Lucy Knott - Wishes Under a Starlit Sky

I look at my husband, at the man I love, and I know we can get through anything. I will be here for him, he will be here for me, it’s what we do, what we’ve always done.

Scott stands up, still looking out of the window and not at me. I keep my grip on the dining chair, afraid that if I let go, I might fall.

‘Why don’t we go and relax for the evening and watch some TV, or if you’d like we can make a pros and cons list for babies. We can even look over the baby name list we wrote, and you can cross off any you don’t like,’ I say, my lips quirking up into a small smile, trying to lighten the mood and think of a solution to the dilemma we’re facing. I don’t necessarily think it warrants a break in our marriage. I think something like this needs to be figured out together; having kids is a huge deal. I understand Scott is scared. I had been talking about it a lot more recently, but to say he doesn’t want them is a huge statement to make after six years of marriage. What has changed his mind? I’m struggling to stem my panic but am doing my best not to get hysterical and scare him even more.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve scared you with all the baby talk recently. I see you with your nieces and nephews and I guess I can’t help getting carried away. You’re really great with them, you know. And you always come up with the cutest baby names. But if you want me to lay off on the baby talk, I will do,’ I add, with a more confident smile. I release my hand from its death grip on the chair, wanting to go over to Scott and soothe him with a hug, but he isn’t looking at me and I want to give him the space he needs. My heart rate feels like it’s steadying. I can pocket the baby talk for a little while, if it’s what Scott wants. Besides Christmas is just around the corner, we both have work to do and I can distract myself with Christmas cheer and our office Christmas party.

‘I’m going to go and stay with Matt tonight, OK? It’ll be OK; I’ll figure it out,’ Scott says as he turns towards me. My heart rate picks up once more, faster than the speed of light. I gulp hard, reaching out for the chair before my knees buckle.

‘I don’t understand,’ I mumble, genuinely baffled by his response. I don’t want him to go. Don’t we need to talk about this together? A marriage is two people, having a baby requires two people; don’t I need to know what he’s thinking, where I stand in all this? The room feels cold and I can feel a drop of water from my wet hair trickle down my back, making me shiver.

‘Scott, do you not want to talk about this together? You don’t have to stay with Matt. If you don’t want to talk about babies anymore tonight, that’s fine too. Anything you want to do, that’s fine. I promise I can let it go, but you can still stay here.’ My voice sounds needy. I’m confused. I’m not supposed to be needy – society would scoff at me right now – but this is my husband. We have slept by each other’s side for the past eight years. My body trembles with fear. I don’t want him to go.

Scott walks past me towards the hall, stopping to give me a kiss on the forehead before he reaches the door. ‘No, it’s OK, babe. I’ll figure it out. I just need some time and we’ll be OK. I think this will be good for us and I’ve told Matt I’m coming now,’ Scott says, his voice somehow lighter. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

And he’s gone. The door closes behind him and I immediately drop into the chair. The tears that I have been holding in since I heard Scott utter the words ‘break from us’, come spilling out in heaves, splattering on to the red robin placemat my mum made for me a few Christmases ago, from a picture she took in her backyard in Colorado. The robin looks magical perched on the snowy branch of a pine tree. In the eight years Scott and I have been together he has never made me feel uncertain, unsure and unwanted, and right now I feel all those things.

Where was his fight? Why were we not having a discussion like a married couple should when a problem arises? How could he just walk out so easily? I have so many questions that remain unanswered, all while my mind is trying to comprehend how our romantic trip to Venice led to Scott wanting a break and not even being able to sleep in the same house as me. My blood runs cold at the thought; I feel disgusting.

Out in the hallway I can see the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree reflecting in the mirror. I can hear the slight murmur of the TV, which Scott must have switched on, announcing tonight’s Christmas movie on the Pegasus channel; reminding me of the fairy tales I helped write and how Christmas was one of the most romantic times of the year.

It looks like a Christmas bomb exploded in the hotel and I love it. Madi has gone to get us another drink and I’m stood by the eight-foot Christmas tree that is covered in so much tinsel and fake snow, I’m surprised it’s still standing. Everywhere I look there are trees and baubles and stars dangling from the chandeliers. It’s what Christmas grotto dreams are made of. I try and focus on all my favourite things and keep my mind from wandering to the shambles my current home life is in. Scott came home the other night after three days and it was like nothing had changed between us. The banter was lovely, the sex was passionate and hot until the minute it stopped, and I turned to ice when Scott insisted the break was working and it was what we needed. I haven’t heard from him in two days.

I’m swaying gently to the music – Michael Bublé’s ‘Let It Snow’, of course. It’s not really Christmas without Michael Bublé, is it? I soak up the words, trying to drown out my thoughts. The hotel is packed with people. I merrily smile and wave and chat to my co-workers. Suddenly I stop swaying and stand motionless in between the hustle and bustle. Through a gap in the clearing I can make out the back of his head. He is sitting at the bar chatting casually to a bunch of men in suits, colleagues I recognize from work events I had attended with him in the past. With Scott being in production, he attended events that didn’t always include writers like me, but mainly the directors and producers and all the behind-the-scenes staff from the movie sets.