The Man I Fell In Love With

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Kate Field 2019

Cover design © Becky Glibbery 2019

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock

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

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Acknowledgments

About the Author

About the Publisher

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

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.’