The next morning Angela left the house an hour earlier than usual, telling Gregory that, because of her absence yesterday, she would need to catch up. It isn’t money that makes the world go round, it’s lies, she thought, as she backed her car out of the driveway. She drove straight to Christopher’s house. He was there waiting for her, on the doorstep, with the dog. He had changed the sheets and placed a lamp which cast a pink glow next to the bed.
This time when they made love, their old words came back to them. They had never written these words down because until the big break they had never been apart. And anyway, they were words to be sighed and breathed in an incoherent expression of love and desire. When they were still again, they stared into each other’s eyes and smiled, then laughed out loud at the joy of being together again.
“If I could give you anything, anything in the world, what would it be Angie?” he said.
“Another hour in this bed,” she said, glancing at her watch, which said 8.30 AM
“No, what would it be?” said Christopher, insistently.
“It would be a baby,” she lied.
“Is that possible, Angela?” he said. She bent down to kiss his mouth. It tasted of her own salty juices.
“No, it’s not possible, Chris. I’ve been sterilised,” she said. She lifted a roll of fat and showed him a two-inch scar just above her pubic hair.
“When did that happen?” His voice was flat with disappointment.
“It didn’t just happen,” she said. “That makes me sound as though it was something that was done to me against my will. I phoned the Elms. I booked in. I paid the money. I willingly had the operation. I came out of there three days later, sterile. It was what I wanted.” She got out of bed and reached for her underwear.
“Please don’t look at me,” she said. He turned his head away and looked at the wall opposite the window. He listened to her breathy exertions as she dressed; he heard the snap of elastic and the rustle of nylon on nylon.
“How soon after were you sterilised?” he said.
“Do you mean how soon after I left you?”
“Yes.”
“I went straight there, from the house.”
He sat up in bed. “You arranged it while we were still living together?”
“Yes. And don’t say you weren’t told, Chris, because I told you over and over again that I would never have another baby.” She was fully dressed now, in the uniform that didn’t suit her. “But you didn’t listen to me because you wanted one.”
“I thought you were saying it because of what happened to you. I thought, as time went on…”
“As time went on,” she shouted, “you developed an obsession about having another baby. It was all you talked about.”
He got out of bed, naked and furious.
“Is it unnatural to want a baby?”
“Yes, it is, it is, if your partner doesn’t want one. If your partner feels that all she is, is a potential carrier for your baby.”
“You were jealous,” he said. “Of a baby that wasn’t even born.”
“Yes, I was,” she shouted. “It was my love rival. It was as if you were planning to fall in love with another woman and bring her to live in our house, and share our bed.” Tears came into her eyes. “I mustn’t cry,” she said. “I look terrible when I cry. My eyes are swollen for days.”
He put his hands on her shoulders while she wiped her eyes and blew her nose on a tissue she took from her handbag.
“There are different kinds of love, Angie,” he said.
“So you tell me,” she said. “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?”