Page 54 of A Midlife Marriage

Well enough to have married him.

38

Back at her flat, Caro threw her keys in the bowl on the hall table, slipped her shoes off and hurried into her living room. Standing by the window she could see the stream of red taillights heading out on the North circular, the flashing red sign of the Esso garage opposite. It was such a different view from Hollybrook Farm, all straight lines and angles, busy with cars, busy with people. Busy, busy, busy. She opened the window an inch and stood listening to the constant hum of traffic, an occasional distant shout.

It wasn’t so long ago that, from the moment she came home of an evening, to the moment she left again, this muted London soundscape had been her only accompaniment. Now she had an abundance of voices to keep her company. The low bleating of the sheep on the hills, the twit-twoo of the owls, and of course, Tomasz, everywhere. His tuneless singing in the shower, his rambled conversation with the chickens, even his whistling while he cooked. His arm around her shoulder while he slept: her bulwark against the world.

Turning away from the window she took her phone and settled herself on the sofa. The talk with Helen had left herfeeling as if she had opened the curtains to see a ray of tentative sunshine, after a week of heavy rain. Helen was right. Helen had driven a nail through her little box of torture and prised it open to reveal that yes, what mattered in all of this, was if she thought she could be happy. And she did. She really did. More than that, she could put it behind her. She was certain of that now in a way she had not been before.

The few days and nights she had been away had given her space to fill her lungs and breathe again. But it was Helen who had brought the epiphany. Helen who had drawn back the veil she had been living under from the moment she had left Spencer Cooper’s hotel room. Tomasz never need know and together, they could be happy.

She’d done it before. Who hasn’t? No-one gets to middle-age not having put things behind them, things that in the moment of living them felt as if they would always be horribly close-up and forever real. Things like the loud sniggering when, in a crowded boardroom, a month after cosmetic surgery on her nose, a junior male colleague had called outThat’s not Caro. Bring back Caroline Hooter Hardcastle.Things like the black, black eye of her unborn embryo. Things like Kay’s voice, as she’d struggled to explain her diagnosis, like Helen’s face emerging from the shadows the night she took Libby’s baby and walked too long and too far. All these things she had survived and moved forward from. As Helen had too. Because if Helen could put that night behind her, then she too could put this version of herself in the past: the shallow, needy woman of yesterday. It was the privilege and achievement of maturity. The understanding that when you are surrounded by white water, all that is necessary is to hold your chin high until it passes. Because it always passes. She took her phone and pressed Tomasz’s number, the warmth of a new beginning flooding her veins.

‘I was in the chicken village,’Tomasz said, slightly breathless as he answered.

Caro smiled. She could picture it now. Him, standing in the kitchen, straw on his boots, the door open, a mauve twilight framing the hills behind. ‘This is what I want,’ she said. ‘I’m absolutely sure.’

‘OK.’ And although the pause Tomasz left was loud, Caro didn’t hear.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she continued. ‘After the wedding we should make an appointment with the solicitor. As soon as possible. Next week if we can. Definitely before we buy.’

‘Before we buy?’

‘Yes!’ Caro, shifted her weight, tucking her legs under her. ‘It will give us a much better bargaining position with Laura and Neil, if we know what we can do with the land. I’m really sure now, Tomasz. I know this is what I want.’

If she had expected an equally gushing response from him, she didn’t get it. ‘OK,’ he said again.

‘It might even be possible to be up and running for the autumn. People camp all year round now. If we can get the camping licence I mean.’

‘I know what you mean, Caro.’

‘I miss it,’ she said

He didn’t speak.

And into the silence she laughed. ‘I’m sat here with the flashing neon of the garage opposite, and I really miss it. I wanted to say that. I wanted you to hear me say that.’

‘I can hear you,’ he said, and that was all.

39

‘And your dad is still in the bungalow?’ Hands in pockets, Martin leaned forward to look out of Kay’s kitchen window.

‘For now. He’s getting married.’ Kay dumped her handbag on the bench and opened her phone.

‘Married? That’s um …’

‘Quick? I know.’ And to avoid any more questions, she went to the fridge and flung the door open. ‘I did a load of batch-cooking last week,’ she said, ‘but Alex is never here so …’ If she didn’t say any more, Martin would get the hint and not ask. Yesterday, her father had rung to tell her that he and Lizzie had set a date. He’d asked if she would like to come with him to visit Lizzie at her retirement home, a home that would soon enough be his home. She’d declined, using the excuse of having to shop for an outfit for Caro’s wedding, which, judging by his response, she wasn’t sure he’d believed. But wasn’t it enough to have given her blessing?

Notice had been given. The process had even been expediated because of the advanced age of both bride and groom, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.But no, she didn’t want to visit Lizzie, and she didn’t want to discuss it with Martin. She couldn’t bring herself to get excited or participate in the planning of something that upset her just to think about. She wasn’t even sure she would attend, although if she didn’t, the only witnesses would be Alex, who had accepted the news with his usual equanimity, and whoever happened to be on duty at the time.

‘Is he happy?’

She turned, her face blank. It wasn’t a question she had expected him to ask. ‘I suppose so,’ she said and paused. What she’d been expecting was,How do you feel about it? Are you comfortable with it?

Martin nodded. ‘I was sorry to hear about your mum.’ His voice was quiet, as if having read her thoughts, he was tip-toeing in.

Her mum. Yes. Who was thinking about her mum in all this! Her ex-husband of all people. ‘And I was sorry to hear about your dad,’ she said. ‘I wish I had come to the funeral.’

---