came to Dinah’s side. His hand rested on her hip, transmitting the semaphore of partners: time to leave now, wouldn’t you say? I’m ready if you are …
Dinah felt her physical connectedness to him. At that moment he was utterly familiar, solid and intelligible. Her husband. He was her anchor, her compass needle steadily indicating magnetic north. Her signals went back to him: yes, we should go now. Home to our very, very, very nice house on Kendrick Street …
They summoned the boys and said their joint goodbyes. The Kerrigans’ hospitality pursued them out of the front door and into the mild afternoon with offers of sitters and recipes and telephone numbers. As the Stewards walked the few steps across the grass beneath the sugar maple to their own door, Dinah thought that they must look like a neat, bright family in a commercial. For what? Something safe – medical insurance, breakfast cereal, building society? She played with copy lines in her head: one small step, a big jump, how many miles, miles to go before we sleep, dum dum deedum. Then she remembered with a shock that she didn’t do that any more. No more copywriting, no niche of her own. She was Matt’s wife, Jack and Merlin’s mother, this was Franklin, Massachusetts. Not London. Not Sheldon, the village in Hertfordshire where they had lived.
The heat had drained out of the air at last. The end of the summer, and the afternoon was cool with a seductive, resinous breath of autumn.
‘Enjoy yourself?’ Matthew asked her.
‘Yes. Yes, I did. I liked Nancy Pinkham.’
‘Joey Kerrigan’s a schmuck,’ Merlin said.
‘Is he? Why’s that? What does it mean, exactly?’
‘Dad, he just is, I can tell.’
Merlin’s eyesight was better than his brother’s, but the two of them were very alike. Both boys were small for their age, inwardly assertive, externally wary, inquisitive and critical. They were clever, like their father, but as yet without his practised charm. Their hair kinked at the crown in the same way. Their close resemblance and their vulnerability touched Dinah, and made her heart twist with a determination that all should be made well for her children.
The front door banged shut. It had an annoying spring closure that Matthew would have to fix. Packing cases and boxes lined the hallway.
‘Can we get a dog?’ It was Jack who asked, from halfway up the stairs.
‘No,’ Dinah said, and Matthew, simultaneously, ‘I should think so, why not?’
Because a dog is permanent. A dog says this is where we stay. I don’t want that, to be so far away, we’ve talked about it and yet not talked, and Matthew always evades me.
‘Yesss.’ Triumphant Jack punched the air with his fist. ‘Did you hear, Mer? Dad says we can get a dog.’
Only a dog, what difference will it make? We’re here now, with this house, neighbours, school for the boys, Matt’s big job. What did I tell myself, back at the Kerrigans’? That he’s my anchor, my compass needle …
Or not?
‘I’m not walking it. Not once. Not a single bloody step. Nor cleaning up after it. Right?’
Matthew leaned and affectionately kissed Dinah behind the ear.
‘Absolutely right. My lady dog-lover.’ Then he wandered away, picking up a stack of scientific journals from one of the half-emptied boxes.
Dinah walked on into the kitchen. The sun shone into this room. There was a view from the window beyond the pine table all the way up the street to Mr Dershowitz’s. The boys’ footsteps clunked on the uncarpeted boards overhead.
Dinah stood at the window, her hands resting on the sill, looking out at Kendrick Street. Matthew’s work had brought him here, and so naturally she and the boys were with him. And in truth it made no difference, did it, wherever they lived?
Using the familiar strategy, she told herself that she had her husband and two children, the promise of novelty and the possibility of new friendships. There were boxes to be unpacked, and books and pictures and familiar pieces of furniture to be arranged in rooms that would accumulate their memories, given time.
And it might even turn out that Matthew and she were not running away at all. That their paths were parallel, not divergent, not leading away into a future she was unable to decipher.
The academic year turned with the seasons through fall and the long New England winter to spring, at last, and the heat of summer. The pattern and measure of university life as it revolved around Matthew was familiar to each member of the Steward family. Matthew appointed his team and began his ambitious research programme. Work took up much of his time, as it had done in England. The boys settled into their school, accepting or rejecting the various customs of this new place with their usual clarity. It was only Dinah, with no niche of her own beyond the house and the family, who still felt an outsider as the months passed. With an oblique view of herself that somehow did not take account of her good looks or good humour, she envisaged a tall, spare and awkwardly reserved Englishwoman who seemed to move through the unmapped thickets and coverts of Franklin in the wrong camouflage, anxious to blend in for everyone’s sake, but never quite managing to do so.
And then, twelve months after they had bought the house on Kendrick, at the same turning point of the year after the summer vacation but before the fall semester began, there was another party.
The Berkmanns were back from their year abroad, and the Pinkhams were having a barbecue evening to welcome them home. Dinah had offered to help Nancy make some desserts. In the morning she drove to the Stop’n’Shop and prowled the aisles, moving deliberately out of sync with the remorseless muzak that washed over her like nausea. From time to time a disembodied voice thanked her for shopping at Stop’n’Shop and begged her to check out the week’s supersaves. Dinah read the shelf-screamers and placards and found herself thinking of grocery campaigns she had worked on in the past. It seemed very long ago, and distant, and exotic. As she stood at the checkout she wondered if she wore the same drugged look as the other shoppers.
Back home the boys pitched balls outside in the yard while she made lemon tarts and meringues for Nancy.
The house was quiet except for the dog, Ape. Matthew and the boys had chosen a barrel-bodied creature with a rough coat and beady eyes. His toenails clicked on the pine boards as he roamed the house and occasionally his tail thumped meatily against a door. Dinah knew that he stared expectantly at her back as she worked.
‘No,’ she told him without looking round. ‘Go away.’
Her voice cracked the silence. The solitude was oppressive. She looked around; the kitchen was orderly with utensils stacked in the sink and the finished desserts were laid out waiting for the evening. Dinah longed for company, for the solace of talk, with a longing that dried her throat like thirst. But Nancy would be busy with her two little girls and Dee would also be occupied with children. All the children in the neighbourhood flocked to the Kerrigans’, even Jack and Merlin. Dinah knew plenty of other people in Franklin now, but there were none she could count on in just this moment of need.
It was three-thirty.
She could drive over and call in on Matt at the lab. She smiled at the thought of surprising him. It was a while since she had dropped in there. She heard his accounts of how the research was progressing,
