‘That I’m not unhappy with my life.’ I plonk her empty glass down.
Sally studies me, and her face suddenly changes. ‘I am unhappy with my life.’
I stare at her, unmoving. ‘Say again?’
‘I said, I am unhappy with my life. Very unhappy with it, actually.’ She looks down into her lap, briefly, before giving me a pleasureless smile. ‘Or, I should say, with aspects of my life. But this particular aspect happens to be a big one. In fact, I think we need another drink.’ She lands the barman’s attention and orders us another round.
‘What aspect are we talking about, exactly?’
‘Exactly? John.’
‘John?’ I was sure she was going to say work. The anti-social hours. The endless client dramas. It’s a regular lament.
‘I’m going through a phase. For a while now.’
A crowd of punters arrives at the bar, so we have to crush up. ‘What kind of phase?’
‘A “have we run our course?” phase. I thought it would pass if I never mentioned it. I thought that mentioning it would somehow make it self-fulfilling. But it happened again right before your wedding. I got that horrible feeling that your life with Justin was just beginning, and mine with John was somehow over.’
‘What?’ I could not be more astonished. ‘But you never said!’
‘Naturally, I didn’t want to say anything ugly and pessimistic about marriage to an upcoming bride. Then, after your honeymoon, well, Justin disappearing tended to eclipse the fact that my marriage has lost its sparkle.’ Sally looks across the room, disconsolate again, for a second or two. ‘I feel I’ve known him for so many years, Alice. And that’s because, well, I have. It’s been practically all of my adult life! He’s the only man I’ve ever slept with, and I love him with my whole heart, but I love him like I’d love my brother. And I don’t want to have sex with my brother. I don’t even want to kiss my brother. Frankly, I don’t want my brother curled up on the sofa with me watching telly every night. To be honest, I just want rid of my brother. That’s all.’
I have never heard her speak like this. I can barely keep disbelief off my face.
‘But how can I have known you all this time and not heard this before?’
‘Because I’ve felt bad about even thinking it. I suppose I haven’t wanted to be the person I’m finding out I am – if that makes sense. I’ve longed to be satisfied with a warm, true love with my first boyfriend that lasts forever. But it’s not real. At least, not for me. Our marriage is a smokescreen. It has been for a long time.’
‘But you have your precious girls . . .’
‘Of course. And we’ve had some very happy years. John is a truly lovely man, and I wish we could be one of those couples who reach their golden anniversary knowing they never wanted anything different. But I think, if we’re all being honest, many of us probably recognise that our relationships have a lifespan. Some of us push through that because we’re afraid of the alternative. But I’m not actually sure if I’m afraid. I think there might be someone else out there.’
‘You’re talking like it’s over.’ Of all my married friends, Sally and John are the ones I’d be least likely to imagine splitting up.
‘I think it probably is. It’s over in here.’ She prods her chest.
‘God! Does he know? Does he feel the same?’
‘Yes, I imagine he does. He’s not an idiot. Every night, when we sit there watching telly, I’m sure it’s going through his head too: that we’re in a dying relationship. But neither of us is going to be the first to say it. Because once it’s voiced, something will have to be done about it. And maybe we’re only just starting to see that the time might be nearly upon us. I think we’ve tried to make it work for the girls, but they’re nearly grown up now. We can’t use them as our excuse much longer. Alice, we’re nearly empty-nesters, and we’re both only in our thirties! It’s mad! I look at my daughters and I envy them, because I just wish I had that same, fresh, looking-forward feeling – like life is all ahead of me, rather than behind me.’
‘But you’re always so physical with each other!’ I remember Justin saying that couples who were forever molesting each other in public usually were the ones in crisis. I had thought that was very cynical.
‘It was an act,’ she says. ‘Probably for each other, rather than for other people, though.’
We sip our new drinks, with this thing out there now: Sally’s secret sadness.
‘I think I just want to be given my freedom. I want to go out and flirt and not feel bad about it. I want to imagine what sex might be like with someone I find attractive, and maybe even get to experience it. I think I want to feel like I’m with someone I’m not stuck with. If that makes sense.’
I’m reminded of what Eddy told Evelyn about my mother. How he loved her, but how we change. ‘Do you suppose anybody is happy with their life, Sally? I mean, really and truly happy with everything?’
She runs a finger around the base of her brandy glass. ‘Of course. Millions. We just don’t know any of them.’
FORTY
‘How is that orange tasting, Eddy?’ Michael hands him the last segment.
‘It’s very juicy,’ Eddy says, enthusiastically. ‘But – ooh! – it tingles in my jaw.’ He touches near his ear.
Evelyn and I smile. We’ve come into the conservatory to enjoy the sun and the view of the garden. It’s the first time I’ve realised that we have the same aquiline nose. I have his skin, too; we both tan easily. I am lean through my hips, with long legs, like my dad.
This is why he looked familiar. On seeing him, I was seeing myself.
‘Good morning, Julian,’ Evelyn says to an elderly man who walks slowly past us, dragging an oxygen tank.
‘He always likes his game of golf,’ Eddy says, following Julian with his gaze. Michael has just removed the towel he’d tucked down Eddy’s shirt before he started eating.