Page 167 of One in Three

I remember where I saw that ring. Or rather, onwhom.

‘Bella,’ I say softly. ‘Have you met someone?’

She nods.

‘Taylor,’ I say. ‘That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?’

She gulps and then nods again, and my heart aches for her. ‘Oh, Bell,’ I sigh. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I wanted to,’ she blurts. ‘But Taylor made me promise not to. Her parents are really strict, they’d totally freak. And … it’s complicated.’

How long has she been carrying this secret around? I’ve been so wrapped up in myself I haven’t been paying attention to what’s going on in her life. How could I have missed this? ‘Did you think I wouldn’t understand?’ I ask.

She shrugs, pleating the duvet cover with nervous fingers.

‘Bella, I don’t mind who or what you love, as long as it makes you happy,’ I say seriously. ‘You can bring home a polar bear, and it’d be welcome at my table.’ I pause. ‘Well, perhaps not at the table. From what I gather, polar bears aren’t particularly well mannered. But if you fallin love with a polar bear, we’ll find a way to make it work. Some sort of alfresco picnic, perhaps.’

‘Mum,’ Bella says, but she’s laughing.

‘Does Taylor know how you feel?’

She bobs her head.

‘But she doesn’t feel the same way?’

‘It’s not that. She was seeing someone else. Not anymore. But she thinks it’s too soon. She wants some space. It’s OK,’ she adds quickly. ‘I’d rather be friends than nothing.’

‘Is this why you’ve been so upset recently?’

‘Mostly. But not just that.’ She looks up at me, and then quickly away. ‘It’s Caz.’

‘You don’t need to worry about—’

‘Ilikeher,’ she interrupts, startling me into silence. ‘I like it when she’s there at weekends and stuff! I don’t want her and Dad to split up. I don’t like it when it’s just Dad on his own. I want things to stay as they are.’

I take a moment to digest this. ‘What happens between your father and Caz has nothing to do with me.’

Bella pulls up her long legs and wraps her arms around her knees, pressing her face into them. ‘That’s not true, Mum.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know what happened with you and Dad the other night,’ she says, threading her fingers together unhappily. ‘It’s not fair, Mum. You blame her for stealing Dad and breaking up our family, but that’s not true.’ She suddenly looks straight at me, her eyes unnaturally bright. ‘I know about Tolly. I know my dad isn’thisdad.’

The room tilts and spins. My mouth gapes stupidly. I am literally speechless, unable even to breathe.

Andrew swore he’d never tell anyone; that was our deal. He’d keep my secret, he’d never breathe a word to Bella or Tolly or anyone else, not to Caz,especiallynot to Caz, and in return, I agreed not to contest the divorce, and to accept the financial pittance he offered me.

‘Mum?’ Bella says. ‘It’s OK. I get it. Dad had met Caz; he was cheating on you. I don’t blame you.’

Iblame me.

I cover my face with my hands, choking on a sob. I’ve been running from this moment, from this truth, for nearly five years. Memory is a tricky thing. It doesn’t just recall the past; it remakes it, as we desire it to be. You can push an unwelcome reality to the back of your mind and bury it behind a wall of wishful thinking, and in time, you’ll forget the truth is even there. And then, when you least expect it, the wall is breached and you’re forced to face a truth grown far more powerful and terrifying for its long imprisonment.

‘Did you love him?’ Bella asks quietly. ‘Tolly’s dad?’

I look away. I don’t know how to begin to answer her. When I met Tolly’s father, I’d just found out Andrew was having an affair, and I’d wanted to get back at him: to even the score. Revenge at its most basic level. And I’d also needed reassurance I was still lovable, still desirable. I’d yearned for someone to see me in a way Andrew no longer did.

But our affair was so much more than that. Fromthe first day we’d met, we’d shared something I’d never felt with Andrew, a connection that made me feel as if I had found the piece of myself I hadn’t even known was missing. Yet I’d barely known him. We weren’t even friends. I don’t know, even now: can that be love?

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