Page 83 of Two Wrongs
‘Youlet you believe, Dylan. And then you made damn sure into the bargain we were through.’
‘This right here is the problem.’ I’m pointing, I realise belatedly. More importantly, my eyes are glued to the swell of her stomach that, but for the earlier occurrence of a stiff breeze, I might’ve never have known about. And she would’ve done that to me. Let me go on through life without ever knowing what that night in L.A. cost her. What we made.
I put that there. My heart lifts.Life sprung from the midst of anger and punishment.The second thought is not so welcome and causes my stomach to churn.
‘This child won’t ever be your problem.’
She won’t look at me and has misunderstood. Again. My fault. Again.
I shake my head and direct my gaze away.
‘No, that’s not the issue here,wife.’ As I say this, I know this is absolutely true. It’s frightening and fucked up and all kinds of wrong, but am I unhappy she’s carrying my child? I should be. But I’m not.
‘Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.’
‘Fine, Mrs. Duffy, let me help you understand. The only wife I’m interested in is the one standing in front of me.’ She exhales a puff of breath that hits the air like a bullet. ‘And you’re pregnant. Well, guess what? So am I.’ She opens her mouth to disagree, and I cut her off. ‘You gonna tell me you’ve been fucking someone else? No, I didn’t think so,’ I add, reading her expression, her mind—fuck, her distaste. ‘That’s my baby you’re carrying—half of me. That means you don’t get to make all the decisions. Not anymore.’
Her eyes blaze like fire, tears only intensifying the effect. She inhales again, breathing out from her diaphragm this time.
‘How’s that meditating working out for you these days?’ A blow as low as a downward dog, and I don’t give a damn. ‘Because you don’t seem that chill, babe.’
‘Fine show of concern,’ I think she mumbles. ‘My blood pressure will be through the roof.’
‘What? Have you had problems—are you okay?’ My concern is immediate as is my regret.
‘No.’ I exhale, a relief that’s short lived as she adds, ‘Not that it has anything to do with you. I assume you’re here about the divorce, but Scottish law isn’t the most straightforward thing, and—’
‘I’m not here for that.’
‘Then why?’
I can’t... I can’t tell her about this fucking video. The court case, the circus that it’s bound to induce because all that is nothing compared to what stands before me.
Ivy.
My wife.
And how she’s trying to shut me out. From the jut of her chin to the firm line of her mouth, she’d keep me at arm’s length from her life. From my child’s life. Realisation of her betrayal almost weights me to the spot, but I won’t stand here. I won’t let her do this again. I take a step closer, the wind from the ocean billowing under her dress. She slaps at it, grabbing the short hem, flustered for a moment and not realising I’m in front of her until the tips of our shoes kiss.
‘You’re a fucking thief,’ I growl, staring down at her. ‘Stealing time and choices—robbing me of fucking fatherhood.’ My eyes fall lower, my hands rising as though magnetized. ‘Would you ever have told me?’ My voice cracks as my eyes rise to meet hers once again. ‘Would you have?’
‘I tried,’ she whispers, her eyeswatery and contrite. Less defiant, at least. ‘And then you were getting married, so I decided—’
‘Youdecided? And on what fucking planet would I be getting married after whatyouput me through?’
‘You’re everywhere—Gylan, the celeb super-couple.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what they call you on the internet. The news—you’re everywhere. Even on Andrew Broughton’s show, you said—’
‘I don’t give a fuck what they call us—there is nousbetween me and her. And you know better than that. They pull stuff out of thin air—I can’t buy a coffee without being accused of boning a barista! They know shit about what’s going on in my real life, so don’t give me any of that bullshit. Youknow—you lived that life. Don’t kid a kidder, babe.’
Fuck this. Fuck her excuses, and fuck her. I’m not swallowing any of this.
‘But I didn’t,’ she whispers. ‘I didn’t live that life with you. We spent our marriage in a bubble—a bubble that burst.’ Her gaze sinks to the ground, the motion creating ink spots of moisture against the white of her dress. But I don’t step back, and I won’t take her in my arms. I have no pity or understanding in me. I have only fury, even as she gives me her wet gaze once again. ‘And then you didn’t say, you didn’t deny it on the TV—’ A hitch in her breath, and the rest of her words barely make sense. ‘An-an-and I c-couldn’t take that away from you. Don’t you see? I couldn’t tell you I was pregnant. I couldn’t take away your second chance.’
‘Yet you’re still a thief.’ The insult is dragged through the shards of broken glass lodged in my throat. ‘And a liar. You don’t get to make decisions for me...’
