One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [94]
‘But not this time?’
‘No. I told him I couldn’t go on letting people down, letting myself down, feeling small and used and convenient, that it wasn’t very nice and would he please mind telling me whether he ever truly intended to leave his wife. He sat down heavily and put the flowers on the floor, almost as if he were laying them on a grave, and said no, he never would. That she’d given him too much to be left – three children, a home, the ability to follow his glittering career – that he couldn’t abandon her now.’
‘Did he ever intend to?’ I wondered aloud, thinking Maggie too had given a lot.
‘I asked him that. He said, truly, in the beginning, when he was so in love with me – yes; said he wrestled with it daily, didn’t see how he could live without me. But as the years went by…’
He realized he could. Maggie had become a habit, a routine. No longer fresh and exciting: she, in a way, had become a wife. His second one. But because she didn’t come with children and a home, she’d been much easier to shed. I wondered if it had even been a relief.
‘I almost think it was a relief,’ she said, disconcerting me. ‘Henry’s a kind man. He’d never have hurt me if I hadn’t instigated it, but when I asked him to choose, I swear I saw a cloud lift from his eyes. And the awful thing is, Hattie, I think I’ve known that for a while.’
‘That he wanted out?’
‘Yes. But knew he’d never do it. So I suppose I knew, as I paced the flat, waiting for him to arrive with his flowers and champagne, what the answer would be. And I know I’ve just burst into tears to you, and Lord knows I’ve been crying on and off for two days now, but actually, honestly, deep down…’
‘You know it’s right.’
There was a heavy silence.
‘I’ll miss him.’
‘Of course you’ll miss him.’
‘I feel so bereft.’
‘But you’re not bereft, Maggie.’ I could feel her wobbling again. ‘You’ve got so much. A shop, a career, friends—’
‘No, don’t count them,’ she implored, interrupting me. ‘My blessings. I know what I’ve got, and believe me, it doesn’t add up to a great deal. I’ve got no husband, no children, and at forty-four, never will have now. I’m scared, Hattie. I look into the future and see a great big void.’
‘Well, no children maybe, but the husband – a man… For heaven’s sake, Maggie, there’ll be others!’
‘But I had a man,’ she said sadly. ‘One I loved. I had Henry. I don’t want others.’
‘He wasn’t yours. You never had him, Maggie. He didn’t belong to you.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘And I always felt bad about that, Hattie, you know? Knew I was deceiving and robbing Davina.’ I’d never heard her say her name before: only ‘the neurotic’ or ‘the stick insect’. ‘But I’ve been robbed too.’
I swallowed. I’d always felt that. That Henry had taken her best years. No – not her best years, but her last chance to have a family, at any rate. She’d met him when she was thirty-five: still gorgeous, not beautiful but very foxy and sexy – endless legs – and he was undoubtedly a terribly attractive older man. Handsome, wealthy, well connected, he was known to his set as Golden Balls on account of everything he touched: but not Maggie, it seemed. Because although she’d played the part of the glamorous girlfriend perfectly, she secretly wanted to be a wife. She would have married Étienne and had his children, and she would have married Henry and had his too, if he’d let her. But she’d been coerced into a different role: bundled from pillar to post, so that the girl who looked like she was in complete control really wasn’t.
‘Anyway,’ she went on in something more like her normal tone, ‘I’ll be fine. Life goes on, and any other cliché you care to mention. And your sister’s been sweet. I’m embarrassed to say I had a sob on her shoulder yesterday.’
‘Oh – is that where you are?’
‘Yes, I came down yesterday to see how Rod and Kenny were getting on, and she made me stay the night.’
‘Oh, good!’ Yes she would. Laura was