‘Who suggested that?’ Eloise couldn’t stop herself.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Don’t patronise me!
At the adjacent table the husband was now finishing off his wife’s neglected lunch. She was far too distracted to eat.
‘Okay. He did.’
‘And it went from there?’
‘Yes.’
‘And at no point did you think to stop it?’
‘Of course we did.’
‘But you didn’t.
‘No. Obviously we didn’t, or you and I wouldn’t be here now, would we?’
Eloise felt the venomous buzz of jealousy creep through her veins. She recognised it immediately, the same fiery concoction of anger and hurt that had pumped through her body after she’d first found out about Jonathan’s betrayal. She refused to let it infect her again. Instead she took a deep breath and poured herself some more coffee. She took another bite of her sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed. Took another bite. Hell, she might even order a slice of cake – the red velvet had looked tempting. Anything to regain control of the situation and the conversation.
‘These are really good. You should try one.’ The negative emotions stirred up by Megan percolated their way slowly through Eloise’s system. She let them. The breakdown of her marriage had strengthened her, made her far more emotionally resilient. It had forced her to take ownership of her own happiness and well-being. And she had done that, very successfully. Jonathan’s death must not be allowed to undo all the effort she had put into rebuilding herself. She would not let it. Within a few minutes she was back in control, nothing but blood and caffeine flowing through her heart.
Not so Megan. When Eloise really looked at her, she saw that she was truly heartbroken.
Again Eloise was surprised to feel a spurt of sympathy for her old rival. Losing Jonathan when he was still the love of her life must have been so hard for Megan to bear. Nursing him through his illness, awful. Doing it largely on your own, frightening. And watching him die – that didn’t bear thinking about. No, Eloise no longer envied Megan. She was doomed to grieve for months, if not years, to come. Eloise was not.
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and flashed a broad smile at the nosy woman at the next table, who looked flustered and announced, to her silent husband, that it really was time they made a move – as if he’d been the one dallying. Eloise decided that if she really was committed to ridding her system fully of her anger with Megan, then it was best to do it all at once.
‘I used to hate you, you know.’
Mrs Nosy Parker hesitated and pretended to struggle with the zip of her red puffer jacket, snared by this last tasty morsel.
Megan blinked. ‘“Hate” is a strong word.’
‘You did have an affair with my husband. You did get him to lie to my face for months. And, in the end, you did win. He chose you over me. I think that’s valid grounds for at least a little animosity.’ Megan looked down. ‘But being back at the house reminded me of something I’d rather too conveniently forgotten.’
‘What? Just how much you detest me?’ Megan asked.
‘No. Well, yes, at first. But then I realised something.’
‘What?’
‘I remembered that I wanted to leave long before you came on the scene.’ It was true. Megan had undoubtedly been the catalyst, but if Eloise and Jonathan had been stronger, perhaps they would have survived. Other couples did. They used the momentum of an affair to make changes, to purify their relationship of old habits and pretences. Eloise had not had the stomach, or the emotional generosity, for that. Perhaps she should be grateful. Without Megan, she would not have escaped from Scarborough and the house, and her escalating sense of isolation and purposelessness. Nor would she have ‘avoided’ Jonathan’s awful demise. ‘The truth is… I’m happier now than I was when I was with Jonathan. I think that’s what lets you off the hook. If I’d been miserable, it would be different. But, in the long run, I think you did me a favour. You and Jonathan getting together forced the issue. I had to leave to regain my self-worth and, once I’d gone, I realised I was okay on my own. In fact I was better than okay. I was good.’
Megan finally took a sip of her coffee and absent-mindedly picked at a sandwich. The woman really was going to waste away if she didn’t start eating something. The coffee was cold – Eloise couldn’t bear to watch Megan drink it. She asked one of the waitresses to bring a fresh pot. They sat in silence until it arrived, digesting their conversation.
Disappointed perhaps by the tame denouement, the nosy woman and her husband finally shuffled away. It was Megan who broke the silence. ‘Do you think it was a punishment?’
‘What?’
‘His illness?’
Christ, she really had had the stuffing knocked out of her. ‘No, of course not! It was just shitty bad luck. For him – and for you. If I’m being generous, which for some reason I feel inclined to be – possibly to offset the rather appalling behaviour of my children – you seem to have coped with it far better than I would have done.’ Eloise poured them both a fresh cup. ‘I wouldn’t have had the patience. I think motherhood used up what reserves of self-sacrifice I had.’ The fresh coffee was good, hot and strong. ‘I can’t imagine Jonathan was a very good patient. He must have been very frustrated by it all.’
Loyal to the bitter end, and beyond, Megan refused to criticise him. ‘He struggled, but who
