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.’
