She should be relieved, when he said the last time. But specifying the last time made her sure that it had not been the first, had not therefore been the only. There had been a pattern before it. Jemima could have asked how many times there had been in total, but she was too afraid of how much worse the answer might make it. At least without inquiring she could cling blindly to the one positive: that he was not doing it anymore.
It did get worse, when Ford talked – almost flippantly – about faking his death. She swallowed heavily. To think that had been any light at the end of a tunnel. If Jemima had ever had a thought like that, it had only ever been in some fleeting, melodramatic moment of mortification. It had never been a real solution to anything. And he had only fantasised, he said – but if she had had problems that didn’t go away, serious problems like debts at her heels, Jemima thought any escape from them at all would have been almost worth the considering. Even that.
In light of that, she supposed it was some solace that he did have any resolve left to fix this. Jemima tried to smile at him, at this poor show of hope, and nodded in weak acceptance in case her smile hadn’t shown. It was not even a case of wanting to believe him: she had to believe it, because if she did not then she was not sure how she would ever muster the bravery to leave this room again.
And never mind that she couldn’t fathom how he intended to fix it, now that any progress he had made had surely been impeded by her in one way or another. (The scandal rubbing off on his family, or his having to stop the thefts, or merely having another person in the house – to provide for and to lie to.) “Okay,” Jemima breathed. But how? she could ask – she felt the question brimming in her eyes, in spite of herself – but she forced it down. That was asking for too much right now. Her chest and her head and her whole body ached, and Ford could not feel any better, after everything.
And maybe he hated her for forcing all these things out about him well enough already, and she was only making things harder on him, but...“From now on,” she said, and hopefully from now on would not involve more theft, but something less wrong, but just in case – “would you... tell me what you’re going to do, at least?” If he came up with a plan or solution (however dangerous or stupid or worrying it might be), it would be good to have – some warning.
It did get worse, when Ford talked – almost flippantly – about faking his death. She swallowed heavily. To think that had been any light at the end of a tunnel. If Jemima had ever had a thought like that, it had only ever been in some fleeting, melodramatic moment of mortification. It had never been a real solution to anything. And he had only fantasised, he said – but if she had had problems that didn’t go away, serious problems like debts at her heels, Jemima thought any escape from them at all would have been almost worth the considering. Even that.
In light of that, she supposed it was some solace that he did have any resolve left to fix this. Jemima tried to smile at him, at this poor show of hope, and nodded in weak acceptance in case her smile hadn’t shown. It was not even a case of wanting to believe him: she had to believe it, because if she did not then she was not sure how she would ever muster the bravery to leave this room again.
And never mind that she couldn’t fathom how he intended to fix it, now that any progress he had made had surely been impeded by her in one way or another. (The scandal rubbing off on his family, or his having to stop the thefts, or merely having another person in the house – to provide for and to lie to.) “Okay,” Jemima breathed. But how? she could ask – she felt the question brimming in her eyes, in spite of herself – but she forced it down. That was asking for too much right now. Her chest and her head and her whole body ached, and Ford could not feel any better, after everything.
And maybe he hated her for forcing all these things out about him well enough already, and she was only making things harder on him, but...“From now on,” she said, and hopefully from now on would not involve more theft, but something less wrong, but just in case – “would you... tell me what you’re going to do, at least?” If he came up with a plan or solution (however dangerous or stupid or worrying it might be), it would be good to have – some warning.
