During the flight home and the train journey from Heathrow, Diana was excited about seeing Trevor. She yearned to feel his arms around her and smell the woody scent of pipe tobacco from his clothes, to sit down and ask him about his work and tell him the edited highlights of her three months away. So much had happened that it seemed much longer since she’d seen him. She missed his pithy insights, but most of all she wanted to feel as though he had forgiven her and that they were going to be fine.
She caught a bus from the station and alighted just past the zoo, then hurried down the frosty street to their rented flat in a Nash terraced house in Primrose Hill. It was only three in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, but already getting dark.
She knocked on the door first because it felt strange simply to barge in after so long away, even though it was her home. She’d just taken out her keys to unlock the door when Trevor pulled it open.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Hello!’
Straight away she saw that he looked terrible. His pallor was grey in the harsh electric light of the hall and he seemed very thin. ‘You’ve lost weight,’ she said with concern, giving him a hug.
‘Perhaps a bit,’ he said. As he picked up her bag and carried it in, she noticed that there were holes in the elbows of his sweater and one shoe was flapping off his foot because the shoelace was broken. She had a stock of shoelaces in one of the kitchen drawers but he obviously hadn’t found them.
She’d expected the flat to be uncared for but when they entered the kitchen, she saw that the sink was clear of dishes and the floor looked as though it had been recently mopped.
‘Did you get a charlady after all?’ she asked.
‘No, I did it myself. It’s not exactly hard, is it?’
‘Oh good. Thank you,’ she said. It felt strange that he had usurped her role, but she couldn’t complain. She should be delighted.
‘You’ve got new clothes,’ he commented. ‘And you’ve done something different with your hair.’
‘It’s backcombing,’ she said. ‘Seemingly it’s all the rage!’ She meant this to sound ironic, but Trevor looked surprised.
‘It’s nice,’ he said. ‘Very modern.’
While drinking her tea, she checked the larder, expecting to have to rush out and buy provisions for Christmas dinner, but there was a turkey on the shelf, much larger than they would need. He’d also bought potatoes, vegetables, mince pies and a round Christmas pudding in a wrapper with holly printed on top. She was touched that he’d gone to so much trouble.
‘When did you manage to shop? That was thoughtful of you.’
‘I’ve had to learn how to manage,’ he said. ‘It’s a tricky business. Did you know that all the shops have half-day closing on a Tuesday, except the butchers, which for some reason is Wednesday? Sheer cussedness.’
‘I’m sorry, I should have warned you about that.’ She felt guilty. All this should have been her job.
‘I hope you don’t mind but I’ve invited an American student, Chad, for Christmas dinner. He was going to be on his own. I told him to come at two-thirty, in time for a sherry before the Queen’s Speech.’
‘That was nice of you.’ As if the atmosphere wasn’t already awkward enough, now they had a young American to entertain.
She turned to check the shelves, listing all the parts of the dinner in her head, and realised there were a couple of items they still needed: Paxo stuffing (‘Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without the Paxo’) and some orangeade to go with the bottle of gin she’d brought back. Trevor liked gin. ‘I just need to pop out for a couple of odds and ends,’ she told him. ‘I won’t be long.’
She pulled her coat back on and rushed down to catch the shops in Camden before they closed for the holidays, feeling somehow wrong-footed by Trevor’s preparations.
On her return he was in his study marking student essays so she took a duster round the flat, noticing that he had dusted around ornaments without lifting them. Still, she should count herself lucky. Women’s magazines sometimes gave tips on how to get your husband to take out the rubbish, or empty the Hoover bag, but none expected them to cook and clean.
Over supper that evening, the conversation between them felt strained. Every time she mentioned something about the film, there was an awkward silence before Trevor changed the subject. He simply didn’t want to know. Instead he talked at length about a paper published by a university colleague that he felt was based on an incorrect premise. He tried to get her to understand some small distinction but it seemed fairly trivial to her.
‘Wasn’t it peer-reviewed?’ she asked.
‘Yes, by an imbecile! I can’t imagine what he was thinking.’ It had really got under his skin, and she sensed he felt threatened by this colleague, who had equal rank to Trevor but was known to have set his sights on the departmental chair when the present incumbent retired.
During a brief pause, Diana tried to tell him about the extraordinary craftsmanship of the boats at Ischia, but she could tell he didn’t want to hear about them. He didn’t ask any questions. ‘I wish you would come out to visit some time,’ she said wistfully. ‘My room has such a lovely view over the rooftops and spires, and I still haven’t had a chance to explore the city properly. I’m saving it for when you come.’
‘Well, don’t hold your breath,’ Trevor said. ‘I hardly dare leave the department just now for fear of what I’ll find on my return.’
She felt irritable that he wouldn’t even consider it. ‘In what way? Is all this worry because of one article by a colleague you don’t agree with? Surely it would be better to direct your energies into writing your own articles rather than criticising his?’
‘Is that a dig?’ Trevor’s voice rose. ‘I hope not, because the reason I’ve had less time to write up my research over the last three months is because I’ve had to rush out and buy food after lectures and come home to cook and clean. The chequebook ran out and its replacement got lost in the post so I had to find time to go to the bank when I needed money. I’m managing – don’t get me wrong – but you should be aware that while you were swanning around Rome’s hot spots, I wasn’t exactly sitting here with my feet up.’
Diana felt another stab of guilt but brushed it aside. ‘Trevor, you managed before we were married. You’re very capable.’
‘I just want you to understand why I’m not further ahead with my research. Life has been a juggling act and compromises have had to be made.’ He turned away, seeming close to tears.
Diana’s cheeks burned. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
The words hung in the air between them, until Trevor stood up and scraped back his chair. ‘I think I’ll go to my study and mark some more essays,’ he said. ‘If I catch up tonight, I’ll be able to take more time off later in the holidays.’
Diana rose to start the washing-up, feeling aggrieved. Why couldn’t he take time off the night she arrived back from three months away? How long was she to be punished for accepting a job that made her happier than she had ever been in her life? If he truly loved her, shouldn’t he be pleased for her?
At nine o’clock, she made a cup of tea and took it to the study. ‘I’m sorry we quarrelled,’ she said. ‘I think that sherry before dinner must have gone to my head. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry things have been so hard for you.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry too.’ He didn’t specify what for.
She was first to go to bed later and she listened to the familiar sounds of Trevor’s bathroom rituals – the vigorous tooth-brushing, the spitting, a last wee. When he came to bed, he put his arm round her and let her rest her head on his chest, as they always did, but neither attempted to initiate sex. The distance between them seemed too great. After a while, he said ‘I’m rolling over’ and turned onto his side, the position in which he liked to sleep.
Diana lay awake, wondering how she could make things better. She loved him and couldn’t face losing him. Without Trevor she would be entirely alone in the world. He was her anchor and, until recently, her best friend. Why couldn’t he show an interest in her new experiences? She was dying to share them but he’d erected a barrier that it was impossible to breach.
‘Trevor?’ she whispered.
There was no reply, but she was pretty sure from his breathing that he was only pretending to be asleep.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she whispered into the distance between them. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I’ll make things right, no matter what it takes.