Читать книгу The Man I Fell In Love With - Kate Field - Страница 7

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.