The Man I Fell In Love With
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‘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
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?’