Page 29 of A Midlife Marriage

‘Oh.’ Helen frowned. She’d forgotten all about the photo. ‘I’ll explain later,’ she said.

Caro arched her brows. ‘Promise?’

‘I think so.’ It was as far as she could go. To tell Caro how she had thrown away the most exciting opportunity to pass her way in years, to explain how she had stalked out of the office like a stroppy teenager, wasn’t something she could commit to. Maybe in time, but certainly not now. Now, regret and disappointment lashed her, and if she didn’t get a grip and put the day’s events to the back of her mind, it would ruin what was supposed to be a special evening. Squeezing Caro’s arm, she went back inside and dropped into the nearest armchair. ‘Let’s just enjoy ourselves,’ she called back, and to her immense relief, Caro came in, collapsed onto the sofa opposite and said: ‘I’m up for that.’

Kay came back in, bearing a tray with three glasses of champagne.

Stunned, Helen stared. ‘Where did you find those?’

‘In a box, labelled glasses,’Kay said. ‘Under your kitchen table.’

‘Oh.’ Helen smiled. ‘It’s been such a long day,’ she said as she took the glass Kay offered. ‘And I know I invited you both to dinner, but now you’re here I really really don’t want to cook. Is that awful?’

‘Terrible,’ Caro said, as she too took a glass.

‘What about takeaway?’

‘Takeaway?’ Helen’s face lit up. ‘I could hug you, Kay.’

‘I can’t think of anything better.’ Caro eased off her shoes. ‘Just a poppadom for me and a bottle more of this, and I’ll be fine.’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ From her head to her toe, Kay shivered. A whole-body movement that had the champagne in her glass wobbling. ‘I just had the most amazing flash of Deja vu,’ shegasped. ‘Do you remember our first night in the Sydney Road flat?’

Helen and Caro looked at each other.

‘We had Indian then, didn’t we?’ Helen said.

Caro nodded. ‘It was my first time. I’d never had it before.’

‘That’s right.’ Kay laughed. ‘Me neither.’

Helen put her hand to her mouth. ‘I remember! I had to persuade you both, and you both loved it.’

‘Well, it’s just like old times then.’ Caro raised her glass to the wall of boxes. ‘We hadn’t unpacked then either had we?’

‘No, we hadn’t.’ Kay laughed. She looked at the boxes. ‘Although I suspect we had a lot less to unpack.’

‘That’s true.’ And Helen too turned to look. Oh, the baggage those boxes contained. Books she’d once read and never would again, eight different coats and jackets, for what would only ever be four seasons, strappy heels, that, fifty-two years of gravity hammering her feet wide, she would never fit again, photographs of Cornish coastlines, photographs of Welsh coastlines, of dogs, once beloved and now deceased, vegetables planted, grown, long since eaten. Why was she keeping all this? ‘I don’t need half this stuff.’ She put her glass down. ‘I haven’t had anything to drink, so I’ll drive. I’ve got a menu somewhere.’

Caro reached for her handbag. ‘You’re so last century, Helen.’ She laughed. ‘If you use a delivery service, they’ll bring it to the door.’

‘Alex does it all the time.’ Kay nodded. ‘They send a text when it’s here.’ She took a sip of champagne and shrugged. ‘Your chips have arrived.’

‘Chips?’ Helen said incredulously. ‘You can get chips delivered?’

Kay burped. ‘That’s what they text,’ she added and burped again and put her hand to her mouth and giggled. ‘Your chips have arrived.’

‘I couldn’t have askedfor a better retirement dinner,’ Kay said.

The table was spread with her favourite food; the room filled with her favourite people. Along with the wonderful surprise party at school, she was riding a wave of contentment. The bikini fitted, (just about). And she had finally taken her suitcase down from the loft. It was just a reconnaissance trip after all. A month to start, she’d decided that much. ‘Caro?’ she said, stretching a chicken dish across the table.

‘No thank you.’

‘Sure?

Caro waved her arm.

‘Is that a yes, or a, no?’

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