Page 29 of The Soulmate

I’m afraid too. Afraid of losing him. If I’m honest, this has been my fear since the moment we met. Something about him has always felt fleeting, even after marriage, even after children. ‘But what if they don’t believe you?’

He sits on the edge of the bed. ‘Then I’ll go to jail.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘No. That can’t happen.’

I’ve always been a visual person. All over the house I have pinboards and blackboards and whiteboards decorated with brightly coloured post-its or whiteboard markers. When something is coming up – a birthday, an event, a deadline – it is right there, displayed for everyone to see. Gabe is not a visual person. For a while, I put his important dates on my boards too. It didn’t work, but I derived a perverse sense of pleasure from pointing out the occasion he’d forgotten.

‘It’s right here,’ I’d say, pointing.

For me, if I could see something, it would happen. And I can’t see a world without Gabe. That must mean something. Mustn’t it?

‘I’m not saying itwillhappen,’ Gabe says. ‘Just that it’s a possibility.’

I force myself to imagine Gabe going to jail. On a superficial level, we’d manage. I am the breadwinner anyway. Mum and Dad and Kat and Mei would rally around to offer emotional support. The initial flurry of activity after his arrest would help. I could turn my mind to logistics. Lovely, clear logistics. I would need to arrange for child care. The girls would need to see a psychologist, which would involve getting a referral and a mental health plan. I’d probably need one too.

There’d be the shame to deal with, of course. Both the internal and, of course, the external. News would travel fast. We live in a small coastal town. For the past year we’ve been cruising on our reputation of being good people. Lifesavers! But small towns are notoriously difficult when you aren’t popular. I wonder, suddenly, what the Hegartys would think. ‘They seemed like such nice people. They havechildren!’

We’d probably have to move again. To a city, where we could blend in. We’d need to make new friends, ones who didn’t know Gabe and I before. But ultimately, we would get through it – physically, at least. Emotionally is another story. Because I can’t let Gabe go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit – a death for whichIam responsible. I can’t. Iwon’t.

The night ticks on, but we don’t sleep. At one point, we have sex. A bizarre thing to do, maybe, but not for us. Even in the most terrifying moments of our relationship, we’ve been able to connect in this way, with our hearts in our throats and dread in the pit of our stomachs. Sex has been our escape, our distraction, our apology. And over the last year, when we haven’t needed an escape or a distraction or an apology, it’s been our comfort, our pleasure. It’s something I’ve had tucked in my pocket of self-satisfaction. Gorgeous husband. Adorable little girls. Great sex. Soulmates, with a connection that I’ve never seen in another couple.

‘Why didn’t you just tell the police in the first place?’ I ask him at one point. ‘If you’d just told them, they would have been more likely to believe you.’

Gabe appears tortured by this. ‘I know! I wasn’t thinking. It never occurred to me that either of us could be suspects in her death. Amanda made the decision to jump. You didn’t push her and neither did I. I thought it would be written off as any other suicide . . .’

‘But surely you realised word would get out that it was Amanda Cameron on the cliff?’

‘I hoped it wouldn’t.’

‘And the suicide of Max Cameron’s wife isn’t an ordinary suicide.’

‘I know.’

And this, of course, brings us back to whyhemust confess. The reason our conversation has travelled in circles all night. There is no other conceivable option. Maxwilldiscover that Gabe was with Amanda when she died. Either Gabe goes to the police with the information . . . or they come to him.

‘I’ll go to the police station in the morning,’ he says.

This time I don’t argue; I just slide into his arms and begin to sob.

26

PIPPA

THEN

Freya was six months old when I fell in love with her. We were in the doctor’s waiting room when it happened. She had been fussy for a few days with a runny nose, and it seemed like a good idea to have her checked out. I was holding her upright against my chest when she let out a long, sleepy sigh. I inhaled her sweet milky breath and, just like that, my heart moved in my chest.

By then, I’d clawed my way back from postnatal depression. I attributed this to medication and exercise – as well as the Gabriel Gerard rehab centre, which regularly took me on excursions and provided opportunities for me to feel. No matter how resistant I was initially, every time Gabe took me out on a new adventure he helped me to connect with some part of myself that had been dormant. Little by little, I felt myself come back to life.

‘I feel better,’ I said to Gabe one day. ‘I feel . . .good. You fixed me.’

The wonder of it was indescribable, a confirmation of what I already knew about the power of my connection with Gabe. I was the fixer; we both knew that. Gabe was the dreamer. And yet, when I’d needed him, he rose to the challenge.

I was intoxicated by it, the yin and the yang. Unfortunately, as with yin and yang, there was a cost to my recovery. As life returned to me, it slowly leached out of Gabe.

It started with sleep.

In the past, I’d always been shocked by how little rest he needed. He was always so full of energy! But suddenly he was yawning all the time, turning in at 8 pm.