I am unbalancing our equilibrium, which feels uncomfortable – but necessary.
I lay my hand over his. ‘I’m not saying anything will change … I’m just saying that we’re still young. We still have a lot of life left to live together – so let’s live it well. Let’s see if we can open up to each other before we bare our souls on television for millions of other people to see.’
Even as I speak these words, and mean these words, I also know that we will need to be careful. We will need to tread cautiously around the sinkholes of honesty, and be kind to each other.
Harry is staring over my shoulder. He’s thinking, assessing, preparing himself. I wonder if he is preparing to pretend, to say that everything is fine and I am worrying about nothing. Wondering whether a part of me will actually be relieved if he does – because then I can continue to pretend as well.
‘Okay,’ he says finally, turning his eyes back to me. ‘I can do that. But I don’t want some big emotional energy dump, you know? Life isn’t black and white; it comes in many shades in between. For both of us, I think, that’s especially true. And as for us needing each other – you have always been one of the most self-sufficient people I know, Elena. Maybe it’s to do with your childhood, I don’t know. But I don’t think you’ve ever actually needed me – so maybe that can be truth number one.
‘Even when I was earning the big money and you weren’t, you paid your way. When I bought the flashy car, you’d have been happy with a Ford Fiesta. While I was climbing the greasy pole, you were getting on with helping your kids. I’ve never resented you for it – in fact I’ve always admired it, and it’s one of the things that attracted me to you. You had more depth than me. You were a challenge. Still are, it seems.’
He has never said that to me. I find that I quite like it. That it is a view of myself I have never seen.
I lean forward, across the table, and kiss him on the lips. It is heartfelt, and goes on for longer than our usually perfunctory pecks normally last. I am on some kind of mad roller coaster right now, unsure of how I feel, unsure of when it will end.
‘Well, if that’s the effect that honesty is going to have on you, I’m all in favour,’ he quips, raising his glass in my direction.
His phone buzzes on the table and he glances at it. I see that it is Alison calling, but he just switches it off instead of answering.
‘Okay. Well, there is something I need to tell you straight off,’ he begins. ‘I have been playing this one over and over in my mind for years now, whether to tell you or not. I’ve been worried it might come out anyway, and you’re right – better for us to sort this stuff out before we get asked about it.’
I feel my stomach churn, and remember that I haven’t eaten at all so far today. Wine, anxiety and blistering honesty – what could possibly go wrong?
‘Go on,’ I urge, seeing him stall. He has perhaps noticed the sudden drain of colour from my face, and is worried about my reaction. ‘It’s fine. We’ll deal with it, whatever it is.’
‘Right. Well, it’s about the ring.’
‘The ring?’ I echo, glancing down at my fingers. Seeing the plain white-gold wedding band, and the silver and topaz of the one from Mexico.
‘Yes. That night … the night of the earthquake. I was going to buy you a ring like that. I genuinely was planning on asking you to marry me, Elena.’
I am confused, and frown as I ask, ‘What do you mean? You did buy me the ring. And you did ask me to marry you …’
‘I didn’t actually buy you that particular ring on that particular night though,’ he replies, pointing at it. ‘It’s exactly the type I’d seen you looking at on the stalls, when you bought me that yin-yang bracelet, and it’s what I’d planned on getting for you. I knew you’d prefer that to some big flashy thing you’d feel too embarrassed to wear.’
He is right, of course, and it reminds me that despite these half-truths of our life together, we do know each other very well, this man and I.
‘But on the night, I didn’t buy it. I was just walking around, and thinking I’d get it on the way back to you for dinner. That maybe I’d ask you that night, or maybe I’d wait until New Year and do something corny with a champagne glass or whatever. That even though you’d normally hate the corny bit with the champagne glass, once you saw it was a ring from Mexico, that I’d remembered you liked, you’d forgive me and be overwhelmed with the sense of romance, in a “he just gets me” kind of way …’
He pauses, and we smile at each other. I shake my head, and say, ‘Wow. I am so predictable. And you are so manipulative.’
‘Thank you,’ he responds, grinning.
‘So. Back to that night. I never did get around to buying the ring. I think I had a pretty good excuse – building collapse, coma, paralysis, et cetera.’
‘But,’ I say, ‘here I am, wearing the ring. Married to you, after an even more corny sick-bed proposal. So what happened?’
‘I got one of the nurses to buy it for me. Rosa, you remember?’
‘Young, pretty, had a crush on you?’
‘Well, that describes half the nurses there, but … yeah. Her. I drew a little picture, gave her some cash I got from my dad, and she snuck out to get it. And I’ve felt pretty crappy about that ever since, but let myself off the hook because the intention was already there. I finessed the truth a little, and I suppose I convinced myself it didn’t matter when I’d bought the bloody thing, or where.
‘What matters is that I didn’t ask you to marry me because I was injured – I was going to ask you anyway. It just changed the timescale and the way it happened and … well. I don’t know why I haven’t told you, or why I even said it to start off with. It’s not like it wasn’t all dramatic enough as it is.’
I nod, and stare at my wine glass for a few moments, trying to process what he has told me and trying to figure out why it stings. I’ve always kind of hated the bloody ring anyway. It was reminder of a night that was quite literally a disaster.
As for why he did it in the first place, that’s a more complex issue. Why lie about the ring at all?