Gabby doesn’t remember laughing this much, nor feeling this comfortable, in years. She and Julian are tucked into the corner of a tiny and cosy pub, the like of which she didn’t think even existed in this country, while a fire blazes and they sit and talk. They are drinking pints and half pints of lager, because Julian refuses to let her drink anything else in a pub.
For dinner they ate bangers and mash, and toad-in-the-hole, Julian expressing concern that there was no steak and kidney pie. The waitress, from Birmingham, grabbed the chef (from Guildford, naturally), who said he’ll absolutely put it on the menu, and if they come back the following week, they’ll have steak and kidney pie.
They order spotted dick and treacle tart for dessert, and Gabby, who is not the slightest bit interested in portraying herself as a waif-like creature who doesn’t actually eat anything, is quite sure she’ll have no trouble cleaning her plate.
‘So,’ Julian leans back against the banquette. ‘Your husband. Seems like a good guy. Not wankerish in the slightest.’
‘He isn’t. He is a good guy. He really didn’t deserve the way I treated him.’
‘We all fuck up,’ Julian says simply. ‘Men find it harder to get over. Lack of support systems, Neanderthal mentality, blah blah blah. You’ve heard it all before, and it’s all true. But I realize, going through it myself, that there’s another factor. I think women are more detached from the ending of a marriage; they see it as the marriage having failed, whereas men see it as a personal failure.’
‘You see the end of your marriage as a personal failure?’
Julian nods, sadly. ‘If I had been a better husband, had been home more, been more engaged, more present, I truly don’t believe this would have happened. I don’t believe Stacy would have looked to someone else to provide her with what I wasn’t.’
‘I’m not sure that that’s true,’ Gabby says. ‘Elliott was an amazing husband. I honestly can’t say he was at fault, but when temptation presented itself, I was … I don’t know, powerless. It was like something came over me and all reasonable and rational thought went out through the window. I threw everything away for nothing.’
‘So there was absolutely no tension between you? No resentments? Nothing?’
Gabby thinks about Elliott’s vasectomy, knowing that was the moment a part of her shut down, a part of her felt their relationship would never be the same again because she would never be able to forgive him for making such a momentous decision without her agreement, one that impacted her so hugely.
‘There were,’ she says quietly. ‘I think there usually are. Ooh goody. Dessert.’ She is grateful for the distraction that allows her to change the subject. The waitress puts enormous plates of treacle tart and spotted dick in front of them, with a jug of custard on the side.
‘Mmmm!’ Gabby moans in delight. ‘You know what I’ve never seen anywhere since I was a child? Do you remember those huge trays of chocolate cake? The school dinner ladies would cut them into massive squares and pour over this gloopy chocolate sauce. It was disgusting, but I’ve never seen it since.’
‘I loved that pudding! That was my favourite!’ Julian says, knocking Gabby’s spoon out of the way to attack her treacle tart, both of them bursting into laughter.
It has been a glorious evening. When Julian stops by his house to grab a book he wants Gabby to read about an uncomplicated divorce, she steps out of the car, curious to see how he lives, intrigued by this man who feels like someone she has known for ever.
He is handsome, and clever, and fun, and funny. He feels exactly as she imagines a brother to feel; it is like those friendships she had, lifetimes ago, with men just like him, when they were all young and single in London.
She hasn’t thought of him in a romantic context, only to recognize that he has all the qualities she would be looking for, if she were looking, which she isn’t.
When she feels his hands on her waist in the kitchen, she jumps in surprise, turning to tell him she doesn’t think this is such a good idea, but before she has a chance to say anything he is kissing her, and it is so lovely to be held in someone’s arms, so lovely to be kissed in just the way she remembers the English boys kissing – softer, more gentle, anticipation building with desire – that she relaxes, seconds later snaking her hands into his hair, gasping as an unexpected wave of desire sweeps over her.
When they finally pull away, Julian leans his forehead on hers and smiles into her eyes. ‘Can we go somewhere more comfortable?’
He leads her by the hand into his bedroom, where they fall on the bed, laughing, playfully teasing each other before the kissing starts again, swiftly moving into unknown territory.
Julian’s hands start to unbutton her shirt, but she stops him, suddenly horrified, because she is lactating and this wouldn’t be right.
His hand moves down, stroking her urgently between her legs, through the fabric of her trousers, before moving up to undo the button, only for Gabby to move his hand gently away.
‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ she whispers. ‘I just had a baby. I don’t know that this is … right.’
She waits anxiously for him to ask why she came into his house with him, in that case; she knows there is nothing to say, knows he will think her ridiculous if she
tells him she just wants to cuddle, wants to be held, wants to feel loved.
He isn’t angry, or belligerent. He strokes her face and kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. ‘Will you stay?’ he asks, and this time she knows it isn’t because he expects them to have sex all night, but because he needs from her exactly the same thing she needs from him: affection, warmth, an embrace.
She texts home to let her mother know she will be out, and borrows a big, soft, old T-shirt and thick climbing socks from Julian. They brush their teeth, standing side by side over a tiny sink, Gabby turning to him and talking, her mouth filled with toothpaste foam that spits everywhere. His incredulous expression gives way to laughter, and soon they are having a competition to create the most toothpaste foam, both collapsing with giggles at their child-like behaviour, each egging the other on.
Gabby hasn’t felt this young, this carefree, in years. In bed, Julian holds out his arms for Gabby to snuggle in, the pair of them falling asleep wrapped up together, sex the very last thing on each of their minds.
Gabby wakes up first. Disoriented for a few seconds, she lies still, letting her eyes adjust to the light, remembering why the bathroom door isn’t where she expected it to be. Turning her head she sees Julian, eyes closed, mouth open, still fast asleep. She smiles to herself, fighting the urge to stroke his cheek and kiss him.
Not that she feels a burning sexual attraction for him. She doesn’t fancy him, but she may love him. Not as she loved Elliott, but as a friend. She undoubtedly feels an enormous affection for him, greater now, since he didn’t push for anything more than she was able to give.
Could
I fall in love with him? Why
aren’t
I looking at him and wanting to rip his clothes off ?
Objectively, he is gorgeous. He is exactly the sort of man she should be with, and it doesn’t make sense that she doesn’t want more from him.
Perhaps, she thinks, this is, or could be, a different kind of love. A saner kind of love. There’s no question that they fit together. She has had great love with Elliott, and she had, however misguided, great passion with Matt, even though that is increasingly hard for her to believe, now that the rose-coloured shades have fallen from her eyes.
Perhaps this third attempt could be a different kind of love. Comfort. Comfort can be love, familiarity can become love. Yes, she tells herself. Comfort is good; comfort is
comfortable
.
And who is she to expect anything more, when she has already experienced more than one woman has a right to? How lucky she is that at this stage in the game, with two children almost grown and a newborn baby, she has met a man with whom she has so much in common, a man with whom she can see herself, a man who isn’t fazed by all the drama in her life.
Climbing out of bed she grabs a robe off the back of the bathroom door and goes downstairs to make breakfast. The fridge is almost empty, but there are eggs, and milk, and – oh thank you, God! – PG Tips in the drawer. In the freezer she finds pork sausages, and she is busy cooking when she hears the creak of the stairs.
She turns and grins, with no awkwardness, no morning-after-the-night-before gracelessness, for they are both adults. Would it have been different had they had sex? Gabby doubts it. She feels as if she has known him for ever.
Julian hugs her, before trying to help himself to one of the sausages, but she bats his hand out of the way.
‘God, this is nice,’ he says. ‘I could get used to this.’
‘Don’t get too used to it,’ Gabby replies. ‘I can’t actually believe I left Henry for an entire night. I know he sleeps through now, and my mother is more than capable with him, but it still feels strange. I’m going to have to run home.’
‘Are you leaking?’
‘No, because I carry a small pump, and he has a fridge full of pumped milk, but I miss him. I need to go straight after breakfast.’
They sit down and eat, idly chatting and flicking through the papers on the table, before Gabby gets up to leave.
‘You realize my mother’ll think I’m a dirty stop-out,’ she says.
‘You are.’
‘Not that dirty.’ She laughs.
‘Not yet.’ He takes her in his arms and kisses her. ‘Thank you. This is the most fun I’ve had in years. I’ll call you later.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ she says, for it does.
Normally Elliott wouldn’t just drop in to anyone’s house, but given that he lived with Claire and Tim for all that time after leaving Gabby, he thinks of it as a second home, and knows they won’t mind if he calls in, uninvited.
Tim’s car is missing, but Claire is home. Elliott rings the back doorbell, despite knowing the door is open, and waits for Claire to come and answer.
She walks through the kitchen with Isabella on her hip, and gives Elliott a big hug.
‘What a lovely surprise! I was just dying of boredom upstairs while Isabella played on her mat. God, Elliott. She’s completely gorgeous and wonderful, but I’d forgotten the hours and hours of interminable tedium when you have a small baby.’
Elliott laughs. ‘She’s got so big!’ He doesn’t hold out his arms, though, just tickles her chin as she watches him carefully, her big blue eyes fixed on his. ‘She’s just beautiful, Claire.’
‘I know. I think so too but I’m ever so slightly biased. It’s just me here, I’m afraid, but will you come in?’
Elliott walks in and sits on his usual stool in his usual spot at the kitchen island, while Claire puts Isabella in a
bouncing chair, where she happily gurgles, grabbing hold of the plastic toys on a rail in front of her.
‘So what’s up?’ Claire asks, pulling up a stool. ‘Actually, I know what’s up. I spoke to Trish on the phone and she told me the news.’
‘How did she sound?’
‘I think she’s fine. She’s sad, but she’s clear that you’re not ready to be in a serious relationship, and at this stage in her life she doesn’t see the point of anything unless it’s a serious relationship. She also said you were clearly still in love with Gabby.’
There is a silence.
‘So … do you want to talk about it?’
And, as before, on many occasions, Elliott finds that with Claire he can let go, he can abandon the struggle to hold it all in, to keep it together, to present a stoic face to the world. Finally Elliott crumbles.
Claire reaches forward and puts her arms round him, holding him as he cries, rubbing his back, letting go only when he has finished, when she gets up for the box of Kleenex on the other side of the kitchen.
‘You’re still in love with Gabby,’ Claire says, a statement rather than a question. ‘And you don’t know what to do.’
Elliott shrugs, attempting a smile. ‘I don’t want to be in love with her. I’ve tried my damnedest to get over her, but I can’t. I thought of the baby as this insurmountable wedge between us, that even if we both decided we wanted to be together, that would never happen because
there is this baby in the way, this constant reminder of what happened, and I’d never be able to forgive her. I didn’t think I could ever forgive her, but it seems that I have. Without wanting to, without thinking about it, I have forgiven her, and I met the baby for the first time at the weekend. Henry. I met him properly, rather than knowing Gabby was holding this bundle in her arms and doing my best not to look at him or even acknowledge his existence. I met him, and held him, and watched my daughters with him, and it broke my heart.’
Claire frowns. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, it broke your heart?’
‘It broke my heart that my family are there, and I am not. And this baby is their brother, and that means he’s part of the family, whether I want him or not. I didn’t want him, and I didn’t think I would ever want him, and I recognize he has a father and I will never have that role, but it doesn’t matter any more. I want my family to be back together and I want to be with Gabby, and this baby is part of my life. Part of
my
family.’
Claire takes a deep breath. ‘I know this might sound harsh, but you’re sure these feelings aren’t just a result of seeing her with another man? Trish told me about the night you went out for dinner. You’re sure it’s not just jealousy speaking?’
‘I’m sure. Trish is wonderful, but she’s so completely different from Gabby …’
Claire barks with laughter before apologizing.
‘Well, yes. Exactly. But instead of appreciating Trish,
and how beautiful and perfect everything in her life is, it just made me miss Gabby. I missed the chaos, and clutter, and warmth. I found myself constantly comparing the two, and all I wanted to do was run home. Seeing Gabby the other night, with that guy, was really hard, but my feelings and thoughts didn’t start after that. They started long before.’
‘Do you know anything about the guy she’s dating? Has it been a long time? Is it serious?’
‘I have no idea. The only thing I can tell you is they looked very comfortable together. That’s the other thing. When I left Gabby I knew that all I had to do, for weeks afterwards, was tell her I’d forgiven her, and my life would be put back together again. I couldn’t do it then, I was so angry, but now she’s moved on, and I don’t have the right to say that any more.’ He sighs. ‘Maybe I never did.’
‘What about if
I
talk to her?’ Claire says slowly.
‘You? But you haven’t spoken to her for months. The two of you have fallen out. Why would she agree to talk to you?’
‘We never fell out,’ Claire says. ‘I just couldn’t be placed in the middle. I love both of you, but when you moved in here I couldn’t be in the position of looking after you
and
looking after Gabby, so I put all my energies into you. I know Gabby didn’t understand, and I know she felt betrayed by me, but I write to her.’
Elliott frowns. ‘You write to her?’
‘Yes. I miss her, so I email her and tell her about Isabella
and attach photographs. I tell her little bits about our lives. I didn’t do it until after you moved out, and I never say anything about you, but I have apologized, and I have told her that I felt I had to make a choice, and it’s only now, with hindsight, I realize I didn’t have to. She knows I miss her, and I love her.’
‘What does she write back?’
‘She doesn’t. But I just have this feeling that she’s softened towards me. If I asked her out for tea, maybe for the babies to meet each other, I bet she’d say yes.’
‘Even if she did, what makes you think she’d listen to you?’
‘Because she always listened to me,’ Claire says with a laugh. ‘Because I make sense. Or, in this case, you make sense. Look, none of us has any idea what the future holds, but the one thing I’m clear on is that if you don’t tell her how you feel, the possibilities for you getting back together are shot. I’ve seen too many people regret getting divorced. They realized, as the legal proceedings were starting, that they had made a mistake; they didn’t want to go through with it, but pride stopped them from telling the other how they really felt, and everyone ended up miserable. Don’t let that happen to you. I tell her you’re still in love with her and want to get back together, and what’s the worst that can happen? That she says no, she’s moved on, she’s happy with someone else. You’ll get over it, and at least you’ll know.’
‘But would it work?’ Elliott shakes his head. ‘I’m just not sure she’ll open up to you in that way.’
‘Let me at least try,’ Claire says. ‘What do we have to lose? I miss her, Elliott. I miss her desperately and I realize how much I screwed up by abandoning her in the way that I did. I need to see Gabby to apologize to her, if nothing else, and let me use it as an opportunity to finally do the right thing. Please. I need to do this for me.’