Chapter Three
Present Day
Back in the office, Elizabeth slumped down into her chair. The early afternoon light caught the net curtains and grazed through the room with its diffuse orange glow, like the last peachy rays before the sun dipped below the horizon. She stared hard at the phone. It stared back. All she had to do was call. All she had to do was to say: I struggled after my parents died. Henry had been nothing but understanding in the past, and always patient—patient as she fought for the words to express just how deep that grief cut. But Lady Margaret Ward? Her stomach clenched, and nausea oozed through her veins. The person she had become wasn't her, wasn't even part of her; it was an other fastened by a single stitch to her soul. She didn't understand it herself, so how could she ask him—or anyone else—to understand?
Elizabeth picked up the handset and cradled it against her ear. Her finger trembled as she dialled Henry's number. Ring-ring, ring-ring. She swivelled round to face the photos frames on the desk behind. Herself with a newborn Jason nestled against her chest, Stevie and Alison sat on either side. It hadn't bothered her, not even then, as her body had ripened and bloomed to accommodate each new life; but then again, it had never been about food or weight or size. Numbers. Rules. Control. Perfectionism and now your parents…it was a disaster waiting to happen.
Ring-ring. "Hello?"
Elizabeth opened her mouth. Her heart pounded. Say it, Lizzie, just say it. "Hey." More of a breath than a word. "Are you busy?"
"Hey, babe." Henry's smile shone through his voice. "I'm just about to head into class." Pause. "Is it important?"
More than you could know. Elizabeth shook her head, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I…" …need to talk, need to tell you something, there's something you ought to know… "…No." Chicken. "I'll see you later." She swallowed, her throat tight. "I love you."
"You too."
She pivoted back to the desk and hung up the phone.
Why can't I just tell people?
Because soon this episode will be behind you and no one will need to know. Tell people now, and this will define you; but keep it to yourself, and we can forget that this ever happened at all.
To forget: To fail to remember. To cease to think of. To inadvertently neglect to mention, bring or do. By the time she had met Henry, she had all but forgotten. But now that she remembered, what was she supposed to do?
"Good night, guys." The front door sighed shut behind Elizabeth. "I'm home," she called out, and she dropped her bag onto the table in the hall. Laughter bubbled over from the kitchen, followed by the rise and fall of voices that undulated through the dining room and into the lounge. She kicked off her shoes, abandoning them at the bottom of the staircase, and then wrestled off her trench coat and draped it over the bannister. Her whole body ached, but the day was far from done. Time to compartmentalise.
She padded through to the kitchen. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes enriched the air and mingled with the cosy golden glow of the lights. Her stomach grumbled. She fixed her smile. "Something smells good."
Henry and the kids were sat around the table in the living room; Henry at the end nearest the stairs, Alison opposite, Stevie with her back to the kitchen, Jason on the far side. Sauce-smeared plates rested in front of them. When Henry looked up, he caught her eye and smiled. "Hey, babe."
Elizabeth scooted round the table. She clutched Jason's head in both hands and planted a kiss to his crown whilst he flapped her away and squirmed. After kissing Alison and Stevie too, she stood behind Henry, rested her hands against his shoulders and dipped down to kiss his cheek. "Hey, you." She nodded to the plates. "What's for dinner? I'm starving."
"Dad made lasagne," Stevie said. "From scratch." She rested her elbow against the table, chin balanced against the heel of her palm. Her eyes glittered with the echoes of laughter as her gaze darted between her parents. "There's a plate in the microwave."
Elizabeth squeezed Henry's shoulders and raised her eyebrows at him. "You made lasagne from scratch?"
Henry shrugged. "Well, I rolled out some dough, made the sauces, threw it all together, then shoved it in the oven."
Elizabeth shook her head to herself as she walked back through to the kitchen. She shot him a look over her shoulder before opening the microwave. "You have way too much time on your hands." She snatched up a stray fork from the island counter.
"I was going for thoughtful…" Henry said as she settled down into the seat next to his. His hand slipped beneath the table and found her thigh. "…romantic." He squeezed.
"And then went ahead and ate without me." Elizabeth gave him a wry smile. "Guess that makes it a romantic meal for one." She turned to the kids. "So, how was everyone's day?" She shovelled a forkful of lasagne into her mouth, and the richness of the tomatoes and the creamy béchamel danced on her tongue. She closed her eyes and moaned. "God, that's good." And Henry's grip on her thigh tightened.
Stevie's eyes widened, and she shot Elizabeth a disapproving look. "I think you and the pasta need to get a room."
"I would get a room with this pasta," Elizabeth said through a second mouthful, and Henry's hand eased a touch higher. "Seriously, though—" She looked to each of the kids in turn. "—how was everyone's day?"
Stevie leant back in her seat, her gaze fixed on her pale pink fingernails as she tapped them against the tabletop. "Well—" Her fingers stilled, and she shot Elizabeth a look, about as unimpressed as the time she had to organise the holiday party all on her own. "—I had Russell Jackson going on at me all afternoon about making sure you prepare for your interview. As if just because we live in the same house it's my job to police everything that you do."
Elizabeth's stomach tightened. So much for compartmentalising. She put down her fork, chewed, swallowed and then grabbed Henry's glass of red wine. She took a long sip before setting it down with a clunk. She raked her fork over the sauce and scooped up another bite. "You tell Russell Jackson to stop hassling me about it. I said I would prepare—"
Stevie held her hands up. "I don't want to get involved." Her tone spiked. "The two of you are worse than toddlers fighting over a toy."
Elizabeth sent her daughter an incredulous look. Toddlers? Seriously?
But before she could say anything, Henry drummed his fingers against her thigh. "What interview?"
"Just some profile piece," Elizabeth said. She kept her gaze on her plate so as to avoid his eye. "We're recording it on Tuesday, and Russell's keen to remind me that perception is everything." She buried her bitter chuckle in another swig of wine. "As if I didn't already know." She turned to Alison and Jason. "What about you two?"
"Well…" Alison's whole face lit up with her smile. "…one of my designs has been selected for the fashion show at the end of the semester." She rooted around in the bag at the foot of her chair and pulled out her sketchbook, and then she passed it along the table to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth wiped her hands down on a napkin.
"It's the dress at the end, the cerulean one…"
Elizabeth turned to the back and flicked through the pages, until—"Wow." Her eyes widened, and the breath fled her lungs. When she looked up at Alison, her daughter's uncertain smile had blossomed into one of pride. She raised her eyebrows at Alison. "You drew this?" She shouldn't be surprised by what Ali could do, not now, yet still it hit her every time. "It's incredible."
"I haven't finished making it yet," Alison said. "But I was hoping you'd all come to the show. I know with work—"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I'll find time." Though perhaps work wouldn't be such an issue once everyone found out about 1984. She handed the sketchbook back to Alison. Then she scooped up another forkful of sauce-drenched pasta. "It'll be good to do something as a family." Then again, would they be the same family once… She silenced the thought.
"Well, I won't be there," Jason said, his expression perhaps a touch too smug—just like Will, "because I'll be en Paris."
Elizabeth swallowed her mouthful. "It's all confirmed?"
"Just have to pick my roommate. I was thinking Jack, but then Tyson said that he snores, but Reece already said he'd room with Stephen, and Tom got into this body-building scene and is now a total psycho…"
Elizabeth's fork hung over the plate. Whilst Jason jabbered through the list of potential roommates, her mind drifted, like flotsam caught in a rip and hauled out to sea. There is one thing I wanted to bring up: The summer of 1984.
April 1984
"Hi." At the voice, Elizabeth glanced up from her bed. A girl with long dark hair braided into two neat plaits stood in the doorway. She offered Elizabeth a broad smile, and her green eyes sparkled. "You must be Elizabeth. I'm Alice; your roommate."
Elizabeth nodded. Then she turned back to the book in her lap. The words swam across the page and dissolved into her mind. She couldn't string two of them together let alone a whole sentence. If she'd still been in school right now, she'd be drowning.
"What are you reading?" Alice sat down on the bed opposite. It bore the same rough sheets and sea-green polyester blanket as all the beds on the ward, but Alice had brightened it with a multi-coloured throw. Elizabeth lifted the book to show her the cover. "The Colour Purple?" Alice said. "I heard about that, but it was banned from my school library." Her eyes brightened. "Can I read it after you?"
Elizabeth held the book out to her, bridging the narrow channel between their beds. "I can't concentrate on it anyway."
Alice nodded and drew her lips into a taut smile. "The fog does clear you know, once you start to recover."
Elizabeth studied her; her gaze raked over her from head to toe, as if Alice were a maths equation gone wrong, and she was looking for the slip up, the number that had hidden amongst her working. "You were the same?"
"Hard to tell, isn't it?" Alice's smile softened, the barest tinge of regret. "This is my second time here. Have you been here before?"
Elizabeth shook her head; if she had her way, she wouldn't be there at all.
"Well, hopefully you'll get it right first time round and won't need to come back."
Present Day
Elizabeth stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. The lights in the reflection glared and fractured—dazzling stars of white. She rested her hands against the cool marble top and leant her weight into them. Slowly, she met her own eye. Less than six days until the world knew. Best that he hears it from you.
The door creaked when she opened it, and the bulbs hummed and whined as she killed the lights. Henry had already changed into his boxers and an old tee, and sat atop the covers of their bed. A chill clung to the air, but he didn't seem to notice it. Never did. I'll keep you warm.
He set down his book on the bedside table, atop the growing stack, and watched her as she made her way to her side of the bed. She clambered onto the mattress, then scooted over to him and nestled against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, and she rested her head against his chest. Thud, thud, thud. The rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth from his body washed over her and filled her with a sense of calm.
It was easy, right? Just say it. Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, the words dragging their way to the tip of her tongue, but before they could dive off the precipice, Henry murmured, "So, you liked the lasagne?" His voice was deep and bore the trace of his smile. He skimmed his fingers from shoulder to elbow, up and down, up and down her arm. "There's something sexy about a woman who enjoys her food."
Elizabeth froze. Something jarred in her mind. "You said the same thing to me on our third date." He had probably said it many times, though that was certainly the first, and that was the one that struck her right now. Dusky candlelight, the scent of garlic, a cosy booth. She pushed herself away from his chest, and propping herself up on one arm, she met his eye. "Remember? We went to that Italian place—"
Henry grinned. So he remembered it too. "With the huge bowls of pasta—" He arched his eyebrows at her. "—one of which you totally demolished, then we had—"
"Chocolate and coffee gelato for dessert." Elizabeth offered him a soft smile. "Then you were just sat there staring at me, so I said: What? Then you smirked—" He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with one finger to his lips, unable to resist as her own smile bloomed. "—and you said: Nothing—"
"There's just something incredibly sexy about a woman who enjoys her food." His eyes shone. They held the same awe they had that night, and her stomach fluttered in the same way too.
But then the flutter died, her smile dwindled, and her gaze fell away from his, down to where her hand rested against the pillow. Her hair swept forward into her face. What would he have said all those years ago if he had known?
Henry covered her hand with his own. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. "Babe? What's wrong?"
She shook her head, and the veil of her hair quivered. "It's nothing." She forced a smile. It's everything. What would people think if they knew?
Henry paused. In the background, the beat of music pulsed through from Jason's bedroom. "If it's about Jason and his trip, he's going to be fine."
Elizabeth met his eye. Hazel warmth flecked with concern. "But is it really safe for him to go on his own?" Her voice cracked. "I mean, shouldn't he have some security at least? There've been a whole spate of attacks—"
"Babe—" Henry squeezed her hand. "—this is probably his last chance to have a trip as a normal-ish kid. We've gotta let him have that."
Elizabeth nodded, though her heart sagged. Why did they have to grow up? Why did things have to change?
Henry cupped her cheek. He leant closer. "Hey, you know what else happened on our third date?" He nuzzled her nose, and his breath puffed against her lips. "Our first kiss." He nipped at the corner of her mouth. Then the other side too. And then he shifted onto his knees, and before she knew it he was lowering her onto the bed—and they certainly hadn't done that on their third date.
She threaded her fingers through his hair as he kissed his way down her neck, and her breath hitched when he nipped at her collarbone. "Henry, I…" …think we should talk.
He stopped and looked up. "What is it?"
"I…" She scraped her nails over his scalp, drawing idle patterns, and in a flash they were back to where they were that morning, only now everything had changed. "…it's just…" How to say it? "…I don't want anything to come between us."
"What do you mean?" He frowned, and then his eyes widened. "The presidency?"
"That…something else." Elizabeth shook her head, and her hair mussed against the comforter. She winced as she met his eye. "I just can't stand the thought that we might lose what we have." Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she let out a shaky breath. God, this was so stupid. Why couldn't she just tell him?
Why? Because she couldn't shake the thought that perhaps he would never have fallen in love with her, would never even have dated her, if he had known. And where would they stand after she told, or after it came out in the interview, or someone leaked it, or, or, or…? Perception changes everything. And there were certain things that you couldn't un-know.
"Hey." Henry shifted so that they were face to face. He stroked her hair, so gentle. "I love you, and nothing's going to change that."
Elizabeth grazed her nails over the nape of his neck, and he shivered beneath her touch. "Remember this morning, I said the universe was saying 'no'?" And it felt as though it had been determined to drive a wedge between them ever since. "Well, now I'm saying 'yes'." Her gaze flicked to his.
"Really?" His tone hiked.
To be enveloped in his scent, his warmth, his weight; his body so close to her own. She gave him a watery smile. "You had me at pasta."
