I was at the pub he said

LATER THAT NIGHT I AM sitting next to Mathew on the sofa, trying to pluck up the courage to ask him about what Bill the sales guy had said.

I glance at him. He is reading a report, tapping a pencil against his porcelain veneers, his bifocals halfway down his nose. He is still in his work clothes, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. He is frowning and doesn’t look happy at all.

Miranda once commented that Mathew has the most beautiful forearms. She has a thing for forearms. I suddenly realize she and I haven’t spoken for quite some time and I wonder what’s going on with her. But we go through periods like that, particularly if she is in love, which I hope is currently the case.

Sensing Mathew isn’t in the best of moods, I think now might not be the right time to mention what Bill said. I sigh, and turn back to my book. My legs are curled up under me, and I am tucked into the corner of the sofa, snug against the cushions, under the warmth and light of my reading lamp. Freddo, the dog, snores slightly and our little Siamese cat, Cleo, is sphinx-like on the chair opposite.

All in all it is a scene of perfect domesticity and familial contentment and why would I want to ruin that?

But if I am not able to ask my husband such an important question, then how real is our serenity? I realize I have no desire to follow that line of thinking.

“Mathew,” I say, I just have to ask, “you know old Bill? Well, he said an odd thing today.”

Mathew looks up distractedly. “Huh?” he says.

“Bill, the old sales guy, that friend of Bullard’s who sits in my office. He said you bought a Chevy station wagon when you got married before and that Mika got pregnant. Is that true?”

“Stupid old fool,” Mathew says. He looks irritated. “I was going to give him a pity-ad but I don’t think I will now. Yes, I bought a station wagon and, yes, Mika got pregnant but she wanted it, not me.” He thinks for a moment and smiles. “I haven’t thought about that car in years; it had wood-paneled sides.”

He turns back to his papers.

“So what happened to Mika and the baby?” I persist.

“Well, she lost it, obviously,” Mathew says, still reading.

“When she was how far along?” I ask.

Mathew loses his patience. “Little girl, I don’t remember.” He sighs and gets to his feet.

I am sorry I said anything. It is so rare for him to be at home at a nice hour, and now I have sent him away with my stupid questions.

“Don’t go,” I say, and sit up.

“I need to have a shower anyway,” he says. “And then I’ve got to check those numbers again, something’s not right.”

He walks over to the door then stops.

“I didn’t want a baby and I told her that,” he says, his face closed. “But she got pregnant anyway, thinking I’d be happy when it happened. But I wasn’t. I was in the pub at a work thing when I got the call that she’d lost the baby. She stayed in hospital overnight and she came home the next day and we never talked about it again.”

“Did you visit her in hospital?” I ask. I have to know.

He shrugs no. “My function ran late and she was coming home the next day anyway. And it’s not like I could have done anything.”

He leaves and closes the door behind him.

The dog gets up and comes over to me. He lays his big head on my lap and I am grateful for his warm, hairy, doggy warmth. I lean down and kiss him, shaken by what I have just heard.

“But that was then and this is now,” I whisper to Freddo and hope with all my heart that it is true.