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,