Luna gives a shudder and sets the shell down as though it’s white hot. She doesn’t dare touch it. Ethan is coming to pick her up shortly for the hospital scan. She’ll ask him to sweep up the shells when he arrives.
III
“Done,” Ethan says, washing his hands in the sink.
“You moved them? Both bags?”
He nods. “Put them in number ten’s bin. It was half-empty.”
“And you swept up the shells?”
“Yep.”
She’s relieved. Today, of all days, she wants to feel free of Lòn Haven.
They travel to the hospital in Luna’s car. Technically, they both own the car, and the flat is mortgaged in joint names, but Luna has both for now. A permanent separation isn’t yet on the cards.
“Mum says hi,” Ethan says after a long silence. “She’s wondering if you’d like her to knit blue baby blankets or gender neutral.”
“I don’t mind,” she says. “Gray? Or maybe she’d rather wait until . . .”
She falls silent, thinking of the last time Ethan’s mother started knitting for their baby. They’d got all the way to fourteen weeks with that one, had proudly told everyone they knew right after the twelve-week scan revealed a squirming, kicking fetus, apparently as healthy as could be. The night before the miscarriage she’d been sitting in Alison’s house, where Ethan is living just now, admiring the blanket she’d begun knitting.
“It’s going to be fine,” Ethan says now, resting his hand on top of hers. She pulls it away. He sighs and slides his hands between his knees.
“I found a flat a few streets away from ours,” he says, looking out the window. “I was thinking it might be smart to grab it before someone else does.”
It takes her a moment to work out that he’s asking if they’re to continue to live separately.
“It’s up to you,” she says, stung. “It was your decision to move out in the first place.”
“We’re going over this again, are we?”
The sign for the hospital appears at the side of the road, and she indicates to turn. “I said I wasn’t ready to marry you, Ethan. I didn’t say I wanted us to split up.”
She parks, and he fixes his dark, sad eyes on her. They have had this conversation so many times, over and over, never resolving it.
“I need you to be honest with me,” he says in a measured voice. She senses that he’s prepared a speech. She’s still attracted to him, still in love with him. He has honest eyes, beautifully straight teeth, thick black dreads to his shoulders, a smooth, radio-presenter voice. He was born and raised in Coventry, but his heritage is Trinidadian. He is striking to look at: six foot four, square-jawed, muscular as a gladiator. She used to feel short and unattractive beside him, barely scraping five foot four, boring brown bob, nothing at all striking about her looks, but he’s always acted as though he’s the luckiest man alive to be with her. When she has her period he buys her ice cream and rubs her feet, and after each miscarriage he cried without embarrassment. Marriage is important to Ethan, especially since they’ve been trying for a baby.
“Look,” he says, and she notices that he’s nervous. Is he seeing someone else? The thought of it pierces her.
But he’s talking, and she has zoned out, mentally sifting through possibilities. Jenn from the Pilates club has always been flirty with him, even in front of Luna. She knows that Uche from the flat across the road is always a little more friendly when Luna’s not around. Or maybe it’s his ex Maeve, who still comments on his Facebook posts.
“I don’t care about the piece of paper, either,” he says. “But I want to know what’s changed your mind. I mean, if you don’t want to marry me after six years together, when we’re finally having a baby, do you really want to be with me?” His voice catches, and he looks down. “For the record, I don’t want us to split up, either. I just wanted to give you space.”