Devil | A Solomons

FORTY FIVE - AN HONEST TRUTH

One month later and things were almost as they were before. The sun had come out, and stayed out, all through September, straying away for less than three days of rain. The time for thicker coats and scarves was dawning on the people of London, but for Irina, she didn't want the weather to change.

The sunshine reminded her of Alfie, and the time they'd spent together falling in love. Although she was certain that the colder months would bring more love to her life than she'd had up until that point, change scared her.

The window of her home had been fixed and although her relationship with Alfie had been continuing strongly, Irina enjoyed having her own space and living at home. The couple often spent nights together at one another's houses, but Alfie had learned quickly how to know when Irina needed time on her own, whether it was an hour to soak in the bath in silence or an entire night to sit with a glass of wine and read her book undisturbed, he knew.

And he was more than fine with giving her whatever she needed. He would often use the nights and days away from her to go shopping for food to cook for them the day after, or make reservations at restaurants and bars they'd talked about visiting. There were so many things the two of them wanted to do together, and now, finally, they had nothing stopping them.

Only, a bout of sickness during the last week of September had kept Irina almost off her feet for most of the day, managing to only make it into the office by lunch time that week.

She hadn't told Alfie about her illness, putting a polite decline towards any of his advances that they spend the night together for fear of worrying him when he awoke in the mornings.

Irina kept a level head for the most part, waking up each morning experiencing the same nauseating feeling she had the day before and running to the bathroom as quick as she could. In the back of her mind, she knew what was wrong, but refused to see a doctor until the entire month was over.

A clean white bedsheet and another wave of nausea when she awoke on the thirty-first day was the final straw. She fought through the sickness, calling her doctor and arranging for an appointment that same day.

When Alfie turned up at Irina's home at seven PM that evening, he knew by the look on her face when she opened the door that something was wrong. He'd suspected there was a problem when she withheld from staying the night, something she was almost always keen to do, and although Alfie lay awake that entire week driving himself insane with thoughts that she had lost interest in him, he still came to no conclusion.

"What is it, Irina?" Alfie asked as soon as he walked into her house, dumping the back of groceries on the kitchen counter.

She was stood solemnly in the middle of the kitchen, her dark hair straight down her back and her head hung low, one arm across her body clinging to her other elbow, shifting her weight meticulously between her feet.

Candles were burning throughout the house and there was a red onion that had been half-chopped on a wooden board. Alfie wasn't sure whether Irina's eyes were watery because of the reason she'd been avoiding him or because of the cooking.

"Hey," he whispered, placing one hand on her waist and another on the side of her face, tilting her head up gently so he could see for himself just how close she was to tears, "Talk to me, darling."

Irina shook her head, forcing her eyes back down to the ground as she sniffed hard, swallowing to try and hold back the tears welling fiercely in her eyes.

"No, no crying," he lifted her head again and wiped away the tears from her cheeks with his knuckles, holding her face in both hands and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, "Tell me what's wrong, it's nothing I can't fix, alright?"