Page 74 of The Soulmate

Gabe and I look at each other. Since my encounter in the car park, it has been quiet. No word from Max. No indication that he plans to go to the police or attempt to retrieve the USB. But, then again, we haven’t been anywhere.

‘How about we play outside in the sandpit for a bit?’ Gabe offers by way of a compromise.

The girls, starved of any such fun for days, accept this and burst outside before he can change his mind, excitedly chatting about the treasure they will discover out there.

For a while, I stand at the window and watch them. The sandpit was built by Gabe and Dad shortly after we moved in; they cleverly designed the wooden cover so that it can be folded in half to become a bench seat. Gabe does this now and sits facing the cliff as the girls get busy with their buckets and spades.

Kat’s words echo in my mind.If Gabe didn’t tell the police, it means he has something to hide. I don’t get it. Why is everyone so quick to blame Gabe? TheyloveGabe.

At least, I’d thought they did. I remembered Kat saying,Why do you think we all moved up here when you did? Why do you think we’re always at your house?How had I missed that? And if I missed that . . . what else am I missing?

There’s one final thing Kat said that I keep thinking about – perhaps more than anything else.How long are you going to live like this?

It’s the question I most desperately want answered. And I’m starting to realise that the only one who can do that is me.

70

AMANDA

BEFORE

‘Just the two of us, the horizon and all these lovely staff,’ Max said, with a laugh, as he touched his champagne glass to mine.

It was Christmas, and once again we were on a yacht in the Whitsundays. It was idyllic. I’d never seen water so clear or sand so white. And I’d never seen Max so relaxed. For a week, he didn’t so much as check his emails. We snorkelled and swam. I took photographs. We sat on the deck and drank wine. We fished. One night, we rowed to shore in a dinghy and our captain cooked freshly caught tuna on a makeshift barbecue. We ate it on the sand while drinking white wine.

‘Do you ever wish that you had been pregnant that time?’ Max asked out of the blue.

I knew the time he meant. I was surprised to hear that Max remembered it too. Or, if not surprised that he remembered it, I was surprised that he’d thought about it, reflected on it, since.

‘For a while I did,’ I admitted. ‘When I saw a baby, or when my friends’ children were little and they were entirely consumed by them.’

Max was listening to me so intently. There was something pained about his expression, and it hit me suddenly that this was something he’d been carrying all these years. Maybe I’d even seen that pained expression in his eyes on those odd occasions we were in the company of a newborn baby.

I saw the apology he was about to offer, so I made sure I got in first. ‘But now I see what a gift it has been, just the two of us, spending our lives together. And I’m grateful for it. Truly.’

I was. Of course, if we’d had children, I’m sure we wouldn’t have regretted it. We probably would be sitting here surrounded by our family, talking about how empty our lives would have been without them. But we would have been wrong. Our lives were not empty. Even with all that remained unsaid between us, as I sat there with Max, it was hard to imagine any alternative reality in which I would be more content, more fulfilled.

And still the sadness remained on Max’s face. ‘You always asked so little of me, Amanda. I should have given you so much more.’

I smiled. ‘You gave me what I asked, remember? Fidelity. That was the deal.’

Max smiled back. His eyes were both sad and happy.

‘Darling,’ he said, ‘it was such an easy thing to give.’

71

PIPPA

NOW

Istay in my office for over an hour while Gabe is outside with the girls in the sandpit. When I finish my work, the house is quiet. After days of us all being cooped up in the house, it is strange. I close my computer and go to the kitchen, wait for the kettle to boil, make a cup of tea. I’m jiggling the teabag in the water when I hear the toilet flush, then Gabe walks into the living room.

‘Bathroom,’ he says by way of explanation, but I’m already opening the glass doors, scanning the yard for the girls.

The sandpit is empty.

The spike of adrenaline is instant. My face becomes hot. My mouth becomes dry. My vision blurs at the edges.