‘Sure we could do it,’ he replied, and Lindy tried to ignore that he’d said it in the same tone someone might say ‘sure we could de-hair the shower drain’.
He leaned in to kiss her, a very polite kiss. They were out of practice. Then he leaned his hand on her hip, but it slipped off, pinching a wedge of her thigh flesh between his hand and the floor.
‘Oww!’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ He tried to lean in again at the exact same moment she did, causing them to bash off each other. ‘This is going great.’ He smiled ruefully.
‘C’mon, we can do this.’ It was the most Lindy had ever acknowledged the no-sex spell. Though ‘spell’ was putting it mildly. It was more of a no-sex era at this point. Lindy pulled herself up into a squat and crabbed sideways to straddle him, grateful she was wearing a dress, which he started to hike up. ‘Wait – my knickers.’ She bent her knee up and pulled one side of her pants down, acutely conscious that she was flashing him quite a lot of undercarriage. Post-baby, Lindy had often quipped to Giuliana that she could wear her vagina as a sarong. Ugh.Don’t dwell on it, c’mon, other side now, she coached herself and at last flung the knickers clear. She positioned herself over his erection, trying not to think about the fact that it could’ve been harder,would’vebeen harder a few years ago. She gripped it to guide it into her.Oh God, it’s bending. This is mortifying. At last, she managed to stuff it in, trying not to grimace. She avoided Adam’s eyes, knowing instinctively that he was probably doing the same. If they looked at each other, it would be too obvious that this was not going well. She moved up and down. It was chafey because she was too self-conscious to be remotely turned on. She chanced a look at her husband; he was flinching slightly. The chafing goes both ways. She had to get wet.Jesus, the pressure! OK, think of something, anything.
She closed her eyes and one of her stock scenarios began to come into focus. Zane had been a TV presenter when Lindy was younger. A very hot TV presenter who interviewed bands and hosted proceedings backstage at Glastonbury. Now, like them, he had a kid-orientated YouTube channel called Zaddy Zane that she occasionally visited, especially when Adam and Max were away. She pitched up and down on Adam trying to concentrate on the storyline of her fantasy – she and Zane were fucking in his car in the underground car park of the kind of anonymous hotel where YouTube events were always held. She opened her eyes briefly; Adam’s eyes were also squeezed tight.Where isheright now? Same car park with some YouTube mum?She shut her eyes again.Come, Lindy! Come!
‘Ehm,’ Adam quietly interrupted her fevered internal chanting. ‘Are you going to …? Cos, well, I don’t think I’m …’
Thank God he left it at that – to say the words would’ve been too damning. She slipped off him. They didn’t speak, and after a couple of minutes, Adam put his earphones in once more and Lindy went to do her night-time Skin Love routine.
Later, after Adam had come to bed and Lindy’d feigned sleep, she lay on her side in the dark, and cold humiliation trickled through her, pooling in her stomach. Her perfectly silent tears streamed sideways across her face and onto her pillow. She wanted so badly not to see it, not to know that something was very wrong with her marriage. This aborted sexual encounter with the man she’d hitched her life to had caused a visceral breach in the ironclad denial she tried to maintain at all times. Now all-too-specific worries were rushing in.Does he not love me any more? Does he wish he was with someone else? How have I let this happen?
5
AILBHE’S PHONE STARTED BUZZING AND SHE rolled over groggily to see a picture of grinning Tom glowing in the darkness. ‘Tom calling’ flashed on the screen. She loved their almost-nightly Tilly-life catch-up, but what time was it? Her phone said 23.43, 25 April – ten weeks to the day till they would leave Dublin. Her tongue felt woolly in her mouth and a headache throbbed behind her right eye. The fallout of three glasses was intense when you were already running on newborn-sleep levels. She eased herself up on the pillows and hit the green button.
‘Hey, babe,’ she whispered. Tilly was asleep just feet away in her cosy little bassinet. ‘Guess where I am?!’
‘Ooh, new house? How is it, honey?’
‘Very cool, the front door said “welcome home” to me when I arrived and it told Eilers she looked fab.’
‘I love all their personal touches. I see you guys have cracked the champagne already.’
‘Eh … yeah. How’d you see that?’Can he literally tell by my face?She panicked.
‘You ordered on the Monteray app – everything is tracked and logged. You didn’t overdo it on the champagne, Ailbhe? Half a unit a week is the recommended amount.’
‘Of course not!’ Her eyes darted to the glass on the side table that she’d brought up when she came to bed and made sure it was out of shot. ‘So any updates on if you’ll be back over before we come to you?’
‘I might be! Maia’s still moving some stuff around, but I’m hoping I’ll get over to you in June and we can all fly back together.’
‘Ah, amazing!’
‘Is your tourist visa all straightened out?
‘Yup, visa will be sorted.’Ugh, gotta get on that.
‘The guys in legal are still researching what the best approach is for long-term, but the six-month one will be fine to start – it’s not like you’ll be working.’
‘Oooh, speaking of work,’ Ailbhe kept her voice low so as not to disturb Tilly or exacerbate the thumping in her head. ‘Holly has taken on a freelance gig doing make-up for a reality-show thingy that’s starting in a few weeks and I’m going to help her out, just for the last few weeks before we leave. I’m so excited to be back on a set. It’s beensolong.’ She scooched back down in bed, getting comfortable, and propped Tom beside her on the other pillow, his angular, sun-bronzed face glowing in the dark. She tucked her hands under her cheek, her wavy red hair spilling away from her. They were so rarely in the same country that she’d gotten oddly used to just having his head in bed with her. At first, Tiny Phone Husband had seemed like just the right amount of husband for Ailbhe, but more and more she found, to her surprise, she was missing him.
‘You look so beautiful, babe.’ The cute dimple under Tom’s left eye appeared as he smiled. ‘I keep looking at the photos from the birth. Every time I just get this new level of awe that you did that.’
At her birth, while Eilers gamely snapped photos, Tom had cheered Ailbhe on via OptimEyes, the Optimise answer to FaceTime. The midwives had been highly entertained. Not least because Tom had been on a plane with Seth Rogen pitching an investment opportunity for the duration.
Ailbhe’s eyes drifted to her plump, rosy daughter tucked up in her pale-yellow sleeping bag. She was hers, yet Ailbhe didn’t know who she was yet. Would she have an American accent one day? What colour would her eyes be? The thought jarred; her guilt snapped at her suddenly. That could be a problem. She chased the thought away and focused on Tom.
‘Yes, I am awesome,’ she agreed. ‘Want to see our girl?’ She slipped out of bed.
‘Your mother? I’d love to.’ He grinned goofily.
Ailbhe giggled. ‘I’ll bring you down to our fifty-nine-year-old bundle of joy in a sec – she’s down the hall – but look at this little lamb first!’ She turned the phone around and they gazed silently for a moment. Then Ailbhe caught a glimpse of the slightly bizarre scene in the window reflection. In her long nighty, with Tilly’s wicker basket and Tom’s glowing disembodied head, it looked like a demented nativity scene.
