Page 66 of We Live Here Now

65

Freddie

Three birds in the sky, slashes of black stabbing at the endless gray canvas overhead. Ravens, one with a shard of white in a damaged wing. It’s flying beautifully though, perhaps even better than the others. After a moment, the damaged one and the larger bird, maybe the male, break away into a pair, pirouetting around each other, and there’s such joy in their movements that I can’t look away. The other bird is forgotten, the two cawing and darting and diving so fast and so close they should collide, but they don’t, as if they’ve done this dance a million times before and can anticipate each other’s moves, but there is nothing of dull routine about it, only complete and absolute joy.

Oh, for that joy. I’m exhausted.

I start the car, eager to get the heating working, and lean my head against the headrest. The bees buzz and my toes are still icy, and even Emily curled up close behind me last night couldn’t warm me up. She was squeezing so hard at times I couldn’t breathe.

I look back at the door where she’s waving me off. I smile and half wave back and then pull away, the gravel crunching as I turn away from the house and down the lane.

Emily.

She’s acting as if she’s forgiving me, but how can that be? I’ve lost all our money. I’ve got debts. She’s veering between completely distracted and overly nice. Why isn’t she angrier? Is it post-sepsis, like this haunting business, or is it something else? The bees buzz louder.

She was out when I got home yesterday, and when she said she’d been for a coffee she couldn’t even look at me. Emily’s always been a terrible liar. So if she hadn’t gone for a coffee, where had she been that would make her lie to me? What would she want to hide?

The answer rings loud as a church bell as the moors fly past me and the gray sky brightens as my heart races.

A lawyer. Of course.

She’s been taking advice. How best to divorce me, I imagine. She’s got money in her bank account from her injury payout. She can afford someone good. She’s going to take whatever we have and leave me with nothing. What if she presses charges too? She could do me for fraud, I’m pretty sure of it. One of those cards is in her name, but it’s the one I’ve been paying the minimum payments on, so it won’t affect her credit. Even if she doesn’t press charges, if that comes up in the divorce case I’m totally screwed.

Who am I kidding? I’m totally screwed anyway. My phone pings with an email from Dr. Canning, and I slow down to read it as I drive.

Please make sure she takes her medication, and I have attached some good local psychiatrists’ details. My secretary is sending Emily some appointment times for the next fortnight. Reach out immediately if you feel she is a danger to herself or others.

I frown as I realize it’s a response to an email I sent early this morning. I scroll up. It’s saying I’d found her awake in the middle of the night on the landing staring out of the window and it was worrying me. I don’t remember her getting up in the night. A jolt of memory comes to me— the shower running, my fingers tapping out the email on the phone . I must have been half asleep. I’m so exhausted all the time; no wonder I’m not remembering things.

A horn blares and I look up to find I’ve wandered across the central line. I pull quickly back to my side of the road, and then as my pulse slows and I stare at the road ahead, I try to focus on what I need to do at work today. One line of Dr. Canning’s email plays over and over in my head as the road rolls under me.

Reach out immediately if you feel she is a danger to herself or others.

Even Dr. Canning thinks she might kill herself.