‘Listen? Yeah,’ he says happily. ‘Well, I tried to, but this side is blank, right? Was there supposed to be something on it?’
‘What?’ I say, the blood draining from me. ‘Blank?’
Then it hits me. Oh my God, I must have accidentally nudged the record button when I pressed play. A flood of relief bursts through me; Edward heard nothing. I sink down onto the carpet with a groan, half grateful, half gut-punched that I have lost all recorded proof of Robert Holbeck’s confession. The most important piece of advice Deonte gave to me, to copy the recording, and somehow I managed to fuck it up with my stupid bloated pregnant fingers.
‘You okay, honey?’ Edward asks, crouching down in front of me. ‘I don’t want to be that guy, but you probably shouldn’t be running around at this point, you know? At least probably not in heels,’ he adds carefully. ‘Was there something important on the tape?’ he asks when I don’t respond.
I straighten up and let out a sigh that could pass for many things. ‘No. No, it’s fine. It was just research,’ I say, rubbing my face as if somehow I could rub the truth of my words into existence.
He leans in and kisses my forehead. ‘Ah, annoying. Sorry, honey. That sucks. Still, at least it was just research, right? Love this retro tech though. Very analogue, very ’90s. Dad would love it. Heck, I love it,’ he chuckles, reaching back to the chair to grab it. ‘Is this for the book research too?’
A shiver runs up my spine at the meta nature of the conversation we are now having.
‘Er, yeah,’ I answer. ‘It’s a split timescale. The next book. Present day and the ’90s. Lots of fun period stuff in there.’ I smile, gently taking the Olympus recorder back from him. ‘I just need to get the edits back and have a reshuffle before I start talking about it.’
As I look down at the cassette window of the recorder in my hands, I suddenly realize that all might not be lost. Only one side will be wiped. While Side A is lost, Side B should be untouched.
‘Sounds great. Can’t wait to read it,’ he tells me, getting to his feet and offering me a hand up. I rise like a hobbled Bambi.
I watch Edward’s back as he leads me through to the kitchen, and our champagne, then I steal another fleeting look down at the Olympus in my hands. A question re-emerges. Why was Edward in my office in the first place? And a doubt slowly forms. Did I accidentally wipe the tape, or did he?
When I look back up, he’s looking directly at me.
35 Road Trip
Friday 23 December
Bags packed and ready to go in the trunk of the car beneath Mount Sinai Hospital, we wait on the bleach-scented ward for our names to be called.
I try to think only one step ahead, of seeing the face of my baby, of finding out if I have a daughter or a son. My due date is 7 July next year. Hard to process that I have been pregnant for three months already without anyone but us knowing. I try not to speculate on what will come after that. I do not want the baby to feel my fear.
Edward looks up from his phone as a couple exits the scanning room. I watch his profile and wonder how long he was alone with that tape player in my office. Ten minutes? Fifteen? Twenty? I sat paralysed by rumination in our bedroom for long enough.
Later that night I checked the recording I tried to make on my iPhone and it turns out it was my fault; I did accidentally wipe one side of the tape. There was an hour-long recording of an empty office on my iPhone with only five minutes of Edward and I talking at the end.
But I can’t prise my thoughts from the image of the mini cassette out of the player and in Edward’s hand. He had enough time to turn it over and listen to what was on the other side. There’s no way I can be sure he didn’t hear his father’s voice.
A nurse rounds the corner and gives us a smile that asks if we’re ready.