by Kate Field
‘I always knew you were a dark horse, Mary Black. Under that calm, unflappable exterior, there’s a whacking great man magnet, isn’t there?’
We both laughed at that: Daisy knew perfectly well that I had been with Leo forever. No one had ever asked me out, or propositioned me, or made a pass or whatever it was called now. Not even Leo: as teenagers, we had drifted into something more than friendship, and I had been the one to push it to the next level.
‘Owen’s not bad looking,’ Daisy continued. She held up one of the leaflets, on which she’d carefully drawn a moustache, beard and horns on a photograph of her employer, and smiled as she pushed it into an envelope. ‘It’s a shame he’s so tall. We’d look ridiculous together. You should definitely consider him. He’s an art teacher, so you know what that means. He can do great things with his hands.’ She laughed. ‘Or has he already taught you that?’
‘Of course not. I’m married.’ I thought about the envelope sitting on my hall table. ‘Half married.’
‘Half married?’ Daisy paused in her licking. ‘You don’t mean the decree nisi has been granted already?’
I nodded. ‘Clark has some extremely efficient solicitor friends. Apparently we’re lucky that it’s all gone through so quickly. At least, I presume it’s gone through. There’s a letter from my solicitor at home. I couldn’t face opening it.’
‘Oh, Mary.’ Daisy reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Ignoring it won’t make it go away. Why did it have to be so rushed? You’ve hardly had chance to get used to the idea. It’s not like Leo to be so unfair.’
‘It’s not Leo’s fault. I agreed to it.’
He had asked for a divorce two days after Christmas, on the day he had left our home and moved in with Clark. He didn’t want to be an adulterer for any longer than necessary; his relationship with Clark deserved to be more than an extra-marital affair. He had been generous with financial arrangements; I had been generous about sharing the children. I had signed all the paperwork and returned it promptly, in my usual calm and efficient way.
‘There’s nothing to stop you seeing Mr Ferguson, then, is there? Or someone else. Have you thought about online dating? I can help you fill out a profile, if you like. It will be fun!’
‘About as much fun as peeling off all my nails one by one. It’s too soon.’ I didn’t add that it would always seem too soon.
‘Too soon? Come off it. Leo was seeing Clark while you were still married. You’re being positively patient.’ She withdrew her hand and scooped up another pile of leaflets. ‘It’s been three years since James left me. Loneliness doesn’t become any easier with time, trust me on that. You might not be ready to look, but don’t walk round with your eyes closed, okay?’
Leo was waiting in his car when I finally arrived home with Dotty. She leapt on him as he got out, wagging her whole body and licking every part of him she could reach. Perhaps if I had ever greeted him like that, he wouldn’t have needed Clark.
He followed me into the house and immediately picked up the envelope from the hall table. The printed stamp from the solicitors’ office gave away what it was.
‘You haven’t opened it.’
‘Not yet, I …’ No excuse sprang to mind. I didn’t lie to Leo. ‘Is it about the decree nisi?’
‘Probably. It was granted yesterday.’
I couldn’t avoid it any longer, and it didn’t seem so bad with his gentle eyes watching me. I tore open the envelope, and there it was in black and white: confirmation that we were halfway to being divorced.
Leo took the letter from my shaking hand, dropped it on the table, and drew me into a hug. It was the closest physical contact we’d had for months.
‘Oh, Mary,’ he murmured against my hair. ‘I’m sorry. I never imagined we would come to this. You deserved better than me.’
‘No. I wouldn’t change a thing.’ I leant into him, feeling the soft squishiness of his chest, inhaling the scent of the Johnson’s baby shampoo he had used for as long as I had known him. I tightened my arms round him, and enjoyed the moment: but it was comfort I felt, not desire. Leo was a safe and familiar world. I missed it.
‘Will you be okay on your own tonight?’ he asked, pulling away. ‘I can come back for Jonas and Ava in the morning instead.’
‘No, they’re looking forward to seeing you.’ And to not seeing me for two days, at least as far as Ava was concerned. I could do no right in her eyes at the moment. ‘Besides, I won’t be on my own.’
‘You won’t?’
It was too gloomy in the hall to see Leo’s expression, so I was sure I must have misinterpreted the tone of his voice. He had no reason to be jealous, and even less reason to be cross.
‘Daisy has invited herself round for a drink later,’ I explained. I reached the study door and threw it open, so that the bright light filled the hall. Leo smiled.
‘It could never be a single drink with Daisy. Don’t let her lead you astray.’
‘I can’t afford to let her lead me astray.’
Leo let that go with a soft sigh. Even without a mortgage on this house, it had been hard to divide the wage from Leo’s university job between two households. I had no independent income: the research work I did for Leo’s academic studies filled much of my day and left no time for paid employment. I worked for love – of the subject, as much as of him. I had started off by supporting Leo’s obsession with Alice Hornby’s novels, but had soon come to share it, and I couldn’t give up the work now, however awkward it might be. We had spent years writing the new biography, with the prime intention of spreading the word about how brilliant Alice was. Now the stakes were raised: we needed the book to be a financial success too.
The study was exactly as it had always been: one large desk in the centre of the room, with chairs on either side, one for Leo and one for me. A battered sofa filled one wall, stuffed bookcases the others. I had hated this room growing up; my mother had used it to store all my father’s belongings, giving me false hope for years that she had known he was coming back. As soon as Leo and I moved in, I had hired a skip and thrown away everything that had been his or theirs. Now it was my favourite room in the house.
Leo sat in his chair and set up his laptop. We had a couple of hours to work before the children arrived home.
‘Is everything ready for the launch?’ he asked. The biography was being published in a couple of weeks, and the publishers were marking the launch with a party at the Manchester Central Library.
‘Yes. Here’s a first draft of your speech.’ I pushed a sheaf of paper across the desk. I always wrote Leo’s speeches for him. He was brilliant when giving a university lecture, but his style didn’t suit a public event so well. ‘I’ve arranged for Claire to look after you on the night, so she’ll make sure you’re in the right place and give you a nudge when it’s time to give your speech.’
‘Claire?’ Leo looked up from the paper.
‘From the publishing company. You’ve met her before. Luscious red hair and 1940s curves …’
Leo still looked blank. It had been a comfort in the past, his complete indifference to other women. Little had I known.
‘But why do I need Claire? You normally do that.’
‘I won’t be there.’
‘Why not? Is there something on at school? We arranged this months ago.’
That was exactly the point. We had arranged it months ago, at a time when I, at least, thought we were contentedly married. For a professor, he could be incredibly dense.
‘I’ve attended in the past as your wife. You have a new one now. A new partner, that is.’ I picked up a paperclip and started untwisting it. ‘Clark will be going with you, won’t he?’
‘He’ll be there. I need you too.’ Leo eased the paperclip from my fingers. ‘You deserve to be there. This book would never have been written without you. It’s as much yours as mine.’
The front cover told a different story: it only bore his name, just as the annotated novels had done wh
en they were published. I hadn’t minded before – or not much. We were a team, and he was the public face of it. So why did a tiny niggle of resentment rise and stick in my throat now?
‘Okay, I’ll come. And the party at Foxwood Farm too?’
‘Of course. That was your idea. You must be there. Will I need a speech for that?’
‘No. I’ll pick a short passage for you to read from the biography. Lindsay, who’s organising the event, wants it to be an informal celebration of all things Lancastrian: literature, music, food, drink. The press will be there, as she’s hoping to drum up more business as a party and events venue. Hopefully we’ll have some un-Lancastrian weather, so we can use the courtyard outside as well as the main barn.’
Leo fought but failed to hide a grimace. It had taken a great deal of persusasion to convince him to support the event at Foxwood Farm, even though it was on the outskirts of the village; I hoped he wasn’t thinking of backing out now he would have to travel up from Manchester. He didn’t enjoy the brazen commerce of launching a book, and preferred to focus his attention on the academic side, leaving me and my lower sensitivities to deal with the business elements. Luckily I loved the promotion aspect, but I was going to have to work even harder this time.
‘After the official launch, I’m going to tour around local independent bookshops to see if any are interested in stocking it, or even holding an event with you, a signing or something like that.’
Leo pulled his face again.
‘Will they want an academic book?’
‘Don’t call it that. We agreed we weren’t going to market it as an academic book. It will appeal to the general public too. That’s why we worked so hard on getting the tone right.’
It’s why I had worked so hard on the tone, ignoring Leo’s flights of academia: having read too many turgid biographies during my degree, I was determined that Leo’s wouldn’t be one of them. And we’d got it right, I was sure of it: Alice Hornby, the quiet gentleman’s daughter who had written passionate novels of love and desire from the secrecy of her bedroom, had come to life in our book, strolling through the paragraphs, her voice echoing with every turn of the page and her scent lingering above the words. It was a romance as much as a biography, designed to make readers fall in love with Alice as Leo and I had done.
‘I know you’ll do your best,’ Leo said. ‘If anyone can sell Alice, you can.’ He smiled, acknowledging our shared passion, but my response was half-hearted, too conscious that it was the only passion we now shared; in truth, the only passion we had shared for years. ‘But while you’re doing that, we need to start on our next project.’ His smile withered. ‘I’ve agreed to write that book I was asked to consider a few months ago – the one about Victorian writers. How society influenced them, and how they influenced society.’
‘But I thought you turned that down!’ He hadn’t been keen on the idea at all. The brief had been to include at least three chapters on the Brontës, which was like asking a Manchester United fan to spend a season promoting Manchester City.
‘I didn’t take it up. We were busy finishing Alice’s book at the time. Circumstances have changed now.’
‘You mean we need the money.’ There was no other explanation: it was literary prostitution, and it was devastating to see Leo caught up in it, even if part of me whispered that he had brought it on himself.
‘It would certainly help. From now on I will have to accept whatever I’m offered. If only we could find Alice’s lost novel! That would change all our fortunes.’ It was the enduring mystery of Alice Hornby: four books had been published, but a few surviving records had dropped tantalising hints that she may have worked on another, that no one had ever seen. Leo sighed. ‘But after all our years of searching, what are the chances of that?’
Chapter 5
‘Isn’t this exciting?’ Audrey said, as we hurried across St Peter’s Square as fast as our heels allowed. The party to celebrate the launch of Leo’s book was taking place in the newly refurbished Manchester Central Library. Although my invitation hadn’t mentioned a plus one, I invited Audrey anyway, to avoid that awful moment of turning up alone. Her comment felt more like a rallying cry than a real question, and I made no response other than a smile and a nod that could have meant anything. ‘I love the chance to dress up.’
She had certainly pulled out all the stops, brightening the usual grey Manchester evening with an electric-blue dress that would have made me look a frumpy Tory wife, but which Audrey carried off with panache. In contrast, my reliable grey dress – my equivalent of the little black dress, as black hair, Black name and black clothing made me feel like a pallbearer – seemed a predictably dull choice.
‘Chin up,’ Audrey said, linking her arm in mine. ‘Tonight is a celebration. This book is going to be a tremendous success. I couldn’t be prouder of both of you. I’ll need bubblegum on the soles of my shoes tonight to stop me floating to the ceiling with happiness.’ She laughed and drew me closer. ‘Keep an eye on me. What with the news about Ethan, no one will blame me if I get a little tipsy tonight, will they?’
‘Of course not.’ No one could ever blame Audrey for anything. She was universally loved. ‘What news about Ethan?’
‘Hasn’t Leo told you? Ethan has a job to do in London for two or three weeks – don’t ask me what, you know I haven’t a clue what he does – and then he’s going to take a sabbatical and come home for a few months. Isn’t that the best news? Both my boys with me again.’
It seemed heartless to prick her bubble by pointing out that technically Leo wasn’t with her anymore – or not as he had always been, living next door.
‘Why’s Ethan coming back?’ I asked. ‘Has he exhausted all the women in America now?’
‘Mary!’ Audrey’s glance of mock severity was probably deserved. Sometimes I was prone to forget that she was my mother-in-law, and not a friend. ‘Ethan isn’t like that. Deep down, he has the most wonderful, loyal soul.’ She dragged me up the steps and into the library. ‘Whatever gave you the idea that he played around?’
‘Leo used to tell me about Ethan’s girlfriends. It was a different name every time they spoke. Sometimes I wondered if Leo was actually jealous of Ethan’s single life …’ Audrey patted my hand. ‘When is he coming?’
‘Probably July, and you must help me persuade him to stay until Christmas. Wasn’t it fun to have him here last year?’
Christmas hadn’t been fun from where I was standing, but I suppose that wasn’t Ethan’s fault. I couldn’t see what use I would be in persuading him to stay, either, but luckily Audrey was distracted.
‘Isn’t this marvellous?’ she said, gazing around in obvious delight. ‘Is that the arts man off the television?’
I took a mental backseat and let Audrey rattle on as we made our way to the room where the launch was being held. I’d only been involved in the discussions at an early stage, so was eager to see how everything had been arranged, and I wasn’t disappointed. Alice Hornby dominated the room, just as she should. The one authenticated painting of her, a full-length image of her sitting at a desk, writing, had been blown up onto a canvas that filled one wall. Extracts from her novels and letters, in her own painstakingly neat handwriting, hung on vertical banners on each side of the room, and Leo’s book was displayed on a table in the centre. Behind the table, Leo and Clark stood side by side, arm brushing arm, chatting to a journalist I recognised from The Times.
I helped myself to a glass and winced as the dry champagne settled on my tongue. It would have been Prosecco in my day: Leo knew I preferred it. And as I downed half the glass, determined not to read any significance into the replacement, Clark caught my eye, smiled, and nudged Leo. Leo looked over at us, raised his hand in greeting, and carried on his conversation. That hand may as well have slapped me across the cheek.
‘Let’s mingle,’ Audrey said, tugging my arm again. If she carried on like this I would be covered in bruises by the end of the night: external ones, to match the inte
rnal ones. ‘Who do we think looks most approachable? What about the group by the window?’
She kept this up for the next half hour, as we toured round the guests, singing the praises of Leo, Alice, and the book. Leo and Clark were circling the room in the opposite direction, but before our paths could cross, Claire from the publishing company tapped her glass for attention, and after a gushing introduction, Leo delivered his speech. He carried it off brilliantly, his lovely mellifluous voice caressing each of the words I had written for him. Everyone laughed, sighed, and nodded at the right moments, and I was about to lead the applause when Leo fiddled with his glasses, a sure sign of his discomfort.
‘I can’t let the moment pass by without acknowledging the contribution of one special person,’ he said. This wasn’t in the speech. Was he going to declare his devotion to Clark, in front of all these people? In front of me?
Audrey and I were lurking at the back of the room. Even so, Leo found me through the crowd of smartly dressed people. He smiled, and I knew that I shouldn’t have doubted him.
‘There is nothing in life so satisfying as a shared passion,’ he said. Audrey took hold of my hand, clearly having less faith in Leo than I had. ‘This book would not be the success it is without the encouragement of my wonderful helpmeet, Mary Black. Mary, this book is dedicated to you, with eternal thanks.’
The second that followed seemed to stretch for hours, as no one knew quite how to react. Audrey saved the moment.
‘How marvellous!’ she cried, and raised her champagne glass. ‘To Mary Black!’
As the applause died down, Leo made his way towards us and Audrey melted away into the crowd.
‘You changed the speech,’ I said.
‘I only added the words that you were too modest to write.’
Too discreet, not modest: we never publicly acknowledged how large a contribution I made to Leo’s work. ‘Encouragement’ wasn’t the word I would have chosen.
‘Tonight seems to have gone well,’ I said. ‘Everyone I spoke to loves the book. There should be some glowing reviews at the weekend.’
