‘Julianne? Where are you? Ally’s here.’
James calls up the stairs, but I’m already down in the kitchen helping Cassie. I come through, wiping my hand on a tea towel, and smile at Ally.
‘So sorry, got caught up with something. Ally, let me take your coat.’
‘I’ve got it,’ James says, stepping in to take it and hanging it up. I hang the tea towel on a vacant peg next to it. James looks at me as if I’ve just stripped naked, then back at the towel, clearly mortified I would do something so odd. I ignore him. I’m not sure I care any more.
Ally, who either hasn’t noticed the odd gesture or chooses not to comment, embraces me in a hug. ‘Oh Julianne, how are you?’
‘Kind of the same as yesterday,’ I say in an attempt at a bright voice. Well, it’s true, I suppose.
She laughs as if I’ve cracked a joke, then steps aside, revealing a young man like a magic trick. He’s just standing there, staring blankly at me. I’m taken aback, then realise who he is.
‘Julianne, James, this is Cameron, my new man.’ It’s like she’s just got a new car and is eager to show it off. Cameron, on the other hand, seems less than eager. He is good-looking and it’s clear right away why Ally finds him attractive, but he must know what we’re all thinking: God, he’s so young. Must be mid-twenties at the very most. He’s wearing a nice patterned shirt – the kind I occasionally used to buy for Stephen, until James turned up his nose at them, describing them as ‘very high street’ – and chinos, and is shivering slightly, apparently arrived in from the cold without a coat. I shake his hand and welcome him and he gives a thin smile, all the time looking around him. It isn’t just his age that sticks out. He isn’t used to wealth. James will have noticed that immediately. I can sense James wanting to catch my eye, but I avoid his gaze.
As Cameron and Ally go into the lounge, the doorbell rings. ‘I’ll get it,’ I say, and look towards the disappearing figures of Ally and Cameron, making it clear to James he should be following them.
‘Julianne, many greetings of the season.’
Ernest steps inside the house before I’ve said anything, followed by his wife, Louise. In all the time I’ve known him, Ernest has been one of those men who seem desperate to assert their own attractiveness whenever possible, something that, to my slight irritation, he’s rather good at. Louise, on the other hand, is loveliness personified, but I’m aware James finds her irritating. She comes across as a bit too eager to please and, although her refined accent makes it sound as if she’s been bathed in money, it’s hard to believe sometimes that she’s one of us, or rather one of James’s group of friends. Under her slightly ditzy temperament shelters a brilliant mind, apparently, or so Ally always says. She even beat us both with her degree, graduating four years after we did with a double first in history. Maybe that’s how she maintains her confidence in front of us all.
Ernest, now an MP like his dad, and godfather to my son, is talking very animatedly. ‘Such a sodding nuisance, this weather. The road at the end of your street is like an ice rink. Not sure what the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea think they’re doing, but they aren’t doing enough. Why haven’t they gritted the road? This is London, for God’s sake. Nearly lost control of the car.’
His wife laughs. ‘A bad workman blames his tools.’ She chuckles and turns to me. ‘Lovely to see you, Julianne, it’s been too long. God, you look lovely, as ever.’
I smile and thank her, even though I’m sure I probably look as haggard as my mother suggested two days ago. Louise looks a little tired herself, but Ernest seems to be bright-eyed and crackling with energy. He has his typical white-shirt-and-tie affair going on, as if he’s just walked out of a constituency meeting. Even back when we were students, he would wear crisp white shirts while lying around in his dorms reading or nipping out for drinks.
‘How are you, Julianne?’ He reaches forward to kiss me on the cheek. He’s always been a bit of a charmer. Blond and traditionally handsome, Ernest has a striking presence that never quite hides what I always think is a slightly cruel-looking edge to his face. His hair has been combed over today and the angular shape of his shoulders suggests that, amidst his time in parliament, he still finds time to work out a lot. He and James used to play squash together, but over the past couple of years their meet-ups have become more about food and alcohol than fitness.
‘I’m good, thank you, Ernest,’ I say. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘Certainly has,’ he says, his deep, posh voice resonating through the hallway.
‘Come on into the lounge, I’m just finishing up with the food.’ I go to walk back towards the kitchen.
‘Oh, you’re not cooking yourself, surely?’ he says. ‘Whatever happened to your housekeeper? Catherine or Cara or whatever her name is?’
Why is it nobody can get her name right? Just like my mother, I suspect Ernest doesn’t really think of house staff as real people, but rather another breed altogether.
‘Her name is Cassie. And I didn’t want to leave it all to her. There’s rather a lot of us.’
I lead the Kelmans further into the house and James arrives smiling at the entrance to the living room. ‘What are we drinking these days?’ he asks, sounding happy and merry. His friends are here, back around him. Just where he likes them.
The living room is warm and Christmassy, with the fire crackling in the grate and the big tree glinting with yellow lights. Usually I would be soaking up the atmosphere, but today it feels like I’m on mute, unable to appreciate the season I look forward to all year round. James is pouring out wine and brandy and Ally and Cameron are eagerly accepting. I stand in the doorway, momentarily unsure where to go or who to talk to. That feeling of mounting dread that’s been clinging to me for the past two days isn’t going away, and it’s now mixed with a sense of helplessness I can’t shake off. It’s as if I’m a visitor in my own home. Everything’s been turned upside down.
‘Julianne, James was just telling us about Stephen’s plans for Oxford. You must be so proud.’ It takes me a second to realise Louise is talking to me and I stare at her stupidly for a moment before managing a smile. ‘Yes, it’s certainly, um, on his radar.’
James turns to look at me, as I’d known he would.
‘On his radar? I think it’s a great deal more important to him than that. It’s his overall goal.’
‘Hmmm,’ I murmur. James stares at me, but I look away quickly.
‘Where is the dear fellow?’ Ally says, looking around.
‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ James says, still looking at me. ‘He seems to be spending an awful lot of time shut in his room these days.’ James says it with a laugh, but I can detect a slight note of uneasiness in his voice.
‘I wonder why,’ I say under my breath, but everyone’s attention is suddenly focused on me. ‘I mean … schoolwork. He’s still consumed with coursework and exam revision. And … he’s got a cold.’
‘Has he?’ James says, looking puzzled.
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. I can feel this getting weird and the others must be able to tell. Thankfully Ally starts talking about her trip to Hornchurch yesterday and how three of her five friends at the dinner all had terrible seasonal flu, and how she was furious they’d exposed her to it.
All of a sudden I feel a deep, burning sense of urgency within me. I can’t take it any more. I can’t stand it. I leave the room without another word, turn down the hallway and walk up the stairs. Stephen’s bedroom is at the end of the landing on the first floor. I walk towards it and pause outside, listening. There’s no sound at all. This is unusual in itself. I knock on the door. There’s a rustling sound, as if someone’s turning over in bed. Has he gone to sleep? I don’t bother to knock again, and instead open the door. He’s lying on his bed, his arms around one of his pillows.
‘I wanted to check you were okay,’ I say, going over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’m fine. Really. Go downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.’
I’m not quite sure what to say. He nods, looking lost and on the verge of tears.
‘I’ll be down soon. I will. Just give me a sec.’
I offer him a small smile and go back towards the door. ‘Come down when you’re ready, but there’s no rush. They’ll be pleased to see you. They’ve all been asking after you.’
He just nods again. Unable to think of anything else to say, I offer one last encouraging smile and go to close the door. Then he speaks.
‘You’ve forgiven him, have you?’
I stop where I am, half in his room, half on the landing. I backtrack and close the door and lean against it. ‘Your dad loves you.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
I raise a hand to my face. ‘Please, Stephen. Can we not talk about this now?’
‘When can we talk about it?’
‘We already have.’ I’m struggling not to cry, focusing my eyes on a small space on the floor.
‘He spoke to me. Earlier this morning. Did you know he was going to?’
I try to keep calm, but I can’t help the quick intake of breath. Stephen notices.
‘He said he was going to,’ I say. ‘Look, whatever you think …’
‘He didn’t deny it. I listened carefully to what he said. He just said I need to focus on the “bigger picture” and that things sometimes don’t make sense when you’re young and the most important thing is me getting into Oxford. I asked him why those files were in his personal Dropbox if they were to do with his work and he was just evasive. No attempt to make an excuse. He just kept mentioning Oxford and how I had a duty to the family to do well and I mustn’t get hung up on distractions.’
I clench my hands behind me to stop them trembling. ‘Well … I know your father and I may not see eye to eye on Oxford …’
‘This isn’t about fucking Oxford.’
I flinch. I can’t help it. I don’t remember ever hearing Stephen swear, certainly not in anger. Maybe when telling a joke or quoting something, but this is different. It sounds harsh and ugly coming from him. Before I can comment he gets up off his bed and walks over to his chest of drawers and opens the one on the top left. I see him lift up a pile of boxer shorts and retrieve something from underneath. He holds it out.
‘What is this?’ I say. But I can see what it is. It’s a USB drive. I hold out my hand and feel the ground shift beneath me as it drops into my palm.
Without talking, Stephen walks back to his bed and sits there looking up at me.
‘I don’t want to look at what’s on here,’ I say firmly.
‘He’s deleted everything, hasn’t he? Deleted or moved the files. I’ve tried to get back on and I can’t.’
I go to speak, to tell him off for trying to access the files again and read through those documents without telling me, but he carries on.
‘It doesn’t matter. I saved them to this when you went back downstairs. Thought I’d put them on a USB. Just in case. Have a look at the files on there. The later ones. There are more people on there. Different people. You’ll see. And be sure to look at the calendar.’
Calendar? This makes me hesitate before replying, but I can’t go into all this with him now. I need to close down this discussion.
‘Stephen, there is no point—’
‘Funnily enough, that’s what he said. Part of his lecture. “There’s no point making a fuss about nothing.” Well, I don’t think this is nothing.’
‘I think he meant that it wasn’t anything …’
‘Fine.’ He says it simply and turns away from me. ‘Keep up the party line if you want to. Keep the pen drive. Throw it away. I don’t care any more.’
He lies back down on his bed, head buried in the pillows. I take a step towards him, then find I have nothing left to say. After almost a minute, I go back out onto the landing and gently close the door behind me.
‘Ah, Julianne, perfect timing!’ Ally exclaims as I walk through the door to the living room. ‘I was just talking to my idiotic brother about grammar schools. You remember? You made your point so perfectly last time we spoke about them and I wanted to tell him about it but couldn’t remember quite what you said. Ernest is dead set on them, aren’t you?’
Ernest looks slightly embarrassed. I wonder how much Ally has drunk in the short time I’ve been upstairs.
‘Well, the PM is rather keen on … I think the general feeling is that we need a clear and definite direction …’
‘Oh, that’s right, use the PM as an excuse. Tell him, Julianne.’ She looks at me, waiting for me to leap to her defence.
‘I … er … I …’ My head is swimming and I’m finding it hard to pin the words down and form them into a coherent sentence. ‘I just feel that it will do more harm than good.’ Even as I say the words I know they sound lame. Ally clearly thinks so. I can see her expression fall in disappointment. Usually, I would rise to the challenge. I secretly like winding Ernest up a little. His smug superiority occasionally rubs me up the wrong way, though I normally try to remain friendly for the sake of his friendship with James.
‘I thought the whole concept of them would be right up your street, Julianne. You’re all about social mobility aren’t you? You were able to pay for your child to go to Westminster, Julianne. Grammar schools, on the other hand, are free. Are you to deny all those people you apparently care about the chance of free education just because of some hang-up you’ve got about these schools? I would have thought you were fairer than that, Julianne.’
He’s still smiling, to keep a veneer of playfulness to the conversation, but nobody is fooled. He’s deliberately tried to rile me. And it works.
‘Should the thousands of children whose parents can’t afford to hothouse them through an unfair exam be sent to allegedly second-rate schools? Should they be branded as stupid simply because they can’t tick the right boxes, like performing animals, before they even know their true selves? It’s not about helping the disadvantaged, as you well know. It’s about making sure all the middle class kids don’t have to rub shoulders with the rest of society. I would have thought you were fairer than that, Ernest.’
Silence greets this. I realise too late that I have turned a conversation into a rant, and made myself look rude at best, and deeply hypocritical at worst.
‘Anyone for some wine?’ James says after a few beats have passed.
‘Lovely,’ says Louise, holding out her glass. She is grinning enthusiastically. Always overcompensating, I think to myself, then immediately feel awful for being so horrible. She can’t help it that her husband is a self-satisfied jerk.
‘I’ve been so looking forward to this, Julianne,’ Louise continues. ‘The real highlight of my season.’
The statement only emphasises the awkward tone I’ve helped set.
‘How’s Stephen?’ she asks, clearly grappling for a lifeline now.
‘Oh, he’s still in his room … I’m not sure if he’ll be down. Hopefully he’ll come and say hello if he’s feeling up to it.’ It’s the best I can come up with on the spot. I sense James glance at me.
‘He seemed well enough earlier. I’ll go up and speak to him,’ James says and goes to put down his glass.
‘No.’ I say it louder than I mean to. Everyone stares at me again.
I feign a laugh that fails to sound anything close to convincing and say, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, everyone. Stephen’s … Stephen’s having a bit of a tough time. He’s …’ I put down my glass of wine to buy myself a couple of seconds of extra time. I straighten up, then speak slowly. ‘He’s broken up with his boyfriend. He’s rather upset. I said he could be excused from dinner.’
More silence greets this. Ally is the first one to finally speak: ‘Oh God, really?’ Her eyes are wide. ‘But … they seemed so …’
‘So happy, I know.’ I nod and raise my eyebrows, as if I, too, am shocked by the news. ‘But that’s young love for you. Never does run smooth, does it?’
Ernest grins. ‘Well, it did for you two.’ He motions at James. ‘Oxford’s cutest couple and all that.’
I’m keen to avoid the inevitable Oxford retrospective so early in the evening, but welcome the change of subject. ‘I know. God, all that feels so long ago, doesn’t it?’
‘It does!’ Ally exclaims loudly. ‘But at the same time, it could be yesterday.’
Everyone nods, even Cameron, seated next to Ally on one of the sofas, even though I have no idea which university he went to. I feel a pang of embarrassment for him, thinking how intimidating we must all be to him; almost lifelong friends, talking about politics and days gone by, not to mention my weird and untruthful announcement about my son’s love life. I decide to offer him a lifeline by diving straight in with a question.
‘Cameron – which school did you go to?’
‘She means university,’ said James, rolling his eyes, but smiling.
‘How do you know I didn’t mean school, as in before university?’
‘That’s the problem with Americans; you never really know what they mean,’ says Ernest, winking at me. I blank him.
‘Go with university,’ I say, smiling with Cameron. ‘It’s less of an elitist question.’
‘Is it?’ he says, chuckling awkwardly, looking around him as if slightly afraid. ‘I went to Canterbury Christ Church University.’
I’m completely at a loss as to what to say to this. Ernest, however, can’t resist plunging in.
‘Really? I thought that only gained university status about fifteen years ago.’
Cameron nods enthusiastically, apparently relieved someone here has some knowledge of the place. I’m not as easily taken in, and look over at Ernest with a sense of mounting resentment. How have I put up with him all these years?
‘Yes, almost,’ says Cameron. ‘I think it was around 2004 or 2005. I went there a few years after it changed.’
‘Christ, that must make you …’
‘I’m twenty-nine,’ Cameron says, with another nervous chuckle.
‘You know how old he is because I bloody told you,’ Ally says, scowling at her brother.
‘And what did you study?’ I ask.
‘Teacher training.’
‘Oh goodness,’ James says. ‘How awful we must have sounded going on about grammar schools when you actually work in the education system.’
‘Oh no, I’m not a teacher. I never went into it after uni. I work for an online magazine.’
‘Really?’ Louise beams at him. ‘That must be exciting. Is it something like BuzzFeed?’ She says the word as if it’s a new foreign phrase she’s just learnt and can’t help but feel proud of having mastered.
‘It’s … a bit different. It’s called Kennel Grader.’ He sounds a little sheepish now. Louise, on the other hand, seems even more interested.
‘Oh, is it about dogs?’
More embarrassed laughter from Cameron. ‘It’s … well … it’s actually about hot women. Each week, the site looks at women in the media, like on The X Factor or Love Island or just celebs in general, and grades them in hotness.’
If I thought the silence that met my attack on the education system earlier was awkward, it pales into insignificance compared to the one that greets Cameron’s revelation. Eventually, I recover the use of my vocal cords.
‘You mean … it’s called Kennel Grader because …?’
Cameron grins. ‘Well, it’s like The X Factor is a kennel; we just grade the members.’
More silence. Then Ally says, ‘I’m really looking forward to dinner, Julianne. Smells glorious. Is Cassie managing okay? Shall we go and help her?’
I stay where I am, leaning on the mantelpiece, and the room turns from Cameron to stare at me.
‘Are you fucking serious?’ I say, making no effort to disguise my disgust.
‘Darling, shall we go and sit down in the dining room?’ James is hovering at my side now, apparently nervous I’m about to make a scene.
‘That’s great, Cameron. I’m sure your parents are proud of what you’ve done with your teacher-training degree. Keep hold of this one, Ally. He seems like a right catch.’ I turn and walk out of the lounge.
‘Where are you going?’ James calls after me.
‘To check on the food,’ I snap back.
I take refuge in the downstairs bathroom for a few minutes, splashing cold water onto my face, not caring that it’s probably ruining the little make-up I’m wearing. When I open the door, I jump and step back; my husband’s tall build is filling the doorframe, waiting for me.
‘Jesus, Julianne. What’s wrong with you? Why do you keep disappearing? And what the hell was that flare-up all about? I was mortified. Ernest and Ally were mortified.’
‘They’ll live,’ I say, planning to go straight on into the living room, but he moves to block me. ‘We need to go back to our guests,’ I say. ‘Can’t have them sitting there mortified, can we?’ I push past him, leaving him in the corridor.
I decide to tackle the awkwardness head-on. ‘Sorry, guys.’ I start talking immediately as soon as I walk in, causing the four of them to break off from their suspiciously quiet conversations. ‘It’s been a long and stressful few days – Christmas and all that. I shouldn’t have let it spoil the night.’
A brief silence greets this, then Ally leaps up. ‘Of course, Julianne, don’t worry about it. Honestly, I give Cameron grief about his fucking atrocious job every day. He’s used to it, aren’t you, Cameron?’
Cameron, who’s gone a bit red, just nods and looks at his glass of wine.
‘He’s only at that vile place while he tries to get a job at GQ. He knows someone who knows someone and they’re sure they’ll be able to squeeze him in somewhere.’
I nod and put on a smile. ‘Well, that’s great. I hope it goes well, Cameron, if you get the job.’
He gives a little nod.
More awkward silence.
‘Ally, how far did you get with that Netflix series? You recommended it to me the other week. The one about the prison?’
Ally seems momentarily taken aback by the question, but then blinks and smiles. ‘God, I love it. I can’t stop. I’m on series three in just two weeks.’
‘Two weeks? Goodness.’ I’m aware I’m sounding over-the-top and falsely cheerful, but my real self feels miles away. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. It’s James.
‘Just spoken to Cassie. Food shouldn’t be too long now.’
It irritates me he’s spoken to Cassie. I think he flirts with her. Never to the point where I would worry about it, but enough for me to get a bit prickly. Very prickly today, it seems. I feel hot and uncomfortable and decide to venture away from my strange stance by the mantelpiece. Keen to keep some distance from Cameron, I take a seat near Louise. Neutral territory. I listen for a while as Ally, James and Ernest muse unenthusiastically about whether there’ll be snow by Christmas Day. Louise, while still smiling cheerfully, doesn’t seem desperate to take part. I seize the opportunity to engage her in conversation.
‘How is Jasper doing?’
Louise turns round and beams at me, apparently thrilled to be asked about her son. I feel guilty for not bringing him up sooner.
‘He’s great. Really good. Loving his travels.’
‘Stephen misses him. He always looked up to Jasper as an older brother. Still does, I think.’
Louise smiles. ‘I know. I hope Jasper keeps in touch. They still email, don’t they? Or whatever it is kids do these days.’
I nod, though I’m only guessing. ‘Oh, I’m sure. I think they Facebook each other.’
‘Julianne …’ Louise says, then glances at the others, who have now moved on to discussing local council politics with more fervour than the weather. She turns back to me, pausing as if she’s choosing her words carefully. ‘Is there anything wrong?’
‘Yes,’ I say. The word escapes me before I know what else to say. ‘I mean, no. I mean …’ I put a hand to my face, scared my eyes are starting to shine.
‘Julianne, what is it? Is it about Cameron and his magazine? Because if it is, I thought you were rather magnificent.’
‘Oh … well … thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever been described as magnificent before.’ I, too, glance at the others, but they’re still talking.
‘I hate that sort of thing as well,’ she says quietly.
I nod and try to smile. I’m cross with myself that I’m struggling not to cry. Though I have been known to well up when confronted with a nice gift or a sad film, I’m usually good in a crisis. I can carry out what tasks need to be done, and then deal with any emotional fallout later. But this is different. I can neither deal with my situation, nor face the emotional consequences. I’m trapped in some kind of hellish purgatory, pretending to my friends that all is happy and fine and making up excuses for snapping at them.
‘I’m sorry, Louise, I just need to … send a text.’
I need to focus on something that isn’t another person. Calm myself down so I can attempt to remain normal for the rest of the evening.
‘Oh, of course, no problem,’ Louise says, sounding a tad confused.
I pull out my phone from my pocket and instantly lower the brightness level so as not to draw too much attention to myself. I tap on the WhatsApp icon and open up Stephen’s message thread. Typing quickly, I send a brief message explaining I’ve made up a story about him and Will breaking up and that, if he comes down, he needs to play along. I’m not expecting him to reply straight away, but the message comes up as read and the text by his name says he is typing.
Why didn’t you just say I was unwell?
I read his message with dismay. He’s right. Why the hell didn’t I just keep to the story about him having a bad cold? Why did I have to drag his relationship status into this? I type back a reply.
You’re right, I’m sorry. Didn’t think. It’s OK if you stay upstairs. Just to warn you, Dad will probably come up to check on you at some point.
I am tempted to add that it would be best not to mention anything to do with the files he’s found, but decide there isn’t any need. If he were going to talk to him, he would have gone to him straight away. But he came to me. And now we’re in this together and I’m struggling to find a way to cope with it.
A new message arrives.
I’m coming down.
Christ, I think, glancing around, expecting him to appear instantly or apparate like a character from Harry Potter; but then I hear the sound of movement coming from upstairs.
I stand up and announce to the room at large: ‘Stephen’s coming down.’ Conversation stops and faces turn to me. I’m acting weirdly again. James’s eyes meet mine and I can see he’s both embarrassed and getting more and more irritated.
Again, Ally is quick to fill the silence. ‘Super! Glad he’s feeling okay to join us.’
As if on cue, the sound of footsteps is heard from the corridor and then Stephen walks in, a little tentatively. Everyone looks at him in silence for a moment, then Ally jumps up and embraces him. ‘So sorry to hear you’ve broken up with Will. What a miserable thing to happen at Christmas. The same thing happened to Ernest in 1987. That Polish girl, Franciszka, left you high and dry at that carol service in Winchester, didn’t she? Christmas Eve and he was left standing there all alone. Humiliating, wasn’t it, Ernest? In fact I think you said you were going to kill yourself, and then you vanished and everyone worried you had; but in the end we found you in one of the back rooms of the cathedral drinking church wine.’
Ernest looks pained, but smiles at everyone. ‘I was sixteen or seventeen. And her name was Francesca. My dearest sister has made her more Polish than she actually was.’
Everyone laughs and I feel an overwhelming gratitude towards Ally. She’s always been able to do this; breathe life into a room like a scented candle. She drives me crazy, but right now I want to hug her.
‘Well, it must have been her surname I was thinking of,’ Ally says, not to be put off. ‘And of course, you’re talking to a woman who’s just divorced the world’s biggest twat. Everyone could see it except me.’
I see James glance awkwardly away. We’d never liked Arthur and had been rather pleased when, out of the blue, Ally announced they were separating. Though he was never exactly nasty, Arthur had been the type of man who felt he needed to make his presence known. One of his biggest insecurities seemed to revolve around his wife refusing to take his name when they were married. ‘Why do I want to be owned by a man? Branded by him, my identity erased?’ Ally had said very openly when he’d made one dig too many about it at a previous dinner party. Whenever we went out to a restaurant with the two of them, we would have to sit there as he complained loudly to anyone who’d listen about the state of the country, the job market, the class system and the regrettable decline of the aristocracy. He was generally unfriendly and borderline cruel to anyone he considered outside his immediate social class – everyone from waiters and caterers, to my housekeeper and, on some occasions, me. Ally used to tell him off loudly whenever he became particularly horrid, leading to a number of very public blow-ups. The news of the divorce had made James and me sigh with relief.
‘Sit down, Stephen, dinner won’t be long,’ I say, not looking him in the eye. If I do, I might not be able to keep up this pretence for much longer. No matter what I say and do, I’m determined to make sure there are no more outbursts and no more opportunities for people to ask me what’s wrong.
‘Mum?’
The word makes me jolt around quickly – way too quickly, and I jog Louise’s arm, sending drops of wine spilling onto the white carpet.
‘Oh God!’ she exclaims, putting her hand under the glass to catch the remaining drips sliding down its stem. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say. ‘It’s fine, honestly, don’t worry about it. This carpet’s seen worse, I can tell you.’ It’s a lie and everyone knows it, staring down at the completely spotless cream pile which was only fitted a year previously.
‘I’ll get some kitchen roll,’ says James, glancing at Louise, still holding the dripping glass. As he exits the room, Ernest’s voice cuts through, loud and authoritative: ‘Doesn’t white wine work as some kind of remover if you spill red? Or is that a myth?’
‘A myth, I think,’ says Cameron quietly.
Ally makes a sound of disbelief. ‘You just say that because you can’t bear the thought of wine being poured away.’
In all the wine commotion I’ve forgotten what caused it in the first place. I glance over at Stephen, who is staring into the distance, his eyes glazed over.
‘What did you want me for, Stephen?’ I ask, and he comes to, as if from a dream, looking at me blankly.
‘You attracted my attention?’ I say, trying to keep my voice level.
‘It was nothing. We were talking about holidays. I was telling Ernest about the difficulty we had in Istanbul.’
‘Oh, that. Yeah, that was … that was scary.’
‘At least it was only a bomb scare, or so I hear? Nothing actually … well …’
‘Went bang? No. Pretty scary, though, being caught up in something like that,’ I say, trying to cast my mind back a few months and remembering the blind panic I’d felt when I was separated from Stephen and James during an evacuation of the airport. ‘We really shouldn’t have gone at all.’
Ernest nods. ‘James bully you all into it, did he?’
I shake my head. ‘No. I wanted to go.’ I’ve always been vaguely aware of Ernest’s attempts to portray his best friend as a domineering husband and force to be reckoned with. The truth is, it was me that pushed to go to Turkey. I was the one who’d talked down the terrorism fears, said we’d be fine as long as we weren’t cheap about it. My love of travel had got us into difficulty in the past, but this was without doubt the most traumatic escapade we’d experienced. ‘It was my mistake. I’ll be more cautious next time.’
Next time. With dismay, I realise that next time is already planned out. We’re going on a Scandinavian cruise in April. Just the two of us. The thought of being trapped with just him on a cold sea mortifies me right now. Thinking about any future with James beyond this evening makes my stomach contract. It’s as if a black sheet has been draped over the days, months, years stretching ahead. They haven’t been deleted. They’re just marked as unknown territory. A no-man’s land of years spent in the company of a man who, when I think about it, I perhaps don’t know at all.
Something brushes past my leg and I look down, straight into James’s eyes. He’s arrived at my side without me knowing and is bending down to pat a square of kitchen roll on the carpet. I expect him to be annoyed with me, but his voice is kind. ‘All right, dearest?’ It’s a gentle reminder of all the years that have gone before. All the warm, comfortable, blissful years. I’ve had it so easy. I only realise this now, when contemplating an uncertain future. How I’ve drifted through married life. How I gave up my job in publishing when Stephen was born and was very happy to fill my days with shopping, reading, doing up whatever house we were in at the time, going out to lunch, volunteering for charities, all the while not realising how I had, potentially, just handed over the keys of my life to this man. What would I do if it all fell apart? What would be, when it all came down to it, the point of my existence? A mother, of course, and a good one at that. But would that be it? Would it be enough?
A touch on my leg. He’s still looking at me. ‘Fine,’ I say, quickly, not meeting his eyes. ‘That won’t do anything, though.’ I nod at the kitchen roll. ‘I’ll get Cassie to have a look at it tomorrow morning.’
‘That will be a fun Christmas Eve for her.’ He sighs, getting up and walking back over to his seat.
As if the mention of her name has conjured her, Cassie appears at the door of the living room and raises her eyebrows and smiles, her way of saying it’s time for everyone to be seated.
‘Dinner’s ready, everyone,’ I say, getting up. I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. 7.40. In previous years, the Kelmans have normally left around 11.30. Ally, on the other hand, is a bit harder to get rid of and usually announces she’s staying to help clear up. Hopefully she’ll be keen to get her new, sexist boyfriend back home this year. At the most, it looks as if I have between three and four hours to get through. And in the back of my head I can almost sense an uncomfortable weight, pulling me down, and my hand travels unconsciously to my pocket where the thin little USB drive sits, waiting.