Chapter twenty
Jack sat on the floor, Irina asleep in his arms, and thought about all she'd told him.
A baby. Another daughter.
Sydney would have loved a sister. She would have treated her like a little doll, and helped Irina bathe her and dress her, and when they got older they would have played together.
And Jack would have loved another child, another little girl who looked like her mother. Someone else to take to the carousel, to call him Daddy and give him sticky kisses and hugs more precious than anything else in the world.
He couldn't breathe. Nadia.
Irina.
He couldn't help but picture Irina as he'd found her in Kashmir; she'd been little more than a shadow of the woman he knew, and he remembered wondering what they had done to her to break her like that. He imagined her alone and frightened, trying to hide her pregnancy; then helpless to save her – their – baby.
Jack recalled how, with Sydney, they had excitedly measured Irina's expanding belly as each month passed. He remembered evenings in front of the television when he massaged her feet, the first time he'd felt Sydney kick against his hand, stocking up on the papaya Irina craved for the entire nine months.
There would have been no papaya in Kashmir, Jack thought. No massages, no one to feel the baby kick.
No one to comfort Irina afterwards, either. No one to hold her and tell her it wasn't her fault.
He could do that for her now, he decided, and kissed the crown of her head.
"Nadia," he whispered, testing the name. "Nadia Bristow."
He realized with some measure of surprise that he was crying, but he didn't dare release Irina to wipe away his tears.
He remembered how small Sydney had been as a newborn; Nadia must have been even smaller. He wished he could have seen her, just once.
A sob escaped his throat, and he bent his head and wept.
Sunlight streamed through the open window as Irina woke, again alone. She sat up slowly, and noted that the broken mug and lamp had been cleaned up. Tightening the belt of her robe around her waist, she went to find Jack.
He was in the kitchen, chatting amiably to Andrei from behind the stove. Even Prudence seemed to be in an unusually cheerful mood, and Irina stood in the doorway and watched.
Jack saw her first. "Good morning."
"Morning." She remained where she was, uncertain as to what to do; she'd never intended to tell Jack about Nadia, and now she didn't know what to say to him.
"Did you sleep okay?"
She nodded.
"Uh, I'm making omelets for breakfast – well, brunch, I guess. Do you want one?"
"Sure," she said, though she wasn't hungry.
"You know, Ira, if you didn't like the décor, you should have just said so."
Irina tore her gaze from Jack to glare at her cousin. "Don't, Andrei."
"I'm just saying—"
"I'll buy you a new damn lamp!" She leaned against the doorjamb then said, quietly, "I'm sorry."
Jack handed the spatula to Andrei and went to Irina. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She softened in his embrace; this was what she needed, to know that he didn't blame her. She clung to him, not caring that they weren't alone.
He kissed her, soft and brief, and she tilted her head back so he could kiss her properly. Prudence left the room, muttering in Xhosa, and Andrei said, "Uh, I think I've killed your omelets."
"It's okay." Jack smiled. "We can eat out, can't we?"
"Yes."
He nipped at her earlobe. "But I think we should take a shower first."
Hand-in-hand, they strolled through the flea market, as if they were an average couple without any cares in the world. Early afternoon, the market was at its busiest, and both Jack and Irina liked the anonymity they felt in being part of the crowd.
"I like Cape Town," Jack said eventually.
"You've been here a day."
He nodded in the direction of Table Mountain. "I like the scenery."
Irina slipped her arm around his waist. "How long can you stay?"
"My flight's on Monday morning."
Irina said nothing, but he knew that she, too, felt it was not enough time. There could never be enough time.
"Who's looking after Sydney?"
Jack frowned slightly; this trip had been so hurriedly arranged that he'd had no other choice. "She's with Arvin and Emily."
"Oh." They walked in silence for a while. "How is Emily?"
"She's the same. She invites us over for dinner at least once a week; I think she thinks we need looking after."
"I should be there." Irina sighed, blinking quickly to hide how moist her eyes had become. "Was I a good wife, Jack? Were you happy?"
Jack guided them to the edge of the path so they were not in anyone's way, then kissed Irina. He didn't know what else he could do to show that he had loved her, still loved her, would always love her. "Yes," he said.
"I'm sorry things—" She shook her head.
Jack kept his arm around her as they resumed walking.
A while later, Irina stopped at a book stall. "Jack, look!"
He watched in amusement as she picked up a book from the children's section and reverently paged through it.
"It's a first edition."
"Fairy tales?" He'd only glimpsed the cover.
"Well, yes, but specifically the ones that have been turned into ballets. 'Giselle'. 'Coppelia'. 'Swan Lake'." She looked at Jack. "Do you think – Would Sydney--?"
"I'm sure she'd love it."
Irina smiled; one of the rare smiles that lit up her entire face – a glimpse of the woman she had used to be. She turned to the woman who ran the stall. Jack watched her as she paid for the book, his own smile sad. He could never tell Sydney that this was a gift from her mother.
How could he keep secret from her the fact that Irina was still alive? He knew he couldn't keep silent forever. Would Sydney understand when she found out?
He could tell her the truth now, he thought, and risk Irina's life. Or he could wait until he figured out a solution to this whole thing, and risk Sydney's hate.
Irina returned to his side, still smiling, and she hooked her arm through his.
And Jack's decision was made.