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?’
Perhaps I had gone a bit far with that one – his second wife had been unfaithful, according to Audrey – but what right did he have to stand in my kitchen, berating my indifference? I knew some people would find my reaction odd, but I thought Ethan knew me better.
‘I know exactly what you’re doing. You block out things that are difficult, pretend they’re not happening. It’s what you’ve always done.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘What is it then? Some grand sacrifice for Leo? You love him, but you’re letting him go? Listen to me, Mary. It’s not heroic or noble to do that. It’s the wrong choice. If you want something enough you should carry on fighting for it, even if you get knocked down a thousand times, and no matter the collateral damage. Don’t condemn yourself to a life of loneliness and regret.’
He gazed at me then, and it was as if he’d ripped open that confident jacket, and shown me someone entirely different underneath. I didn’t know what to say, and was spared having to say anything when Leo walked in. He looked from Ethan to me, and back to Ethan.
‘What are you saying to her?’ I had never heard Leo’s tone so sharp.
‘The truth.’ Leo’s head jerked back as if Ethan had struck him on the chin. ‘I told Mary that she needs to fight to keep you.’
‘Do you have a problem with Leo being gay?’ I asked. There had always been tension between these two, but this level of animosity was new.
‘Not in the slightest. I only have a problem with him deciding he’s gay now, years after marrying you.’
‘I haven’t made the decision. I met Clark, and I can’t ignore what I feel for him.’ Leo stared at Ethan. ‘You can’t help who you fall in love with. You should understand that.’
And Ethan, whom I had never before seen lost for words, simply shook his head at Leo and walked out.
The envelope arrived on a cold day in late March during the Easter holidays, landing on the doormat with a thud that I heard from the kitchen, and which seemed to shake the entire house. I didn’t need to open it to know what was inside. I didn’t want to open it and make it real. I left it on the hall table, pulled on a coat, hat, and wellies, and took Dotty for a walk.
The footpaths around the village were quiet as I trudged through the slushy remnants of the snow that had fallen earlier in the week. It was mid-week: work would have deterred some of the usual dog-walkers, the bad weather many of the others. But Owen Ferguson emerged from the front path of a neat stone terrace as I passed, and hesitated, as if deciding whether to force his company on me or to turn in the opposite direction. I smiled and he must have made up his mind, as he fell into step beside me as we headed towards the centre of Stoneybrook.
He was wearing a black beanie hat, very much like one I had bought for Leo a couple of years ago. It suited him. His greyhound was wearing an extraordinary hot pink quilted coat, with a zebra print trim.
‘It wasn’t my choice,’ he said, acknowledging my vain attempt to disguise my surprise. ‘I inherited it.’
‘A dog jacket? That wasn’t a generous legacy. Lucky you had a dog it fits.’
‘I inherited the dog too. It was a complete package.’ He quickened his pace to keep up with me; Dotty was either eager to complete our circuit and get home, or determined to beat a greyhound. ‘My neighbour adopted her from a greyhound rescue charity, but then was diagnosed with a terminal illness. I agreed to take on Lucilla.’
‘Lucilla?’ I tried not to laugh: it was a perfect name for the aloof animal, but I couldn’t imagine Owen calling for her in the park.
‘She won’t answer to anything else. Or wear any other coat.’
‘What colour did you want her to wear? Navy blue like the Broadholme uniform?’
He grimaced. ‘Anything but that. Are your children not with you for the holiday?’
‘Ava’s at Pony Club, and Jonas is revising with a friend,’ I said. ‘Do you have children?’
‘Two boys. They live with my ex-wife in Scotland. I’ll have them next week.’
It occurred to me, then, that I had misunderstood Owen’s question. He hadn’t meant were Jonas and Ava with me today; he had meant were they living with me this week. It was the question of a divorced parent – from one to another. It didn’t matter whether I’d opened the envelope or not. I was one of them now.
‘I think someone’s trying to get your attention,’ Owen said, and gestured towards the semi we were passing. Daisy was standing in the front window, banging on the glass and then beckoning inside with both arms.
‘It’s Daisy. Mrs Flood,’ I added, in case he needed her parents’ evening name to place her. ‘I’d better see what she wants. Enjoy the rest of your walk. And enjoy next week with your boys if I don’t see you before then.’
‘I will.’ The words were heartfelt, and his face transformed at the mention of his children, in the same way that Leo’s did. I pulled Dotty back down the street and walked up Daisy’s front path. Daisy opened the door before I was halfway there.
‘I need your tongue!’ she cried, in a voice of loud melodrama that must have carried as far as Owen, as he turned and looked back at us before walking on. ‘Mine’s exhausted, and I still have over two hundred envelopes to lick.’
Daisy and I had been friends for years, since our daughters had started in Reception class at Broadholme at the same time. She had a part-time job working as an admin assistant for our local MP, who spent a lot of money on printing leaflets saying how fabulous he was, leaving him with no money left for self-seal envelopes. It was a thankless job – quite literally, as I had seen for myself that the MP barely knew Daisy’s name – and it paid a pittance, but she needed every penny. Her ex-husband had backed her into a financial corner, offering to pay for their daughter to stay on at Broadholme only if Daisy accepted a meagre maintenance payment for herself. I was lucky, by contrast; something I tried to convince myself every day.
‘What’s all this in aid of?’ I asked, picking up one of the leaflets that lay in a pile on Daisy’s dining table. ‘The general election is over a year away. I hope he isn’t going to bombard us from now until then.’
‘Of course he is. We’re a marginal seat. This is his new idea. He’s going to send out a newsletter every two months to remind the voters about how much he does.’ I made a mental note to
