kitchen while I cooked dinner with what Iâd found in the cupboard.
The feeling he was up to something â that he was trying to tell me something, and he was waiting for the right moment â was growing stronger by the minute. This is what happens when youâve been married for eight years: you start reading each otherâs minds. I waited.
âI need to speak to you,â he finally said.
âI knew it.â
âWhat?â
âI knew you had something to tell me.â
âI found someone. For you, I mean.â
My stomach knotted. I should have been grateful he was trying to help me, but I was scared, scared that my painstakingly created routine would be upset and that I would have to confront my demons. Terrified of change. Terrified they would make me do things I was terrified of.
Terrified, full stop.
âA therapist? A Skype therapist?â I took a deep breath. âI might think about it . . .â I said quickly. I knew itâd be no use, but I would do it, if it were asked of me. If it got everyone off my back.
âNo, itâs not a therapist. You look exhausted, love,â he said, stroking my cheek. âLet me make you a cup of tea and then Iâll explain.â
âIâll make it,â I said, filling the kettle while a pot of pasta boiled on the stove. It was all so . . . normal. Like nothing untoward had happened. Like our lives hadnât been turned upside down by what Iâd tried to do.
Making dinner. Drinking tea. Quiet domesticity.
And the abyss of my mind ready to open, ready to swallow me.
âYou know the way Iâll be out for work a lot,â Angus began.
âYes.â
âAnd youâll be on your own.â
âYes. But you think I canât be trusted.â
âWell, itâs more that . . . I canât relax if I donât know youâre okay, and you donât answer the phone, and anyway I canât be texting or emailing, Iâll be working . . .â
âBut you donât need to worry about me,â I said, and the absurdity of it hit me. Iâd just tried to swallow enough pills to end it all. But sure, he had nothing to worry about.
How could I convince him I would never try it again? That I would never put him through that again? That I was relieved I was alive?
âWell, I do. I do worry about you. A lot. So Torcuil and I found someone to be with you.â
âHere? In this house?â I felt a cold finger travel down my spine. My hands were shaking, all of a sudden.
âYes. Her name is Clara. She is coming tomorrow . . . Sheâll just be spending time with you, thatâs all. See that you are okay.â
I turned my back to him, holding the counter with both hands while the kettle clicked. âNo.â
âBell . . .â
âI said no!â
âOkay, fine.â
âWhat?â
âI said fine. You donât want strangers in this house, you manoeuvred things so that you wouldnât get visits from the Crisis team or whatever it was called . . . so itâll be me keeping an eye on you. Iâm leaving my job.â
I turned around to face him. âYou canât leave your job! And itâs not just a job ! Itâs your life!â
âWell, I donât have to work for the orchestra. Iâll just tell them no, teach music somewhere.â
âYou canât!â
âYes, I can. I have to.â
âPlease donât. I couldnât bear it . . .â
âThen meet this woman.â
âThis is emotional blackmail!â
âNot exactly. Itâs just that I love you. Itâs as simple as that. And I wonât leave you alone, not when youâre in this state.â
Silence. Mutinous on my part, angry on his.
âBell. I lied for you. So that you could have things your way. Now please will you do this for me!â
âLook. Fine, okay. But only when youâre not around. And