The Love of Her Life

by Harriet Evans

  Then the four of them stayed around the table till ten, when it was time for Francesca to go – she had to be up early for a meeting at eight.

  ‘I’m going,’ she said, standing up, pushing herself away from the table. She looked at Kate, significantly. ‘I’m going to leave you to reminisce over times gone by.’

  And then it was just the three of them, late into the evening, long after they’d cleared everything away and they were left with wine glasses and the windows were closed against the night. They talked of everything – but mostly, they talked about Steve. How he’d mended Kate’s desk chair at university, and the next time she sat down on it it cracked beneath her. How, on their wedding night, he had had a nightmare about Zoe trying to kill him and woken up screaming ‘No, Zoe, no!’ How he had broken Mac’s calculator-ruler, by flicking rubber Disney characters off it till it snapped in two, then put it back in Mac’s drawer, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Just saying Steve’s name was hard for Kate and at first, she found it impossible. She never talked about him. Who in New York had known him? Hardly anyone. She had liked it that way, at first, and now, here, these last few days, around the table with her friends, she started to realize that she might have been wrong, like she was starting to wake up again, from a long sleep.

  Still, long after Harry was asleep again, Flora would not go down, and she sat up in her small person’s chair, staring round impassively and munching clods of earth she’d managed somehow to bring inside from the garden, which occasionally fell into her mouth. As Flora banged her spoon, and tried to stick some more mud into her eye, eventually Zoe said, with resignation,

  ‘Oh, Flora love – don’t do that. It’s mud. Dirty. Don’t eat it.’ Then, turning to the other two grown-ups: ‘She’s like Just William. I don’t know what to do about her. She’s going to grow up and have boiled eyeball sweets in a horrible paper bag in her pocket. I know it. She’ll be one of those weird gummy women you see waiting at a bus stop wearing a dirty burgundy nylon mac.’

  Flora banged her head with the tray that lay on the table. Her face scrunched up and she screamed.

  ‘Oh god,’ said Zoe. ‘She’s gone. I’m sorry,’ she said, scooping a wailing Flora into her arms. ‘She’s really really tired, I should put her to bed –’

  Mac stood up, pushing his chair out. ‘Let me help.’

  ‘No,’ said Zoe, firmly, pushing her hair back with her hand and trying not to look harrassed. She smiled brightly. ‘Honestly, it might be best if she sees you going, she’ll understand the night is over. God, she’s awful.’ She clutched Flora closer to her; Mac watched them both, and then said,

  ‘Of course. Anyway, Zoe, love. We’ll put the stuff away and – god, it’s late.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Let me just –’ he put his wine glass by the sink.

  Kate looked at her watch, it was twelve-thirty. ‘God, I’m sorry Zo. I had no idea it was so late.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ she said, holding the wriggling Flora in her arms. ‘She just won’t sleep like other babies, she likes the nighttime. Just like her mummy and her daddy I’m afraid. Look, you two, just go, OK? I should put her down now and I can put some plates and a few wineglasses in the dishwasher afterwards.’

  ‘Well –’ Mac looked uncertain, but Zoe shooed him along.

  ‘Come on, seriously.’

  He bent down and kissed his sister-in-law and his niece. ‘Bye, girls,’ he said, his voice soft. He grabbed Zoe’s arm lightly. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday. Thanks Zoe.’

  She looked up at him, grateful, her eyes sparkling. ‘Oh Mac. Thank you …’

  Kate hung back but stepped forwards then and kissed her. ‘Bye, Zo. Thanks so much, so much, it’s been a lovely evening.’ And it had been. She squeezed Flora’s little arm. ‘Bye Flo. Be good.’

  They were almost pushed out by Zoe and, as the door shut quietly behind them they shivered on the street, the two of them alone again, in the cold, clear night.

  She knew that she was going to go home with him. It was inevitable, the way it always is, she had known it from the moment he touched her wrist, how powerful the connection between them was. But neither said anything as they walked towards the main road. Kate could hear Mac’s breathing. She turned quickly, and saw the black outline of his profile in the moonlight. She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped a little way away from him, so they were walking in parallel, a metre separating them, along the quiet street with its cracked pavement slabs, jammed with cars.

  Did he remember this was where they first kissed, all those years ago, after the housewarming party? It had been March then too. Did he remember this was the exact spot they had caught the taxi back to his flat? Did he replay it in his mind, did he know how often she had? They stood in silence, waiting for a cab to arrive, and when it did they both stuck their hands out.

  ‘Where to?’ the cab driver said.

  Kate didn’t look at Mac. He held the door open for her.

  ‘Maida Vale, then on,’ he told the cab driver, who nodded as Mac shut the door.

  They settled down in the cab, and silence fell.

  ‘So, how is work, Mac?’ said Kate. Perhaps an interesting conversation about the merits and demerits of the NHS might help smooth out the spiky atmosphere.

  She felt his eyes on her in the darkness, knew he was smiling at her, and she turned to meet his shadowy gaze.

  ‘You always were terrible at awkward silences, Katy,’ he said.

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘You are. You always crack first.’

  Don’t kiss him.

  ‘Well …’ The wine was going to her head; she sat up straight against the hard leather of the cab seat, trying not to smile. ‘It’s an only child thing. Social pressure, you know.’

  ‘Hm,’ he said, moving towards her. She could see his face in the grey night. She was cold, hot, every part of her was tingling, and now she was smiling, as his lips were next to hers. ‘You shouldn’t worry about that,’ he said, and he kissed her. ‘Oh, Kate.’ His voice was hoarse, now. ‘I don’t like you for your conversation, you know.’

  His lips on hers, how she remembered them, the rasp of his day-long stubble on her cheek, her lips, his strong, supple hands on the back of her head. Kissing Mac had been her downfall before, because kissing him was overwhelming, as if she’d never been kissed before. The strength of her physical response to him floored her, like it always did, and they were back in the old game again, and to give herself up to it, to simply enjoy him, was a pleasure the like of which she hadn’t had since she’d walked out on him before.

  She pushed him away. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I really can’t.’

  He held her head in his hands. ‘Come on, Kate,’ he said. ‘It’s one night. You’re going back in a week.’

  ‘But last time …’

  ‘I’m over it,’ he said. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers gently. ‘Aren’t you over it? Come on. Haven’t you been working hard, don’t you deserve this?’

  ‘Not if it’s going to …’ she began, but he kissed her again.

  ‘I want you,’ he said. His breath was hot on her eyes, her lips. ‘And you want me. Don’t worry about the rest, Kate. It’s all in the past.’

  Just to know that at the end of the cab journey was her front door, her hallway, where he would push her against the wall and press himself against her, so that she clung to him in the darkness, her arms wrapped around his neck, to stop herself falling down. Just to think that beyond the hall was her bedroom, where she would see him naked again, feel his body on top of her, pushing inside her, and then wrapped around her at the end of the night so that she might wake up in the early hours of the morning and turn gently to see him asleep, the harsh lines that criss-crossed his face wiped away.

  One more night with him. Never mind the realization that how much she missed him would be almost more pain than the pleasure that lay ahead of her now. Just once more, as they kissed in the cab, making its way silently and sedately
through the moonlit streets of town.

  Sue’s words, the day before, rang in her ears. Do something wild. Stop behaving like an old lady. But for the first time, since she’d come back to London, Kate had that feeling she’d had so long ago: of standing at the edge of a precipice, about to jump off, bringing destruction with her as she fell. The idea that Mac was with her was extraordinary – Mac, with whom she shared a secret history that only the two of them knew about, that they kept from their friends, it wasn’t over.

  ‘OK,’ she said, and she kissed him back. They were nearly home. Yes, she told herself, as his hands moved over her, as he kissed her more insistently, as she desperately wished they were alone. Just enjoy this one night. Don’t think about the past. Don’t think about that last lie, the last betrayal.

  INTERLUDE

  The previous summer

  london

  Summer 2006

  ‘Kate?’

  She was sitting at a table in a pretty French café just north of Grosvenor Square, pushing the padded tissue coaster around with the tips of her fingers. The quiet Mayfair bustle of a summer’s afternoon, fading into evening, was soporific. Kate stared at her arms, thinking how brown they’d become, which was strange when she was outdoors so little these days. The bangles on her hand jangled as she shook more sugar into her cup of tea. She breathed in, the smell of rich heat rising from the ground, tarmac, cars and sweet, harsh, pollen, hitting her.

  The US Embassy was closed: of course it was. July Fourth, why hadn’t she realized? So stupid of her; a sinking, metallic feeling of dread had assailed her as she’d drawn closer to the square and looked for the line of people that usually ran down the side of the unlovely, humourless building.

  ‘Come back tomorrow, miss,’ the scary guard had told her, clutching his AK 47, his face expressionless.

  ‘But –’ Kate began. ‘I’m only here for two days, I’ve come specially to get my visa renewed. I’ve got to get back to the States. They promised they’d stamp my visa again and I could come straight home again.’

  ‘Miss, you’ll have to come back tomorrow. I’m gonna have to ask you to step away now.’

  Kate was used to the humourless precision of American security now, after twenty-two months there, nearly two years, she knew it exactly. But here, on this beautiful English summer’s evening, the trees dipping and whistling around the long, elegant square, it seemed totally incongruous, and she had smiled at him, without really knowing why, and stepped away, as requested.

  One more day, she told herself as she trailed up towards Oxford Street. One more day here, and you can get back, and no one will know you’re here. Her mother and Oscar were up in the Hamptons for two weeks, they would never realize she’d gone. Luckily Perry and Co was closed not just for July 4th but for a week, most unusually, while Bruce escorted their cash cow, Anne Graves, back to Ohio, to receive an honorary degree from the university and to spend some time at her cabin there. Bruce had closed the office as a reward to his loyal co-workers, he had told them all, not because he was a control freak who hated not being there if others were there. Kate wondered what he thought he’d be missing if he left them all to it for four days; more of Doris’s interesting stories about her husband, Mikey? Nancy the book-keeper’s weekly complaint about her book club’s choices? The tension wrought by Perry and Co’s temperamental aircon unit?

  One more day here, she said, as she sat down for a coffee, gratefully resting her tired limbs. No one knew she was here, except Betty, who had driven her to JFK, told her she was crazy, but was going to pick her up in two days’ time, when this visa mess was sorted out. In, out, clean, precise, and no one need know she was here.

  No one.

  ‘Kate? Is that you?’

  She heard the voice again, but still she didn’t move. She looked down. It couldn’t be him, surely. Perhaps he’d just walk on, leave her here, alone, unseen, perhaps she could still get away with it …

  ‘Kate.’ A tall figure, looking down at her. ‘My god. It really is you.’

  She glanced up, shielding her eyes against the sun, knowing what she would see.

  It was him. It was Mac. Shock ran through her, instantaneous; her heart started thumping. She put her hand to her collarbone, pushing her chair away from him, at the same time astonished at her own visceral response to the sight of him. He laid a cool hand on her arm.

  ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘I – I –’ Kate swallowed, mastering herself again. ‘My god.’

  She stood up, awkwardly, facing him. He was so tall, she’d forgotten that. Everything about him was so familiar, like opening a locked door stuffed full of memories, all bursting to come out. She didn’t know what to say.

  He stretched his arms out, briefly, as if he was going to hug her, and as she took another step back, almost frightened, he shook his head and folded his hands under his armpits, defensively. She saw he didn’t realize he was doing it.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ he said, softly. ‘Kate, where did you go?’

  Kate cleared her throat, wanting to speak, but nothing came out. She looked round at her fellow patrons, who were watching with ill-concealed interest. How different from New York, where she and Betty had last month had a loud, drunken shouting match in the Village about Betty’s useless boyfriend Troy, and no one had appeared to see them, let along notice them.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, his voice gentle. He touched her shoulder with one finger, and she sank gratefully back down into her seat. Mac was looking at her, his eyes searching her, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was really there. Kate blinked slowly, terrified of what he could say to her, not knowing what to say herself, and he followed her, pulling up a chair.

  She stirred the teaspoon around her empty coffee cup. ‘So – so you’re down here now?’

  ‘I moved back, got a residency at St John’s. To be closer to Zoe. You know.’

  ‘Yep.’ Kate nodded, staring without seeing at the ground.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Visa,’ she said. ‘I had to leave and come back. I’m only in town for a day.’

  He flashed a glance at her. ‘Right.’

  He ordered a coffee; they sat in silence for a while. Then he said,

  ‘You stopped answering my emails,’ he said.

  ‘You stopped sending them,’ Kate said.

  Mac rubbed his palms together. ‘I didn’t think you wanted to hear any more. I don’t blame you. You’re Kate, though.

  You just pushed it all away instead.’ He said this without emotion.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Kate hotly, though he was telling the truth, she knew it. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t stay.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Zoe’s words still echoed in her head. Please. Kate, you need to leave me alone for a while. Please.

  ‘I just couldn’t,’ she said. She said, honestly, ‘I was to blame. I still think I was. And I know Zoe did too then. I had to get away. I didn’t know what I was thinking then, really.’

  ‘You were too –’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, Kate. So you left and never contacted her again,’ Mac said, drumming his fingers on the aluminium table, looking at the ground. She noticed the grey collecting at the temples of his sandy brown hair. ‘Or me. I just don’t understand how you found that easy to do.’

  She looked up at him swiftly, tendrils of hair falling about her face. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said, her voice sharp. ‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have talked to someone else then?’ Mac said, his voice low. He put his hand in her lap, steadying her writhing fingers. ‘Talked to someone, without running away like that.’

  There was a pause, a break which spooled into a silence between them, so long that Kate could hear sirens in the background, roaring down Park Lane, the sound of sirens that she’d probably never forget. She took a breath, trying to explain, and then slumped down into her seat again. Her eyes were stinging, and she was so tired.
/>
  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘There wasn’t anyone, was there?’ Kate said. ‘No one, really. Well, Francesca – but she was so upset about Steve, she couldn’t help me. And it wasn’t fair to put all of that on her.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Mac, slightly impatiently. ‘Your father?’

  ‘Dad,’ said Kate. ‘Yep, right.’ She tried to imagine what would have happened had she really tried to talk to her dad about it all, in those ghastly, endless days after Steve died and Sean left. Somehow, being with them, her father’s new family, highlighted how dreadfully alone she was, and she’d realized after several awkward, disjointed conversations and offers of help, half-hearted offers of accommodation, that she’d rather face up to it by herself than blanket it in the new, neutral, perfect house in Notting Hill into which they were about to move. Except it wasn’t facing up to it, it was running away, but again, fight or flight: she had chosen flight.

  ‘Excuse. Miss.’

  Someone was tugging at her sleeve; she looked around, at a Japanese tourist, with glasses and sunhat wedged firmly onto his head, his wife standing next to him, opening and shutting a guide book in Japanese.

  ‘Diana palace nearby?’ said the husband. Kate looked at Mac, who shook his head impatiently, not understanding.

  ‘Oh,’ Kate said, recognition dawning. ‘Diana’s palace. Where Princess Diana lived?’

  They nodded. ‘Please.’ The wife jabbed her fingers at the guidebook.

  ‘It’s called Kensington Palace, and you need to get on a bus, or a tube, and go to …’ she trailed off, realizing they had no idea what she was talking about. The people at the next table stared at her. Mac stared at her, amusement crossing his usually unreadable features.

  Kate gave him a sharp look. It occurred to her that she was a tourist, just like them, after all. She took the guidebook out of the woman’s hands and the woman tensed, looking nervous, as if she thought Kate might steal it. She found a map at the back of the book.

  ‘Here,’ she said, and she took a pen off the table and drew a cross by where Kensington Palace was. ‘Bus. Top of road.’ She pointed in the direction of Oxford Street. ‘Numbers? You know numbers?’