Kate Field - The Man I Fell In Love With

‘Are you furious, Mary? Will you ever forgive him?’

I sipped my gin while I thought what I could say.

‘I’m not furious.’ I stopped. How did I explain this to Leo’s mum? I couldn’t forget Leo’s description of his feelings for Clark. He had been right. We had never shared that. Our friendship was deep and precious, and sex had been exciting at first, when we had been hormonal teenagers, new to the act, but that had faded long ago. Our relationship had been contented, companionable, steady – safe. It was exactly what I had chosen. But if Leo had now discovered there was something more, how could I begrudge him his choice?

‘He said he didn’t go out looking for this, and I believe him,’ I continued. ‘He fell in love. I’m not sure it’s possible to prevent that, is it?’

‘No. Although sometimes it’s not always possible to have the love you want.’ I assumed she was referring to her loss of Bill, and reached out to take her hand, but she shook her head. ‘Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. There are other people to consider.’

‘What good would it do to force him to stay for Jonas and Ava? They won’t benefit from an unhappy father. That’s not what you want for Leo, is it?’

Audrey sighed.

‘This isn’t what I wanted for any of you. You know that, my darling, don’t you? You’ve always been as good as a daughter to us. If I had known it would end this way …’

‘How could you have known? This has taken us all by surprise, probably even Leo.’ I perched on the arm of Audrey’s chair. This had shaken her more than I had expected; there was no sign of her usual effervescent self. ‘You realise that this won’t change anything between us, don’t you? You can’t get rid of me. I’m going to be coming around here as much as I always have, drinking your tea and eating your biscuits. Although it may be more gin than tea for a while,’ I added, finishing my glass.

‘I’ll buy a few more bottles. In fact,’ Audrey said, finally flashing a smile, ‘I can ask Ethan to pick some up for us in duty free. Have you heard that he’s coming back?’

‘No.’ Leo hadn’t mentioned it; he rarely mentioned Ethan at all. ‘When will he be here?’

‘He’s flying back tonight. His Christmas plans fell through so he’s decided to come home. Isn’t it the most marvellous news? Ethan is exactly what we all need to perk us up.’

It was obvious that something was wrong with Ava as soon as I saw her emerge through the gate at the stables, jodhpurs stained in muck, boots filthy, grooming kit dangling forlornly from her hand. The teenager who had stalked through the gates with self-conscious confidence this morning had shrunk to a child with a bowed head, pink nose, and staring eyes that were defiantly holding back tears.

‘What’s the matter?’ I met her halfway across the car park, anticipating tales of injury and an emergency trip to the doctor.

‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

I wasn’t falling for that.

‘No, you’re not. What’s happened?’

‘Nothing. Just drop it, okay?’

‘It clearly isn’t okay. Have you hurt yourself? Have you fallen off?’

‘No. I’m not a baby. I can ride a horse without falling off.’

She was busy giving me the teenage glare when one of the girls from her year at school sauntered into the car park, and smirked in our direction. I hustled Ava away and into the car.

‘Has Jemima upset you?’

‘No.’ Ava took off her hat and puffed up her flattened hair. I waited, refusing to switch on the engine until I’d heard more. Ava broke first. ‘She said something about Dad. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Said what about Dad?’

For once, I must have stumbled on the magic tone of voice that compels teenagers to obey.

‘About how horrible we must be if he’s had to turn gay to get away from us …’

My heart was torn between sympathy and indignation. I grabbed the door handle.

‘Come on. We’re going to set her straight on a few things.’

‘No!’ Ava held onto my arm so I couldn’t leave the car. ‘Don’t make a scene. Everyone at school will hear about it. Please!’

I let go of the handle, and watched as Jemima rode past in the front seat of a top-of-the-range Mercedes. I was no more keen on a public scene than Ava, but it was galling to let her get away with such vile comments, especially when I suspected there was more Ava wasn’t telling me.

Ava sat in silence, twisting her whip in her hand, not looking at me.

‘You know it’s not true, don’t you?’ I asked. ‘Whatever she said. It’s prejudiced and small-minded and ignorant. Dad doesn’t think like that. He loves us.’

‘Is he really leaving?’ There was a thinly disguised wobble in Ava’s voice.

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t want him to go.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Then can’t you stop him?’

And there was my little girl, trusting eyes turned on me, expecting that I could sort out the problem, and somehow repair the rift that Leo had created in the family. Could I? Should I? It was an impossible situation. I couldn’t see any way that I could make both Leo and the children happy; no way that everyone could have what they wanted. How could I insist to the children that they should never settle for second best – that they were marvellous people and could have whatever they wanted – and then prevent Leo leading by example?

‘I think we have to let Dad do whatever will make him happy,’ I said. ‘You’ll still see him as much as you want.’

‘No, I won’t. He won’t be there when I go to bed, and he won’t be there when I wake up.’

She was right; and how much worse would it be for me, going to sleep and waking up with an empty expanse of bed at my side, beginning and ending each day with the reminder that I had failed? That despite everything I had done, every instinct I had suppressed, every burst of temper I had stamped down, every ambition I had given up, it hadn’t been enough? That in the end, my genes had caught up with me, and delivered the fate I had been determined to avoid since my mother had driven away my dad?

It turned out that I’d been wrong, on that day when the Blacks moved next door all those years ago, to think that my loneliness was over. It had been a reprieve, that was all. Leo moved into the spare bedroom that night; he thought it was appropriate now the children knew, less of a mixed message for them. We’d had occasional nights apart before, but he had never seemed so far away as he did now he was on the other side of the internal wall. I could still hear his snores, but only faintly; couldn’t hear the funny snuffle he made, half snore, half sigh, when he was deeply dreaming. Usually I would stretch out, glory in all the extra space. But today the bed felt hard and cold and just plain wrong – a pretty accurate reflection of my whole life right now.

Sunday lunch was traditionally a big affair in our house: three generations, three courses, and sometimes three bottles. It was a chore – Leo was useless in the kitchen, and left me to do it all – but the reward was seeing all my family gathered close, reinforcing our bond, however bumpy the previous week had been. There was no Sunday lunch this weekend. Some bumps were too high to smooth away with a roast chicken and chocolate sponge. Leo had gone to pick up his brother Ethan from Manchester Airport, which we all accepted as the excuse for the abandoned lunch.

With time weighing on my hands, I decided to take the dog for a walk, despite the freezing December temperatures and the mist hanging so low it cocooned my head like a balaclava. Dotty was officially Ava’s dog, a gloriously mad goldendoodle that we had travelled to South Wales to buy for her tenth birthday; but since her obsession with dogs had become an obsession with horses barely six months after Dotty’s arrival, it was generally me who had to look after her.