I nodded, even though I knew very little. Both had died by taking an overdose of pills, but even that I’d only gleaned from Max’s speeches at suicide-prevention fundraisers.
‘These kinds of mental health issues can be hereditary. I don’t want to take that chance with my own child.’
I sat back in my seat as I digested this. I wasn’t a woman who desired children particularly, I had just assumed they’d probably come along. To be told suddenly that they were off the table took some adjusting, if only to alter some of the fuzzy-edged visions of the future – the first words, the family holidays, Max walking a daughter down the aisle.
‘You’re disappointed,’ he said, after a few moments.
Was I? Maybe I was, a little. But it wasn’t a deal-breaker.
‘If you decide to accept my proposal, and I sincerely hope you do, we will have a good life. Travel, art, music, food. I will support you in anything you want to do. I will be a real partner to you. But I warn you, I will not change my mind on this.’
‘I need to think about it,’ I said, even though I’d already decided. As it turned out, I was highly efficient at adjusting my future visions. I’d already replaced them with adults-only resorts, trips to Europe, gala dinners and lazy Sunday brunches. It would be fine, I realised. It would be great.
I waited four weeks before I told Max I would marry him. But I had a condition of my own.
‘I want fidelity.’
My condition, I was aware, was perhaps not typical in marriages such as ours. After all, I understood the lay of the land. Powerful men like Max tended to have a mistress or two. Some of them used discretion, whereas others provided their wives with a very nice lifestyle to compensate them for looking the other way.
‘My father didn’t have a lot of great attributes,’ I continued, ‘but infidelity was the worst of it. He humiliated my mother time and time again. I am not interested in a marriage like that. If you want to marry me, I insist on fidelity.’
I spoke powerfully, pragmatically and without emotion. And so it surprised me when Max reached across the table to place his hand over mine. ‘That works for me.’
He handed me a ring he’d purchased; it cost more than the home I grew up in.
We married six months later, and the pictures were in all the magazines. A few months after that, my sad fertility stories started making headlines. In every single story, the reason we didn’t have children was attributed to me.
21
PIPPA
NOW
No one will ever know.
That’s what I’m thinking as Gabe and I walk home from preschool, chasing the girls on their scooters, each of us with a pink schoolbag over our shoulder. I am in activewear, and Gabe is in jeans and a North Face vest and trainers. The streets are bustling with parents pushing prams, joggers, surfers carrying boards. People smile as they pass Freya and Asha, who have their hair in identical pigtails with straight centre parts – the only hairstyle Gabe has mastered and one he is very proud of.
No one will ever know.
Gabe and I keep our eyes forward and our heads down, like a pair of criminals being bustled out of a courtroom, past the media, into a waiting vehicle.
‘She died because of me,’ I say, so quietly I’m surprised that Gabe hears.
‘No,’ Gabe says. ‘She made a decision –’
‘A decision based on something I did.’
I’m ashamed to realise that the night I went to Max’s office, Amanda never featured in my thoughts. I knew she existed – indeed, I’d met her at the Christmas party where I’d first spoken to Max – but she was like background noise. Even now I find it hard to conjure an image of her. Things were so messed up at the time. I was so messed up.
‘What is wrong with me?’ I say out loud.
‘It was her choice to jump, Pip. You didn’t push her.’
I understand Gabe is trying to make me feel better. I know, because that’s what I’ve always done for him. It’s our own strange brand of loyalty, one that has worked so well for our marriage. The problem is, I don’t buy it. I may not have pushed her, but it is my fault.
‘This is what I wanted to avoid, Pip. This is why I didn’t tell you it was Amanda on the cliff.’
We walk in silence for a while. I see now how this secret must have been haunting him. Gabe is a good person. He would have been aware of every ramification of keeping this secret. For so long I have been the person protecting him. It feels so strange now that the shoe is on the other foot.
‘Asha!’ Gabe yells, as she nearly takes out an elderly man on the footpath. ‘Slow down.’ To the man he says, ‘Sorry!’
Asha is half a block in front of us, flying along on her scooter, so fast the tail shakes. She stands up on her tiptoes, her hands flat on the handlebars, barely holding on. Like this, I see the magic of her and the danger simultaneously. It brings on a wave of love and worry so strong it takes my breath away.
At least Amanda didn’t have children, I think. But I immediately withdraw the thought. What difference would it make if she had kids? Just because she didn’t have children doesn’t mean she wasn’t beloved. It doesn’t make her death any less sad.
Max must be broken-hearted. Bereft. Or maybe he isn’t? My whole radar for Max feels off now that I know he filmed us that night in his office. When I’d gone there that night, I thought it had taken him by surprise. But maybe women go to his office all the time? Maybe he had a camera set up just in case?
‘Come on, slowcoach,’ Gabe says as we catch up to Freya. He grabs the handlebars and runs along, speeding her up. It gives her the giggles. To anyone else, he would look relaxed, like he didn’t have a care in the world. But I see the tension in his shoulders, his jaw. After years of close observation, I am an expert in Gabe’s mental state. I’m an expert in Gabe. I’m not the only one who is going to have to live with this guilt, I realise. Gabe will too.
‘What happened to the USB?’ I ask when Freya takes off again.
A look of guilt crosses Gabe’s face. ‘Remember when you came to the beach, and you saw me drop something?’
I do remember. It was silver. Gabe had said it was surfboard wax. It makes sense now. Everything makes horrifying sense.
‘Hold hands, girls,’ Gabe says as we reach the road. He takes their scooters in one hand and holds Freya’s hand in the other. She chain-links to Asha who holds out her hand to me. A middle-aged woman smiles as we cross the street, a wobbly line of children, scooters and schoolbags. On the other side of the road Gabe puts the scooters down again, and the girls take off.
‘How are you doing that?’ I say. ‘How are you operating like a normal, responsible human being?’
Gabe takes my hand in his. ‘You’ve been strong for me so many times, Pip,’ he says. ‘Now it’s my turn.’
Mr and Mrs Hegarty are in their front garden. The Hegarty house faces ours, so they don’t have the ocean view, but their front garden is almost as spectacular. Several times I’ve noticed people slowing their cars to admire it. Mrs Hegarty waves at the girls as they scoot past, then rests her forearms on the fence, settling in for a chat. Mr Hegarty remains kneeling, holding a trowel.