Книга - The Man I Fell In Love With

The Man I Fell In Love With
Kate Field


Sometimes we find happiness where we least expect it…Despite twenty years of contented marriage, Mary Black can’t help but find her eyes drawn to a handsome stranger at a party. But her world is suddenly turned upside down when she sees her husband Leo standing next to him, holding his hand.When Leo leaves Mary for another man, she has no choice but to pick herself up and start again. For the sake of the children she hosts family meals that include Leo and his new partner, and copes with her kids wanting to spend less time with her, and more time with their “fun” dads. But when Leo’s brother Ethan arrives back in town, she finds herself more lost than ever.After living a life of sliding doors and missed opportunities, can Mary finally put herself first and take a chance that could change everything?A wonderfully uplifting novel full of wisdom, spirit and charm – this is a love story with a difference…


















Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Kate Field 2019

Cover design © Becky Glibbery 2019

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock (https://www.shutterstock.com)

Kate Field asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © February 2019; ISBN: 9780008317805

Version: 2018-11-29


To Stephen – because it would be rude not to


Table of Contents

Cover (#ua5fab73c-50e5-5655-b097-8ab33066c25a)

Title Page (#u5a50dc1d-f496-5ca8-a121-a9623b86decf)

Copyright (#u700bfb47-09e0-5b91-a6ad-6f904da437b8)

Dedication (#ub3a38610-6c99-5bbd-b65a-c0376fe603bd)

Chapter 1 (#u15f61dd0-c4e2-5fe8-886e-f74ec7b29acf)

Chapter 2 (#u9a53ee97-dbfe-54eb-ba58-548ec4ad3edf)

Chapter 3 (#uec658ee2-e7a6-54c6-b838-d7ef7e4b02a2)

Chapter 4 (#u43a25e53-fb90-501e-a37f-cfd86cef9c79)

Chapter 5 (#ud71e270b-5952-5cdb-9991-71349d726bc9)

Chapter 6 (#u3c5e1229-55c7-55fa-8d50-218fc5ad81e6)



Chapter 7 (#uf2fdb0cb-c521-5c21-83e3-1036ab7e7745)



Chapter 8 (#uf4b2a6bc-9532-545c-ac1f-5bf35b35d7d1)



Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1 (#ua6b8f781-3b8e-5b43-b03c-570a3ced0f05)


Spotlights swept over the hotel ballroom, illuminating a magical party scene. Christmas decorations twinkled with glittery brilliance; ladies in their finest gowns mingled with men in gorgeous black tie, cheeks flushed by wine and conviviality; and by the side of the stage, in a space unexpectedly lifted from the shadows, my husband held hands with another man.

‘Who’s that with Leo?’ my friend Daisy whispered. Daisy had a figure friends would call petite, and enemies dumpy; she must have had a more limited view than I did. ‘I quite like that sexy bald look. He’s divine.’

But he wasn’t. He was real – horribly, unquestionably real. Those fingers entwined with Leo’s were made of skin and flesh, blood and bone, just like mine. And though their fingers dropped apart as the beam of light settled on the stage and pooled over the edges to where they stood, it was too late. I had seen. Most of the guests, expecting nothing more interesting than a display of luxury raffle prizes, would have seen. Friends, family, colleagues, and fellow school parents were all here tonight, attending this charity dinner at my instigation. Every corner of our lives cracked apart with this one swift blow.

‘Mary?’ Daisy said, as I became aware of a rustle of whispers, of curious gazes landing on me; humiliation scorched my skin. ‘What’s going on?’

I couldn’t reply. I looked at Leo, and Leo looked at me, the rest of the room forgotten. This man had been my best friend for twenty-five years, ever since the glorious summer day when the Black family had moved in next door. He had joined thirteen-year-old me as I sat on our front wall watching the removal men, desperately hoping that tucked away amongst the chairs, tables and white goods, they might produce a girl to end my lonely days. There had been no girl; but as Leo had consoled me by emptying a new tube of Fruit Pastilles to find my favourite green one, I had known there would be no more loneliness.

He had become my boyfriend when I was fifteen; my husband when I was twenty; the father of my children when I was twenty-one and twenty-three. So what was he now, when I was thirty-eight? I had a split second to decide, but it was enough. I read the terror, the anxiety and the appeal on his face, and there could only be one answer. He was what he had always been – my dearest friend – and that could never change, whoever’s hand he held.

I stepped forward on legs that felt like stiff pegs, and met Leo halfway. I drank in every detail of his face – white and frozen above the deep black of his dinner jacket, but still a face I knew better than my own – and then leaned past him and kissed the cheek of the stranger who had held Leo’s hand – the hand that had belonged to me, and my children, for so long. Exclusively, I had thought.

‘How marvellous to see you,’ I said, borrowing my mother-in-law’s favourite word, as if I could borrow her sangfroid too, and with it bury the overwhelming terror of being a public spectacle that I had inherited from my own mother. ‘You’re just in time for the raffle! Daisy, do you have any tickets left for …’ And here my brightness wobbled. Who was he? Leo and I shared everything, including our friends. How could he know someone well enough to link his flesh with theirs, without me even knowing their name?

‘Lovely to meet you,’ the man said. ‘I’m Clark.’ He held out a ten-pound note to Daisy. ‘I’ll take some tickets.’

‘Leo?’ Daisy asked. He glanced at me, blinking rapidly in his best dotty professor way, as if the complexities of buying raffle tickets were beyond him. I had seen that expression a thousand times; how could he be so familiar and so unfamiliar all at once?

‘Don’t we already have some, Mary? Did I see some pinned to the fridge?’

‘Yes, I bought some last week.’ They had been stuck on the fridge next to photos of our children, photos of us, and invitations to things we were supposed to be doing together. My heart wept at this casual reminder that though his hand may have so recently been linked with Clark’s, his whole life was linked with mine. ‘But you can get some more.’

He did, just in time: Daisy had barely crammed the corresponding tickets into the raffle drum when her boss, our local MP, took to the stage to start the draw. I won nothing, as usual, so I’d wasted my time daydreaming about the star prize: a two-night romantic spa break in a boutique hotel near Windermere. I screwed up my useless tickets, while on stage the MP continued his appeal for ‘green 246’. Then Leo called out, sounding baffled but delighted.

‘I’ve won. I’m green 246.’ He held his ticket aloft, and smiled his charming smile – the one that always looked as if it had been surprised out of him – at first Clark, then me, then the room at large. He went up to collect his hotel vouchers, but as he made his way back to where I stood beside Clark, a drunken whisper rose from the crowd of acquaintances around us.

‘A romantic break! Which of them do you think he’ll take?’

Leo froze, paralysed with shock. He wasn’t used to this; people weren’t nasty in Leo’s world – it was a gentle, courteous place. He looked at me – me first, this time – with a wordless appeal that he had no right to make but that I couldn’t refuse. I linked my arm with his, and we walked out, gathering our mothers on our way. My family was everything. It was us against the world, even when that world was no longer what I had always assumed it to be.

I paid the babysitter on automatic pilot, hardly knowing what I said as she peppered me with questions about the food, the venue, the company … That one made me pause. What did she know? Had news spread already?

As soon as she had gone, I dashed up the stairs and popped my head round Jonas’s door.

‘Hey, Mum.’ He spoke without taking his eyes off the TV screen, where a gruesome Xbox battle was underway. ‘Have fun?’

‘Yes, we did! We all had a great time!’

‘What, even Granny Irene? What did you do, drug her sherry?’

I kissed the top of his head, the thick black hair exactly like mine, and moved on to the next room to check on Ava. Her light was off, and in the sliver of brightness spilling in from the landing, she looked my innocent angel again as she slept, not the tempestuous teen who often took her place. I watched her sleeping for a minute, as I had done so many times before, but never with such a sore heart. What was she going to wake up to? What future would unfold when I returned downstairs? I was tempted to go to bed and avoid it – I had spent a lifetime ignoring difficult truths; it was my stock-in-trade – but Leo’s quiet ‘Mary?’ drifted up the stairs and pulled me back down.

I made two large gin and tonics, sloshing an extra measure of Tanqueray into my glass. Leo had switched on the lamps in the living room, framing us in a romantic glow entirely inappropriate for the discussion we were about to have.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked, sitting down opposite him so I had a clear view of his face.

‘I’m having a relationship with Clark,’ Leo said. There was no hesitation, no prevarication. He met my gaze unflinchingly as he spoke. ‘I met him two years ago, but it only developed in February.’

He said something else but I didn’t catch it, too busy ignoring the implications of ‘developed’ and scrolling back through the year, hunting for signs I’d missed. I couldn’t see any. We’d plodded on as normal: Easter with the family, summer in the house we always rented outside St Ives, school and university terms ending and beginning. Only Jonas’s GCSEs had broken the pattern this year – or so I’d thought.

And then Leo’s choice of word hit me. Relationship. Not sex, not affair, not fling. Leo valued words too highly for it to have been anything but a deliberate selection. A relationship was more than physical, and more than friendship: it was a deep, emotional connection. I scrolled back through the year again, this time looking for signs of my own deep connection with Leo, other than as colleagues, co-parents and housemates. I couldn’t see any. How had I been so blind?

‘Are you leaving?’ A tremor rippled through the words.

His voice said, ‘Mary …’ His face said, yes. ‘Not before Christmas,’ he added, granting a short reprieve – but until when? Boxing Day? New Year? Spring?

I took a long slug of gin while I tried to fathom out what I should say next. Perhaps it would have been easier if it had been another woman. I could have ranted; I could have demanded to know what she had that I didn’t. But the standard lines didn’t apply in this case. It wasn’t so much a rejection of me, but of my entire sex. That gave me no comfort.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why let me find out like this? And in public … You know how much I hate being gossiped about …’

‘Tonight was an accident. We’ve discussed what to do many times, but this was never part of the plan. I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t know how to tell you. I couldn’t find the words.’

‘From a professor of English Literature, that’s quite some confession. You had centuries of words to choose from.’

Leo’s words stung, right through my skin and deep into my bones. At some point, in secret, they had discussed me, and how to break the news of their relationship. How could I not have known? Leo wasn’t made for deception; surely the guilt would have stained him somewhere, like nicotine marks on the fingers of a secret smoker? I studied him, but there was no change: the fluffy brown hair, the soft skin, the wise hazel eyes, the tortoiseshell glasses – he was just the same. He still looked like my Leo, and sounded like my Leo.

‘How could you do this? We had a deal. After Dad …’ I stopped. I hadn’t cried since I was eight years old; not since the day I had returned home from school and found that my adored daddy had gone, never to be heard of again. I wouldn’t start now. ‘You know how much loyalty means to me. On the first day we met, when we sat on the wall outside this house, I told you everything and you promised that you would never let me down. You promised again when you proposed.’ I took off my engagement ring and waved it at him, the diamond twinkling joyfully in the lamplight. ‘“I will follow thee to the last gasp with truth and loyalty.” You had it engraved on my ring.’

‘I know. I meant it.’ Leo took my hand. ‘I love you. That hasn’t changed. But with Clark …’ He looked up, and even before he spoke I saw the wonder, the excitement, the jubilation in his eyes, too bright and overwhelming for him to disguise. ‘The day is more luminous when he’s in it. Life is more exhilarating. I crave his company like an addict. We’ve never had that, Mary. If you’d ever felt what I have with Clark, you’d understand why I can’t give it up.’

It was an extraordinary speech for a man to make to his wife. Every word hurt. And they hurt most because I couldn’t deny them. Our marriage was good and strong, solid enough to have lasted to the end if there had been no Clark. But it hadn’t been based on exhilaration and cravings. My chest burned with a surge of jealousy: not that Leo felt this way about Clark rather than me, but that he had those feelings at all.

‘Fuck, Leo, what do we do now?’

He dropped my hand.

‘You don’t swear!’ he said, goggling at me – as if that one word had been the biggest surprise of the night.

‘And you don’t screw men. We’ve both learned something this evening.’

It was a cheap shot, and I regretted it when Leo’s face cracked with grief. This wasn’t an overblown TV drama, or a scandal to be sensationalised in the Daily Mail. It didn’t matter that Leo had fallen in love with a man rather than a woman. I wasn’t going to scream, or beg him to stay, or plot revenge. Real life was more complicated than that. I didn’t hate Leo. I hadn’t instantly stopped loving him. I wasn’t sure I ever would. But there was one thing I was sure of: I couldn’t let Jonas and Ava repeat my childhood. They would not lose Leo – even if that meant we all gained Clark.

After an awkward hesitation at the top of the stairs, we shared our bedroom as usual. I wasn’t ready to shut him out tonight; wasn’t ready to accept this new reality yet.

Leo’s phone buzzed with an incoming text while he was in the bathroom. I was already in bed, too twisted with anxiety to sleep. It buzzed again, and stamping down my conscience, I shuffled across the mattress and picked it up.

‘Just spoken to Mum. I can’t believe you’ve done this to Mary.’

It was from Ethan, Leo’s younger brother. Ethan had been away on a French exchange when the Black family moved in next door. Although he was more my age, by the time he returned, I was already a limpet on Leo’s rock and nothing could have prised us apart. He had lived in New York since the early days of our marriage, and rarely came back. If even he had heard the news from a different continent, how widely would my humiliation have spread at home?

I dropped the phone, slid over to my side of the bed, and longed for the day to be over.




Chapter 2 (#ua6b8f781-3b8e-5b43-b03c-570a3ced0f05)


We agreed the remaining lifespan of our marriage over mugs of tea in bed the following morning – a whispered discussion, so we wouldn’t disturb the children. Once we had spent mornings trying to muffle quite different sounds.

I couldn’t fault Leo for his honesty now, however much it hurt to hear it. He was clear from the start: it was a case of when, not if. He would leave, whatever I said or did. He wanted to be with Clark. Come the New Year, he would be sharing cups of tea and God knew what else in bed with Clark. He was sorry, and I believed him, but he was relieved and excited too. How could he not be? A new life and new adventures lay before him, while I was left holding together the tatters of our old life.

We told the children later that morning, and it was an experience too horrendous to dwell on. They weren’t prepared for this. Leo and I never rowed, because it wasn’t in his character and I had taken pains to repress it in mine. Jonas, sixteen years old and usually so laid back in true Black style, was appalled at Leo’s treachery, but I couldn’t let them take sides. I ended up defending Leo so enthusiastically that anyone would have thought I’d fixed him up with Clark myself.

Ava was my main concern, fourteen going on forty, and too much mine: I was terrified that I would have passed on something in my DNA, so that she would blame me just as I had blamed my own mum for the breakdown of my parents’ marriage. But she had also inherited my skill of bottling up her emotions. She listened to us in dry-eyed, stony-faced silence, until eventually she announced, ‘You do know you’ve ruined my life, don’t you?’ and flounced out, thumbs already flying over her phone.

I’d hardly had time to catch my breath when I spotted my mother, Irene, loitering outside the kitchen window.

‘Are you free?’ she asked, poking her head round the back door.

‘Yes, it certainly looks like it. Absolutely free and single. Thanks for reminding me.’

Mum chose to ignore this, and pulling out a chair, installed herself at the table. Clearly this wasn’t a flying visit.

‘What was all that business about last night?’ she asked, cutting straight to the point. ‘It must have set everyone talking when you rushed us out like that.’

‘I think they were probably more interested in Leo being gay than the fact that we left before the dancing.’

‘Leo isn’t gay,’ she said, in the manner of a foreman of the jury, pronouncing a not guilty verdict. ‘Remember when we went to see The Sound of Music at the Palace. He hated it.’

‘Of course! That’s all right then. I’ll tell Jonas and Ava it was a mistake, and Leo can make his apologies to Clark. Thank goodness you sorted that out for us.’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. I’m only trying to help. If that’s how you spoke to Leo, it’s no wonder he had his head turned.’

But I hadn’t spoken to Leo like this. I’d never shouted at him, never nagged, because I’d seen my mother treat my father that way, had lived through the consequences, and had never forgiven her. I thought I’d been a model wife. How was I to know that eventually Leo would want a model husband?

‘Don’t you think you’ve let yourself go?’ Mum continued. ‘You’re never out of those jeans. When did you last have your hair cut? Or shave your legs? I noticed you were wearing thick tights last night.’

‘I don’t think hairy legs can be an issue,’ I said. But here was one of the downsides of our living arrangements. Mum had given her house to me and Leo when we married, and had moved into the garage, converted and extended to suit her. It had been an extraordinarily generous gift, and had allowed us the luxury of a mortgage-free life. Not a Mum-free life, though. From her vantage point at the bottom of the drive, she missed nothing: her curtains looked like they had a nervous complaint, they twitched so often. And we certainly didn’t have the sort of relationship where proximity was a good thing.

‘A dress and a haircut aren’t going to fix this.’

‘What’s going to happen? Is he going to give up this man, now he’s been found out?’

‘No.’ I put down my mug. I’d already drunk enough tea this morning to keep Tetley in profit for a year. ‘Leo will stay for Christmas, then move in with Clark.’

‘But that’s only a few days away! What about the children? He’ll want to stay for them, surely?’

‘Apparently not. I’m not worth staying with, even for their sake. Like mother, like daughter.’

I ignored Mum’s pained expression and slumped down on a chair.

‘But I won’t keep them apart. Leo will still see them as often as he can.’

‘Mary …’ Mum looked as if she wanted to say more, but let her words trail off with a sigh. ‘How did they take the news?’

‘Jonas was cross, but he’ll come round. He’s a Black.’ Mum nodded. The Blacks were a different species to us. If a family of Martians had moved next door to us all those years ago, they couldn’t have seemed more alien or more exotic in comparison to our life. ‘But Ava …’ I shrugged, not from indifference, but because my worries were too heavy to distill into words. ‘I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive us.’

‘She will.’ Mum reached out and patted my knee, in one of those embarrassing moments of affection she occasionally attempted. ‘And you’ll be there for her, come what may, won’t you? It will all work out. You didn’t turn out too badly, did you?’

Now I really was worried.

It was inevitable that I would end up next door, in the house still occupied by Leo’s mother, Audrey. She was the perfect mum: warm, happy, supportive; always ready with a hug, always knowing when to speak and when to listen. Since the day the Blacks became our neighbours, I had probably spent more time at their house than my own, irresistibly drawn to the whole family.

I called her name as I opened the back door, and she dashed into the kitchen, and folded me in her arms – something my own mother had singularly failed to do.

‘Oh, Mary,’ she said, pulling back to look at my face. I knew it wouldn’t look as bad as hers: there were no tears on her face, but the pink and puffy eyes testified that there had been recently. ‘I don’t know what to say. Let’s have some gin.’

I would have resisted – I had to pick up Ava from the riding stables later – if Audrey hadn’t looked so much as if she needed one. We took our glasses through to the living room, a haven of calm neutrality, in contrast to the serviceable dark patterns that I had grown up with, chosen by my mother so that they wouldn’t show the dirt. Audrey put her glass down on the side table beside her chair, next to a framed photograph of her husband, Bill. Bill had died four years ago, devastating us all.

‘Are you furious, Mary? Will you ever forgive him?’

I sipped my gin while I thought what I could say.

‘I’m not furious.’ I stopped. How did I explain this to Leo’s mum? I couldn’t forget Leo’s description of his feelings for Clark. He had been right. We had never shared that. Our friendship was deep and precious, and sex had been exciting at first, when we had been hormonal teenagers, new to the act, but that had faded long ago. Our relationship had been contented, companionable, steady – safe. It was exactly what I had chosen. But if Leo had now discovered there was something more, how could I begrudge him his choice?

‘He said he didn’t go out looking for this, and I believe him,’ I continued. ‘He fell in love. I’m not sure it’s possible to prevent that, is it?’

‘No. Although sometimes it’s not always possible to have the love you want.’ I assumed she was referring to her loss of Bill, and reached out to take her hand, but she shook her head. ‘Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. There are other people to consider.’

‘What good would it do to force him to stay for Jonas and Ava? They won’t benefit from an unhappy father. That’s not what you want for Leo, is it?’

Audrey sighed.

‘This isn’t what I wanted for any of you. You know that, my darling, don’t you? You’ve always been as good as a daughter to us. If I had known it would end this way …’

‘How could you have known? This has taken us all by surprise, probably even Leo.’ I perched on the arm of Audrey’s chair. This had shaken her more than I had expected; there was no sign of her usual effervescent self. ‘You realise that this won’t change anything between us, don’t you? You can’t get rid of me. I’m going to be coming around here as much as I always have, drinking your tea and eating your biscuits. Although it may be more gin than tea for a while,’ I added, finishing my glass.

‘I’ll buy a few more bottles. In fact,’ Audrey said, finally flashing a smile, ‘I can ask Ethan to pick some up for us in duty free. Have you heard that he’s coming back?’

‘No.’ Leo hadn’t mentioned it; he rarely mentioned Ethan at all. ‘When will he be here?’

‘He’s flying back tonight. His Christmas plans fell through so he’s decided to come home. Isn’t it the most marvellous news? Ethan is exactly what we all need to perk us up.’

It was obvious that something was wrong with Ava as soon as I saw her emerge through the gate at the stables, jodhpurs stained in muck, boots filthy, grooming kit dangling forlornly from her hand. The teenager who had stalked through the gates with self-conscious confidence this morning had shrunk to a child with a bowed head, pink nose, and staring eyes that were defiantly holding back tears.

‘What’s the matter?’ I met her halfway across the car park, anticipating tales of injury and an emergency trip to the doctor.

‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

I wasn’t falling for that.

‘No, you’re not. What’s happened?’

‘Nothing. Just drop it, okay?’

‘It clearly isn’t okay. Have you hurt yourself? Have you fallen off?’

‘No. I’m not a baby. I can ride a horse without falling off.’

She was busy giving me the teenage glare when one of the girls from her year at school sauntered into the car park, and smirked in our direction. I hustled Ava away and into the car.

‘Has Jemima upset you?’

‘No.’ Ava took off her hat and puffed up her flattened hair. I waited, refusing to switch on the engine until I’d heard more. Ava broke first. ‘She said something about Dad. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Said what about Dad?’

For once, I must have stumbled on the magic tone of voice that compels teenagers to obey.

‘About how horrible we must be if he’s had to turn gay to get away from us …’

My heart was torn between sympathy and indignation. I grabbed the door handle.

‘Come on. We’re going to set her straight on a few things.’

‘No!’ Ava held onto my arm so I couldn’t leave the car. ‘Don’t make a scene. Everyone at school will hear about it. Please!’

I let go of the handle, and watched as Jemima rode past in the front seat of a top-of-the-range Mercedes. I was no more keen on a public scene than Ava, but it was galling to let her get away with such vile comments, especially when I suspected there was more Ava wasn’t telling me.

Ava sat in silence, twisting her whip in her hand, not looking at me.

‘You know it’s not true, don’t you?’ I asked. ‘Whatever she said. It’s prejudiced and small-minded and ignorant. Dad doesn’t think like that. He loves us.’

‘Is he really leaving?’ There was a thinly disguised wobble in Ava’s voice.

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t want him to go.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Then can’t 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 couldn’t 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. ‘You’ll still see him as much as you want.’

‘No, I won’t. He won’t be there when I go to bed, and he won’t 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 hadn’t 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 I’d 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. We’d 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; couldn’t 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 Ava’s 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 Dotty’s arrival, it was generally me who had to look after her.

I didn’t 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 didn’t – 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 we’d 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 couldn’t 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, they’d 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 couldn’t 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 Dotty’s head. ‘Goodbye, Dotty. I expect we’ll 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, Leo’s 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 (#ua6b8f781-3b8e-5b43-b03c-570a3ced0f05)


Clark was joining us for Christmas lunch. It had been my idea, and I still wasn’t sure if it was the best or the worst one I’d 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 Leo’s 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 Buck’s 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 wasn’t the carefree joy of previous Christmases. I couldn’t 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, Lancashire’s answer to Charlotte Brontë. Leo had spent his academic career studying Alice’s 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, isn’t it?’ Mum said, when she toddled across from the garage with a bottle of cheap sherry for me, wine for Leo, and a Terry’s Chocolate Orange each for Jonas and Ava. ‘Is that a new dress?’

Of course it was: another emergency purchase yesterday. Clark was coming. I wasn’t going to meet him properly for the first time in the same dowdy skirt and blouse I’d 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. ‘Who’s been buying you jewellery?’

‘One of my lovers dropped round with it early this morning.’

‘From Leo, is it?’ Mum asked, ignoring what I’d said: clearly the pitch of my voice was inaudible to pensioners too. ‘Has he dumped the boyfriend then? You should take him back. You’ll 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 couldn’t help laughing along with him; the first time I had laughed in days, it felt.

Ethan’s 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 Ava’s 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.

‘It’s 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 couldn’t. First the children had been too young, then he didn’t 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 Ethan’s 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 Audrey’s use of the past tense, that we wouldn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 Leo’s hand – by Leo’s hand holding Clark’s 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 won’t be tempted over there, will you?’ I asked. ‘Now that Leo isn’t around to keep you next door …’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Audrey replied, taking my hand. ‘You were never just Leo’s 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 Leo’s 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.

Audrey squeezed my hand, a sharp, painful squeeze, and gave me one of her rare stern looks.

‘You can do this,’ she said, and she removed my pinny, tidied my hair and steered me in the direction of the hall.

I couldn’t look at Leo; didn’t want to know if happiness was shining from his face, or see lips that might have recently been kissed by someone other than me. Instead I fixed my attention on Clark. He smiled – a nice smile, open and friendly – and stepped forward.

‘Happy Christmas, Mary,’ he said. ‘It was kind of you to invite me.’ He held out his hands, an exquisite bouquet of flowers in one, and an expensive box of chocolates in the other. ‘These are just a small thank-you.’

For what? For giving him Leo? It was a very small thank-you for that.

‘A thank-you for the meal,’ Clark added, appearing to read my thoughts.

‘You’re welcome,’ I said, ridiculously polite. What next? Send them up to our bedroom with my blessing? ‘I’d better hide them away. You might want them back once you’ve tasted the food.’

Leo laughed, as if this was the wittiest thing he’d ever heard; although I suppose he had just been marooned with my mother.

‘Come in and meet everyone,’ he said, and ushered Clark into the living room, with me trailing behind like an ancient bridesmaid. The room was already silent when we entered, but the silence seemed to thicken as all eyes swivelled towards Clark; all eyes except Ethan’s. He looked at me, eyes the colour of a hazy summer sky, scouring my face first before turning to study Clark.

Leo made hasty introductions.

‘Mary’s mother Irene, Ava, Jonas, my brother Ethan …’

No one moved. And then Audrey, lovely Audrey, in her cheery red dress, came dashing in and rescued us all from our torpor.

‘Don’t forget me,’ she said – positively trilled – and without a second’s hesitation she pulled Clark into a hug and kissed both of his cheeks. It was exactly the way she had greeted me when Leo had first introduced me, with enthusiasm and delight, apparently oblivious to the chaos of a house move going on around her. Now she was oblivious to the awkwardness around her – or perhaps she wasn’t, and this was her way of dealing with it. Whichever it was, it worked. Ethan rose and shook Clark’s hand, Ava and Jonas mumbled a greeting, and Mum inclined her head to acknowledge his presence. And Leo looked so proud – of Clark, of Audrey, of all of us – that I had to dash into the kitchen to get a grip on my emotions, terrified that the achievement of not having cried since my dad left thirty years ago might be about to come to a loud and messy end.

Christmas lunch was a triumph in a culinary sense, despite my having siphoned off a bottle of Prosecco for my own use, whose contents vanished with mysterious speed. A combination of alcohol and Audrey helped smooth the rough edges off the awkwardness we all felt; with the exception of Ava, who wasn’t allowed a drink, and my mother, who was genetically programmed to wallow in awkwardness wherever she could find it.

It was impossible not to notice the parallels between this and my first meeting with the Blacks all those years ago; impossible not to think how bizarre it was that I should witness my mother-in-law getting to know my replacement. We learnt that Clark was forty-one, the same age as Leo; that he had two parents, two sisters and four nephews. We found out that he was the Donor Communications Manager for a famous children’s cancer charity based in Manchester, a job that he described with humility, enthusiasm, and compassion. We heard that his hobbies were films, cycling, and cooking. But above all else, I discovered that he was an intelligent, amusing, lovely man. I liked him. I had no idea if that made things a thousand times better or a million times worse.

After dinner, Ava pulled out the box of Trivial Pursuit for the traditional game of everyone trying to beat Leo. I ducked out this year, letting Clark take my place, and went to tidy the kitchen, finding simple pleasure in restoring order in the one area I could. Noise and laughter floated down the hall.

‘What are you doing?’

Ethan followed me into the kitchen and pushed the door shut.

‘Tidying up.’

‘I don’t mean in here.’

I knew exactly what he meant, knew what he was going to say, and it was one of the reasons why I had spent the whole of Christmas Eve out shopping, so that there was no danger of this conversation taking place. I grabbed a pile of cutlery, and fed it into the dishwasher with as much rattling as I could manage.

Ethan touched my arm.

‘Mary.’ I ignored him. He grabbed the cutlery from me, threw it in the basket and slammed the dishwasher door closed. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘With me?’ That riled me. How was any of this my fault? ‘Nothing.’

‘That’s my point. Leo’s about to leave you, and you look about as bothered as if you’d run out of milk.’

‘Of course I’m bothered! I don’t want him to go. Would you prefer it if I stayed in bed and cried into my pillow? Or if I shouted abuse at him and cut up all his suits? Do you think that would help Jonas and Ava?’

‘It might help you. It might show Leo that you do actually care, and that he has something to stay for.’

‘Me being me isn’t enough to make him stay, is that what you’re saying? That I’ve driven him away? Thanks for that vote of confidence.’

‘That’s not what I meant …’

‘And what makes you qualified to give me advice on relationships, with your two failed marriages and string of ex-girlfriends?’

Perhaps I had gone a bit far with that one – his second wife had been unfaithful, according to Audrey – but what right did he have to stand in my kitchen, berating my indifference? I knew some people would find my reaction odd, but I thought Ethan knew me better.

‘I know exactly what you’re doing. You block out things that are difficult, pretend they’re not happening. It’s what you’ve always done.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘What is it then? Some grand sacrifice for Leo? You love him, but you’re letting him go? Listen to me, Mary. It’s not heroic or noble to do that. It’s the wrong choice. If you want something enough you should carry on fighting for it, even if you get knocked down a thousand times, and no matter the collateral damage. Don’t condemn yourself to a life of loneliness and regret.’

He gazed at me then, and it was as if he’d ripped open that confident jacket, and shown me someone entirely different underneath. I didn’t know what to say, and was spared having to say anything when Leo walked in. He looked from Ethan to me, and back to Ethan.

‘What are you saying to her?’ I had never heard Leo’s tone so sharp.

‘The truth.’ Leo’s head jerked back as if Ethan had struck him on the chin. ‘I told Mary that she needs to fight to keep you.’

‘Do you have a problem with Leo being gay?’ I asked. There had always been tension between these two, but this level of animosity was new.

‘Not in the slightest. I only have a problem with him deciding he’s gay now, years after marrying you.’

‘I haven’t made the decision. I met Clark, and I can’t ignore what I feel for him.’ Leo stared at Ethan. ‘You can’t help who you fall in love with. You should understand that.’

And Ethan, whom I had never before seen lost for words, simply shook his head at Leo and walked out.




Chapter 4 (#ua6b8f781-3b8e-5b43-b03c-570a3ced0f05)


The envelope arrived on a cold day in late March during the Easter holidays, landing on the doormat with a thud that I heard from the kitchen, and which seemed to shake the entire house. I didn’t need to open it to know what was inside. I didn’t want to open it and make it real. I left it on the hall table, pulled on a coat, hat, and wellies, and took Dotty for a walk.

The footpaths around the village were quiet as I trudged through the slushy remnants of the snow that had fallen earlier in the week. It was mid-week: work would have deterred some of the usual dog-walkers, the bad weather many of the others. But Owen Ferguson emerged from the front path of a neat stone terrace as I passed, and hesitated, as if deciding whether to force his company on me or to turn in the opposite direction. I smiled and he must have made up his mind, as he fell into step beside me as we headed towards the centre of Stoneybrook.

He was wearing a black beanie hat, very much like one I had bought for Leo a couple of years ago. It suited him. His greyhound was wearing an extraordinary hot pink quilted coat, with a zebra print trim.

‘It wasn’t my choice,’ he said, acknowledging my vain attempt to disguise my surprise. ‘I inherited it.’

‘A dog jacket? That wasn’t a generous legacy. Lucky you had a dog it fits.’

‘I inherited the dog too. It was a complete package.’ He quickened his pace to keep up with me; Dotty was either eager to complete our circuit and get home, or determined to beat a greyhound. ‘My neighbour adopted her from a greyhound rescue charity, but then was diagnosed with a terminal illness. I agreed to take on Lucilla.’

‘Lucilla?’ I tried not to laugh: it was a perfect name for the aloof animal, but I couldn’t imagine Owen calling for her in the park.

‘She won’t answer to anything else. Or wear any other coat.’

‘What colour did you want her to wear? Navy blue like the Broadholme uniform?’

He grimaced. ‘Anything but that. Are your children not with you for the holiday?’

‘Ava’s at Pony Club, and Jonas is revising with a friend,’ I said. ‘Do you have children?’

‘Two boys. They live with my ex-wife in Scotland. I’ll have them next week.’

It occurred to me, then, that I had misunderstood Owen’s question. He hadn’t meant were Jonas and Ava with me today; he had meant were they living with me this week. It was the question of a divorced parent – from one to another. It didn’t matter whether I’d opened the envelope or not. I was one of them now.

‘I think someone’s trying to get your attention,’ Owen said, and gestured towards the semi we were passing. Daisy was standing in the front window, banging on the glass and then beckoning inside with both arms.

‘It’s Daisy. Mrs Flood,’ I added, in case he needed her parents’ evening name to place her. ‘I’d better see what she wants. Enjoy the rest of your walk. And enjoy next week with your boys if I don’t see you before then.’

‘I will.’ The words were heartfelt, and his face transformed at the mention of his children, in the same way that Leo’s did. I pulled Dotty back down the street and walked up Daisy’s front path. Daisy opened the door before I was halfway there.

‘I need your tongue!’ she cried, in a voice of loud melodrama that must have carried as far as Owen, as he turned and looked back at us before walking on. ‘Mine’s exhausted, and I still have over two hundred envelopes to lick.’

Daisy and I had been friends for years, since our daughters had started in Reception class at Broadholme at the same time. She had a part-time job working as an admin assistant for our local MP, who spent a lot of money on printing leaflets saying how fabulous he was, leaving him with no money left for self-seal envelopes. It was a thankless job – quite literally, as I had seen for myself that the MP barely knew Daisy’s name – and it paid a pittance, but she needed every penny. Her ex-husband had backed her into a financial corner, offering to pay for their daughter to stay on at Broadholme only if Daisy accepted a meagre maintenance payment for herself. I was lucky, by contrast; something I tried to convince myself every day.

‘What’s all this in aid of?’ I asked, picking up one of the leaflets that lay in a pile on Daisy’s dining table. ‘The general election is over a year away. I hope he isn’t going to bombard us from now until then.’

‘Of course he is. We’re a marginal seat. This is his new idea. He’s going to send out a newsletter every two months to remind the voters about how much he does.’ I made a mental note to avoid Daisy’s house in two months’ time. ‘Was that Mr Ferguson I saw you with?’

That was the thing about Daisy: she looked a fluffy airhead, but had an amazing mind for detail. It was either one of her most endearing or her most annoying characteristics.

‘It was.’ I stuffed and licked my first envelope, hoping it might deter Daisy from further questioning. No such luck.

‘Sorry, was I interrupting something?’ she asked, grinning. ‘You needn’t have come in if you were busy.’

‘If I’d known that this was all you wanted me for, I’d have stayed with Owen,’ I replied, grimacing at the taste of the cheap glue.

‘Owen? Since when did you reach first-name terms?’

‘We’ve bumped into each other dog walking a few times.’

‘I always knew you were a dark horse, Mary Black. Under that calm, unflappable exterior, there’s a whacking great man magnet, isn’t there?’

We both laughed at that: Daisy knew perfectly well that I had been with Leo forever. No one had ever asked me out, or propositioned me, or made a pass or whatever it was called now. Not even Leo: as teenagers, we had drifted into something more than friendship, and I had been the one to push it to the next level.

‘Owen’s not bad looking,’ Daisy continued. She held up one of the leaflets, on which she’d carefully drawn a moustache, beard and horns on a photograph of her employer, and smiled as she pushed it into an envelope. ‘It’s a shame he’s so tall. We’d look ridiculous together. You should definitely consider him. He’s an art teacher, so you know what that means. He can do great things with his hands.’ She laughed. ‘Or has he already taught you that?’

‘Of course not. I’m married.’ I thought about the envelope sitting on my hall table. ‘Half married.’

‘Half married?’ Daisy paused in her licking. ‘You don’t mean the decree nisi has been granted already?’

I nodded. ‘Clark has some extremely efficient solicitor friends. Apparently we’re lucky that it’s all gone through so quickly. At least, I presume it’s gone through. There’s a letter from my solicitor at home. I couldn’t face opening it.’

‘Oh, Mary.’ Daisy reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Ignoring it won’t make it go away. Why did it have to be so rushed? You’ve hardly had chance to get used to the idea. It’s not like Leo to be so unfair.’

‘It’s not Leo’s fault. I agreed to it.’

He had asked for a divorce two days after Christmas, on the day he had left our home and moved in with Clark. He didn’t want to be an adulterer for any longer than necessary; his relationship with Clark deserved to be more than an extra-marital affair. He had been generous with financial arrangements; I had been generous about sharing the children. I had signed all the paperwork and returned it promptly, in my usual calm and efficient way.

‘There’s nothing to stop you seeing Mr Ferguson, then, is there? Or someone else. Have you thought about online dating? I can help you fill out a profile, if you like. It will be fun!’

‘About as much fun as peeling off all my nails one by one. It’s too soon.’ I didn’t add that it would always seem too soon.

‘Too soon? Come off it. Leo was seeing Clark while you were still married. You’re being positively patient.’ She withdrew her hand and scooped up another pile of leaflets. ‘It’s been three years since James left me. Loneliness doesn’t become any easier with time, trust me on that. You might not be ready to look, but don’t walk round with your eyes closed, okay?’

Leo was waiting in his car when I finally arrived home with Dotty. She leapt on him as he got out, wagging her whole body and licking every part of him she could reach. Perhaps if I had ever greeted him like that, he wouldn’t have needed Clark.

He followed me into the house and immediately picked up the envelope from the hall table. The printed stamp from the solicitors’ office gave away what it was.

‘You haven’t opened it.’

‘Not yet, I …’ No excuse sprang to mind. I didn’t lie to Leo. ‘Is it about the decree nisi?’

‘Probably. It was granted yesterday.’

I couldn’t avoid it any longer, and it didn’t seem so bad with his gentle eyes watching me. I tore open the envelope, and there it was in black and white: confirmation that we were halfway to being divorced.

Leo took the letter from my shaking hand, dropped it on the table, and drew me into a hug. It was the closest physical contact we’d had for months.

‘Oh, Mary,’ he murmured against my hair. ‘I’m sorry. I never imagined we would come to this. You deserved better than me.’

‘No. I wouldn’t change a thing.’ I leant into him, feeling the soft squishiness of his chest, inhaling the scent of the Johnson’s baby shampoo he had used for as long as I had known him. I tightened my arms round him, and enjoyed the moment: but it was comfort I felt, not desire. Leo was a safe and familiar world. I missed it.

‘Will you be okay on your own tonight?’ he asked, pulling away. ‘I can come back for Jonas and Ava in the morning instead.’

‘No, they’re looking forward to seeing you.’ And to not seeing me for two days, at least as far as Ava was concerned. I could do no right in her eyes at the moment. ‘Besides, I won’t be on my own.’

‘You won’t?’

It was too gloomy in the hall to see Leo’s expression, so I was sure I must have misinterpreted the tone of his voice. He had no reason to be jealous, and even less reason to be cross.

‘Daisy has invited herself round for a drink later,’ I explained. I reached the study door and threw it open, so that the bright light filled the hall. Leo smiled.

‘It could never be a single drink with Daisy. Don’t let her lead you astray.’

‘I can’t afford to let her lead me astray.’

Leo let that go with a soft sigh. Even without a mortgage on this house, it had been hard to divide the wage from Leo’s university job between two households. I had no independent income: the research work I did for Leo’s academic studies filled much of my day and left no time for paid employment. I worked for love – of the subject, as much as of him. I had started off by supporting Leo’s obsession with Alice Hornby’s novels, but had soon come to share it, and I couldn’t give up the work now, however awkward it might be. We had spent years writing the new biography, with the prime intention of spreading the word about how brilliant Alice was. Now the stakes were raised: we needed the book to be a financial success too.

The study was exactly as it had always been: one large desk in the centre of the room, with chairs on either side, one for Leo and one for me. A battered sofa filled one wall, stuffed bookcases the others. I had hated this room growing up; my mother had used it to store all my father’s belongings, giving me false hope for years that she had known he was coming back. As soon as Leo and I moved in, I had hired a skip and thrown away everything that had been his or theirs. Now it was my favourite room in the house.

Leo sat in his chair and set up his laptop. We had a couple of hours to work before the children arrived home.

‘Is everything ready for the launch?’ he asked. The biography was being published in a couple of weeks, and the publishers were marking the launch with a party at the Manchester Central Library.

‘Yes. Here’s a first draft of your speech.’ I pushed a sheaf of paper across the desk. I always wrote Leo’s speeches for him. He was brilliant when giving a university lecture, but his style didn’t suit a public event so well. ‘I’ve arranged for Claire to look after you on the night, so she’ll make sure you’re in the right place and give you a nudge when it’s time to give your speech.’

‘Claire?’ Leo looked up from the paper.

‘From the publishing company. You’ve met her before. Luscious red hair and 1940s curves …’

Leo still looked blank. It had been a comfort in the past, his complete indifference to other women. Little had I known.

‘But why do I need Claire? You normally do that.’

‘I won’t be there.’

‘Why not? Is there something on at school? We arranged this months ago.’

That was exactly the point. We had arranged it months ago, at a time when I, at least, thought we were contentedly married. For a professor, he could be incredibly dense.

‘I’ve attended in the past as your wife. You have a new one now. A new partner, that is.’ I picked up a paperclip and started untwisting it. ‘Clark will be going with you, won’t he?’

‘He’ll be there. I need you too.’ Leo eased the paperclip from my fingers. ‘You deserve to be there. This book would never have been written without you. It’s as much yours as mine.’

The front cover told a different story: it only bore his name, just as the annotated novels had done when they were published. I hadn’t minded before – or not much. We were a team, and he was the public face of it. So why did a tiny niggle of resentment rise and stick in my throat now?

‘Okay, I’ll come. And the party at Foxwood Farm too?’

‘Of course. That was your idea. You must be there. Will I need a speech for that?’

‘No. I’ll pick a short passage for you to read from the biography. Lindsay, who’s organising the event, wants it to be an informal celebration of all things Lancastrian: literature, music, food, drink. The press will be there, as she’s hoping to drum up more business as a party and events venue. Hopefully we’ll have some un-Lancastrian weather, so we can use the courtyard outside as well as the main barn.’

Leo fought but failed to hide a grimace. It had taken a great deal of persusasion to convince him to support the event at Foxwood Farm, even though it was on the outskirts of the village; I hoped he wasn’t thinking of backing out now he would have to travel up from Manchester. He didn’t enjoy the brazen commerce of launching a book, and preferred to focus his attention on the academic side, leaving me and my lower sensitivities to deal with the business elements. Luckily I loved the promotion aspect, but I was going to have to work even harder this time.

‘After the official launch, I’m going to tour around local independent bookshops to see if any are interested in stocking it, or even holding an event with you, a signing or something like that.’

Leo pulled his face again.

‘Will they want an academic book?’

‘Don’t call it that. We agreed we weren’t going to market it as an academic book. It will appeal to the general public too. That’s why we worked so hard on getting the tone right.’

It’s why I had worked so hard on the tone, ignoring Leo’s flights of academia: having read too many turgid biographies during my degree, I was determined that Leo’s wouldn’t be one of them. And we’d got it right, I was sure of it: Alice Hornby, the quiet gentleman’s daughter who had written passionate novels of love and desire from the secrecy of her bedroom, had come to life in our book, strolling through the paragraphs, her voice echoing with every turn of the page and her scent lingering above the words. It was a romance as much as a biography, designed to make readers fall in love with Alice as Leo and I had done.

‘I know you’ll do your best,’ Leo said. ‘If anyone can sell Alice, you can.’ He smiled, acknowledging our shared passion, but my response was half-hearted, too conscious that it was the only passion we now shared; in truth, the only passion we had shared for years. ‘But while you’re doing that, we need to start on our next project.’ His smile withered. ‘I’ve agreed to write that book I was asked to consider a few months ago – the one about Victorian writers. How society influenced them, and how they influenced society.’

‘But I thought you turned that down!’ He hadn’t been keen on the idea at all. The brief had been to include at least three chapters on the Brontës, which was like asking a Manchester United fan to spend a season promoting Manchester City.

‘I didn’t take it up. We were busy finishing Alice’s book at the time. Circumstances have changed now.’

‘You mean we need the money.’ There was no other explanation: it was literary prostitution, and it was devastating to see Leo caught up in it, even if part of me whispered that he had brought it on himself.

‘It would certainly help. From now on I will have to accept whatever I’m offered. If only we could find Alice’s lost novel! That would change all our fortunes.’ It was the enduring mystery of Alice Hornby: four books had been published, but a few surviving records had dropped tantalising hints that she may have worked on another, that no one had ever seen. Leo sighed. ‘But after all our years of searching, what are the chances of that?’




Chapter 5 (#ua6b8f781-3b8e-5b43-b03c-570a3ced0f05)


‘Isn’t this exciting?’ Audrey said, as we hurried across St Peter’s Square as fast as our heels allowed. The party to celebrate the launch of Leo’s book was taking place in the newly refurbished Manchester Central Library. Although my invitation hadn’t mentioned a plus one, I invited Audrey anyway, to avoid that awful moment of turning up alone. Her comment felt more like a rallying cry than a real question, and I made no response other than a smile and a nod that could have meant anything. ‘I love the chance to dress up.’

She had certainly pulled out all the stops, brightening the usual grey Manchester evening with an electric-blue dress that would have made me look a frumpy Tory wife, but which Audrey carried off with panache. In contrast, my reliable grey dress – my equivalent of the little black dress, as black hair, Black name and black clothing made me feel like a pallbearer – seemed a predictably dull choice.

‘Chin up,’ Audrey said, linking her arm in mine. ‘Tonight is a celebration. This book is going to be a tremendous success. I couldn’t be prouder of both of you. I’ll need bubblegum on the soles of my shoes tonight to stop me floating to the ceiling with happiness.’ She laughed and drew me closer. ‘Keep an eye on me. What with the news about Ethan, no one will blame me if I get a little tipsy tonight, will they?’

‘Of course not.’ No one could ever blame Audrey for anything. She was universally loved. ‘What news about Ethan?’

‘Hasn’t Leo told you? Ethan has a job to do in London for two or three weeks – don’t ask me what, you know I haven’t a clue what he does – and then he’s going to take a sabbatical and come home for a few months. Isn’t that the best news? Both my boys with me again.’

It seemed heartless to prick her bubble by pointing out that technically Leo wasn’t with her anymore – or not as he had always been, living next door.

‘Why’s Ethan coming back?’ I asked. ‘Has he exhausted all the women in America now?’

‘Mary!’ Audrey’s glance of mock severity was probably deserved. Sometimes I was prone to forget that she was my mother-in-law, and not a friend. ‘Ethan isn’t like that. Deep down, he has the most wonderful, loyal soul.’ She dragged me up the steps and into the library. ‘Whatever gave you the idea that he played around?’

‘Leo used to tell me about Ethan’s girlfriends. It was a different name every time they spoke. Sometimes I wondered if Leo was actually jealous of Ethan’s single life …’ Audrey patted my hand. ‘When is he coming?’

‘Probably July, and you must help me persuade him to stay until Christmas. Wasn’t it fun to have him here last year?’

Christmas hadn’t been fun from where I was standing, but I suppose that wasn’t Ethan’s fault. I couldn’t see what use I would be in persuading him to stay, either, but luckily Audrey was distracted.

‘Isn’t this marvellous?’ she said, gazing around in obvious delight. ‘Is that the arts man off the television?’

I took a mental backseat and let Audrey rattle on as we made our way to the room where the launch was being held. I’d only been involved in the discussions at an early stage, so was eager to see how everything had been arranged, and I wasn’t disappointed. Alice Hornby dominated the room, just as she should. The one authenticated painting of her, a full-length image of her sitting at a desk, writing, had been blown up onto a canvas that filled one wall. Extracts from her novels and letters, in her own painstakingly neat handwriting, hung on vertical banners on each side of the room, and Leo’s book was displayed on a table in the centre. Behind the table, Leo and Clark stood side by side, arm brushing arm, chatting to a journalist I recognised from The Times.

I helped myself to a glass and winced as the dry champagne settled on my tongue. It would have been Prosecco in my day: Leo knew I preferred it. And as I downed half the glass, determined not to read any significance into the replacement, Clark caught my eye, smiled, and nudged Leo. Leo looked over at us, raised his hand in greeting, and carried on his conversation. That hand may as well have slapped me across the cheek.

‘Let’s mingle,’ Audrey said, tugging my arm again. If she carried on like this I would be covered in bruises by the end of the night: external ones, to match the internal ones. ‘Who do we think looks most approachable? What about the group by the window?’

She kept this up for the next half hour, as we toured round the guests, singing the praises of Leo, Alice, and the book. Leo and Clark were circling the room in the opposite direction, but before our paths could cross, Claire from the publishing company tapped her glass for attention, and after a gushing introduction, Leo delivered his speech. He carried it off brilliantly, his lovely mellifluous voice caressing each of the words I had written for him. Everyone laughed, sighed, and nodded at the right moments, and I was about to lead the applause when Leo fiddled with his glasses, a sure sign of his discomfort.

‘I can’t let the moment pass by without acknowledging the contribution of one special person,’ he said. This wasn’t in the speech. Was he going to declare his devotion to Clark, in front of all these people? In front of me?

Audrey and I were lurking at the back of the room. Even so, Leo found me through the crowd of smartly dressed people. He smiled, and I knew that I shouldn’t have doubted him.

‘There is nothing in life so satisfying as a shared passion,’ he said. Audrey took hold of my hand, clearly having less faith in Leo than I had. ‘This book would not be the success it is without the encouragement of my wonderful helpmeet, Mary Black. Mary, this book is dedicated to you, with eternal thanks.’

The second that followed seemed to stretch for hours, as no one knew quite how to react. Audrey saved the moment.

‘How marvellous!’ she cried, and raised her champagne glass. ‘To Mary Black!’

As the applause died down, Leo made his way towards us and Audrey melted away into the crowd.

‘You changed the speech,’ I said.

‘I only added the words that you were too modest to write.’

Too discreet, not modest: we never publicly acknowledged how large a contribution I made to Leo’s work. ‘Encouragement’ wasn’t the word I would have chosen.

‘Tonight seems to have gone well,’ I said. ‘Everyone I spoke to loves the book. There should be some glowing reviews at the weekend.’

‘I’m told there will be half a page in The Times. We’ll convert the nation to Alice lovers yet!’

‘And hopefully make some money in the process,’ I added, wishing that I didn’t always have to be the practical one, keeping a firm grip on the strings of his balloon, stopping him getting carried away with academic enthusiasm. It was the job I had done for years, never questioning our roles. I wondered what it would be like to have someone anchoring my strings, letting me fly high.

‘Mum’s enjoying herself, isn’t she?’

‘You know she loves seeing your success. And she’s thrilled about Ethan coming back.’

‘How do you know about that?’ Leo’s voice was unexpectedly sharp. ‘Has he contacted you?’

‘No, why would he? Audrey told me earlier. She’s hoping he’ll stay until Christmas.’

‘Christmas? No, he won’t last so long. He was made to be the single man about New York. You should come round for dinner,’ he said, unexpectedly changing the subject. ‘Clark is an excellent cook.’

‘Tonight? I had a snack earlier with the children.’

‘No, not tonight. Come round properly, for a dinner party. Clark,’ Leo said. I hadn’t noticed Clark creep up, and forced myself to smile. ‘Tell Mary that we’d love to have her over for a dinner party.’

‘Of course we would.’ Clark’s smile was undoubtedly genuine. It was infuriatingly impossible to dislike him. ‘Nothing formal. Supper with a few friends. Why don’t you two fix a date and I’ll see who else is free?’

‘Marvellous,’ I said, hiding my true feelings behind Audrey’s favourite word again. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

It wasn’t entirely a lie. I was curious to see Leo’s new home. The children had stayed over, but there was only so much information I could pump out of them. And I supposed I should be grateful now for any opportunity for a night out. An invitation from my ex-husband and his gay lover might be the best offer I had all year. It hit me, as the smartly dressed people swirled around me, the exotic cocktail of perfumes wafted past my nose, and excited chatter swept by my ears, that this might be my farewell performance on this stage. I had always been invited to these events as Leo’s wife. Where did that leave me now?

As I glanced around the room, searching for Audrey, my eyes were drawn to all the things I had ignored before: the reassuring touch on the small of a back; the secret smile exchanged across the expanse of the room; the speculative wink received with an encouraging blush. My radar was on high alert: I sensed relationships at every stage in all corners of the room. And I had never felt so alone in all my life.

‘Did Dad say anything last night?’ Ava asked the next morning, as she waved a piece of toast around, never quite bringing it within biting distance of her mouth.

‘Yes. He gave a speech about Alice Hornby. It went well.’

Ava tutted, rolled her eyes, and dropped the toast onto her plate.

‘I don’t mean about that,’ she said, fourteen years of accumulated disgust throbbing in every word. ‘Did he mention the sleepover?’

‘What sleepover?’ My own toast fell to my plate. I wasn’t going to like it, whatever it was; I knew by the way Ava was flicking her mousey hair in an artificially nonchalant way. She might look like a Black, but her character had been cut from the same cloth as mine. I glanced at Jonas, but he had his earphones in, and gave a shrug that either meant he hadn’t heard, or didn’t want to get involved. He resembled me, but his temperament was entirely Leo. It was hard to say which of them had the better deal.

‘I thought I’d invite a few friends for a sleepover, probably on the Bank Holiday weekend. Chloe can come,’ Ava said, knowing that I wouldn’t disapprove of Daisy’s daughter, and instantly making me worry who else she might want to invite. Surely not boys, at fourteen? My heart thudded at the very idea.

‘That’s great!’ I said, smiling too brightly in my relief that it was nothing worse than a sleepover. ‘We can rent a film and I’ll make popcorn and pizza …’

‘No need for that.’ Ava had twisted her hair so tightly round her finger that when she let go, it stayed in a ringlet. ‘We won’t be here. We’re going to Dad’s.’

‘Dad’s?’

‘Yeah, Clark said it would be okay.’

‘Clark?’

‘It’s his flat too. They have two spare bedrooms.’

So our one spare bedroom was no longer enough. My eyes flicked around the kitchen, taking in the relics of a family breakfast: toast crumbs on the worktop; a sticky trail of honey leading from the jar to the sink where the knife had been dumped; a couple of stray cornflakes on the floor; a puddle of milk on the table. And that was only as far as I could see: if I turned around, I would spot the pile of abandoned shoes, the coats and blazers thrown over the furniture, and the school books in a muddled heap, and not in school bags as I had requested last night. Of course Clark’s flat would be preferable to this. But I loved it here, whatever state it was in. My happiest memories were here, papered on the walls and blooming in the garden: memories of my father, before my mother drove him away, and memories of Leo and the children, before I had driven him away. One throwaway remark from Ava had prodded all my bruises: that was life with teenagers. I was a parent, not a human being: I wasn’t allowed to feel.

‘It’s a long way for everyone to go,’ I said, foolishly believing this was an innocuous remark. But that was another reality of living with teenagers: no remark was unarguable.

‘No, it’s not. If you drive us, it will only be an hour. And at least there’s something to do there.’

‘At Clark’s? What can you do that you can’t do here?’

‘We can go shopping, obviously.’

‘Shopping? With Dad?’

‘On our own. We don’t want Dad. He’s got less fashion sense than you. We don’t want to go to Marks & Spencer or somewhere like that.’

I discreetly felt the back of my top, making sure the M&S label was tucked down. It was rare that I had the advantage over Leo, especially where Ava was concerned. But then I stopped the thought, shame prickling across my chest. It wasn’t a competition. How could I be so disloyal as to feel a flicker of pleasure that for once I wasn’t the most embarrassing parent?

I stood up and began the usual morning routine of nagging and chivvying, in the vain hope that we might leave the house on time. Jonas chucked a few things in his rucksack, picked up an apple, ran his hands through his hair and was ready. Ten minutes later, Ava was still upstairs, titivating as my mother would have said. I bellowed up the stairs, sounding too much like Mum for comfort.

Ava stomped down after the third bellow. Her black eyeliner was so thick it looked like she’d applied it with a permanent marker pen, but I knew better than to start that discussion when we were pushed for time.

‘I’ve not finished my hair!’ Ava grumbled, standing a few stairs up from the bottom so that she could glower down at me more effectively. ‘Look at it!’ She grabbed a chunk and waved it in my direction. ‘I haven’t straightened this side. The kink is still there. I’m going to look hideous all day and it’s all your fault!’

Ava and her kink were legendary in our house: no one else saw it, but it caused her endless angst. And of course it was my fault, even though my hair was ruler straight, and if Ava did have a kink, it undoubtedly came from her Black genes; everything had been my fault since the day Leo moved out, and most of the time before that. The next stage in the familiar tirade was to blame me that she had inherited Leo’s mousey colouring, rather than my Celtic black hair and green eyes. Sure enough, Ava opened her mouth to begin the argument, but I bit my tongue, and whisked her and Jonas out of the house without another word.

It was no surprise that by the time we turned up at Broadholme, there were only a couple of minutes left before registration.

‘We were never late when Dad brought us,’ Ava pointed out. That was too much. Leo had done nothing but drive the car, oblivious to everything I had done to get the children from their beds to the car door. But before I could retaliate, Jonas patted my arm.

‘Chill, Mum,’ he said. ‘We’re here now.’

I nodded in response to these wise teenage words, and to make up for my near grumpiness, I used my pass to enter the teachers’ car park: the pass was a perk of being on the PTA, although we were only meant to use it when we attended meetings. While the children took forever to gather their stuff, I loitered in the disabled space, engine running like a furtive getaway driver. Three loud knocks shook my window. I pressed the button to open it.

‘Mrs Black, you know I should give you detention for abusing your PTA pass.’ Owen Ferguson peered in at my open window, a warm smile making a joke of his words. ‘I hope you have an excellent excuse.’

‘Can I blame the dog? That’s the traditional excuse, isn’t it?’

‘It is. Whose homework has Dotty eaten?’ Owen smiled across at Jonas, who shrugged, and at Ava in the back, who flushed pink and avoided eye contact. ‘I’d love to hear how missing homework can explain your presence in the teachers’ car park.’

I laughed. ‘Okay, you’ve rumbled me. Dotty is innocent. We were running late, that’s all. There’s no hope of escaping that detention, is there?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Perhaps we could discuss it over an after-school drink?’

An after-school drink? What on earth did that mean? An instant coffee in the staff room with a borrowed mug, or a proper drink in the pub in the evening? Did he mean just the two of us? Alone? A date? I’d never been on a date in my life. The moment stretched. Embarrassment stole over Owen’s face. Jonas and Ava were staring at me; I didn’t need to see them to know that. The ghost of Leo hovered over my shoulder. Owen’s head was framed in the rectangle of the window, gentleness and kindness engraved on every feature. How could I be anxious about anyone who reminded me so much of Leo?

‘A drink sounds great,’ I said. ‘Let me know when you’re free.’

Owen looked surprised, but then smiled with more pleasure than my agreement could possibly deserve.

‘I will do.’ He tapped his watch. ‘Come on, you two, time for registration.’

He wandered off, but despite his warning, there was no movement from within my car.

‘Mum!’ I turned to see Ava’s wide-eyed, stricken face. ‘What are you doing? You can’t go for a drink with Mr Ferguson.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s a teacher!’ Ava said this with the expression and tone of voice that might have been justified if she was outing Owen as a cannibal. But I could still feel the warm glow from his smile, making me defiant.

‘So what? I’m pretty sure he’s a man as well.’

‘Urgh, that’s just gross.’

‘What is?’

‘You and Mr Ferguson … kissing.’

‘We’re not kissing.’ Of course, I immediately started thinking about kissing. Could I kiss Owen? His lips were plumper than Leo’s. Would that feel odd? The whole idea of kissing other lips seemed odd. I had never expected to do it, had never wanted to do it, except once, in one mad, extraordinary moment … Heat rushed across my skin. ‘Let’s see how the drink goes first.’

Jonas pulled out one earphone, and grinned.

‘Go on, Mum,’ he said. ‘He’ll be lucky to have you.’

Ava reached across from the back seat and punched him on the shoulder.

‘Shut up. It’s embarrassing. She’s too old for all that.’

‘I’m only thirty-eight.’

‘Exactly!’

‘Dad’s forty-two.’

‘But he’s not going out with one of my teachers! What will my friends say? It will be so embarrassing. I can’t believe you’re doing this to us. You’re so selfish.’

Ava got out of the car, slammed the door, and stomped off without saying goodbye. Jonas loitered, passenger door open.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, gazing at me with eyes that were just like mine, only without the bags and wrinkles. ‘You deserve some fun. She’ll get used to it.’

I didn’t believe either statement, but leaned across the handbrake and kissed his cheek. He submitted before pulling away and strolling into school. I waited in the car park until he was out of sight, grateful that while I had lost so much, I still had my lovely, peace-keeping boy.




Chapter 6 (#ua6b8f781-3b8e-5b43-b03c-570a3ced0f05)


A few years ago I set up an informal ‘meals on wheels’ service for the older residents of the village, so early the next week, when I was left with an extra meal at lunchtime, I dropped in at Audrey’s house to see if she wanted it.

‘Audrey!’ I called, as I pushed open the door with my shoulder, balancing the plate of food in my hands. ‘It’s only me! One of the old dears went out shopping and forgot I was coming, so I have …’

The plate fell to the ground, bouncing on the lino and sending vegetables rolling. Audrey was lying on the floor, half in the kitchen, half in the hall. She was wearing her pyjamas and slippers; a mug lay on its side on the hall carpet beyond Audrey’s head, surrounded by a brown stain; there was another stain on the kitchen lino, spreading from beneath Audrey’s legs. The smell of rich morning urine filled the room.

‘Don’t come in, Mary.’ Audrey’s voice was faint, weakened by fear. A sheen of sweat shimmered on her face, around eyes that were enormous and terrified. Audrey, my lovely, lively Audrey, looked as if every second of her sixty-five years had stamped their mark on her all at once, adding ten more years for good measure.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked, stepping over some stray broccoli, and kneeling at her side. Her left arm was tucked underneath her at an awkward angle. I took her right hand, rubbing it between mine, trying to add warmth. ‘How long have you been here? Since breakfast?’

‘I tripped over the door plate …’

The door plate between the kitchen and the hall had been loose for months. I had told Leo before Christmas, and he had promised to fix it – but as usual, I hadn’t wanted to nag. Why hadn’t I pressed him? Why hadn’t I fixed it myself? Was it because somewhere in my head, I hadn’t accepted that this post-Leo world was real?

‘Where are you hurt? Can you tell?’

‘My arm. Mainly my wrist. I can’t lean on it to get up.’

‘Don’t try. I’m calling an ambulance.’

I started to stand, but Audrey clutched my arm. Her grasp was as feeble as a child’s.

‘No. I can’t go in an ambulance like this.’

I nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. I ran upstairs to her bedroom and picked out a fresh pair of knickers and pyjamas. It was an effort to put them on, as I feared exacerbating injuries or causing Audrey pain; she closed her eyes when I inched down her knickers, and I stopped, terrified I might be damaging a broken hip, but she insisted I carry on. It never occurred to me to be embarrassed. I would walk on hot coals rather than undress my own mum, but this was Audrey. Nothing was too much for her.

I couldn’t change her pyjama top, as I couldn’t risk disturbing her arm.

‘I don’t match!’ she said, with a hint of her normal self.

‘I don’t expect the paramedics will mind,’ I replied, putting down the phone after calling for an ambulance. ‘We’ll tell them that it’s the latest fashion: mismatched pyjamas as daywear. In fact, if I’m quick, I could go and put on some random nightwear too, to establish the trend.’

That raised a weak smile, which was better than nothing, and while we waited for the ambulance I followed Audrey’s instructions and washed her face, applied lipstick, and spritzed her with perfume. I tried ringing Leo, but he was on voicemail, so I left a message. Then all I could do was wait.

We seemed to spend hours in A&E, but at least when Audrey was finally seen, the news wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Audrey had suffered a Colles fracture, which meant that she’d broken the bone in her left arm just above the wrist. It was a clean break, and didn’t need surgery, but she would be in a plaster cast for up to six weeks, and she could have residual stiffness for up to a year. For a fiercely independent woman, who was prone to think herself half her actual age, it was hard to accept, and I turned my back, pretending to read a poster while Audrey shed some discreet tears.

‘Has Leo not telephoned?’ she asked, while we waited for confirmation that she could go home.

‘Not yet. I’ve left a couple of messages.’

‘What about Ethan? Have you let him know that I’m fine? I would hate for him to be anxious.’

‘I haven’t told Ethan.’ It hadn’t crossed my mind. What use would he be, in New York? ‘I don’t have his number.’

‘What time will it be over there? About lunchtime? Do call him. He’ll tell me off if he finds out days after the event. Take my phone and give him a ring. Make sure he knows that I’m right as rain, and there’s no cause for panic.’

Reluctantly, I took Audrey’s phone and went outside, squeezing past the smokers balancing on crutches at the entrance of the hospital, to find an empty bench. Ethan’s number rang out, and I scuffed my feet under the bench, hoping for voicemail.

‘Hello, Mum! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today. What are you up to?’

I had to lift the phone away from my ear: the love that poured from it, coupled with that familiar Lancashire accent with a New York twist, caught my breath in a way I hadn’t expected.

‘Mum? Are you there?’

‘It’s Mary.’

‘Hello, Mary Black! What are you doing brightening my day?’ And then his tone changed as realisation dawned. ‘Mary? Is something wrong?’

‘It’s all fine, but Audrey wanted me to let you know that she fell over today …’

‘How bad is it?’ Ethan interrupted. His voice was raw with fear. I wished this job hadn’t fallen to me. Leo should have been the one to tell him – if only Leo had returned my calls. ‘No varnish, Mary. Is she okay?’

‘She will be. She’s fractured her wrist – her left one, so she’ll still be able to use her right hand. Although not for a few days. She’s bruised her knee, so will need a stick for a while until that settles.’

‘Can I talk to her?’

‘Ring her in a couple of hours. I’ll have taken her home by then.’

‘You will? Where’s Leo?’

It was an innocent-sounding question, and I had an innocent answer ready. But I kicked at the gravel under my feet, reluctant to give it.

‘I haven’t been able to speak to him yet. He’s probably at work.’

The silence stretched until I thought we might have been cut off. That ‘probably’ wouldn’t have convinced Ethan; he must know that it was after five over here.

‘Will you look after her?’ Ethan said at last. ‘I know I’ve no right to ask now, but …’

‘You don’t need to ask. She’s my friend. Of course I’m going to look after her.’

‘Let me know if she needs anything.’ He paused. ‘You’re a star, Mary Black. You know that, don’t you?’

I didn’t; I lived with two teenagers. Far from being celestial, most days I felt as important as something they’d trodden in. But Ethan had a way of making the mundane sound extraordinary, and the extraordinary sound magnificent. I had forgotten quite how potent he could be.

We had been home for a couple of hours before Leo called back, and then, at least, he drove straight over. Audrey had fallen asleep, lying on the sofa in front of the television, worn out by the drama of the day and the drugs given to her by the hospital.

‘Where have you been?’ I hissed at Leo, as he hovered in the doorway, looking at Audrey. The irony wasn’t lost on me, that I sounded more like a jealous wife than at any time during our marriage.

‘I had no university work today, and Clark took the day off, so we …’

I held up my hand; I didn’t want to hear what they had been up to.

‘Didn’t you have your phone? What if there had been an emergency with the children?’

He had the grace to look guilty, but I was too highly wound today to let it go.

‘You can’t cut us off completely, Leo. You’ve only loosened the strings, not untied them. You still have a family, and sometimes we need you.’

‘I appreciate that. I’m not trying to cut you off. When I made plans with Clark, I couldn’t have known there would be an emergency today.’

‘There could be an emergency any day. That’s the point. They’re unscheduled. You need to keep your phone on when you’re not teaching, or at least check your messages occasionally. If you’re so keen not to be disturbed, I promise I’ll only ever ring if it’s a matter of life or death.’

‘Life, death, or literature.’ He smiled, trying to make amends by resurrecting an old joke we had shared, but I wasn’t ready to soften yet.

‘Audrey needed you, Leo. She wanted to see you. The fall has shaken her more than you realise. I had no trouble contacting Ethan, and he’s on a different continent and time zone.’

‘Ethan?’ Audrey snuffled and stirred as Leo raised his voice. ‘When did you speak to Ethan?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Do you often ring him?’

‘No. Why would I?’ I sat down, across the room from Leo, confused by the look he was giving me and the sudden interrogation. ‘I don’t even have his number. I called him because Audrey asked me to. What’s the problem?’

‘There isn’t one.’ Leo sat down next to me. His hair was soft and fluffy, as if he’d recently had a shower, but there was no smell of Johnson’s baby shampoo. Instead, when I leaned closer, pretending to adjust the cushion behind me, I was struck by an exotic aroma that made me think of expensive hotels – not that I had much experience of those. ‘But you’re clearly wound up,’ Leo continued. ‘I hope he hasn’t said anything to aggravate or upset you. At least you won’t have to see him again. Don’t they say that one of the greatest advantages of divorce is being able to drop the in-laws?’

I wouldn’t blame him if Leo thought that: I’d often be happy to drop my mother, preferably from a great height. But while I had rarely seen Ethan over the years of our marriage, it was painful to think that rarely might turn to never. Our connection went beyond my marriage; Ethan had been a good friend, an integral part of my growing up, as essential as Leo, in a different way. We had been in the same year at school, and had almost gone to the same university until Leo had proposed when he graduated from Oxford and persuaded me to change to Manchester so we could stay close together.

‘Ethan’s not the problem,’ I muttered, but Leo was watching Audrey and didn’t appear to be listening.

‘Don’t worry about Ethan,’ he said, patting my hand as if I were his maiden aunt. ‘I’ll speak to him and make sure he leaves you alone.’




Chapter 7 (#ulink_608d54d4-5435-5811-bfbd-b16165e0e32b)


Audrey was a terrible patient, every bit as bad as I expected: not because she was demanding, but because she refused to make any demands. I had to go round earlier and earlier each morning to try to catch her before she attempted to dress herself; if it carried on, there would barely be a gap between putting her to bed and getting her up.

Leo came over on the Friday afternoon following Audrey’s accident, and worked in the study so that I could have the afternoon off to visit a couple of bookshops. I had compiled a list of shops within a thirty-mile radius, and intended to visit them all over the coming weeks to see if any would be interested in an author event with Leo to promote the Alice Hornby biography. My enthusiasm was trampled when the first shop turned me away almost immediately, but the owner of the second shop agreed to attend the Foxwood Farm event the following weekend and meet Leo before deciding whether to invite him to hold a signing. Now I had to hope that Leo rose to the occasion.

Neither of the children would agree to come to the Foxwood Farm Lancashire Evening, and as I still wasn’t used to appearing anywhere on my own, I invited Daisy to join me. The rain of the morning had finally broken to reveal a dazzling blue sky, and the temperature had risen from coat to cardigan warmth, so I walked through the village to collect Daisy at her house. She opened the front door before I was halfway up the path, and quickly pulled it shut behind her.

‘You can’t come in,’ she said, dispensing with the customary ‘hello’ and starting up the path with her bag in tow. ‘The house is a tip. Chloe is at her dad’s this weekend, so I’m having a sneaky sort out of all the old clothes and toys that she’d never let me throw away if she was here.’

‘You should have said. I would have offered to help.’

‘I know you would.’ Daisy followed me through the gate and left it swinging at a forlorn angle. I went back and closed it. ‘But I only really wanted to clear out a few things. You’d have blitzed the house like a military operation. You’d have shot me at point blank range for suggesting something had sentimental value.’

‘That’s unfair. I would have tried diplomatic negotiation first.’ I smiled, but Daisy’s words stung. The ‘efficient and capable’ label was so firmly sewn onto the back of my neck that I couldn’t imagine the world held a pair of scissors sharp enough to cut it out.

Foxwood Farm was situated at the southern edge of the village, a pleasant stroll away in the spring sunshine. The farm was looking magnificent, decorated for the event with flags and bunting showing the red rose of Lancashire. It was too early in the year for real roses, but tubs and flowerbeds filled the farmyard and pansies, tulips, and azaleas danced in a brilliant display of colour. As the weather had turned fair, the cobbled courtyard outside the main barn where the event was taking place had been scattered with bales of hay covered in furry sheepskin rugs to make benches, and old crates covered in crisp white cloths provided makeshift tables. Large braziers stood around the edge of the area, already flickering with flames that would light up the area as darkness crept in. Although we were on time – being efficient and capable, I was never wilfully late – a decent crowd was already milling around in the evening sunshine, colouring the air with conversation and laughter. I reached out and grasped Daisy’s arm, sent off-balance by an unexpected shot of loneliness.

‘Let’s get a drink,’ Daisy said, and dragged me inside. It was quieter here, apart from a small group gathered in front of a table that was set out as a bar. There was an impressive display of Lancashire drinks: real ale with weird and wonderful names from a micro-brewery a few miles away; sloe gin and blueberry vodka from a farm in a nearby village; and a delicious selection of soft drinks from Fitzgerald’s, the famous temperance bar. I picked up a glass of wine.

‘That’s French.’ Daisy pointed disapprovingly at my glass. She had chosen a pint of beer, an incongruous sight in her dainty hands, but she carried it off; she was one of those naturally pretty women who could carry off anything. Beside her petite blonde figure, I looked like the Grim Reaper’s warm-up act. If we weren’t such friends I would never have stood within ten feet of her. ‘You’re not being loyal to the spirit of the evening.’

The glass hovered halfway to my lips, as my values battled with my need for wine. Luckily Lindsay, who had organised the event, was nearby and solved my dilemma.

‘We used a Lancashire wine merchant,’ she said. ‘It was the closest we could get.’ I drank half my glass, conscience clear. Lindsay smiled, and leaned across to kiss my cheek. ‘You deserve that wine after your hard work this afternoon. The display looks great.’

Lindsay gestured over to one corner of the barn. The central space was set out with chairs ready for the entertainment to begin, and each performer – not a word I had dared use to Leo’s face – had been allocated an area to display their work around the sides. Leo’s table was a shrine to Alice Hornby. The famous picture of her stood on an easel in the centre, surrounded by glass boxes containing replicas of some of her personal items: a tiny pair of outdoor shoes, complete with battens; an ivory fan; a purse embroidered with miniature birds, which we believed Alice had sewn herself. One box held a couple of pages of a draft of her most famous novel, The Gentleman’s Daughter; her handwriting was as familiar as my own, and thrilled me every time I saw it. A discreet pile of Leo’s book lay at the rear of the display, along with postcards and bookmarks bearing some of Alice’s most beautiful quotations. I had also added some leaflets about the Alice Hornby Society, which Leo and I had started ten years ago in a bid to connect fans of her work and promote awareness of her writing.

‘Is Leo outside?’ Lindsay asked, glancing at her watch. ‘We’re starting with the rock choir soon, and Leo’s on after that.’

‘I don’t know where he is.’

‘Have you lost him?’

How could I reply to that? I had lost him, but in a more permanent way than Lindsay meant. Amazingly, and despite my conviction that the whole world must be talking about us, it seemed that there was one house in Stoneybrook where the gossip had not yet spread.

‘We’re not …’ Above the chatter around us, the clink of my wedding ring against my glass was deafening. I couldn’t finish the sentence. I finished my wine instead. Daisy gripped my hand.

‘Mary and Leo are divorced,’ she said, leaning towards Lindsay and lowering her voice. ‘Leo lives in Manchester now. He may be delayed by traffic.’

She stopped there, giving only half the news; the rest would be obvious soon enough. And the sympathy in Lindsay’s eyes, when she pulled me into a brief hug, was quite enough to bear without witnessing her reaction to the rest of it. How long would it be before someone looked at me without pity or curiosity? I longed for a life of quiet anonymity again.

The rock choir were halfway through their set of songs by North West artists, and were belting out an arrangement of Elbow’s ‘Open Arms’ which moistened even my stubbornly dry old eyes, when Leo sauntered in with Clark. I slipped out of my seat and met them at the back of the barn, horribly conscious that many members of the audience were watching us.

‘Hello,’ I whispered, dragging up my public smile, and kissing them each in turn. Leo still didn’t smell like my Leo, and he had cut his hair much shorter, losing the fluffiness that had characterised him for the last twenty years. The new look suited him. ‘You’re in perfect time. The choir has one more song after this, and then it’s your turn. I’ve marked the passage that you’re reading.’ I delved into my handbag and pulled out a copy of the book, adorned with Post-it Notes. ‘And try to squeeze in a mention of the Alice Hornby Society. I’ve left some application forms on the display over there.’

Leo turned in the direction I was pointing.

‘It looks wonderful, Mary, well done. You never let me down.’

Those words, which would have once meant so much, could only ever be bittersweet now. Loud applause for the choir shattered the awkwardness of the moment, and I motioned to Leo to go to the front, while I resumed my seat next to Daisy. Clark remained standing, leaning against the wall, his attention wholly on Leo.

Lindsay welcomed Leo, and then Leo made a few opening remarks and began to read from the book. I had chosen a lively passage, describing a prank that Alice and her sister had played on their hated governess, and which had gone on to form the basis of a scene in her most famous book, and the audience laughed as I had hoped. But I was hardly paying attention to the words, too transfixed by Leo. He didn’t smell like my Leo; he no longer looked like my Leo; and he performed for the audience in a way that my Leo would never have done. He was relaxed, smiling, comfortable in himself as he had never been in the days of our marriage. There was no doubting why. Whenever his gaze swept the room, it always lingered over Clark.

The applause when he finished was as rapturous as it had been for the choir, and way beyond anything I had expected. I rose from my seat, propelled by pride, heedless of the fact that no one else was giving a standing ovation until Daisy yanked me back down.

‘He was great,’ Daisy said, with undisguised surprise. ‘He made me want to buy the book, and Lord knows there have been times when I thought I might go insane if I heard the name Alice Hornby again.’

‘You’re a philistine. She is the world’s greatest writer.’

‘Don’t waste your breath on me. I won’t read anything unless it has a glossy cover and celebrity interviews.’ She looked over at Leo, who had now joined Clark. They were talking, heads bent close together, tightly bound to each other even though they weren’t touching. ‘He’s changed. He looks …’ She screwed up her eyes, studying him. ‘Free.’

That was it, exactly. Perhaps because Daisy hadn’t seen Leo for a few months, the alteration was obvious to her. Leo did look free: free of care, free of pretence, free of being someone he was not. Free of me. Our stars had been aligned for so long; but his had now risen to a height that seemed well beyond my reach.

A performance poet came next, entertaining us in a traditional Lancashire dialect, followed by a popular local folk band, before supper was served – Lancashire hotpot, served with pickled red cabbage, which was simple but delicious. I was one of the last to be served, distracted by talking to the bookshop owner who had previously promised to attend, and by that time many of the guests had wandered outside to enjoy their food. Carrying my plate of steaming hotpot, I headed the same way, trying to find Daisy. She was never easy to spot in a crowd, but I located her at last, talking to a tall blond man who had his back to me. His head was tilted down towards her, exposing a stretch of tanned skin between the collar of his shirt and his exceptionally neat hairline – a perfect horizontal line that my finger itched to trace. I must have drunk more than I thought, because as I stared at his neck, my lips tingled with an inexplicable urge to taste that warm skin.

Heat raced through my blood, carrying with it the echo of a long-forgotten memory. My feet wouldn’t move, either forwards or backwards. And then Daisy glanced in my direction, waved, and her companion turned and smiled. My lungs seized with horror, shame, and sheer wrongness as I realised that the stranger who had stirred the unfamiliar desire, reminded me of the passion that I had chosen to live without, wasn’t a stranger at all. It was my brother-in-law, Ethan.

In my frantic haste to return to the barn, I crashed into a man in the doorway, sending a lump of red cabbage somersaulting onto his pale shirt. Efficient and capable? I had never felt less.

‘Mary?’ The man took hold of my arm and steadied me. It was Owen. I hadn’t known he was coming tonight. He smiled and I relaxed. ‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen the proverbial ghost.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, fighting to return to normal. ‘Look at your shirt.’ I picked off a clinging shred of cabbage. A pink stain remained. ‘I have something that will get that out, if you let me have it.’

‘Now? You’d like me to take my shirt off here?’

‘No, of course not …’ It took me a moment to realise he was joking.

‘Don’t worry. I can wash my own shirt.’

‘Can you?’ Leo had never touched a washing machine, as far as I knew.

‘Shall we start again?’ Owen let go of my arm. ‘Hello, Mary, it’s good to see you. Come and sit down and eat your hotpot.’

There was something so gloriously mundane about that sentence, that I let him steer me over to some empty chairs. He chatted about Lucilla and school, and the brilliance of the rock choir, while I picked at my food. I thought I’d lost my appetite, but Owen was such restful, easy company that my plate soon emptied. He took if off me and stood up.

‘Another wine or would you like a coffee?’

‘Wine, please.’

He threaded his way to the bar, squeezing past people with polite diffidence. There was something solidly reassuring about his broad back and sturdy waist. Light brown hair lapped over his collar; no sliver of exposed neck there to catch women unawares. Panic fluttered in my chest. It hadn’t been Ethan, surely? He was in New York. Audrey had mentioned him yesterday, doing something or other in New York. He wasn’t supposed to be in the country until July, so he couldn’t be here, right now, at Foxwood Farm, and I couldn’t be fantasising about his neck. It was impossible, and it was wrong. Unnatural. Undesirable. Undesirable desire. I was in danger of becoming hysterical.

‘This isn’t what I had in mind when I suggested we should have a drink together,’ Owen said, handing over my wine. ‘We’re under scrutiny.’

‘Are we?’ I looked around, expecting to see Daisy watching, but instead found Leo gazing our way.

‘Your ex-husband?’ Owen indicated Leo, and I nodded, unable to say the word that would acknowledge that ‘ex’. ‘You’re still on good terms?’

‘Yes. We’ll always be friends.’

‘Friends?’ I frowned, unable to read Owen’s tone, and wary of making a wrong assumption about what he was asking. This was a whole new world to me: men had only ever been men, not potential boyfriends or partners. I didn’t know the rules of this game, or understand the language in which it was played. Owen helped me out. ‘I’m a simple soul, Mary. I like you. I don’t like complications. If it may prove to be a temporary split …’

‘It won’t.’ No one could see Clark and Leo together and have any doubts about that.

‘And that other man?’

I turned to where Owen indicated, assuming he was referring to Clark. My stomach heaved, and not in reaction to the hotpot. It was Ethan. Ethan was here, tonight, in Stoneybrook, not in New York. So that reaction earlier had been to Ethan … I applied my mental blinkers, shutting out that thought.

‘Ethan. Leo’s brother.’

‘I suppose it will take time for them to accept you have separate lives now.’ Not just them. I smiled, an automatic rather than meaningful gesture, but Owen leant forward. ‘Are you still up for that drink? Perhaps without the minders?’

Even I couldn’t misunderstand that. I hesitated, feeling as if the room had fallen silent, and every pair of eyes and ears were waiting for my response – including mine. My gaze wandered over Owen’s face, past honest brown eyes, a straightforward smile, and on to a delightfully ordinary neck.

‘Yes. What about Tuesday?’

‘Are you trying to get squiffy, Mary Black? The music isn’t that bad.’

Warm breath blew against my ear, and I turned to face Ethan. He still wore the smile of the thirteen-year-old boy I had first met: confident, cheeky, effortless.

‘I love the music. The arrangements are amazing.’

A trio of young men were playing jazzed-up versions of old Lancashire songs with extraordinary energy and vigour. It was a mesmerising performance, and had drawn in most of the people who had remained outside after supper. I had been queuing at the bar when they started, and had been too entranced to move away.

‘The arrangements? Or the handsome young men in dinner jackets?’ Ethan laughed. ‘You always were much more cultural than me.’

‘Surely not even you can have lived in New York for so long without some culture rubbing off. You have Broadway, the Met, the MOMA …’

‘And the New York Yankees. Much more my thing. There’s more drama in a baseball game than in any Broadway play.’

‘Have you ever been to a Broadway play?’

‘Yes. Don’t look so surprised. I made it all the way through The Phantom of the Opera, and I’d only had two beers. I needed more than two to recover afterwards.’

He laughed, and it was impossible not to join him. This was good; this was normal. I hadn’t looked at or thought about his neck once.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Mum gave me her ticket. She thought one of the family should support Leo.’

‘Did you hear him?’

‘I arrived just in time and lurked at the side.’

‘I didn’t notice you.’

‘No. You never did notice anyone else when Leo was around.’

That was true; or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I had chosen not to look. Except once … but I mustn’t think about that.

‘I actually meant what are you doing here, in England. Audrey said you were coming over in the summer.’

‘I brought it forward. I wanted to see how she was.’

‘And how is she?’ I asked, poised to be offended if he suggested in any way that I wasn’t looking after her properly.

‘She’s great.’ He smiled, reading me far too well, even after all this time. ‘I knew you’d care for her. But you shouldn’t have to. She’s our responsibility.’

Briefly he rested his hand on my arm, softening the rejection that his words might have given.

‘I don’t give a stuff about whose responsibility it is,’ I said. ‘I do it out of love. You won’t stop me.’

‘Then we’ll do it together. I’ll be your humble servant, Mary Black.’

He clicked his heels together, and bent over in a deep bow, flicking a glance full of mischief at me as he did. Then his face and body straightened as he looked over my shoulder. ‘Hello, Leo.’

‘Ethan.’

‘Great performance earlier.’

‘Thank you.’

I swivelled from one to the other. They weren’t close – they were too different for that – but this clipped formality was new. Had something happened between them? Leo clearly wasn’t surprised to see Ethan here, although he hadn’t told me that he was coming home.

‘Mary, I’ve spoken to Clark, and we wondered about next Friday,’ Leo said.

‘Friday? Do you want to do something with the children? Because Ava has maths clinic after school …’

‘No, not for the children. For the dinner party.’ I had forgotten all about it. Leo had mentioned the dinner party at his book launch a few weeks ago, but hadn’t raised the subject since then. ‘You’ll be free, on a Friday night, won’t you?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Of course I was. When did I ever do anything? Tuesday, I remembered with a jolt. I was going out on Tuesday too, on my date with Owen. Where might that lead? I brushed my hair off my face, conscious that Leo and Ethan were watching me. A memory raced into my head, only a snatch but so clear that I shivered, feeling again the cold night air, the soft rain tickling my cheeks, the heat of a bonfire on my skin, and the gentle touch of a hand brushing aside my hair …

‘Friday,’ I repeated, fixing my gaze on Leo. ‘That would be lovely.’




Chapter 8 (#ulink_19bcd04c-230c-5b59-9628-0070b2a59d02)


‘Come on, Daisy, you read the glossy magazines. What’s the dress code for a dinner party with your husband and his gay lover?’

‘It’s never come up in a magazine I’ve read.’ Daisy stared into my wardrobe. She’d been doing this for the last five minutes, as if by the power of her stare she could replace all the clothes with new ones. ‘When did you last buy anything new?’

‘1998.’ For a moment, I thought she believed me. Were my clothes that bad? ‘Stop pulling that face. You’re acting scarily like my mother.’

‘Not even Irene would wear this.’ Daisy pulled out a paisley print dress, which I had probably last worn in the difficult months after Ava’s birth, when I still thought the tummy and droopy breasts were temporary afflictions. ‘Do you have a wardrobe full of fashionable clothes in another room?’

‘What about the grey?’ I pulled out the usual jersey dress. Daisy wrinkled her nose.

‘To say it’s on its last legs would be a compliment.’ She rifled through the rail, which took about five seconds. ‘You do realise, don’t you, that one of the advantages of divorce is that you have an extra half of a wardrobe to fill with new clothes?’

‘I bought a new dress for Christmas. But Clark has already seen that. I don’t want him to think I only have one decent thing. And why do I need new clothes? I never go anywhere.’

‘This is your second night out in a week.’ Daisy settled down on the bed, making herself comfortable in a way that didn’t bode well. Sure enough, she began an interrogation. ‘Talking of nights out, are you going to tell me how it went with Owen on Tuesday?’

‘It was fine. Nice.’ Terrifying, if she wanted the entire truth.

‘What did you do?’

‘We went to the Inn at Whitewell and had a couple of drinks.’

‘That was a long way to go. Good choice though. Very romantic.’

‘Very private. He wanted to avoid any students or parents.’ Or any husbands or brothers-in-law.

‘And you had fun? It was a success?’

‘I suppose so.’

I removed my jeans and T-shirt, and took the grey dress off the hanger, ready to put it on. Daisy looked me up and down, and went over to the chest of drawers.

‘Have you no decent lingerie?’ she asked, rooting around my underwear. ‘Leo must have bought you some for Christmas or birthday presents.’

‘No. He generally bought books.’

Daisy held up a saggy bra and granny knickers.

‘Fond of grey, aren’t you? Please don’t tell me you still wear these monstrosities. Although those things you have on now aren’t much better. See how different it could look …’

She heaved up my bra straps, fighting gravity. As she did, the bedroom door opened and Jonas walked in.

‘Mum …’ He stared at the sight in front of him – and what a sight it must have been for an innocent young boy. ‘Not you as well,’ he muttered and backed out. Daisy laughed.

‘You need a lock on that door. What if you’d been in here with Owen?’

‘We’ve only had one drink!’ I pulled on the grey dress, ignoring Daisy’s disapproving tut.

‘Two drinks,’ she corrected. ‘And surely a kiss?’

‘No! Well,’ I conceded, ‘a kiss on the cheek.’ It wasn’t where Owen had aimed for, at the end of the evening, but I had chickened out and turned my head at the last moment.

‘Oh, Mary, you’re hopeless. You’ve devoted so much time to studying Alice Hornby that you’re acting like a Victorian virgin. You’re allowed to have sex with a man who isn’t your husband.’

‘Being allowed to do something doesn’t mean I want to. Anyway,’ I continued, turning away from Daisy’s sympathetic expression, ‘whether Alice Hornby died a virgin is one of her greatest mysteries. There’s a letter …’

‘Spare me the lecture. You didn’t go on about her to Owen, did you? You’ve spent so long in a bubble with Leo that you’ve forgotten not everyone is nuts about the Hornby woman.’

‘I can’t not mention her. It’s my job.’ I opened my jewellery box, took out the green pendant necklace that Leo had given me for Christmas, and fastened it round my neck.

‘Colour! At last!’ Daisy said, nodding in approval. She probably wouldn’t have approved if she had known where it came from, or that I was wearing it as a gesture of loyalty to Leo. ‘We’re going shopping before your next date. There will be another, won’t there? You haven’t scared him off with your prudery?’

‘As you’ve seen, removing my clothes would have scared him off far more effectively than keeping them on. We’re meeting to walk the dogs tomorrow, if the weather’s fine.’ I spritzed perfume, brushed my hair and dug out my smart pair of heels. ‘I can’t put it off any longer. Will I do?’

‘Even in that dress, you look gorgeous.’ Daisy hugged me. ‘Remember – you’re a single woman, not an abandoned wife. Go dazzle.’

Leo met me at his new front door, looking smart in chinos that I had bought him and a shirt that I hadn’t. We kissed cheeks politely – such a versatile gesture, capable of bookending the start and end of a relationship. His cheek was soft under my lips, so soft that I suspected it must be the effect of moisturiser. I had to hand it to Clark – he had smartened Leo up in a way that I had never managed.

‘This is nice,’ I said brightly, following Leo into a large space that served as living and dining room. Huge floor-to-ceiling doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the Bridgewater Canal. Inside, the room was pale, shiny, and minimal, all blond wood, white furniture, chrome, and glass. I couldn’t imagine Jonas and Ava staying here. Did they have to shower and put on one of those boiler suits that TV detectives wear, so they didn’t contaminate the place? I cringed at what Clark must have thought of our house at Christmas; but still, I wouldn’t swap my cosy chaos for this place. Six months ago I would never have dreamt that Leo would either.

Clark came in from the balcony, where he had been talking to two men and a woman I didn’t recognise.

‘Hello, Mary. We’re glad you could come.’ Only I seemed to feel any awkwardness over that ‘we’. ‘Come and meet the others while Leo gets you a drink.’

He led me out to the balcony and introduced his colleague, Pete, and wife Liz, and Andrew, an old friend from university. A few minutes later the final guests arrived, another married couple who had once been guests at my house, and who clearly had no idea what to make of me now being a guest like them.

As Leo and Clark had work connections with the two couples, it was inevitable that I would fall into conversation with Andrew.

‘Incredible view, isn’t it?’ he said, leaning against the balcony rail. I nodded, while making a mental note to tell Jonas and Ava never to do that. In fact, perhaps I should sweep the whole flat for potential hazards. ‘I assume you’re a friend of Leo’s as we’ve never met before. Do you work with him at the university?’

‘No, I …’ Why had this not occurred to me, that I might need to explain my presence? I had been too vain, supposing that everyone would know who I was – that my reputation would have gone before me. How demoralising, to discover that Leo hadn’t thought me worth mentioning. And how aggravating, a rebellious part of me argued, that he hadn’t thought to smooth the evening for me by pre-warning the other guests. Caught on the hop, I had nothing to offer but the truth. ‘I’m his wife.’

‘Leo’s wife?’ Andrew stared at me as if he’d just noticed that I had green scales and a horn. ‘You’re the last person I’d have expected to see here. Lower down the list than Elvis.’ He laughed. ‘Good for you. Not many wives would have been so tolerant. Mine certainly wasn’t.’

‘You mean you’re …’ I trailed off, not sure what the PC word to use was.

‘No, absolutely not. My ex-wife was intolerant about much more minor things than that. Leo’s had it easy.’

We both glanced over at Leo. He and Clark were watching us, but swiftly looked away and started talking.

‘That wasn’t suspicious, was it?’ Andrew said. ‘Do you think we might have been set up?’

‘Set up?’

‘Hadn’t you noticed that all the other guests are couples?’

‘No.’ Or rather, I had, but I hadn’t attached any significance to it – certainly not the type that Andrew was suggesting. The idea that Leo might have tried to set me up with a blind date was preposterous. Wasn’t it? I gazed over at Leo again, and he smiled and gave me a nod – the sort of encouraging nod I had seen him give the children a thousand times.

‘No such thing as a free dinner,’ Andrew said. ‘Shall we get it out of the way and then we can enjoy the rest of the evening? No offence, Mary, but I didn’t come here looking for a partner, and I don’t think I’ve found one.’

It was hard not to take some offence at being rejected after I’d spoken less than a dozen words. Perhaps Daisy had been right about the dress. But that was besides the point – the point being, what was Leo doing, trying to pair me off with this stranger? Before I could go and tackle him, Clark called us in for dinner. It wasn’t a surprise when I was ushered to a seat next to Andrew.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said with a grin.

Andrew had been right: removing the awkwardness from the start meant we could talk about what interested us with no pressure about how we were being perceived. Of course I ended up talking about Alice Hornby, and my plans to visit as many bookshops as I could in Lancashire to plug Leo’s book and arrange publicity events.





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