I turned around and stared at the little packet squeezed between his fingers. My contraceptive pills. You’d ramble and babble like you always do when you’re caught out. I, on the other hand, go cold and hard like stone, so I stared at my husband and said, ‘You know what it is.’
‘I thought we’d stopped using protection.’
‘We had. Then I changed my mind and started taking it again.’ I lifted my chin. ‘Why were you going through my drawers?’
‘I was putting away laundry.’ He shook the packet and the pills rattled in their foil prison. He was so very angry with me. ‘Why’re you taking them again?’
I could’ve lied, maybe I should’ve, but I’d spent so much time pretending to other people, I wanted to be honest with my husband. ‘You’re never here. You’re always working. If we had a baby, I’d be the one taking care of it all by myself.’
‘That’s your fucking job.’
I inhaled sharply. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I’m not discussing this,’ he said. ‘Get rid of the pills. All of them.’
I was angry and I was caught, but mostly, I was angry. ‘You never discuss things with me. You simply lay down the law and expect me to follow it. Talk to me.’
‘Fine. Okay. What do you do with your day, Ada? You cook and clean and throw parties. It’s time your life had some purpose. Some direction.’
I knew that’s what other people thought of me – my friends who have children, my friends who don’t have children but do have careers, maybe even you think that of me – but I didn’t ever dream that my husband felt the same way. It hurt. It really hurt. But it’s what I wanted, isn’t it? I asked for a confrontation and now I had it.
‘This is our deal.’ He was bubbling with self-righteousness and fury. ‘I work. You organise the house and have the fucking baby.’
‘Our marriage isn’t one of your business deals, Ethan.’
‘A marriage is a contract. Of course it’s a fucking deal. Since your counselling sessions, you’ve changed. I thought if I did some mindless chores you’d lighten up.’
It stung that his sudden desire to help me was really only to help himself.
‘You always act strangely with me after those counselling sessions,’ he barked. ‘I don’t know what she’s putting in your head, but I don’t want you to go anymore.’
‘It was your idea.’
‘Well, it stops here.’
‘I’m not one of your interns. You can’t make demands and expect me to obey.’
‘No, you’re not one of my interns. They’re free. You cost me a fucking fortune.’
I wanted to slap him. ‘Ask me again why I don’t want children with you.’
He tossed the packet of pills onto the table before storming upstairs.
I made to go after him, but my phone rang. I ignored Ruby’s call because I didn’t need an update on what size of fruit her baby was or if it had very cleverly grown fingernails this week. But then she sent me a message begging me to call her back. Curiosity piqued, I rang. She told me she’d just seen our dad stumbling towards town.
‘But that doesn’t make sense, Dad’s fishing this weekend.’
‘He was angry and drunk, heading for the high street. I think he’s going after Richard.’
‘Richard?’
‘Elodie’s boss. Haven’t you seen the news? He sold some story to the paper about her promiscuity, flirting with customers for tips, how he fired her for calling in sick all the time. He even suggested Uncle Martin had something to do with her disappearance. I just thought you should know …’
Thanking her, I hung up. I didn’t even tell Ethan where I was going, just grabbed my car keys and ran out the door. Once parked, I half walked, half jogged down the high street. I heard Dad yelling seconds before I saw the large crowd. When I broke through the ring of people, I saw him pinning Richard against Mugs’ big glass window.
‘You think you can go around telling people I had something to do with my daughter’s disappearance?’ Dad bellowed in Richard’s face. ‘You malicious little—’
He raised his fist and I cried out, ‘Dad, stop!’
His head whipped round.
Taking advantage of Dad’s momentary lapse in focus, Richard shoved him in the chest. Dad staggered backwards. The crowd gasped and surged back as he hit the floor.
I rushed forward and dropped to my knees beside him. ‘Are you okay?’ I helped him to his feet. There was rage on his face and whisky on his breath.