The First Wife (13 page)

‘Yeah!’ Jess gasped, as the same happened to her.

I looked at Mia. She was smiling at them. Julia barely noticed. I wanted to walk over to her and turn her head so that she was looking, to force her to register the fact that Mia, who I knew had an allowance of thirty pounds a month, had given the twins money that could not possibly have been hers. All the same, the very fact that I was here, in the middle of a big happy family, overwhelmed me.

‘Oh, I’m going to sneeze,’ I said suddenly, covering my face with a hand.

‘Hate it when that happens,’ said John, with a laugh. ‘Here, have a hanky.’ He had just opened a box of eight of them, an under-appreciated present from some relative. I took it and pressed it to my face.

‘Sneeze has gone,’ I announced, surreptitiously wiping my eyes. When I looked up, only Mia was looking at me. She smiled, and took out the package from her mother from behind her back. She turned and opened it, masked from everyone else by the arm of her chair. I was the only one watching. Bizarrely, it seemed to contain a pair of pyjamas that were much too small for her, and which were pink and patterned with teddies and bunnies. She looked at them for a second, visibly calmed herself, and threw them at Jessica.

‘Extra present for you, Jess,’ she said. ‘Got these in the sale. Forgot all about them.’

Jessica caught them, unfolded them and rubbed the soft material against her cheek.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Mee. They’re cute.’

Mia caught my eye. We looked at each other for a few seconds, smiled sadly, then both looked away.

Later in the morning, I opened the present that Sarah had handed me, a couple of days ago, late in the evening, when all their party guests had gone home.

‘This is for you, Lily,’ she said. I was surprised, and it must have shown on my face.

‘I was going to give you some money in a card,’ she said, ‘but now that I’ve met you, I – well, I had this upstairs, and I’ve never worn it, and I know it would suit you beautifully, so I want you to have it.’

‘Did you just run upstairs and wrap that up?’ I asked, so amazed that I forgot to be shy.

‘You’d be surprised how good I am at slipping away.’

It was small and squishy, and it had belonged to Sarah Summer. My fingers trembled as I unwrapped it. Even the paper was special: it was silver and glittery-sparkly like their Christmas decorations.

‘Oh, Lily!’ Julia gasped, as I took out something soft and silky. It was a grey dress. I stood up and held it against myself. I was sceptical about whether it would suit me, as it looked figure-hugging, but it was the most beautiful object I had ever owned by a million miles.

‘You have to go and put that on,’ Jessica breathed, and everyone else concurred, so I did.

‘I think I want to be a cleaner,’ John said, with a chuckle, as I left the room.

‘That dress would look crap on you,’ said Zac.

‘You know, I’m not so sure about that,’ said John. ‘I actually think I could carry it off.’

Up in my bedroom, away from the warmth of the family, I wriggled into it. Even as I pulled it down over myself, I knew that it was made for me, and I wondered why Sarah had bought it for herself. It reached almost to my knees (it would have been outrageously short on her), and it clung to my waist. The full-length mirror was on the landing, and when I saw my reflection, I could hardly remember to make myself breathe. I was someone completely different. I was someone who lived in a big old house with proper art on the walls. I shook my hair over my shoulders, and smiled at myself. Here, at last, was a girl who looked at the world and saw a future without limits. Here was someone who might, next year, get some proper qualifications. I imagined a future in which I went to university, travelled, had a career.

This person could do all of that. It was a revelation. She was not a scared little girl trying to work out how things were done. She was a woman. I wondered whether one day, I would be able to inhabit her properly. I thought of Harry, and the fact that this dress had come from his house. I ached with longing and hopelessness.

At two forty-five, I presented a turkey that was perfectly cooked. Admittedly it came from Asda and was not remotely free-range or in any way healthy, but it was nice and brown and crispy on the outside, and when I stuck a skewer in, clear juice ran out. The little kitchen was all steamed up, and the whole house smelled like Christmas. The potatoes were perhaps a little bit too crispy on the outside, but they were soft inside, and I did not think anyone would complain about their roast potatoes being too crunchy. I had steamed the carrots and brussels sprouts, but I made up for that by covering them in butter, salt and pepper. I had made bread sauce and gravy. There was a Christmas pudding for afterwards, and a Christmas cake for tea-time, both sourced from Lidl. An outsized apron protected my new dress from splatters. I was exhilarated by every moment.

This was the lunch Granddad used to make, almost exactly. Nobody here knew that. They thought it was Lily’s Christmas lunch; and, I supposed, that was what it had become.

The twins had laid the table with crackers, school-crafted decorations, everything they could find. It was so covered in green, red and gold that there was no sign of the white paper tablecloth underneath. I had to shift five trinkets out of the way before I could even put any dishes down.

I watched everyone eating, gratified by the fact that they barely spoke as they concentrated on the food.

‘Lily,’ said Julia, after a while, ‘I cannot tell you how much this is the best Christmas lunch we’ve ever had. You have no idea.’

I was pleased. ‘Really?’

‘Really, Lily,’ Zac put in. ‘Normally it’s like, cold potatoes and bits of turkey you can’t eat because they’re still bleeding.’ He looked at Julia, awaiting her wrath.

‘I’m afraid Zacary is right,’ she agreed. ‘I can cook perfectly OK the rest of the year, but don’t ask me to do Christmas lunch. Or any sort of roast, really. That’s why we never do Sunday lunch.’

‘I’ll do Sunday lunch any time anyone wants me to.’ I was happy to make this offer. I would have offered anything, right then.

‘I’m afraid we might have to take you up on it,’ John said, through a mouthful of potatoes.

Straight after lunch, I slipped out of the house and walked down to the beach on my own. I stood on the sand, ignoring the Christmas people with their dogs and their new things, and looked out to sea. The sun was bright, and the water glimmered. A cold wind whipped my hair around my face. I inhaled deeply and told myself to look forward, not back.

I stood on the shingle and stared out to sea. Last year had been a fiasco, with two nearly-dead people squabbling over an infantile card game. This year was surprising. Where, I wondered, was I going to be next time Christmas came around?

I looked at my watch. I was meeting Al, right here, right now, to exchange token presents.

‘We’ll call it Secret Santa,’ he had said. ‘Even though it won’t be secret at all because there’s just the two of us. Here is the sole rule: we buy each other something that costs three pounds maximum. Wrap it up and hand it over.’

I had got him an egg cup with a chicken painted onto it, because he had once said that now that he had a place to live, his greatest pleasure was to start the day with a boiled egg, and a little selection box of chocolates. They had added up to two pounds and ninety-eight pence. I was pleased with myself.

I saw him walking towards me, grinning broadly.

‘Merry Christmas!’ I shouted. My voice was whipped away by the wind.

‘Merry Christmas, Lily!’ he shouted back, as he approached. I walked over and hugged him and kissed his cheek. Life felt good. I was so touched when he gave me a Margaret Atwood novel I had mentioned to him that I almost cried.

‘This says six pounds ninety-nine,’ I said, turning it over.

‘Nah, you can pick these things up cheap from Amazon sellers,’ he insisted.

‘Thank you,’ I told him, without having much of a clue who Amazon sellers were. He handed me half a Crunchie bar from his selection box, and we huddled together and looked at the waves.

‘How’s Boris?’ I hazarded.

He laughed. ‘Search me. He’s with his children.’

On the penultimate day of the year, I was in the middle of a game of bowling on the Wii with the twins when Mia wandered in and handed me the phone.

‘’S for you,’ she said. ‘Some guy.’

I took it out of the room.

‘Al?’ I said.

‘No, sorry, Lily,’ he said. ‘So sorry to disturb you at home. It’s Harry.’

I shut the living-room door and leaned into the phone. My heart was pounding. I had been trying not to think about him, about what a perfect break they were having in Barcelona, and now he was on the phone, to me.

‘That’s better,’ I said. ‘It’s all quiet now, Harry. Are you back from Spain? How was your holiday?’

He said nothing for a few seconds. When he did speak, he was formal and distant. ‘Lily,’ he said. ‘Oh, Lily. This isn’t easy. I’m in London. But I’m calling to say – just carry on coming to clean as normal.’

‘Why?’ I was confused. ‘I mean, why wouldn’t I?’

‘I thought I’d tell you before you hear in another way,’ he said. He cleared his throat. ‘God, this doesn’t get any easier however many times . . . We’re keeping it out of the press so I’d appreciate . . . but, anyway, it’s Sarah.’ He paused for so long that I wanted to prompt him, but I didn’t. I dreaded what was coming.

‘She died,’ he said in the end. ‘In Barcelona. Jumped into the sea and drowned. On purpose, I mean. I had no idea.’

And nothing could ever be the same again.

Six months later

It was a gorgeous July day. The sea was sparkling, every drop of it separately lit by the sun. Several sailing boats were far out, blown quickly across the bay. Salty air blew into my face. I stood on the cliff path and stared out to sea, and then cast my gaze down at the beach below. I sighed and stretched, looking up at the pale blue sky, then down at the rocks. They were flat and full of little pools, only uncovered at low tide. I would take Tommy onto them sometime, and we could collect seaweed and look at the barnacles and limpets, the sea snails and the tiny crabs. That would be good for both of us, and it would cost nothing.

I stood back on the grass beside the path to let some walkers pass. They had a big black dog. They smiled at me, and I forced a little smile at them, and gave the regulation indulgent look to their dog.

When I got down to the beach, I was almost late. I heard them before I saw them: Tommy, the twins, Julia, John, and the beginnings of the whole of Tommy’s class from school. I had thought that having a party on the beach was a foolish idea, one guaranteed to bring about torrential rain. Julia had vaguely said, ‘If it rains, we’ll find somewhere to shelter,’ and it turned out that she had been right to be so blasé, because the sky was clear and it was not going to rain at all.

Mia was not here, because she had gone to Truro with Joe Smithson, with whom she was completely besotted. I loved to see how happy she was. She seemed to have grown up by about twelve years, since she had been with him. They were officially ‘a couple’, and I was in awe of the fact that she was suddenly part of a proper relationship. She was able to do something I had never come close to attempting. These days we had serious talks, late at night, about all sorts of things, often ending up on the subject of our mothers. I thought that Mia was now my actual friend, too.

When I reached the sand, I kicked my sandals off, picked them up, and walked across the beach to the spot Julia had chosen. She was spreading out blankets, and a few children were starting to arrive for the party, holding their parents’ hands, clutching parcels.

Tommy waved as I got closer.

‘Lily!’ he shouted. I waved back, and I saw him turn to a flame-haired boy next to him. ‘That’s Lily,’ he informed him. ‘She lives in my house. She looks after me.’

I smiled at the pride in his voice. I really did almost feel like part of the family, now.

The entertainer arrived, and almost every child present tried to throw themselves at him. He stood back, laughed, caught my eye, then took a visible deep breath.

‘Right, guys,’ he yelled, and by some mysterious chil-dren’s-entertainer alchemy, he grabbed all their attention, and made them completely quiet, just with these two words. They were generic non-words, too: it was not as if he had said, ‘Free chocolate for quiet people.’

‘Let’s start, shall we? I’ll need a DJ.’ He looked at me. He did not look like a wacky, clown-like entertainer: he had a shaved head, nice shiny eyes, and an amazing way with children.

‘Would you mind?’ he asked, in a quieter voice. ‘Just press the pause button on this prehistoric thing when I give you the nod? Thanks.’

I played and paused the miisic for musical statues, and looked at the sea, and it was not long before my thoughts drifted in the direction in which they always ended up drifting . . .

I was pulled back to myself by the game ending, the prize of a little water pistol going to the ginger-haired boy, who had so many freckles across his nose that it was impossible not to smile when you looked at him. Without concentrating, I seemed to have done what was required of me.

I kept looking around, because I had invited Al and Boris to come. Boris moved out of his marital home a couple of months ago, and although he had carefully rented a two-bedroom flat so that he could have his children to stay, he seemed to live with Al most of the time. This weekend, however, his children were with him, and Al was taking a back seat.

Al loved Boris’s children furiously, but he was quite clearly jealous of them too. ‘Not
of
them,’ he had explained recently. ‘Only a complete arsehole would compete with little kids. It’s more that I wish Boris could be as uncomplicated with me as he is with them. Loving your kids – that’s straightforward. Loving a git like me – less so. Which is frustrating because I, personally, have no problem with shouting it from the rooftops.’

‘Yeah,’ I told him. ‘I noticed that.’

At last they arrived, the four of them. Boris, whom I had met many times now, was holding each of his children by the hand. The older one was a boy, Matthew, the younger one a girl, Elinor, and Elinor looked exactly like him, with sandy hair and freckles. The boy must have looked like his mum, so I studied him as they approached. His mother, I surmised, was mousy brown and pale-faced and pretty. Al hated her, on principle, but I felt desperately sorry for the woman. Her world must have been shattered.