She stared at him while he said this. It seemed he only ever told her he loved her when perhaps he sensed he was losing her. She felt he was coming back to her, and she to him. This evolution of theirs touched her soul. All this, to end where we started – or to start where we almost ended.
‘But I will say this. If you love him more, and he makes you happier than you think is in you to be with me, then you should be with him. I won’t stand in your way.’ What was he saying? ‘Or . . . if you feel you can forget about him and go on, then I shall forget about him and go on, too.’ He stopped talking to the dog’s ears and met Evelyn’s eyes. If choices were a set of scales, he certainly hoped he had weighted this one in his favour. ‘But I’m not going to try to win you back. I’ve been on similarly futile missions like that with you in the past. Trying to win a part of you that isn’t even available to be won.’ But he knew that if she stayed, he would never stop trying to show her that it had been the right choice.
I want to live two lives, she thought. One with Eddy that’s taken afresh without a history of disappointment. And this one, with nothing more to learn, and all its comfortable headway already made. I love two men, and I’ll probably end up with neither of them, the way I am behaving.
‘As I’ve said, I don’t want to leave. Unless you want me to go.’
They were being exceptionally polite and considerate. One of them ought to have turned it less civilised – and she might have craved that in the past: a rational discussion that would have progressed to the level of fighting baboons. But now she was glad of it.
Mark sat back in the chair and crossed his legs at the knee. His stomach let out a jungle-like growl that even made Harry pep up from the trance he was in from having his ears tickled.
It was 7 p.m. Usually, they would be eating dinner, then watching his favourite television programmes, which she didn’t care for: This Is Your Life, Benny Hill, and Sale of the Century.
She knew this was what he’d be thinking – about their routine. Once again, it awakened the soft spot she had for his foibles.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said. ‘For purely selfish reasons that have nothing to do with how you feel about me.’
She loved the sad truth of it. She loved him for the guilelessness of what he had said. It struck her again that no one knew her like he did, and his knowing her so fully added a vital dimension to her life. Eddy only knew the side of her that she gave him, the one that flourished in his presence. Even though Mark wasn’t romantic, wasn’t perceptive or overly sensitive to her emotions, it worked; their weaknesses and strengths struck a balance that constituted a marriage. Its currency wasn’t how hard their hearts throbbed for one another. It was the small daily revelations and reaffirmations of their quirky, entangled personalities.
‘Then I’ll stay,’ she said.
He really hadn’t thought for a minute that she would love this gardener person enough to want to leave her marriage for him.
But he was very – very – relieved to find that he had been right.
TWENTY-NINE
Alice
I’m just stepping out of my office to go and fill my water glass when I come across Michael standing there, almost loitering, by my door. We practically knock noses.
‘Ah! Michael!’ My flatness, the unflinching absoluteness of my misery, lifts slightly. ‘We didn’t have a meeting today, did we?’ I glance around for Evelyn.
‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m just popping in.’ He looks slightly shifty, and ruffles his hair. ‘I came by two days ago as well, but they said you were taking a few days off.’
‘I had a tummy bug,’ I lie.
‘How are you today, then?’ His concern touches me.
I am usually so good at putting on a smile. ‘I’m . . . coping,’ I tell him. I’m sure he must think I’m a little mad.
He looks at me kindly and says, ‘Well, I hope you feel better very quickly.’
He’s dressed more smartly today, in a black T-shirt and a loose, light-grey jacket. He’s had his hair cut, and must have finally found a stylist who knows how to work with crazy curls. ‘How is Evelyn doing?’ I ask. Then I realise: he’s popped in twice looking for me. ‘I hope she’s well?’
His limpid brown eyes latch on to mine again. ‘She’s fine. She’s been clearing out some things in her flat. She wanted me to give you something.’
He holds out a bulky brown envelope.
‘What is it?’
‘Letters, I think.’ He studies me closely. I know I have dark shadows under my eyes, and that I’m extraordinarily pale. It’s as though he notices this. ‘She told me to say these were what she was looking for the day you talked on the phone.’ He shrugs. ‘If that makes sense.’
‘Really?’ I take the parcel from him. ‘How intriguing. Letters, huh?’
‘We could find out who they’re from if you open them.’
I chuckle. ‘We? They’re meant for me!’
‘My mother brought me up to share.’
‘I bet you’ve read them already!’
‘No!’ His eyes smile into mine. ‘I must admit that on the way over here I was tempted to take a peek, but deep at heart, I’m really not that kind of low-life human being. You know, haven’t got a life yourself, so you steal somebody else’s?’
‘Ha!’
Still smirking, I slip a hand inside the package and pull out a stack of white, letter-sized envelopes tied with string. The top one bears Evelyn’s name and a London address – the address of a magazine. They’re definitely old: well handled, but clearly cherished, too. When I look up, Michael is observing my face, as though he actually couldn’t care less what’s in the package.