Ava sat in silence, twisting her whip in her hand, not looking at me.
You know its not true, dont you? I asked. Whatever she said. Its prejudiced and small-minded and ignorant. Dad doesnt think like that. He loves us.
Is he really leaving? There was a thinly disguised wobble in Avas voice.
Yes.
I dont want him to go.
Neither do I.
Then cant you stop him?
And there was my little girl, trusting eyes turned on me, expecting that I could sort out the problem, and somehow repair the rift that Leo had created in the family. Could I? Should I? It was an impossible situation. I couldnt see any way that I could make both Leo and the children happy; no way that everyone could have what they wanted. How could I insist to the children that they should never settle for second best that they were marvellous people and could have whatever they wanted and then prevent Leo leading by example?
I think we have to let Dad do whatever will make him happy, I said. Youll still see him as much as you want.
No, I wont. He wont be there when I go to bed, and he wont be there when I wake up.
She was right; and how much worse would it be for me, going to sleep and waking up with an empty expanse of bed at my side, beginning and ending each day with the reminder that I had failed? That despite everything I had done, every instinct I had suppressed, every burst of temper I had stamped down, every ambition I had given up, it hadnt been enough? That in the end, my genes had caught up with me, and delivered the fate I had been determined to avoid since my mother had driven away my dad?
It turned out that Id been wrong, on that day when the Blacks moved next door all those years ago, to think that my loneliness was over. It had been a reprieve, that was all. Leo moved into the spare bedroom that night; he thought it was appropriate now the children knew, less of a mixed message for them. Wed had occasional nights apart before, but he had never seemed so far away as he did now he was on the other side of the internal wall. I could still hear his snores, but only faintly; couldnt hear the funny snuffle he made, half snore, half sigh, when he was deeply dreaming. Usually I would stretch out, glory in all the extra space. But today the bed felt hard and cold and just plain wrong a pretty accurate reflection of my whole life right now.
Sunday lunch was traditionally a big affair in our house: three generations, three courses, and sometimes three bottles. It was a chore Leo was useless in the kitchen, and left me to do it all but the reward was seeing all my family gathered close, reinforcing our bond, however bumpy the previous week had been. There was no Sunday lunch this weekend. Some bumps were too high to smooth away with a roast chicken and chocolate sponge. Leo had gone to pick up his brother Ethan from Manchester Airport, which we all accepted as the excuse for the abandoned lunch.
With time weighing on my hands, I decided to take the dog for a walk, despite the freezing December temperatures and the mist hanging so low it cocooned my head like a balaclava. Dotty was officially Avas dog, a gloriously mad goldendoodle that we had travelled to South Wales to buy for her tenth birthday; but since her obsession with dogs had become an obsession with horses barely six months after Dottys arrival, it was generally me who had to look after her.
I didnt mind today: the opportunity to tramp the fields around Stoneybrook, our village located deep in the Lancashire countryside, letting the fresh air sting a trail down to my lungs and the cold numb every sense, was exactly what I needed. It was good to exchange hellos with normal people, who had normal lives, and who knew nothing of mine. Or I hoped they didnt but as the walk went on, my paranoia grew. Was there something suspicious in that smile, something judgemental in that look? Was I being scrutinised for signs of trauma? Then, as we were on the home straight, squelching through the field that backed onto our house, a greyhound and its owner caught us up: my fault for dawdling, reluctant to get home.
I knew the owner, a tall, stocky man in his early forties: he was a teacher at Broadholme school, where Jonas and Ava were pupils, and had taught Jonas art in his first couple of years a vague connection we acknowledged with a nod and a smile if we ever passed on our walks. I was more wary of acknowledging him today. There had been a group of teachers at the Christmas charity dinner. What if he had been one of them? Was he sneakily weighing me up, curious about the woman who had driven her husband gay? I hunched down into my scarf, and quickened my pace, tugging on the extending lead, but Dotty had other ideas. She pounced on the greyhound as if they were long-lost best friends; a manic, wagging, bouncing bundle of fluff, while the greyhound gazed nobly into the distance, refusing to acknowledge her.
The man Owen Ferguson, I remembered, from two excruciating parents evenings, when wed all had to fake enthusiasm for Jonas artwork smiled and tipped his head towards Dotty.
Quite a handful, I imagine?
Yes. I examined his words for hidden layers of sarcasm or innuendo, but couldnt detect any. She certainly throws herself at everything with unchecked enthusiasm. Literally, I added, as Dotty leapt up at the greyhound again. Sorry. Dotty! Come here!
She ignored me; my voice had a unique pitch that neither dogs nor teenagers could hear. Owen whistled and the greyhound sauntered immediately to his side.
Impressive, I said, tugging the lead to drag Dotty back. Do you use that trick on the children too?
No, theyd never hear it over the ear pods. His smile flashed up, a deep, brief smile that reminded me of Leo. I need a klaxon to round them up.
I smiled back, but it faded quickly, and I couldnt think of anything else to say.
Are things okay? Owen asked. I nodded, once, and he repeated the movement back at me, which could have looked odd, but was strangely comforting. Good. He bent down and ruffled Dottys head. Goodbye, Dotty. I expect well see you around.
He headed off diagonally across the field towards the village, while I went straight on to the kissing gate that opened onto the road a little way down from our house. As Dotty stopped to water the bottom of a telegraph pole, Leos car approached and pulled onto the drive. He got out and slammed the door, a rare sign of temper for Leo. Seconds later, the passenger door opened and Ethan emerged. It must have been two years since I had seen him, but he had scarcely changed: hair as thick and blond as ever; immaculately dressed despite a seven-hour flight; confident, athletic movements, even in the way he pushed the car door shut and hauled his suitcase from the boot. It would be impossible to guess, from looks, character, or temperament, that these two were brothers. I watched as they paused in front of the car. Raised voices carried towards me, the words muffled by the mist, but the anger behind them clear; and then Ethan turned and looked right at me. Leo followed his gaze, and after one final heated exchange, they stalked off in different directions, Leo to our house, Ethan next door.
Chapter 3
Clark was joining us for Christmas lunch. It had been my idea, and I still wasnt sure if it was the best or the worst one Id ever had. But I wanted Leo to be with the children for one last Christmas wholly with us, body and mind, not sneaking off to make furtive phone calls, or leaving before the pudding in an attempt to split his day between us. So Clark had to come; and the delight on Leos face when I issued the invitation clarified things for me. It was the best idea for him, and the worst one for me.
Clark was joining us for Christmas lunch. It had been my idea, and I still wasnt sure if it was the best or the worst one Id ever had. But I wanted Leo to be with the children for one last Christmas wholly with us, body and mind, not sneaking off to make furtive phone calls, or leaving before the pudding in an attempt to split his day between us. So Clark had to come; and the delight on Leos face when I issued the invitation clarified things for me. It was the best idea for him, and the worst one for me.
The present opening was a subdued affair, despite the jolly Christmas music, the defiantly twinkling fairy lights, and glasses of Bucks Fizz all round. It all went on too long: I had overdone it during a manic spending spree the day before, as if somehow a bigger stash of presents could compensate the children for the impending loss of Leo. They were pleased; they smiled; but it wasnt the carefree joy of previous Christmases. I couldnt see how we would ever get that back.
I had agonised over whether to buy a different present for Leo. In my usual efficient fashion, I had ordered his Christmas gift months ago: a handmade pair of silver cufflinks, each one in the shape of a miniature book, engraved with the title of his favourite novel by the Victorian author Alice Hornby, Lancashires answer to Charlotte Brontë. Leo had spent his academic career studying Alices life and work, with me as his eager research assistant; he had already published an annotated edition of her novels, and his biography would be launched in a few months, the culmination of a lifetime of work for both of us.
The cufflinks had seemed the perfect present, and in many ways, they still were. But would he want to wear them, and be constantly reminded of me, and all we had achieved together? I gave them to him anyway, and the delight on his face was almost as great as when I had invited Clark for Christmas. And though I had braced myself for a boring gift from him because, after all, he had known that our time was almost up and could have shopped accordingly I should have known him better. He gave me a necklace, with a thick round pendant made of green Murano glass, which reminded me at once of that green Fruit Pastille he had found for me on the day we met. There were tears in his eyes as he watched me open the box, and his hands trembled as he fastened the clasp around my neck. And though I recognised that it had been chosen to mark the end, I knew that it promised a beginning too.
A bit late to be making an effort, isnt it? Mum said, when she toddled across from the garage with a bottle of cheap sherry for me, wine for Leo, and a Terrys Chocolate Orange each for Jonas and Ava. Is that a new dress?
Of course it was: another emergency purchase yesterday. Clark was coming. I wasnt going to meet him properly for the first time in the same dowdy skirt and blouse Id worn for the last four years.
A new necklace too? she carried on. I fingered it: the glass pastille was comfortingly smooth under my finger. Whos been buying you jewellery?
One of my lovers dropped round with it early this morning.
From Leo, is it? Mum asked, ignoring what Id said: clearly the pitch of my voice was inaudible to pensioners too. Has he dumped the boyfriend then? You should take him back. Youll struggle to find anyone else, in the circumstances.
I turned and led her into the living room, without giving her the satisfaction of asking which particular circumstances she had in mind. My age? My looks? My crabby mother living in the garage, overseeing my every move? Leo drew her over to the sofa, distracting her with his quiet, charming conversation, while I hovered in the doorway, wondering how on earth I was going to survive without him.
Audrey and Ethan were next to arrive. Audrey looked stunning in a red wrap dress, blonde hair piled into a sophisticated messy bun, and yet still managed to hug me and say I looked beautiful with impressive sincerity. Ethan was Well, Ethan was Ethan, no more and certainly no less than he had always been. He had lived a charmed life, and now even age was favouring him; his face had perhaps filled out a little, but it suited him; the confidence that had once seemed a size too big now fitted him like a jacket tailored to the millimetre. With my confidence so recently shattered, I felt oddly flustered to see him again; so much so that when he leaned forward to kiss my cheek, I opened my mouth to wish him a merry Christmas instead, twitched my head, and somehow managed to catch his kiss perfectly on my parted lips.
And a happy Christmas to you too, Mary, he said, laughing, and all at once we were teenagers again, partners in fun, and I couldnt help laughing along with him; the first time I had laughed in days, it felt.
Ethans arrival brightened the mood for a while; his liveliness was infectious. Jonas and Ava were fascinated by him, and by the selection of hoodies, rucksacks and other paraphernalia that he insisted all the coolest New York teens were wearing. I could have kissed him again, deliberately this time, when I heard Avas laughter drifting into the kitchen, and Jonas sounding more animated than usual as he explained to Ethan the intricacies of one of the Xbox games we had given him for Christmas.
Its a shame they see so little of him, Audrey said, echoing my thoughts as she joined me in the kitchen. You should have gone to visit him in New York. His apartment in Brooklyn is the most marvellous place. You would love it.
We should have gone, and I had suggested it often enough, but Leo had a seemingly inexhaustible well of reasons why we couldnt. First the children had been too young, then he didnt want to interrupt school, or something was happening with his career, or the weather would be too hot or too cold, or the cost of the four flights was out of our reach We had even missed Ethans first wedding because Leo had decreed that six-month-old Ava was too small and noisy to travel so far. It was lucky that his second marriage had been to an English girl, and had taken place in Northumberland, as by that time Ava was seven and she would have been even noisier if she had been denied her chance to be a bridesmaid.
But it occurred to me, belatedly noticing Audreys use of the past tense, that we wouldnt ever go to New York now not the four of us, at least. Leo might take the children one day possibly with Clark, though the details of that foursome were too painful to dwell on but I wouldnt go. My connection with Ethan was over, the chance of free accommodation in New York lost with it. Not only Ethan my link with Audrey had been pulled apart too. All the fine threads that criss-crossed between our families, binding us together, had been sliced through by Leos hand by Leos hand holding Clarks hand. Whilst it might be insignificant to him I only had Mum, and it was unlikely he would be sorry to escape her the prospect of a severance from Audrey was only marginally less painful than losing Leo.
You wont be tempted over there, will you? I asked. Now that Leo isnt around to keep you next door
Im not going anywhere, Audrey replied, taking my hand. You were never just Leos wife to us. You must know that.
I did, at heart, but it was easy for the doubt to creep in: the rejection by Leo was so fundamental that it was like the first in a chain of dominoes, and as soon as our marriage tumbled, I expected them all to fall.
The doorbell rang. Audrey clung to my hand as we heard Leos footsteps clack along the tiled floor towards the front door going at the perfect, steady pace, with neither unseemly haste nor false reluctance. It had gone quiet in the living room, so the sounds from the hall carried through to us with no competition: the rattle of the keys; a muffled exchange of words; a low laugh, from Clark, I guessed; and then a moment of silence. Dear God, were they kissing? Were they kissing in my hall? My chest began to burn with the effort of not breathing, as I strained to work out what was happening.