Alberta Clipper Read Online Free PDF

whose tag must have said something more promising than the rest, warranted lifting up and a more thorough examination.  Mark watched her turning the pot, examining it from all angles, looking under the leaves for God knows what ailment. 
    “This one looks nice.  Clematis - The President.  It will have big purple flowers.  What do you think?”
    “Do you ever regret not having children?”
    To be fair to her, she didn’t flinch.  But she didn’t look at him.  She just put The President carefully into the trolley that filled the space between them, and sighed.
    “No Mark.  I don’t.  Do you?”
    Fuck.   Why had he asked her that?  Where had it come from?  They stared at each other.  He could just say no, and wrap it up.  Leave it at that.  She might not take it any further.  But as the seconds passed, Mark recognised that his question had brought them somewhere new.  That they were in this new place now, and that there was a door forward and a door back.  And that the door back just returned them to where they were, shopping for sticking plasters and temporary fixes in the shape of horticultural supplies.  They had to move forward.  They had t o take themselves out of the gaping pothole they had fallen into in the journey of their lives. 
    “I’m not sure,” he said.   “ Maybe.  I don’t know.  Sometimes...”  It looked to him like Jennifer might silently implode. “Sometimes, it feels - ”  He took a breath.  “It feels like there’s something missing.”
    The colour on Jennifer’s cheeks changed, and she nodded and turned her back to him .  She continu ed along the climbers aisle, pulling the trolley gently along with her.  They were walking so slowly, it felt somehow like a funeral march.  They were the pallbearers, pushing the bier with the coffin on down the aisle.  The thought struck him that the coffin was empty but for The President, and an irrational urge to laugh aloud overcame him.  He emitted a loud stifled snort which made Jennifer look up.  She stopped walking and turned to him, holding onto the end of the trolley with both hands.
    “I’m not sure what to say to you, Mark.”  Her voice was steady, although he could tell it was taking a lot of effort for it to remain so.  “I could say that I understand what you are feeling.  That it's inevitable that you would feel like this at some point in your life.  Most people of our age have children.  You were bound to feel pressurised at some stage.”
    “I don’t feel pressurised,” he began. 
    “Or -” 
    He shut up. 
    “I could say that you are a bastard to throw this at me now.  At this stage in our life.  When you know how I feel about it.  When I never left you under any illusion that I would have children with you.  When we’d made our choices.  Or at least I thought we had.”
    “I’m sorry, Jen.”  He began to feel alarmed.  She had spoken calmly, but he could see her knuckles had turned white on the trolley.  “Just forget it.  Can we just forget I opened my mouth?  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I don’t want kids.  The words just came out of my mouth.  Please.  Forget it.  I don’t want kids.”
    She looked at him.  Into him.  Then she turned, and they resumed their procession down the aisle, around the corner, past the display of potted herbs. 
    “Maybe you don’t.”  She spoke over her shoulder so he could hear her.  “But maybe you’re right.  Maybe there is something missing.”
    Mark felt like the ground had become unstable beneath his feet.  His heart raced in his chest, and he stopped walking, making her stop too as the trolley jerked her arm.  She turned to him.  There seemed to be nothing to say.  After a moment, he just went to her, and held her to him.  They stayed like that for a time, his arms around her, hers limp by her sides.  And then she sniffed loudly, and pushed him gently away, before tu rning and walking on towards a huge display