Page 51 of A Midlife Marriage

‘Caro, you ––’

‘Don’t say it, Helen.’ And pinching the bridge of her nose, Caro shook her head again. ‘Please don’t say that I am. We both know it’s not true.’

‘Caro.’ But she didn’t say it, because Caro was right. She didn’t say anything, because this was no time for inauthentic consolation either. For pointing out everything else that Caro had been granted; it was beauty she had strived after, beauty,that had always remained out of reach. And Helen understood: the right comment, from the right person, at the right time.

‘It’s OK.’ Hand on her chest, Caro shuddered. ‘It’s OK,’ she said again.

‘Did you tell him?’

‘No.’ Caro’s smile was tiny. ‘I was going to.’

Helen frowned. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Does he know? Are you still …?’

Caro nodded. ‘This is only about the move,’ she whispered. ‘He said I needed space to decide if I really want to go through with the move. The wedding is still on.’

‘And do you?’

‘I think so.’ Caro pinched her nose. ‘But he’s talking about the smallholding, Helen. And I don’t know how to tell him about ...’ Her voice drifted away.

‘I see.’ Helen looked across the patio. There was so much she wanted to say. She had doubts herself about the move Caro was making, but she hadn’t voiced them. Cyprus had taught her that. The day she had found out that Caro had been planning to conceive a baby at the age of fifty, had been the day their friendship had almost crumbled. She hadn’t held back then, telling Caro everything she thought about the folly of her decision, the selfishness of it. And it wasn’t so much that she regretted what she had said, it was more that she understood now, in a way she didn’t then, the limits of friendship. Caro wasn’t family. She had no claims to stake on the way she chose to live her life. At a loss, she picked up her glass. So much she wanted to say, and so little that she could.

‘You must think … well, I don’t know what you think.’

‘I think,’ she said as she reached across and squeezed Caro’s hand, ‘that everyone makes mistakes.’ She squeezed harder, because the pain emanating through Caro’s fingers was tangible and she wanted to take it away. Because she’d only added toit before, raging at Caro in Cyprus when she should have tried so much harder to understand, dismissing her in disgust the terrible night Caro had walked too far and too long, with Ben. Thirty years they had known each other, and she had only ever seen Caro cry once. And then the tears were for Kay, not for herself. Thirty years in which she had never given her friend the space to be vulnerable. ‘What matters,’ she said, her voice urgent. ‘What matters, Caro, is if you think you can be happy with Tomasz. And if you think Tomasz can be happy with you. Life is very short …’ Choking up, Helen put her fist to her mouth. ‘It’s too bloody short to choose a path towards anything other than happiness.’

Eyes glassy as orbs, Caro sat, her hand in Helen’s. ‘So, you think I shouldn’t tell him? You think I should let him believe it’s the move?’

‘Yes.’ And as a tear finally broke free and fell down Caro’s cheek, Helen took a napkin and reached across to blot it dry. ‘If you truly believe,’ she said, ‘that you can put this behind you, if you think you can make him happy, then don’t tell him. You have to grab your chance when it comes, Caro. It may not come again.’

36

‘Goose?’

Martin nodded. He had a drink in each hand, a glass of Coke and a glass of wine. ‘I got you a drink,’ he said, ‘but I see you already have one.’

Stunned, Kay looked at the drinks. She hadn’t even seen him come in, let alone order drinks.

‘You still prefer white to red?’

Now she looked at him. ‘And you drink Coke?’

‘I do now,’ he said. ‘Is it OK if I sit?’

She nodded. He’d lost weight and hair, and she was trying to think how long it had been since she had last seen him. It had to be at least two years. Certainly not since Alex had told her that Martin had separated from his partner, a move that had coincided with her becoming ill.

‘You don’t have to drink it,’ he said as he put the wine on the table. ‘I see you already have one.’

She snapped back into the moment. ‘I may need it.’

He smiled. ‘It wasn’t too presumptuous then?’

‘No. What was presumptuous,’ she added, before he could speak, ‘was staying anonymous, when you knew it was me? You obviously knew? Don’t answer that. Of course you did!’

‘Of course I did,’ he said, and his smile faded.

‘That’s not fair, Martin.’

‘I know.’

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