me, and baby makes three, remember? The Wilkinsons vs the World.’
Martin shoved a hand through his hair. ‘You can do whatever you want for the next three years. I’m making enough money to set us up for life. Most women would jump at the chance to do nothing but “keep house”. It’s not exactly an onerous task, is it? You’ll be free to spend time on your projects. Christ, we don’t even have to have a kid if you don’t want one, I just thought it would make you happy.’
His words struck her like a blow. All those hours spent talking about this move, when she’d thought they were finally making a proper connection again, and he’d been humouring her? ‘Make me happy? Nothing about this makes me happy, Martin, but you went ahead and did it anyway! Applied for the job without telling me, then accepted it before we’d finished discussing the pros and cons.’
Another flash of understanding sent her reeling. ‘Do you even want to have a baby?’ She’d had her own doubts, not about having children—she’d always dreamed of a brood of chubby little babies growing into gorgeous, happy children surrounded by the same love she’d always known growing up—but about the timing of it all.
He shrugged. ‘I’m not bothered either way. I just thought it made sense given how much time you’ll have on your hands.’
Like bringing a child into the world was on a par with one of her ‘little projects’. ‘We’re talking about creating a new life together, not knitting a bloody jumper!’ She was shouting now, but it was that or start crying.
The vortex shifted into a hurricane, and it was all she could do to cling on as her reality shredded into a thousand tiny fragments and blew away. ‘Who are you?’
Martin tutted loudly. ‘Lower your voice, for God’s sake and don’t be such a drama queen. I’m your bloody husband, that’s who I am. We can talk about this later. Let’s just get checked in, okay?’
No. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, and it hadn’t been for a long time.
Eliza took a step backwards. ‘I’m not doing this.’
‘Not doing what?’ Even now, he didn’t get it. He wasn’t her husband. He was nothing like the shy, idealistic boy she’d fallen in love with. And she was nothing like the naïve girl he’d sworn to love forever. They’d been children, playing at love. Things might have been different if they’d found some common ground along the way, a fertile plot to plant the seeds of that first love so it could flourish and grow. They’d grown up, but not together, and all that bound them were words they’d said without understanding the importance behind them. ‘I’m not going with you.’
Furious now, if the muscle twitching in his jaw was anything to go by, he snatched for her arm. When she twisted to evade his grip, he circled around until she was trapped between his body and their luggage. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid. You’re going to stop this nonsense, right now. Get your bags and come on.’
Her hands shook at the harshness in his voice, but she knotted them in the folds of her skirt, refusing to back down. ‘I’ll go with you, on one condition. Tell me why you love me.’
‘Christ, Eliza. I don’t have time for these games. I love you because you’re my wife.’ He glanced away, and she could see his chest rise and fall as he sucked in a deep breath. When he looked back at her, the anger appeared to have gone, but where? No one could switch moods that quickly, so why was he trying to hide it from her? She was derailing his well-laid plans and he had every right to be mad at her. And what else had he been hiding? How much more resentment had he swallowed down hoping for an easy life? Probably as much, if not more, than she had.
Feeling like she didn’t know him at all, Eliza raised her hands in a placatory gesture as she edge out from where he’d crowded her against their bags. ‘That’s not enough, don’t you see? And it shouldn’t be enough for you, either.’
Martin put his hands on his hips. The muscle in his jaw had started twitching again, but his voice carried that same weary, patronising tone. ‘Couples have their ups and downs. Life can’t be all hearts and flowers.’
‘Trotting out a couple of trite old sayings isn’t going to fix this.’ With every second that passed, the certainty grew within her—it was over between them.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Just what do you expect me to do about it then?’
Eliza shook her head. ‘Nothing. This is a good opportunity for you, you should make the most of it. It’s not good for me, though, and I hope in time you’ll come to see that. You’ll be so busy getting to grips with everything, you won’t even notice I’m not there.’
‘This is ridiculous.’ He reached for her again, and she tucked her arm behind her back away from him. ‘The bloody house is leased out; they’re moving in next week! Where the hell will you go?’
That he even needed to ask told her how little he knew and understood her. The fact she hadn’t even considered returning to the little starter home they’d shared for the past five years only served to reinforce to her she was doing the right thing. Seizing the handles of her suitcases, she turned away. ‘I’m going back to Lavender Bay.’
‘I won’t run after you.’ Good, she didn’t want him to. ‘Eliza? Jesus Christ!’ His frustrated shout faded beneath the rapid beat of her shoes striking on the tiled floor of the airport. Refusing to look back, Eliza kept walking until she’d cleared the automatic doors and joined the end of the queue of travellers waiting for a taxi.
Staring at her shoes, she watched as a tear splashed on the shiny red patent and rolled off. With a sniffle, she fought back the tears and clicked her heels together three times as she whispered. ‘There’s no place like home.’
The screaming had become so much a part of Jack’s life over the past month that he was out of bed and halfway across the landing before he was even properly awake. He’d just flipped on the light when the door to his mum’s room opened, and she appeared next to him with one arm hooked in the sleeve of her dressing gown, the rest of it trailing behind her. A section of her short grey hair was flattened against her scalp, the other side standing up in a lopsided wave, showing how she’d tossed and turned in her sleep. The circles beneath her eyes stood out like bruises against her pale skin. She looked terrible—at least ten years older than the fifty-seven she was due to turn in a couple of weeks. She was a ghostly shadow of the vibrant, robust woman who’d filled his life with laughter since the day he was born.
When was the last time he’d heard her laugh? The stray thought was shattered by another gut-wrenching scream. Jack shuddered, then braced his shoulders. ‘I’ll see to him, Mum. Go back to bed.’
Tears filled her eyes. ‘Poor little lamb, I wish there was something we could do.’
‘Me too, we just have to give him time. We have to give all of us time.’ Jack turned the handle and slipped into his nephew’s room. The night-light Jack’s brother Jason had purchased for his son when Noah had been tiny cast soft blue stars and moons onto the wall and ceiling. Having been declared ‘too-babyish’ just six months previously,