The Book of Love. Fionnuala Kearney

Sophie was the biggest surprise. Overnight her mother-in-law had seemed to realise that losing a child to sudden infant death syndrome while pregnant with twins was too much for any soul.

      Erin pulled her padded coat from the back of the kitchen chair. ‘I’m ready if you are?’ she said to Dom checking the buckles on the twins’ pushchair. Despite the sunshine and clear blue sky outside, both babies were cocooned against the cold. She touched Jude’s face. He, unlike his sister, was fighting sleep.

      ‘He’ll nod off once we start moving.’ Dom put his jacket on, wrapped a scarf twice round his neck before ushering his mother towards their front door.

      ‘Bye, Erin!’ Sophie called back. ‘Give them a kiss from me when they’re up!’

      ‘See you!’ Erin replied as she angled them through the awkward kitchen doorway, pushing the pushchair along the narrow hallway.

      Dom stepped outside and took over. ‘Daddy will drive,’ he said as she closed the door behind them.

      Erin pulled the collar of her coat high, pressed her gloves tight between each of her fingers. It was her favourite sort of day; a crisp, cloudless sky, cold, but cold you could wrap up against. She leaned into the pram one more time and tugged the children’s blankets right up to their mouths, before sinking her gloved hands deep into her coat pockets.

      Together she and Dom walked the length of Hawkins Avenue, silent, not needing to talk. They turned into Percival Way, a long, wide, tree-lined road, that bypassed the mall and the station, towards the river. They walked, crunching through iced leaves from the aging birch trees, crisp and brittle on the ground. Erin could see Jude was finally asleep.

      ‘You were listening at the door, weren’t you?’ Dom, his breath misting, was first to speak.

      Erin said nothing.

       She loves you. You love her.

      ‘We need to look after each other, apparently,’ he continued.

      ‘Actually,’ Erin smiled. ‘I think what your mother said is that you need to look after me. I think she realises you’re already well looked after.’

      ‘Hmmm …’

      ‘Do you love me?’ she blurted.

      ‘Completely. Mightily.’ His ungloved knuckles whitened as he gripped the bars of the pram and she reached across for his hand as he stopped walking.

      ‘And I love you.’

      ‘So, we move on, don’t dwell on things,’ he said, his head making tiny side to side movements. ‘We have each other. We have two more children.’

      But no Maisie … She nodded.

      ‘While you were in the loo, Mum was suggesting we focus on what it was like before.’

      It had been such a short time, just nine months, nothing at all – too soon to imagine laughter, to try and recreate the ‘before’.

      ‘So,’ he said. ‘Is she right? Any idea on how we can inject some fun into our lives?’

      Erin began to walk again. He was talking about sex. She did want to talk; she wanted to talk like they used to so very much, but not about sex. ‘You mean sex?’ Despite herself, she heard herself say it aloud.

      ‘Well, that and any other fun stuff.’

      ‘I had twins, that’s two babies one after the other. My nether regions are like the Grand Canyon. If you go anywhere near them all you’ll get is a loud echo.’

      Dom smiled. ‘I doubt that.’

      ‘I know we have to, but I just can’t even think about it … can we talk about something else?’

      Dom following one pace behind, raised his eyebrows. She saw that he didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. ‘You choose,’ he shrugged.

      ‘I think right now we need sleep more than sex,’ she said. Neither of them had slept well since Maisie died, and even worse since the twins were born.

      ‘Maybe.’ Dom took a small water bottle from the changing bag and drank from it.

      ‘And maybe we need to open up to each other more, Dom.’

      He laughed, tightened the cap on the bottle again. ‘I’m not too great on the feelings thing, Erin – you know that.’

      ‘So, imagine you’re writing something in the book for me,’ she said. ‘Imagine you have to write how you’re feeling today, what would you say?’

      He raised his hands up and blocked his ears. ‘Argh!’

      Gently, she moved his hands down. ‘Tell you what, I’ll ask you questions and you reply.’

      ‘Is that the time?’ he nudged his head in the direction they’d just come from and grinned. ‘Shouldn’t we head back?’

      ‘Indulge me.’

      ‘Two questions,’ he kept walking towards the river.

      Erin tried to match his new pace. ‘Right. What are you finding hard to tell me right now?’ She noticed a deep frown settle as he seemed to wrestle with the question.

      ‘I’m not sure,’ he hesitated.

      ‘Try harder,’ she pressed. ‘Pretend I’m not here – I’m never going to hear your answer.’

      He thought about it a moment. ‘In that case, I’m feeling frustrated.’

      Erin said nothing. Sex again …

      ‘I miss sex. I miss feeling that close to you. I feel tense and I know I’m an irritable bastard,’ he continued.

      Erin didn’t disagree.

      ‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘I’m completely confused by how much I love you and the kids, yet I still feel … I feel almost trapped.’

      Erin almost waved a white flag there and then. That word ‘trapped’. Stuck. Caught. Imprisoned. Ensnared. It played to every insecurity she had ever felt since first peeing on a stick years ago – since they both realised they’d unwittingly hitched their wagons to one another.

      ‘You did ask,’ he said.

      She glanced in the pram. Both children were asleep, though not for long. Jude didn’t seem to nap at all during the day and when he woke, he always woke Rachel who would probably, given the chance, sleep for hours.

      ‘Erin?’ From his expression, she could tell Dom was already regretting speaking. ‘This is why I hate talking about shit,’ he confirmed. ‘I want you.’ He stopped walking and reached for her gloved hand. ‘You. You’re the one. Maybe I’m wrong but I think the good life we both want for us and the kids – it’ll follow. It will still come.’

      ‘There was a young woman called Er-in,’ Erin’s eyes locked on his.

      ‘Limericks? Now with the Limericks?’ He laughed quietly.

      She made a face, rolling her eyes inwards. Her ability to make up silly rhymes on the hop had always made him smile.

      ‘Who was struck on the head by a bin.’

      His head was shaking.

      ‘The rubbish tipped out, it was flying about,’

      She hesitated. ‘And a nappy got stuck to her chin!’

      ‘Nope, not one of your best ones.’

      ‘There was a young man called Dom,’ Erin was walking ahead of him.

      ‘Who so wished he’d been christened Tom,

      ‘Because Toms have more fun, from problems they run,

      ‘And Toms go through life with aplomb …’

      ‘Oh,