Kate Field - The Man I Fell In Love With

We had been home for a couple of hours before Leo called back, and then, at least, he drove straight over. Audrey had fallen asleep, lying on the sofa in front of the television, worn out by the drama of the day and the drugs given to her by the hospital.

‘Where have you been?’ I hissed at Leo, as he hovered in the doorway, looking at Audrey. The irony wasn’t lost on me, that I sounded more like a jealous wife than at any time during our marriage.

‘I had no university work today, and Clark took the day off, so we …’

I held up my hand; I didn’t want to hear what they had been up to.

‘Didn’t you have your phone? What if there had been an emergency with the children?’

He had the grace to look guilty, but I was too highly wound today to let it go.

‘You can’t cut us off completely, Leo. You’ve only loosened the strings, not untied them. You still have a family, and sometimes we need you.’

‘I appreciate that. I’m not trying to cut you off. When I made plans with Clark, I couldn’t have known there would be an emergency today.’

‘There could be an emergency any day. That’s the point. They’re unscheduled. You need to keep your phone on when you’re not teaching, or at least check your messages occasionally. If you’re so keen not to be disturbed, I promise I’ll only ever ring if it’s a matter of life or death.’

‘Life, death, or literature.’ He smiled, trying to make amends by resurrecting an old joke we had shared, but I wasn’t ready to soften yet.

‘Audrey needed you, Leo. She wanted to see you. The fall has shaken her more than you realise. I had no trouble contacting Ethan, and he’s on a different continent and time zone.’

‘Ethan?’ Audrey snuffled and stirred as Leo raised his voice. ‘When did you speak to Ethan?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Do you often ring him?’

‘No. Why would I?’ I sat down, across the room from Leo, confused by the look he was giving me and the sudden interrogation. ‘I don’t even have his number. I called him because Audrey asked me to. What’s the problem?’

‘There isn’t one.’ Leo sat down next to me. His hair was soft and fluffy, as if he’d recently had a shower, but there was no smell of Johnson’s baby shampoo. Instead, when I leaned closer, pretending to adjust the cushion behind me, I was struck by an exotic aroma that made me think of expensive hotels – not that I had much experience of those. ‘But you’re clearly wound up,’ Leo continued. ‘I hope he hasn’t said anything to aggravate or upset you. At least you won’t have to see him again. Don’t they say that one of the greatest advantages of divorce is being able to drop the in-laws?’

I wouldn’t blame him if Leo thought that: I’d often be happy to drop my mother, preferably from a great height. But while I had rarely seen Ethan over the years of our marriage, it was painful to think that rarely might turn to never. Our connection went beyond my marriage; Ethan had been a good friend, an integral part of my growing up, as essential as Leo, in a different way. We had been in the same year at school, and had almost gone to the same university until Leo had proposed when he graduated from Oxford and persuaded me to change to Manchester so we could stay close together.

‘Ethan’s not the problem,’ I muttered, but Leo was watching Audrey and didn’t appear to be listening.

‘Don’t worry about Ethan,’ he said, patting my hand as if I were his maiden aunt. ‘I’ll speak to him and make sure he leaves you alone.’

Audrey was a terrible patient, every bit as bad as I expected: not because she was demanding, but because she refused to make any demands. I had to go round earlier and earlier each morning to try to catch her before she attempted to dress herself; if it carried on, there would barely be a gap between putting her to bed and getting her up.

Leo came over on the Friday afternoon following Audrey’s accident, and worked in the study so that I could have the afternoon off to visit a couple of bookshops. I had compiled a list of shops within a thirty-mile radius, and intended to visit them all over the coming weeks to see if any would be interested in an author event with Leo to promote the Alice Hornby biography. My enthusiasm was trampled when the first shop turned me away almost immediately, but the owner of the second shop agreed to attend the Foxwood Farm event the following weekend and meet Leo before deciding whether to invite him to hold a signing. Now I had to hope that Leo rose to the occasion.

Neither of the children would agree to come to the Foxwood Farm Lancashire Evening, and as I still wasn’t used to appearing anywhere on my own, I invited Daisy to join me. The rain of the morning had finally broken to reveal a dazzling blue sky, and the temperature had risen from coat to cardigan warmth, so I walked through the village to collect Daisy at her house. She opened the front door before I was halfway up the path, and quickly pulled it shut behind her.

‘You can’t come in,’ she said, dispensing with the customary ‘hello’ and starting up the path with her bag in tow. ‘The house is a tip. Chloe is at her dad’s this weekend, so I’m having a sneaky sort out of all the old clothes and toys that she’d never let me throw away if she was here.’

‘You should have said. I would have offered to help.’

‘I know you would.’ Daisy followed me through the gate and left it swinging at a forlorn angle. I went back and closed it. ‘But I only really wanted to clear out a few things. You’d have blitzed the house like a military operation. You’d have shot me at point blank range for suggesting something had sentimental value.’

‘That’s unfair. I would have tried diplomatic negotiation first.’ I smiled, but Daisy’s words stung. The ‘efficient and capable’ label was so firmly sewn onto the back of my neck that I couldn’t imagine the world held a pair of scissors sharp enough to cut it out.

Foxwood Farm was situated at the southern edge of the village, a pleasant stroll away in the spring sunshine. The farm was looking magnificent, decorated for the event with flags and bunting showing the red rose of Lancashire. It was too early in the year for real roses, but tubs and flowerbeds filled the farmyard and pansies, tulips, and azaleas danced in a brilliant display of colour. As the weather had turned fair, the cobbled courtyard outside the main barn where the event was taking place had been scattered with bales of hay covered in furry sheepskin rugs to make benches, and old crates covered in crisp white cloths provided makeshift tables. Large braziers stood around the edge of the area, already flickering with flames that would light up the area as darkness crept in. Although we were on time – being efficient and capable, I was never wilfully late – a decent crowd was already milling around in the evening sunshine, colouring the air with conversation and laughter. I reached out and grasped Daisy’s arm, sent off-balance by an unexpected shot of loneliness.

‘Let’s get a drink,’ Daisy said, and dragged me inside. It was quieter here, apart from a small group gathered in front of a table that was set out as a bar. There was an impressive display of Lancashire drinks: real ale with weird and wonderful names from a micro-brewery a few miles away; sloe gin and blueberry vodka from a farm in a nearby village; and a delicious selection of soft drinks from Fitzgerald’s, the famous temperance bar. I picked up a glass of wine.

‘That’s French.’ Daisy pointed disapprovingly at my glass. She had chosen a pint of beer, an incongruous sight in her dainty hands, but she carried it off; she was one of those naturally pretty women who could carry off anything. Beside her petite blonde figure, I looked like the Grim Reaper’s warm-up act. If we weren’t such friends I would never have stood within ten feet of her. ‘You’re not being loyal to the spirit of the evening.’