I Let You Go

  ‘How kind of you,’ Mags said, stepping forward to take the package from Kate. ‘I always think cakes taste so much nicer when someone else has made them, don’t you agree?’

  Kate gave a grateful smile and Ray let out a slow breath. Perhaps the evening wasn’t going to be as uncomfortable as he had feared, although the sooner Stumpy got here, the better.

  ‘Now, what can I get you to drink?’ Mags said. ‘Ray’s on beer, but I have wine, if you’d rather have that.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  Ray shouted up the stairs. ‘Tom, Lucy, come and say hello, you unsociable pair.’

  There was a series of thumps and the children raced down the stairs. They came into the kitchen and stood awkwardly in the doorway.

  ‘This is Kate,’ Mags said. ‘She’s a trainee detective on Dad’s team.’

  Ray’s eyes widened at the put-down, but Kate seemed unperturbed.

  ‘Another few months,’ she grinned, ‘and I’ll be a proper detective. How are you guys?’

  ‘Fine,’ Lucy and Tom said in unison.

  ‘You must be Lucy,’ Kate said.

  Lucy had her mother’s fair hair, but the rest was pure Ray. Everyone commented on how much both children looked like him. He could never see the resemblance while the children were awake – there was too much of their own personality in them – but when they slept, and their features were still, Ray could see his own face reflected in his children. He wondered if he ever looked as belligerent as his son did now: scowling at the floor as though he had a grudge against the tiles. He had gelled his hair so it stood up in spikes as angry as his expression.

  ‘This is Tom,’ Lucy offered.

  ‘Say hello, Tom,’ said Mags.

  ‘Hello, Tom,’ he repeated, still looking at the floor.

  Mags flicked a tea-towel at him in exasperation. ‘Sorry, Kate.’

  Kate grinned at Tom, and he glanced at Mags to see if she was going to make him stick around.

  ‘Kids!’ Mags said, exasperated. She took the cling-film off a plate of sandwiches and handed it to Tom. ‘You two can go and eat this upstairs, if you don’t want to be with us old people.’ She widened her eyes in mock horror at the term, making Lucy giggle. Tom rolled his eyes, and the pair disappeared back up to their rooms in an instant.

  ‘They’re good kids,’ Mags said, ‘most of the time.’ She finished the sentence so quietly it wasn’t clear whether she was speaking to herself or to the others.

  ‘Have there been any more problems with bullying?’ Kate said.

  Ray groaned inwardly. He looked at Mags, who resolutely avoided his gaze. Her jaw tightened.

  ‘Nothing we can’t handle,’ she snapped.

  Ray winced and looked at Kate, trying to convey an apology without Mags noticing. He should have warned Kate how sensitive Mags was about Tom. There was an uncomfortable pause, then Ray’s mobile pinged with a text message. He fished it from his pocket gratefully but his heart sank as he saw the screen.

  ‘Stumpy can’t make it,’ he said. ‘His mum’s had another fall.’

  ‘Is she okay?’ Mags asked.

  ‘I think so – he’s on his way to the hospital now.’ Ray sent a message to Stumpy, and put the phone back in his pocket. ‘Just the three of us, then.’

  Kate looked at Ray and then at Mags, who turned away and began stirring the chilli.

  ‘Look,’ Kate said, ‘why don’t we do this another time, when Stumpy can make it?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Ray said, with a cheeriness that sounded false, even to himself. ‘Besides, we’ve got all this chilli: we’ll never get through it without help.’ He looked at Mags, half wanting her to agree with Kate and cancel the evening altogether, but she carried on stirring.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said briskly. She handed a pair of oven gloves to Ray. ‘Can you bring the casserole dish? Kate, why don’t you grab those plates and come through to the dining room?’

  There were no places laid, but Ray sat automatically at the head of the table, Kate on his left. Mags put a pan of rice on the table, then returned to the kitchen for a bowl of grated cheese and a tub of soured cream. She sat opposite Kate, and for a while the three of them were busy passing dishes and filling their plates.

  As they settled down to eat, the clink of cutlery on china made the lack of conversation even more obvious, and Ray searched his mind for something to talk about. Mags wouldn’t want them banging on about work, but perhaps it was the safest topic of conversation. Before he could make up his mind, Mags rested her fork on the side of her plate.

  ‘How are you finding CID, Kate?’

  ‘I love it. The hours are a killer, but the work’s great, and it’s what I’ve always wanted to do.’

  ‘I hear the DI’s a nightmare to work for.’

  Ray looked sharply at Mags, but she was smiling pleasantly at Kate. It did nothing to diminish the feeling of unease that had crept over him.

  ‘He’s not too bad,’ Kate said, with a sidelong glance at Ray. ‘Although I don’t know how you put up with the mess: his office is a disgrace. Half-drunk coffee cups all over the place.’

  ‘That’s because I’m working too hard to drink a full one,’ Ray countered. Banter at his expense was a small price to pay under the circumstances.

  ‘He’s always right, of course,’ Mags said.

  Kate pretended to consider this. ‘Except when he’s wrong.’

  They both laughed, and Ray allowed himself to relax a little.

  ‘Does he hum “Chariots of Fire” under his breath all the time,’ Kate said, ‘like he does at work?’

  I wouldn’t know,’ Mags said smoothly. ‘I never see him.’

  The light mood evaporated and for a while they ate in silence. Ray coughed and Kate looked up. He gave her an apologetic smile and she shrugged it off, but when he turned back he realised Mags was watching them, a faint furrow across her brow. She put down her fork and pushed her plate away from the edge of the table.

  ‘Do you miss being in the job, Mags?’ Kate asked.

  Everyone asked Mags that, as though they expected her to still be hankering after the paperwork; the shitty hours; the filthy houses where you wiped your feet on the way out.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, without hesitation.

  Ray looked up. ‘Do you?’

  Mags continued talking to Kate as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘I don’t miss the job, exactly, but I miss the person I was back then. I miss having something to say, something to teach people.’ Ray stopped eating. Mags was the same person she had always been. The same person she always would be. Carrying a warrant card didn’t change that, surely?

  Kate nodded as though she understood, and Ray was grateful for the effort she was making. ‘Would you ever go back?’

  ‘How could I? Who would look after that pair?’ Mags rolled her eyes upwards towards the bedrooms. ‘Not to mention him.’ She looked at Ray, but she wasn’t smiling, and he tried to decipher the look in her eyes. ‘You know what they say: behind every great man…’

  ‘It’s true,’ Ray said suddenly, with more vigour than the quiet conversation warranted. He looked at Mags. ‘You hold everything together.’

  ‘Pudding!’ Mags said abruptly, standing up. ‘Unless you’d like some more chilli, Kate?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. Can I give you a hand?’

  ‘You stay there, it won’t take a moment. I’ll clear these away then I’ll nip upstairs and make sure the kids aren’t up to mischief.’ She carried everything out to the kitchen, then Ray heard light footsteps running upstairs, and the soft murmur of voices from Lucy’s bedroom.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her.’

  ‘Is it me?’ Kate said.

  ‘No, don’t think that. She’s been in a funny mood recently. She’s worried about Tom, I think.’ He gave a reassuring smile. ‘It’ll be my fault – it usually is.’

  They heard Mags come back downstairs, and when she next appeared she was carry
ing a plate of brownies and a jug of cream.

  ‘Actually, Mags,’ Kate said, standing up, ‘I think I’m going to pass on dessert.’

  ‘Would you rather have some fruit? I’ve got melon, if you’d prefer?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. I’m just knackered. It’s been a long old week. Dinner was lovely, though, thank you.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Mags put down the brownies. ‘I never congratulated you on the Gray job – Ray tells me it was all down to you. That’s a good result to have on your CV this early on.’

  ‘Oh well, it was a joint effort, really,’ Kate said. ‘We’re a good team.’

  Ray knew she meant the whole CID team, but she glanced at Ray as she said it, and he didn’t dare look at Mags.

  They stood in the hall and Mags kissed Kate on the cheek. ‘Come and see us again, won’t you? It was lovely meeting you.’ Ray hoped he was the only one who could hear the insincerity in his wife’s voice. He said goodbye to Kate, having a moment of indecision over whether to kiss her. He decided it would be odd if he didn’t, and kept it as brief as possible, but he felt Mags’s eyes on him and was relieved when Kate set off down the path and the door was shut and locked behind her.

  ‘Well, I don’t think I can resist those brownies,’ he said with a cheeriness he didn’t feel. ‘Are you having some?’

  ‘I’m dieting,’ Mags said. She went into the kitchen and unfolded the ironing board, filling the iron with water and waiting for it to heat up. ‘I’ve put a Tupperware in the fridge with rice and chilli for Stumpy – will you take it in tomorrow? He won’t have eaten properly if he’s at the hospital all night tonight, and he won’t feel like cooking tomorrow.’

  Ray brought his bowl through to the kitchen, and ate standing up. ‘That’s good of you.’

  ‘He’s a nice guy.’

  ‘He is. I work with a great bunch of people.’

  Mags was silent for a while. She picked up a pair of trousers and began ironing them. When she spoke it was casual, but she pressed the tip of the iron hard against the fabric.

  ‘She’s pretty.’

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘No, Stumpy.’ Mags looked at him, exasperated. ‘Of course Kate.’

  ‘I suppose so. I’ve never really thought about it.’ It was a ridiculous lie – Mags knew him better than anyone.

  She raised an eyebrow, but Ray was relieved to see her smile. He risked a gentle tease. ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Not a jot,’ Mags said. ‘In fact, if she’ll do the ironing, she can move in.’

  ‘I’m sorry I told her about Tom,’ Ray said.

  Mags pressed a button on the iron and a cloud of steam hissed on to the trousers. She kept her eyes on the iron as she spoke. ‘You love your job, Ray, and I love that you love it. It’s a part of you. But it’s as though the kids and I exist in the background. I feel invisible.’

  Ray opened his mouth to protest, but Mags shook her head.

  ‘You talk more to Kate than you do to me,’ she said. ‘I could see it this evening – that connection between you. I’m not daft, I know what it’s like when you’re working all hours with someone: you talk to them, of course you do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me too.’ She forced out another burst of steam and pushed the iron harder across the board, back and forth, back and forth. ‘Nobody’s ever laid on their death bed wishing they had spent more time at work,’ she said. ‘But our kids are growing up and you’re missing it. And before too long they’ll be gone and you’ll be retired, and it’ll be me and you, and we won’t have anything to say to each other.’

  It wasn’t true, Ray thought, and he tried to find the words to say so, but they stuck in his throat and he found himself simply shaking his head as though he could make her words go away. He thought he heard Mags sigh, but it might have just been another cloud of steam.

  38

  You never forgave me for that night in Venice. You never lost that watchfulness, and you never again gave yourself up to me completely. Even when the bruise had faded from the bridge of your nose, and we could have forgotten all about it, I knew you were still thinking about it. I knew from the way your eyes followed me across the room when I went to get a beer, and from the hesitation in your voice before you answered me, although you told me constantly you were fine.

  We went out for dinner on our anniversary. I had found you a leather-bound book on Rodin, in the antique bookshop in Chapel Road, and I wrapped it in the newspaper I had saved from our wedding day.

  ‘The first anniversary is paper,’ I reminded you, and your eyes lit up.

  ‘It’s perfect!’ You folded the newspaper carefully and slipped it inside the book, where I had written a note: For Jennifer, who I love more each day, and you kissed me hard on the lips. ‘I do love you, you know,’ you said.

  Sometimes I wasn’t sure, but I never doubted the way I felt about you. I loved you so much it frightened me; I didn’t realise it was possible to want someone so badly you would do anything to keep them. If I could have taken you away to a desert island, away from everyone, I would have done it.

  ‘I’ve been asked to take a new adult education class,’ you said, as we were shown to our table.

  ‘What’s the money like?’

  You screwed up your nose. ‘Pretty dreadful, but it’s a therapy course offered at a subsidised rate to people with depression. I think it’ll be a really worthwhile thing to do.’

  I snorted. ‘That sounds like a bundle of laughs.’

  ‘There’s a strong link between creative pursuits and people’s moods,’ you said. ‘It would be great to know I was helping their recovery, and it’s only for eight weeks. I should be able to fit it in around my other classes.’

  ‘As long as you still have time for your work.’ Your pieces were in five shops in the city now.

  You nodded. ‘It’ll be fine. My regular orders are all manageable, and I’ll limit the number of commissions I take for a while. Mind you, I didn’t expect to end up doing quite so much teaching – I shall have to cut down next year.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say,’ I said, with a laugh. ‘Those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach!’

  You said nothing.

  Our food arrived and the waiter made a fuss of pulling out your napkin and pouring the wine.

  ‘I was thinking it might be a good idea for me to open a separate bank account for the business,’ you said.

  ‘Why do you need to do that?’ I wondered who had suggested that to you, and why you had been discussing our finances with them.

  ‘It might be easier when I do my tax return. You know, if everything’s in one account.’

  ‘It’ll only mean extra paperwork for you,’ I said. I cut my steak in half to check it was cooked the way I liked it, and carefully removed the fat to place on the side of my plate.

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘No, it’s easier if it all carries on going into mine,’ I said. ‘After all, I’m the one who pays the mortgage and the bills.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ You picked at your risotto.

  ‘Do you need more cash?’ I said. ‘I can give you more housekeeping money this month if you like.’

  ‘Maybe a little.’

  ‘What do you need it for?’

  ‘I thought I might go shopping,’ you said. ‘I could do with some new clothes.’

  ‘Why don’t I come with you? You know what you’re like when you buy clothes – you’ll choose things that look awful when you get home, and you’ll end up taking half of them back.’ I laughed, and reached across the table to squeeze your hand. ‘I’ll take some time off work and we’ll make a day of it. We’ll have lunch somewhere nice and then we’ll hit the shops and you can hammer my credit card as much as you like. Does that sound good?’

  You nodded, and I concentrated on my steak. I ordered another bottle of red wine, and by the time I had finished it we were the last couple in the restaurant. I left too big a tip and fell against the waiter
when he brought my coat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ you said, ‘he’s had a bit too much to drink.’

  The waiter smiled politely, and I waited until we were outside before I took your arm and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger. ‘Don’t ever apologise for me.’

  You were shocked. I don’t know why – wasn’t this what you had been expecting since Venice?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ you said, and I released your arm and took your hand instead.

  It was late when we got home, and you went straight upstairs. I turned off the downstairs lights and joined you, but you were already in bed. When I got in next to you, you turned to me and kissed me, running your hands down my chest.

  ‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ you said.

  I closed my eyes and waited for you to slip beneath the duvet. I knew it was pointless: I had drunk two bottles of wine and felt not so much as a stirring when you took me in your mouth. I let you try for a few moments, then pushed your head away.

  ‘You don’t turn me on any more,’ I said. I rolled over to face the wall, and shut my eyes. You got up for the bathroom, and I could hear you crying as I went to sleep.

  I didn’t plan to cheat on you once we were married, but you stopped making an effort in bed completely. Do you blame me for looking elsewhere, when the alternative is missionary position with a wife who keeps her eyes shut the entire time? I started going out on a Friday after work, coming home in the early hours whenever I’d had enough of whoever I had ended up in bed with. You didn’t seem to care, and after a while I didn’t bother coming home at all. I would roll in at lunchtime on Saturday and find you in your studio, and you never asked where I’d been or who I’d been with. It became like a game, seeing how far I could push you before you accused me of being unfaithful.

  The day you did I was watching football. Man U were playing Chelsea, and I was sitting with my feet up and a cold beer. You stood in front of the television.

  ‘Get out of the way – they’re into extra time!’

  ‘Who’s Charlotte?’ you said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I craned my neck to see past you.