5.58 pm

The flight attendant walks down the aisle asking about duty free and telling them to, ‘Press your call bell if you want to make a purchase.’ At least Aidan got the window seat, though it means his knees are jammed against the seat in front, the price of the wider horizon. He looks down at the flickering lights, checks the flight path. They’re over north Wales. He looks again at the magazine, some of its pages torn as if a previous passenger had wanted to keep the tips on visiting Haarlem or Munich to themselves. Ruth did that sometimes, amassing a folder at home of all these places and things to do in the future, a list that could never be accomplished. ‘What’s the point?’ he’d say, but she’d only shrug and tell him he’d be glad of them one day.

Aidan glances over at the man in the aisle seat. He’s barely moved all flight, barely even looked up, glued to his screen. The seat between them is empty and at least there’s that, a bit of extra room. Aidan is grateful, really, for the silence. He wonders will they do the awkward dance at the end, jostling to see who is the most efficient at getting their jacket, their luggage down from the overhead locker. He wonders if the man, if anyone, can tell just by looking at him that he is still lost.

‘We can do this. Please, Ruth, just look at me.’

In the supermarket car park a year ago, the boot full of groceries, they had both seen the family of five opposite, children unloading one after another from the back seat of an estate car. Had counted them, one two three. Aidan saw Ruth’s shoulders dip, wanted to say that he knew, that it wasn’t fair, but it wouldn’t have made either of them feel any better.

‘Aidan, I’m so tired.’

‘I know.’ He had paused, risked trying to change the tone. ‘We can take a holiday, to Wexford, or to Spain, maybe? A break would be good.’

‘You’re only saying that because you think it gives us a better shot.’

‘I’m saying it because we both need a break. Go for walks, get a bit of heat, get away from all this. Nice dinners, tapas maybe.’

‘But no wine with dinner, right?’

‘No wine won’t kill us, Ruth.’

‘I would just like there to be some time to be me. To be us.’

‘That’s what I’m saying. We can be.’

The parents were swinging the youngest child between them, the older two driving the trolley. Aidan watched as they rounded the corner, out of sight. He began again.

‘You’ve been working so hard, Ruth, you can’t burn the candle at both ends. It’s not wrong to need a break. And when we’re a bit restored, yeah, we’ll have a better shot.’

‘What if it doesn’t work again, Aidan? What if there’s another miscarriage or just another failed cycle? I can’t take that.’

‘This could be the time, Ruth. This could be the one.’ It was such an automatic line. ‘One is all we need.’

‘I’m sick of it, Aidan. We’ve tried four times.’

‘Ruth,’ Aidan had kept his voice level, ‘I think we could be successful if we try again.’

‘And if we aren’t?’ Ruth’s chin almost rested on the steering wheel. ‘If we aren’t, Aidan? What do we do then?’

At least, at that stage, she was still talking about it. He’d let himself believe it was only another hiatus. In idle moments, Aidan had even composed imaginary forum posts: BFP! The break was all we needed! or Long journey, but it was all worth it! He couldn’t bear to articulate the real version: Have to beg my wife yet again to do another cycle. Feel like we might never get there. How long was it before he knew there would be no fifth cycle? Not a hiatus, but the end.

Below, the country comes into view, the Dublin coastline, the jutting hump of Howth, a lighthouse blinking at the far end of the bay. There is a grinding sound, which must be the wheels descending. The press of gravity keeps them held steady in their seats, resisting the pull to the left as the plane wheels around. The man in the aisle seat rests his hand on his bag to stop it sliding off the empty middle chair, though the flight attendant had asked him to put it under the seat in front. They’re close to the ground now, and there is a strange moment as the plane seems to slow and then to accelerate, controlled no doubt by a pilot but feeling like something going wrong. The flaps on the wings go up, slowing the plane as the wheels hit, then bounce, then make full contact with the ground.

Aidan thinks of how much he has loved Ruth, how much he loves her even now. He thinks of everything he will lose. If he is honest, he does not blame her for needing to stop, but that doesn’t stop him being angry at her. It is too hard to feel the life, the love he wanted, be dismissed by the person who was meant to share it with him.