table, then snatched it back when he saw the look of puzzlement on her face.
‘I’m doing this for Evelyn, Ian,’ she said quietly as her hand slid off the table onto her lap.
‘Yes, of course. And I’ll never forget that, Sarah. I’ll never forget that you make time to visit her, no matter how busy you are.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘After all she’s done for me … for them, it’s nothing. And the divorce didn’t change anything between us. She treated me just the same. Do you know she paid for the kids’ childcare so that I could go back to work?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know. But it doesn’t surprise me.’
Suddenly, Sarah put her hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. ‘She’s always been so good to me,’ she choked. ‘To all of us.’
He let the comment settle between them like a feather drifting slowly to the floor. The silence between them was comfortable, a blanket round their shared grief. And it seemed like the right moment all of a sudden to say what had been on his mind lately. He took a deep breath. ‘I know I’ve said it before, Sarah, but I am sorry for walking out on you and the kids. I’m sorry that I hurt you.’
Her hand fell from her mouth but she said nothing for a few moments. She took a sip of wine, high colour in her cheeks, and said, ‘I appreciate you saying that, Ian, really I do.’
‘I just want you to know, that’s all. Sometimes I feel like a real heel. I just wish … well.’ He looked at the palms of his hands, white and smooth, and left the sentence unfinished. He wondered if he’d stayed, would the marriage have survived?
‘I don’t blame you,’ she said and his head snapped up. She cocked her head to one side the way she did when she had something difficult to say.
He’d walked out before Lewis could even walk and Molly was still in nappies. He’d hated himself for it. But he couldn’t stay. The Sarah he’d loved had simply disappeared, consumed entirely by motherhood. At least that was what he thought had happened. It wasn’t until after Lewis’ birth that he’d realised Sarah did not love him the way he loved her. If she loved him at all.
Her love for him had always been an elusive thing, rarely voiced. She’d maintained that words were cheap and that she preferred to show love rather than constantly declare it. As a new bride she’d been kind and attentive but her interest had waned over the years and towards the end of their marriage, he’d felt nothing but loathing emanating from her like heat from a fire.
‘If you’d been happy you never would’ve left,’ she went on. ‘And I was largely responsible for that unhappiness.’
For some reason he shook his head, though what she said was true.
‘No, I wasn’t a good wife. I pushed you away. I built barriers between us and then I couldn’t seem to pull them down.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked away and he felt, as he had often done in their marriage, that she wasn’t being entirely straight with him.
‘Once Molly was born, I felt that you lost interest in me, Sarah. And it only got worse when Lewis came along. I couldn’t see a future for us. I couldn’t see how we would ever be happy again. I gave you so much and got so little back in return.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about the past, Ian,’ she said, rubbing the back of her neck. ‘We both made mistakes and it doesn’t change where we are now.’
‘Yes, let’s look to the future.’ He smiled at her then, resisting the urge to reach out and touch a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. ‘And let’s not be too hard on ourselves. I mean, there aren’t many divorced couples who can sit down and talk to each other like this.’
She smiled weakly. ‘I guess that’s true. I’m glad we’ve remained friends. In spite of everything.’
He stared into her silvery eyes, the pupils wide and black as night. From somewhere deep inside, courage and hope rose in his breast like twin flames, and he blurted out, ‘I loved you the first moment I set eyes on you. All those years ago in Sunday school.’
She looked at him with wide eyes and her mouth opened slightly. Her face paled.
He blushed and smiled. Now that he’d broached the subject of his feelings for her, there was no going back. Nor did he want to. ‘I deeply regret our divorce, Sarah. I wish I’d fought harder to save our marriage.’
She shook her head slowly, a look of bafflement on her face. ‘It wasn’t just down to you –’
‘It’s bound to have affected the children, hasn’t it?’
‘Well, naturally, but the children are fine, really. They’ve grown up with you not living at home. It’s all they’ve ever known, in Lewis’ case anyway. In that respect they’re much luckier than other kids of divorced parents.’
‘Still,’ he said, steering her gently back to the topic that had lately come to preoccupy his thoughts. ‘Wouldn’t it be so much better for them if their parents were together?’
She lifted her shoulders and looked away. ‘Well, yes, in theory that’s what everyone wants for their children.’ Her shoulders dropped and the corners of her mouth turned down. ‘But life doesn’t always deliver dreams.’
‘Why did you never marry again?’
Colour rose to her cheeks once more and his heart leapt in his chest. He’d thought long and hard about it and he’d come to the conclusion that she must still have feelings for him. ‘You do care for me, Sarah, don’t you?’
She frowned, her expression deeply troubled. ‘I’m fond of you, Ian, of course. But you’re married to Raquel.’
He broke eye contact then and looked at the floor. Raquel. The thorn in his side. And then, as if on cue, the phone rang and Sarah jumped to her feet. ‘I’d better get it, in case it’s the nursing home.’
Ian stood up and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. The battery was dead. Damn! What if the staff had been trying to contact him? His mother was asleep when he’d left, but what if she’d taken a turn for the worse?
Sarah snatched up the phone, listened for a moment and frowned. ‘Yes, he’s here,’ she said rather coolly, then thrust the receiver into his hand.
He took the phone from her hand, as cold dread settled in his stomach.
‘What are you doing over there?’ said a sharp, ill-tempered woman’s voice and, while the dread evaporated instantly, his heart sank. Why did Raquel have to ring now when he and Sarah were having the most important conversation of the last eight years?
‘Raquel,’ he said, and sat down abruptly on the nearest chair. ‘Thank God it’s you. I thought it was the nursing home.’
‘I’ve been home for over half an hour. I tried calling you on your mobile.’
‘You got my message?’ he said, watching Sarah wipe splashes of tomato sauce off the cream tiles behind the cooker. Tiles he’d spent an entire weekend putting up. He’d done a good job and Sarah had been so thrilled.
‘Yes, but you didn’t say where you were going. What are you doing over at Sarah’s?’
‘I’ll explain when I get home.’
‘It had better be good,’ she said meanly and hung up.
Ian sighed. ‘Sorry ’bout that,’ he said apologetically. He put the phone in its cradle and Sarah yawned.
‘Tired?’
She nodded. ‘Late night last night. Work thing.’
‘Well,’ he said, fumbling in his jacket pocket for the car keys. ‘I guess I’d better go. I’ll just pop into the lounge and say goodbye