Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“Aw. Breakfast in bed.” Grinning widely, she takes the plate and glass from my hands.
“Just a bit of toast,” I say, crawling onto the bed. I sit facing her with one leg dangling over the mattress. “How’s your back today? Do you need your painkillers?”
She rolls her finger through the air while she finishes chewing. “It actually feels okay. I went to the bathroom while you were downstairs and all I felt was an ache.”
“You should’ve called me up here.”
“I would have if I’d needed you, but I was okay. Honest.”
“Well, you mustn’t push yourself. You need to keep taking it slowly.”
“Yes, doctor,” she says, chuckling. Then, she sticks her foot out of the edge of the duvet, groaning a little as she shows off her cast. “That shouldn’t be too difficult for a few weeks anyway.”
“You’re getting good at the crutches, at least.”
“Mmhmm,” is all she can say with another mouthful of toast between her teeth.
She looks so happy, despite being laid up in bed with a broken bone and a swollen disc in her spine. She’s wearing the smile I’ve always loved. Until a rogue blob of jam drops onto her nightie and turns it into a frown. She tuts as she wipes it off, as if that stain is a big problem with the potential to ruin her morning. Another day, it would be a problem, I suppose. Having to change when it hurts, or you simply can’t be bothered. Doing laundry when you hadn’t planned to. It’s a problem for a normal day, for a normal wife in a normal marriage…which Becca thinks she is. Her world, as far as she knows, is complete.
And I can’t do it to her anymore.
“Rebecca…”
“Rebecca? Bloody hell, am I in trouble?” She starts laughing.
Oh, God. “Please, Becs. I need you to listen for a minute.”
I don’t know if it’s my face or my tone of voice which alarms her, but she drops the half-eaten slice of toast back onto the plate, rubs the crumbs from her fingers, and swallows without saying another word.
“Crap, I don’t know where to start.” The ultimate coward, I look down at the quilt before I carry on, focusing on the pattern of silver leaves. “I love you, Becca. Whatever I say next, I need you to know that’s the absolute truth. But…shit, Becs…this is something I should’ve told you a long time ago. Before we got married. Fuck, I almost did—”
“Will, stop,” she says, holding up her hand. “Just…stop it.”
I look at her now, only to find she’s the one who can’t look at me. Instead, she starts shifting closer to the edge of the mattress, grimacing as she struggles to lift her legs over the edge.
“Becca, what are you doing? I need you to listen to me.”
“I don’t want to. Okay? Let’s just…” Facing the window, her head tips back. She lets out a quivering sigh. “Let’s just... Let me get dressed. We’ll go downstairs. Get on with our day.”
I don’t understand what’s happening. Does she…know something? There’s no way. It doesn’t matter. I won’t accept a get out of jail free card, if that’s even what this is. I can’t because…I don’t want to. Staying here, living like this, isn’t free. “No. No, Becs. I want to talk to you. We’re going to talk.”
Her head drops to her chest, but she makes no attempt to move so she can see me. She remains sitting on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the mattress, holding herself steady. Seconds pass, maybe a minute, and the only sound in the room is of my wife’s shaking breaths. I’m about to break the silence, with what, I won’t know until I open my mouth.
But Becca gets in there first. “It’s Laurence Cole, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“The man you’re seeing. It’s him, isn’t it.”
“Becca, shit, I…” Her words wind me. I’d never planned to bring Laurence’s name into this. Not yet, anyway. In all the dress rehearsals in my head, all the times I’ve imagined this conversation and the ways it might pan out, Laurence hasn’t played a part in any of them.
“Come on, Will. You wanted to talk, so talk. Is it Laurence?”
“Yes.” The word escapes with a rush of air and over twenty years of shame. “But Becs, this isn’t about Laurence. Not really. You don’t understand what I’m trying to tell you. It isn’t Laurence…I mean…Laurence hasn’t done this to me.”
“For God’s sake, Will. I know that.”
What? I must have misunderstood. “No. I mean I knew, Rebecca. Back when we were kids. I knew I was this way…”
It’s time.
Say it.
I suck in a breath. “I knew I was gay, Becs. But I had all these fucked up feelings about it, and then I found you and I—”
“William, stop. I said I know. All right?”
My head jerks back, and I almost want to grab her, force her to look at me. “What do you mean, you know?”