Love Is... Read Online Free Page B

lovingly slather Sudocrem on a rashy crack. Every thought seemed to extrapolate into a video projection of never-to-be-realised moments: the first steps, a tender kiss at bedtime, nursing a grazed knee, adjusting a school tie, a comforting cuddle when the world seemed cruel. Being a mother had so many facets. And I would know none of them.
    I twirled my empty glass by its stem and looked out beyond our neighbour’s roof at the tiny glimpse of sky. I liked to think my mother and father were up there somewhere, looking down, keeping tabs on the little three-year-old girl they left behind. Suddenly I found myself laughing. It seemed so unfair, almost deliberately orchestrated, to be denied a mother and then to be denied motherhood too. I dropped my head into my hands, knocking the glass to the floor.
    Nick rushed into the kitchen. From his furrowed brow and teary eyes, I could tell he already knew. Maybe Victoria had told him, maybe he’d guessed. He smiled, but I knew it was for my benefit. He put his arms around me and pulled me into his damp coat. I hugged him tightly and buried my head in his chest.
    After a while, he lifted my chin and looked into my eyes.
    â€˜It’s OK, Ellie,’ he said.
    I knew he must be hurting as much as I was, and that now was the time we needed more than ever to love each other, but when I smelled whiskey on his breath, I felt my muscles tense. I pulled away.
    â€˜Well, it might be OK for you,’ I said, with a sharp sigh.
    Nick cocked his head, as though trying to make sense of my sudden change of tone.
    â€˜What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked.
    I shrugged my shoulders.
    He leaned forward and stared at me. ‘You’re saying I’m glad it didn’t work?’
    â€˜I’m saying,’ I began, then paused just to be sure I wanted to continue, ‘you didn’t try as hard as I did.’
    He stepped back, eyes wide. ‘Seriously, Ellie? What is wrong with you?’
    I glared at him. ‘Wrong with me? You’re the one who’s spent the past year partying like the Wolf of bloody Wall Street. No wonder we couldn’t conceive.’
    He frowned. ‘Partying?’
    â€˜You’re out every night.’
    â€˜Working.’
    â€˜Drinking.’
    He ran his hands through his hair. ‘You know I hate entertaining. Drinking is the only way I can tolerate a night with those egotistical Neanderthals.’
    I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, poor suffering you.’
    â€˜Besides,’ he added, frown turning to a scowl, ‘lately, it’s been preferable to being at home.’
    I jumped to my feet. ‘Oh really?’ I said.
    â€˜Yeah, you’ve totally lost it, Ellie.’ He walked to the winerack and grabbed a bottle of red. ‘If it’s not wheatgrass shots, it’s acupuncture, then there’s those ridiculous “hypnotise yourself into getting pregnant” bullshit podcasts you watch. And if you’re not doing that, then you’re on those barmy forums. You and the army of infertiles, inciting each other to drink five litres of milk or eat a kilogram of cashews, all charting each other’s cycles like you’re in some kind of crazy baby-making coven.’ He paused to unscrew the top and pour himself a glass. ‘Seriously, Ellie, you’ve been a nightmare to live with.’
    I snatched the bottle from him. ‘Well, at least I’ve been making an effort,’ I said, pouring a glass. ‘You, on the other hand, have been doing everything you possibly can to sabotage this whole process. You’ve pretty much done the opposite of everything the consultant told you to do.’
    Nick grabbed back the bottle and slammed it on the counter. ‘Ellie, I’ve done it all. I’ve had every test under the bloody sun. I’ve had sex on demand. I’ve taken all manner of weird supplements. I’ve even worn ventilated boxer shorts. I’ve tolerated your