‘God, I forgot to give you this.’ He fishes in his trouser pocket, pulls out a piece of tissue folded into a small square. ‘I was right, the nurses had kept it safe while you were having your CT scan and just forgot to give it back.’ Unwrapping it, he reveals a slim platinum band. It takes a moment for me to realise what it is, but then I take it from him, feel the weight of it in my hand, heavier than it looks, shinier than I expected. Easing the ring over the knuckles of my fourth finger, I wait for something to happen: some burst of memory, some flash of recollection. Twelve years I have been wearing this ring and I feel sure that it must contain some residual memory. I close my eyes, willing something to come – the music to which I walked down the aisle, the cutting of the cake, our first dance – but there is nothing. Just a dark, empty chasm where my past should be.
The tears are warm as they slip down my cheeks. Stephen holds my hand and I let him, his touch like that of an intimate stranger. We sit quietly on the bed, in a house that does not feel like my home, while a voice whispers in my ear: What if your memories never return? What then?
LIVVY
BRISTOL
‘So, you’re definitely happy to come back after ten months, as planned? You don’t want to take a full year’s maternity leave?’
Livvy sat opposite her boss in the glass-walled meeting room of the environmental think tank where she had worked for the past six years. ‘Honestly, I’ll be more than ready to come back. I love hanging out with this little one . . . ’ She turned her head to where Leo was asleep in the buggy beside her. ‘But I’ll start going stir-crazy if I’m away from work for much longer.’
Aisha smiled. ‘I remember that feeling, as though your brain might turn to mush if you don’t get back soon.’ Aisha’s phone pinged and she apologised, picked it up, scanned her messages. ‘Just give me a sec.’
Livvy nodded, glanced over her shoulder into the open-plan office, where some of her colleagues were tapping at keyboards, reading documents, speaking on the telephone. It was strange being here, with Leo in tow; as though she had stepped through the back of a wardrobe, into a parallel world both familiar and unknown. She knew she was the same person she’d been before Leo was born – the same Deputy Policy Director, wearing the same black ballet pumps and cream blouse she’d regularly worn to the office – and yet a part of her felt completely different.
When she’d first started thinking about maternity leave, just under a year ago, she’d been surprised by how ambivalent she felt. Having hoped for so long that she would one day become a mother, she’d assumed that when it finally happened, her feelings would be uncomplicated. But so much of her identity was linked with work that it had felt inconceivable to give that up, even temporarily. She’d originally suggested six months’ leave, anxious not to lose her professional foothold, but Dominic had persuaded her to extend it: ‘Six months will fly by. Be kind to yourself, take a bit longer. You’ve still got decades of work ahead of you.’ He’d wanted her to take a full year, while Bea had counselled her to get back to work as soon as possible: ‘You know how energised you are by your job. I honestly think you’ll enjoy your time as a mum more if you get back to work. Your brain needs feeding too.’ Livvy had felt they were both right in different ways, and in the end she and Dominic had compromised on ten months. And yet being back here today, a part of her felt eager to return, like an itch she wasn’t yet allowed to scratch.
Catching sight of her reflection in the glass wall, she wished she’d managed to stick more stringently to the diet she’d set herself, wished she’d managed to shift the extra half-stone of baby weight she was still carrying. She thought about the note she’d discovered last night when, in a moment of slipped self-discipline, she’d found herself rifling through the drawer where the biscuits were kept. Dear Squidge. TAKE A STEP BACK AND DO NOT TOUCH THE BISCUITS!! You did ask me to stop you eating them! I love you. D xxx. It hadn’t been the only square of neatly folded paper she’d discovered since Dominic had left for his second week in Sheffield. In her make-up bag had been a note written in so tiny a font that she’d had to squint to read it: There’s no need to make yourself TOO beautiful while I’m away! xxx. And tucked inside the Agatha Christie novel she was reading had been another slip of paper: Don’t let Leo steal my place in bed when I’m not here. He needs to stay in his cot! Xx. She had tucked the note back inside The Hollow, a book Dominic always teased her for having read countless times before: ‘What’s the point in reading a crime novel when you already know who did it?’
‘Sorry about this – won’t be a moment. Christian just needs a quick answer to something – he’s at a select committee hearing today.’ Aisha smiled apologetically and Livvy was aware of a feeling she’d been trying to repress ever since she went on maternity leave: a sense of being out of the loop, uninvolved, fearful of losing a reputation she had worked so hard to earn.
While Aisha typed a response, Livvy glanced at her phone, saw a WhatsApp notification from Dominic. Looking up briefly to where Aisha was still concentrating on her message to their CEO, she swiped it open, read it swiftly.
Hello you. Hope your work meeting’s going okay. Just a quick one to tell you that I love you and that Leo thinks you’re the best mum in the whole world （he told me at the weekend）。 Speak later. Xxx
Smiling to herself, she wondered what Dominic was doing right now. Whether he was in the midst of a site inspection, talking to contractors about building materials, or writing a progress report for the developers. Since starting the Sheffield job ten days ago, he’d sent her plenty of photographs of the supermarket under construction – giant steel girders, sky-reaching cranes, industrial-sized diggers – but she still couldn’t quite visualise him there. All the projects he’d worked on since she’d known him had been smaller, local, domestic: kitchen extensions, loft conversions, home offices in people’s gardens. The Sheffield build was in a different league entirely.
‘Sorry about that. Hopefully that’s dealt with, but apologies in advance if there are any more interruptions.’ Aisha placed her phone, screen up, in front of her. ‘So have you managed to sort out childcare? I know good nursery places are like gold dust these days. You practically have to put your child’s name down before they’re even conceived.’
Livvy laughed. ‘I’ve got some good leads, but I know I need to get it sorted. Don’t worry – it’ll all be in hand by the time I come back.’ She heard the assurances in her voice, felt a renewed sense of urgency that she must phone the nursery some friends had recommended, get the wheels in motion.
‘Great. I really am thrilled you’re coming back as planned. Because I’ve got some news of my own.’ Aisha paused, like a judge on a TV talent show. ‘I’m leaving.’
The revelation stuttered in Livvy’s head. ‘What? Why?’
‘Stewart and I are going to work for an NGO in Namibia for a couple of years. We’ve always wanted to work overseas, and now the kids have flown the nest, we just felt it was the right time.’