Rohan didn’t say anything, focusing on the carrots he was chopping into neat batons on the wooden board.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.” He gathered the vegetables together and scraped them into a baking tray. “Really. I’m sorry. I’m just always vaguely aware that everything we say to Naomi or whoever eventually makes its way back to Charlie.”
Kim had laughed. “I don’t think that’s the case.”
“No?” His question seemed genuine as he checked the temperature on the oven. “They don’t all talk to each other like they used to?”
Kim had stopped stirring the pan. “Well, yeah, they do, but—”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter, anyway.” He shut the oven door and flashed her a smile. “Let them talk.”
Kim looked at her husband. “Does it bother you?”
“No. Not at all. It’s fine.”
But Kim could tell it wasn’t. And Rohan maybe had a point, when she stopped to think about it. She became more mindful of what she said on the phone, which was a little tiring but perhaps not a bad idea. She’d recount the conversations later to him, and he’d put forward the odd suggestion or mild objection. And it worked for a while, but Rohan knew every time that someone from home called, and after a while tiring became tiresome. With everything going on at work, it was one more thing Kim could do without.
So the next time Naomi texted, Kim had simply ignored it. She’d flipped her phone over on the couch and turned back to her husband and the movie they were watching, and he’d slipped his arm around her, and life was suddenly easier. She did the same the next few times, and again, and then again, and quite a few months passed before she realized she hadn’t had any calls to ignore in a while.
* * *
Kim lost her car keys and was late for an important client meeting. Sarah was understanding. But it happened again, and then once more when her alarm didn’t go off. Sarah had no choice but to give her a verbal warning, an exchange that was so horribly excruciating for both women that Kim couldn’t hold back the tears over dinner that night.
Rohan asked if she wanted to hand in her notice. When Kim said that sounded a little extreme, he’d put his fork down, reached into his jeans pocket, and dug out a clean folded tissue for her.
“You’re crying, Kim. No job’s worth making you feel like this.”
* * *
Rohan was busy with his own work, too, in a way that made him seem preoccupied at times. During a distracted conversation one night, he let slip the fact that Shane had cheated on Naomi, years ago when they were together, and Shane was still playing. Kim already knew about that, because everyone knew about that.
“I guess that was just Shane back then,” she’d said. “Some men are like that. Can’t say no.”
And in that moment there had been a beat of pure silence in which she’d heard, unspoken but unmissable, the word Charlie pulse between them. She had stared at Rohan, who had busied himself shutting down his laptop. He wouldn’t meet her eye.
“What?” Kim felt sideswiped. She tried to keep her voice light. “Did Charlie?”
“No.”
“Did he? Rohan?”
“Kim, no.” He gave a short laugh. “No.”
“You can tell me. I don’t care.” Although she did, because of all Kim and Charlie’s problems—and, okay, there had been a few—that had never been one of them. Or so she’d thought. Charlie had his faults, but Kim had always trusted him.
The idea that she had been wrong about that, that he might have been unfaithful and, worse, successfully hidden it from her, slipped into her side like a blade. She told herself she didn’t believe it, while at the same time picking over old conversations and scrutinizing mental lists of his casual acquaintances.
Rohan had changed the subject swiftly and not brought it up again, until eventually Kim had had to.
“Just tell me,” she’d said a few tormented days later. “I’d rather know.”
“Kim, seriously.”
“Well, did the others all know? Gemma and Dean and everyone?” The idea that her friends had kept something like that from her made her want to cry.
“Jesus, Kim. Please, let’s not.”
“What would Gemma say if I asked her, though?”
Rohan had looked at her strangely. “Why are you even thinking about this now?”
“I don’t know. You brought it up.”
“No. You did.” He was still watching her, concern all over his face. Finally, he’d shrugged. “Look, ask Gemma, then, if you really need to. Or Naomi. They’ll tell you the same as I am.”
Kim felt ashamed by the way he was staring at her and was simply too angry and embarrassed to have that same conversation with someone else. Next time the phone rang, Kim sent it straight through to voicemail.
* * *
She realized she felt stressed and sad all the time. She went to the doctor about oversleeping and losing her keys. She came away with a prescription for antidepressants. Things got worse at work. She lost another file. She handed in her notice before Sarah had to ask her to. She went back to the doctor to see if her memory was okay. Another prescription was written and dispensed, along with a sleep aid to help her rest properly.
After that, Kim stayed home for a while, carrying out half-hearted job searches at the granite table in the kitchen that had been paid for with Rohan’s engineer’s salary. She started to feel sick in the mornings and then she stopped looking for work.
She had to go back to the doctor again, because now she was pregnant.
* * *
The baby looked just like Kim.
She and Zoe had been home from the hospital for a week when she first caught Rohan staring at their daughter with an odd look on his face.
“Everything okay?” she’d asked, drained and fractious from another broken night.
“Her eyes are very dark,” Rohan had said simply, but in a way that sounded like things were not okay at all. Kim was too tired to try to work out what he meant.
“Yeah,” she said. Her caesarean wound was aching. “I suppose so. It’s nice, though. She’s so pretty.”
Rohan hadn’t said anything more.
A few weeks later, he’d gotten up in the night to give Zoe her formula, and Kim, grateful to him as her body struggled to recover in a way it never had with Zara, had staggered to the bathroom. On the way back, she’d paused at the lounge room door. Rohan was sitting on the couch, lit by the dim glow of the side lamp, his chin coarse with stubble and his T-shirt soft and wrinkled from sleep as he cradled their daughter in the crook of his arm.
Formula finished, he was gazing down at her, gently running tendrils of her baby hair between his finger and thumb. Zoe’s hair looked dark and fine in the low light. Over and over again, Rohan ran his thumb over the wispy strands. And even through the foggy cloud of her own exhaustion, Kim felt an uncomfortable realization coursing through her. Because all of a sudden, she could tell what he was thinking.
* * *
It was absolutely ridiculous. For so many reasons. Not least, Kim realized when she looked back, because Rohan always knew where she was, pretty much every minute of every day. He had access to her phone. They had sold her car after she’d stopped working, agreeing to hold off getting a new one until after the baby arrived, when they would invest in something bigger and more suitable. For more than a year, Kim had either been at work or she’d been at home or she’d been with Rohan. And when she’d stopped working, those options had narrowed neatly from three to two. What Kim had decidedly not been doing in that time was sleeping with Charlie.