‘Don’t worry,’ Joe said. ‘We’ll just play it by ear. No one’s kicking anyone out. And I can keep you two from each other’s throats if necessary.’
‘I really don’t think it will come to that, Joe,’ I said. ‘Not from my side, anyway.’
‘That was a joke, Heather,’ Joe said. ‘I was joking.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Good.’
After dinner we played snap with the kids, finally putting them to bed about ten thirty. These late siestas were playing havoc with their bedtime rhythms.
‘I might go myself, I’m shattered,’ Joe said, on returning from fetching me a fresh bottle of wine – I’d been getting through it at quite a rate.
‘It’s all the emotion,’ I said, refilling my glass. I was feeling pretty tipsy, and it felt surprisingly good.
‘Yeah, that’s probably what it is,’ Joe said. ‘The emotion.’
‘Is it tough?’ I asked, emboldened by the wine. ‘Are you having a hard time?’
Joe gripped the back of the chair and stared at me. ‘Honestly?’ he asked, mimicking my own reply at lunchtime.
‘Honestly,’ I said.
He glanced back at the house, visibly hesitating, and then pulled out his chair and sat back down. ‘I had a weird moment the other day,’ he said. ‘You know, when you were all out at the pool?’
‘A weird moment,’ I repeated. ‘Go on.’
‘I had a flash of illumination.’ He mimed a lightning bolt from on high with his hand.
‘About your marriage?’
‘Not really,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe a bit. It was more just a sensation, really. Like a feeling that everything needed to change.’
‘Right,’ I said.
‘That sounds weird, I guess.’
‘Not at all,’ I reassured him. ‘I think everyone feels like that all the time, don’t they?’
‘Do they?’ Joe said. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘I’ve been feeling like that since . . . well . . . for ever, really,’ I told him honestly.
‘For ever?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Even before you got married?’ Joe asked. Then, ‘Oh, sorry, I, um, don’t know if this is right, but Amy said you’re . . . er . . .’
‘No, we’re not married,’ I said, interrupting his stumbling. I wondered how Amy knew that. I could only assume Ant had told her.
‘That surprised me,’ Joe said. ‘Was that, you know, a conscious decision or . . . ?’
So I told him how my mother’s death had interrupted our marriage plans.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, once I’d finished.
‘It’s fine,’ I told him. ‘Well, it’s not fine, obviously. I just mean that it was a while back, so . . .’
‘So you’ve managed to get over it.’
‘Yes, as much as you ever can with that sort of thing.’
‘And you never wanted to get married since?’
‘Not really,’ I told him. ‘The whole thing seemed sort of . . . I can’t think of the word . . .’
‘Tainted?’ Joe asked.
‘Yes, that’s exactly it,’ I said, surprised that he’d understood what I was trying to say so quickly. ‘As if the two were somehow linked. And so it just never happened. Marriage had a bit of a bad smell about it after that.’
‘I see,’ Joe said. ‘That’s sad.’
‘Is it?’ I said. ‘I suppose it must be.’
‘Hmm,’ Joe said, sipping at his drink. ‘I wonder what she’s going to say tomorrow.’
‘Are you worried?’ I asked. ‘I mean, of course you’re worried. But you’re confident it will all work out, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Joe said. ‘I feel like . . . I guess . . . Look, I don’t know. I think all I want is for her to be happy, if that makes any sense.’
‘Gosh!’ I said. ‘That’s a generous thing to say. Especially under the circumstances.’
‘It’s just that she’s not, really,’ Joe explained. ‘And it’s been quite hard work living with that – living with the fact that I’m never enough for her, that nothing’s ever enough, you know?’
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘I know that feeling.’
‘So I suppose I’d like her to be happy. One way or another. Either with me, or . . .’ His voice broke a bit as he said that, and his eyes glistened in the moonlight. ‘It’s just Ben, isn’t it? He’s the one we need to worry about.’
‘It sounds like you love them both a lot,’ I said. ‘Ben and Amy.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Joe said without hesitation. ‘I love them both to bits. As far as Amy’s concerned, I couldn’t tell you why, but I do.’
‘Well, that’s got to help,’ I reassured him. ‘That’s a good thing.’
‘D’you think?’ he said. ‘We’ll see.’
I sipped my wine and then turned to watch a bat that had caught my eye as it swooped at the insects gathered around the street lamp.
‘And you?’ Joe asked. ‘Do you still love yours? And, um, don’t feel you have to answer that one. I’m probably being insensitive.’
‘It’s fine,’ I reassured him. ‘I’m drunk. You can ask me anything.’
‘So?’ Joe asked. ‘Do you?’
I shrugged sadly, exaggeratedly. ‘The question isn’t so much do I still love him,’ I said. ‘It’s . . .’
‘Whether you ever loved him at all,’ Joe said, hesitantly finishing the phrase that I was unable to.
‘That’s the one,’ I said, my voice wobbling as a tear welled up in the corner of my eye.
‘I think I’m gonna leave you to your thoughts,’ Joe said, looking embarrassed. He stood and leaned across the table to squeeze my shoulder gently.
‘It’s fine,’ I told him. ‘You’ve got your own stuff to deal with, haven’t you?’
Once he’d gone, I downed the rest of the bottle of wine. It was only then that I let myself cry – at first a self-conscious whimper that seemed almost forced, but which soon morphed into an unstoppable flood of self-pitying tears.
Because I’d wasted my life, hadn’t I? I could see that now. I’d spent my childhood and adolescence worrying about my father and as a result I’d found myself unable to have any kind of healthy relationship with a man. I’d accepted the first person to pursue me with any determination, and now here I was, as drunk as my father, miserable and alone.
The butterfly of excitement had vanished, the glimmer of alternative futures had faded, and now all I seemed to be left with was a series of bleak grey roads to
