off somewhere at a moment’s notice and my sons are almost grown up and busy with their own lives. It is much harder to get together as a family and I miss those times.
Mike’s mobile phone rings suddenly into the silence, making us both jump. He fishes it out of his back pocket and turns in small circles on the grass as he listens. Excitement begins to radiate from him in waves.
I go and lean against the French windows. ‘Yes, I am interested,’ Mike says. ‘It is short notice, but I can make myself available to fly out … No, my contract in Dubai finished last month. I’m on leave … in London …’
He looks up suddenly and makes an astonished face at me.
‘Yes, that figure sounds … reasonable … Okay, thank you. I’ll wait to hear from you …’
Mike gives a whoop, throws his phone on the table and whirls me round. ‘How extraordinary. That was a headhunter. A job has just come up. They’re looking for someone with experience of working for airlines in the Middle East. She wanted to know if I was free for an interview. The salary they are offering is huge, Gabby.’
‘Where?’ I ask, my heart sinking.
‘It may not come to anything, but if it does, honestly, darling … this could be an amazing opportunity …’
‘Stop stalling, Mike, and tell me where it is?’
Mike reluctantly meets my eyes. ‘It’s a small airline called Pakistan Atlantic Airlines. They are recruiting from their head office in Canada, but I would be working out of … Karachi.’
I stare at him. ‘You are joking? With all that’s going on in Afghanistan at the moment? For God’s sake, Mike.’
Mike holds his hands up. ‘I know. I know. There would be safety issues but I wouldn’t think of taking the job unless I was satisfied about my security out there.’ He hesitates. ‘Gabby, I know I promised to spend most of the summer with you and the boys, but opportunities like this don’t come up often, I’d be mad not to explore it …’
I start to move away but Mike catches hold of me. ‘Come on, darling, at the moment it’s just a phone call. Let’s see what happens …’
‘It’s not just the summer, Mike. You told me that you were going to look for jobs nearer to London. You said you wanted to see more of the boys before they left home for good …’
‘I do, but I work for airlines and most of the interesting jobs are abroad. You know that, Gabby, you’re used to me working away from home. It’s not perfect, but it’s worked for both of us over the years. It’s enabled us to travel, take the boys to great places and both do jobs we love …’
The doorbell rings. People are arriving.
‘I’ve had enough of living apart, Mike. Neither of us is young any more. I really believed you were going to start to wind down.’
Mike shoots me a look. He hates being reminded of his age.
‘That’s why, if I was offered this job, I would jump at it, Gabby. This will, undoubtedly, be my last big, prestigious job with an airline. My swansong, if you like. I’d really like my career to end on a high note. Is that so selfish?’
Of course not, this is Mike’s career, his life.
‘Sorry. I’m the one being selfish. Pakistan is a shock, but of course you have to consider it.’
Mike hugs me. ‘Thank you.’
The doorbell rings again and someone shouts irritably through the letterbox, ‘Is there supposed to be a bloody party in there or not?’
I laugh. ‘Go on, Birthday Boy, let people in …’
Mike grins and makes for the door. ‘I’m not going to mention this to anyone, until I know more …’
Mike has asked too many people and they all seem to arrive at once, filling the hall and spilling through the sitting room and out through the French windows into the garden. They are mostly Mike’s friends and colleagues but I have asked two friends from my publishing world, to balance the airline banter.
Emily and Kate arrive together. Emily started as my intern. She now runs foreign rights in the small translation company I set up fifteen years ago. Kate has a literary agency with her husband, Hugh. We all go back a long way and work closely together.
I am hoping Dominique will come. My sister is on a flying visit from Paris and she promised she would try to pop in.
Mike is in his element, catching up with people he hasn’t seen for a while, revelling in airline gossip. It makes me realize how restless he has been the last few days. What was I thinking? Age is never going to dull his ambition, Mike can only relax when he knows what his next job is going to be. Will and Matteo are right; their father is not equipped for downtime at home.
I miss my sons with an abrupt little pang. I wish they could have been here for Mike’s birthday but they are both at uni in Scotland and in the middle of exams. They are secretly proud of their father but they are protective of me and not uncritical of Mike’s long absences. For most of their growing up it has been just the three of us, here in London. Mike working away from home is part of our normal, everyday life.
Mike does the big adventures, plans wonderful holidays. I do the humdrum and the routine, but, inevitably, I am the one at the heart of their lives. The one who was there at the end of the school day and through all the small joys and boring minutiae. I listened to their secrets. I got the gossip and the hugs.
I also get to trip over young, comatose bodies all over this three-storey house when Mike is away. I am the nag who yells at them to turn the music down but I am also the one they both come to when life gets tough, when they are flying with happiness or in hopeless love.
Mike winks at me from the other side of the room and I smile back. He is an effortless host, circulating and making sure everyone’s glass is filled. He can light a room with his energy but he is mercurial and his moods can swing.
Emily, Kate and I are bumping round each other in my crowded kitchen washing plates for Mike’s birthday cake, when Dominique finally arrives.
Mike answers the door and I see them both air kiss in the hall. Mike and Dominique have never got on, but they both try, for me.
I hug my sister. ‘Hi darling.’
‘Hi you,’ she says, smiling. She is wearing a dreary, dark dress that does not suit her. I wonder why. We both have Maman’s sallow colouring and dark colours make us look like Russian peasants. Dominique makes clothes for other people and has always had an instinctive dress sense, usually wearing warm, bright colours.
I carry the birthday cake out to the garden and everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday’. As Mike cuts the cake I can tell from the look on his face that he is bursting to talk about his job offer. I will him not to. If the job does not materialize he will regret mentioning it later.
I look at his tanned, mostly unlined face. It is hard to believe that he is fifty-four today. He doesn’t look it. I sometimes wonder if our marriage works so well because we lead independent lives. We always have a lot to talk about and there is rarely time to bicker. We also like each other, trust each other, because we have to.
