The Other Half

  “Yes. You can come back on the weekend and see Nathan, though you’ll have to take him out. I don’t want you hanging around here.”

  “I’ll go to Pete’s,” said Jamie, sitting down heavily on the stairs. He seemed to realize that Maggie wasn’t going to change her mind. “Can I use the phone?”

  “Yes, you can stay to make a call, though you could use your mobile. Call Pete, or find yourself a hotel for the night. But that’s it, Jamie. No more discussions. No arguing. No pleading. You’ve ten minutes, then I want you gone.”

  40

  Chloë was excited. For the first time in two years, she was going to see her brother. It was mid-December and Sam was coming home from California for Christmas. Chloë had even taken the first day off she’d had since New York to pick him up from Heathrow.

  As she stood waiting at the arrivals gate scanning every luggage label to see if it was from his flight, she was barely able to contain herself. At last his fellow passengers began to trickle through from customs and, after what seemed like an age, she saw a familiar figure, pushing a trolley laden with bags. She was eager to shout but knew Sam would find it embarrassing, so she waited until he’d gotten beyond the balustrade.

  “Sam!”

  “Chloë!”

  They flung their arms around each other, then stood back self-consciously—open displays of affection weren’t normally their style.

  “So, how are you?” he said. Chloë realized at once he sounded faintly American.

  “Oh, I’m fine! I’ve got loads to tell you. But it’ll keep. How are you? Flight OK?”

  She appraised him. His skin was browner, his hair lighter, he seemed leaner, fitter. He still looked like her little brother—scruffy, with his chestnut curls and his “sticky-outy” ears, as she’d always cruelly referred to them—though his face seemed older, possibly wiser.

  “I’m great! I love it there! You should come and stay with us, sis, you really should.”

  “I went to New York,” she reminded him.

  “Of course. I got your postcard. Not that it’s anything like California, though. What did you think?”

  “Oh, I loved it!” Chloe had a pang of nostalgia. “I had the best time ever. I’m dying to go back.”

  “I can imagine. It’s just your kind of city. In fact,” he reflected, as he pushed the trolley into the Heathrow express ticket area, “I can see it would suit you. Have you ever thought of moving there for a bit?”

  “I’d love to!” For a moment Chloë forgot James. “But how could I? It’s so hard to get a work permit.”

  “Tell me about it.” Sam was still waiting for his green card.

  By now they were at the platform, and within minutes a train pulled in. They struggled aboard with Sam’s bags, took two seats opposite each other, and leaned across the table to continue chatting. Uncertain of his response, Chloë held off on telling her brother about James, instead updating him on the magazine. “The research groups came back with such positive feedback,” she said, “so we’re all set to launch in the New Year.”

  “That’s excellent. Now, I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Chloë gleaned from his expression that it was major. Oops, she thought, this is the first time I’ve allowed him to get a word in. “Ooh, what?”

  “You know that Couples’ Weekend I mentioned months ago? In the end, I went.”

  Well I never, thought Chloë. Who would have guessed my brother would do something so Californian?

  “Actually it was rather good, made me see things a bit differently. Helped clarify what’s important.”

  “Really?”

  He smiled broadly. “I’m getting married.”

  “Oh, my God!” cried Chloë, surprised again. “To Michele, I presume?”

  Sam laughed. “Of course—who else would it be?”

  “Just checking,” said Chloë. “You never know.” She stopped to think. While on many levels she was delighted—she genuinely liked Michele, and believed them well suited—she felt a touch envious and a whole load of other emotions she couldn’t quite place.

  So my little brother must have proposed, she realized. Imagine him, getting married, eh? Though I’m older than he is. It should have been me first …

  She bit her lip. Although James wasn’t living at home at the moment, Chloë had not been seeing much more of him as a result. He’d said he needed space, time to consider, and she didn’t want to push things, though it made her miserable as hell not to. And now her baby bro was going to be a husband.

  Will James ever commit like that to me? she wondered. At once she was struck. If James did offer to commit seriously—or in any way, come to that—would I trust him? she asked herself. He’s not as trustworthy as Sam, I can see that … I’m biased, of course, but everyone who’s met him agrees: Sam’s a real sweetie. Oh, well. She pushed these observations aside. Now was not the time to ponder that; she owed it to Sam to focus on what he was saying.

  “So where are you going to have the wedding? Here? Australia? California?”

  * * *

  While Sam was sleeping off jet lag on the living room sofa, Chloë caught up on the housework. She disliked doing it, but it had gotten beyond the point that even she could stand it. She put a load of whites in the washing-machine, then set about cleaning the dishes. As she stood at the sink, wrist-deep in soapy water, scrubbing absentmindedly at a casserole dish, she thought once more about James.

  Since he had left Maggie three weeks previously, he’d been staying with his friend, Pete, and Pete’s wife, in Wimbledon. Apparently, although they had two children, there was a spare room. “So he’s not moving in here then?” Rob had asked. The possibility had occurred to Chloë too. “Oh, I can understand why not,” she’d said. “He won’t want to leap into that straight away,” and, heeding Rob’s words about James turning to her on the rebound, she’d refrained from suggesting it to him. Nonetheless, she’d been hurt he’d not seemed to consider it himself, which had also made her wonder whether he was still hoping to work things out with Maggie. If he moves in with me it will ruin his chances of reconciliation, she’d realized, yet she was too afraid to ask him outright.

  There seem to be more and more no-go areas with James, Chloë admitted to herself. I suppose it’s because I’m wary of what he might say.

  In truth, now that she understood how vulnerable her own position was, Chloë was terrified. Turning a blind eye was her way of protecting herself. She no longer invited James to spend time with her, just accepted that one or two nights a week was the most he could give. She didn’t ask him if he loved her, as she was petrified that now he was potentially available, he’d say he wasn’t sure. And she hadn’t even asked for details on his split with Maggie.

  “So his wife found out about the two of you?” Rob had been keen to discover.

  “No idea,” Chloë had replied. “All I know is they had a huge row and he walked out.”

  The notion that Maggie might despise her, and that people would perceive her as the villain of the piece, made Chloë shudder.

  Nor had she told her friends what was going on: a sure sign that she was uncomfortable with her own behavior. She’d never put Sam in the full picture either, although she normally confided in him, and she’d certainly not told her parents. So the only person who was aware that James had left his wife was Rob. And there was no avoiding telling him, thought Chloë.

  At that moment her brother emerged from the living room, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Blimey, what’s gotten into you?” He looked at the pile of clean dishes, stacked precariously on the drain board.

  She’d been so preoccupied, she’d accomplished more than she realized. “Impressive, huh?”

  “You’ll make someone a good wife yet. Any chance of a cuppa?”

  “Of course.” Chloë jumped to attention. “Tea? Coffee?”

  “Got anything herbal?”

  “Really?” Chloë was surprised. Her brother used to like his drinks laced with
sugar and caffeine.

  “Yup. I’m on a bit of a health kick.”

  Inwardly, Chloë smiled. On the train earlier Sam was scathing about the West Coast obsession with the body beautiful, yet he appears to be embracing the lifestyle even so, she thought.

  Cup of decaf in hand (it was the best Chloë could do), Sam returned to his spot on the sofa and edged his feet back under the duvet. Potato shifted grudgingly to make room.

  “How’s your love life then?” he asked.

  He was bound to ask eventually, Chloë acknowledged. She hesitated, wondering where to start. “Bit of a mess actually…”

  “You seeing more than one bloke?” Sam teased.

  If only! thought Chloë. But at least here was a way in. “Not exactly … It’s more like the other way around.”

  Sam appeared perplexed. “You’re seeing some guy who’s seeing someone else too?”

  Chloë nodded. “You could put it that way.”

  “Do you mind?” Sam examined her face closely. “Yes, you do. You’re too old for the double-dating game. Why don’t you tell him you want to go out together properly, or knock it on the head?”

  “He’s married,” Chloë said, then hurriedly looked away.

  “He’s what?”

  “Married.” Chloë was conscious of his gaze but unable to return it. Then she added, hoping it might sound less dreadful, “Though now he’s not living with her anymore.”

  “Now he’s not—you mean he was?”

  “Er … yes,” Chloe admitted, coloring. She might deceive herself, but she couldn’t lie to her brother. “Until last month he was.”

  “How long has this been going on, then?”

  Chloë cast her mind back. “About six months.” Her cheeks were burning; she felt horribly ashamed. Although Sam was younger, she desperately needed his approval. They’d always looked after each other, particularly when their parents had been preoccupied with their own misfortunes.

  “Are you telling me he left his wife for you?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Chloë said rapidly. “I mean, he’d probably have left her anyway.”

  “Hmm. I suppose next you’re going to tell me he has children.”

  Chloë squirmed. “Only one,” she whispered.

  “He? Or she?”

  “He.”

  “How old?”

  She could barely say. “He’s seven, now.”

  “Oh, Chloë!” Disappointment emanated from Sam’s every pore. “How could you?!”

  “But I really like him! You haven’t even allowed me to explain! You don’t understand!” I love James, thought Chloë. Sam’s only being so self-righteous because he’s about to get hitched.

  Yet Sam was stern. “I think I do. Where did you meet him?”

  “At work—he’s the publisher at UK Magazines.”

  “You mean he’s your boss? Blimey, sis, what were you thinking of? This spells disaster!”

  “James is not my boss—Vanessa is!” Chloë began to cry. She reached out for Potato, picked him up, and cuddled him close to her. He might be fat and lazy, but at least he wouldn’t judge her.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I guess that was a bit harsh. It’s just I’m surprised, you know, after everything Mum and Dad went through, I wouldn’t have expected you to be a marriage wrecker yourself.”

  A marriage wrecker? What a dreadful phrase. Chloë had rarely felt so small. Still looking downward, stroking Potato with one hand, she began to chew her nails on the other. “But they’re fine now. They’re both very happy. It was good they split up, in the end, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Still, don’t you remember how much we hated Julia? Ghastly woman.”

  “But it wasn’t her fault!”

  “Mm.” She could see from Sam’s face that he was far from happy.

  “So, do you reckon I’m truly awful, then?”

  “Not necessarily. I haven’t met the bloke. I know you’re nothing like Julia, actually, and if you say things between him and his wife were bad already, and their marriage was over anyway, who am I to judge? It’s just, you’re my sister…” his voice went gruff “… and I’d rather see you with someone available, someone without baggage. You deserve to have a nice time with someone who’ll treat you well.” He paused, seeming to appreciate that maybe Chloë thought she was having a nice time. “How much are you seeing of this James, then?”

  “I suppose we get to see each other once a week or so.”

  “Oh, so it’s not that serious?”

  “No, it is,” she countered. Nonetheless it forced her to consider: if James was serious, shouldn’t he be keen to be with me more often?

  By now she felt the lowest of the low—unscrupulous, unwanted. She sniffed loudly. “Oh, I don’t know, Sam. That’s what I meant—I’ve got myself into a mess, haven’t I?”

  41

  Christmas was the hardest. Maggie didn’t feel able to refuse Jamie’s request that they spend it together as a family, so she allowed him to come home for a few nights, insisting he stay in the spare room. For Nathan’s sake she put on a brave face, and prepared a huge dinner as usual. She invited Fran, Geoff, and Dan, in the hope additional people would ease the tension between her and Jamie. She even roasted a turkey, and made do with a rather unsuccessful nut roast for herself.

  At the event it was pretty depressing. Fran was so angry with Jamie she could barely be civil to him, and Geoff overcompensated with forced joviality. Nathan and Dan seemed to pick up the vibes, and jumped down from the table the moment they’d finished the main course, refused pudding, and galloped away to play in Nathan’s room.

  “I’m losing respect for him,” she’d whispered to Fran as they carried the dishes from the dining room after dinner. “I get the sense that we’re going in different directions, growing apart. It’s as if the more I regain strength in my own convictions and become confident about what is right, the more woolly and muddled Jamie grows.”

  “Or perhaps that’s just how he seems to you now,” Fran had responded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe he’s always been like that but this situation has allowed you to see it, highlighted this difference between you. It could be you who’s changed.”

  “Possibly.” Maggie had nodded, scraping the leftover bread sauce into a smaller bowl and putting it the fridge. “Yet the trouble is, for me there’s no going back. I can’t compromise so much anymore. It’s why I changed the work I was doing, and the same goes for our marriage. For me, now everything is out in the open, it’s an issue of right and wrong, and while I suppose I wish Jamie would appreciate where I’m at, I don’t see much evidence.”

  What she’d refrained from saying to Fran was that she couldn’t shake the image of her husband with another woman, that being in such close proximity to him made her skin crawl.

  I’m so disappointed in him, she’d acknowledged to herself once they’d gone. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the way I did before.

  This was compounded by her certainty James was continuing to see Chloë. She’d asked him directly and he’d said, “Not really.” Which means he is, she decided. In some way I might understand better if he’d run into Chloë’s arms more assuredly; it would hurt hugely, but at least it would suggest the angst we’ve been through had a purpose, genuine passion, underlying it all.

  Instead his halfhearted “not really,” coupled with his repeated pleas over Christmas that she let him move back into the family home permanently told Maggie that he was still torn and cared for them both, and when he left on Boxing Day, she heaved a huge sigh of relief.

  * * *

  New Year’s Eve promised to be more fun. Jamie had offered to look after Nathan, and Maggie’s friends William and Liz were holding a dinner party with around a dozen guests. They preferred to entertain at home, having recently had their baby, and so it was agreed that Jamie would stay in Shere with Nathan, so that Maggie could stay overnight with them in Twickenham.


  It was strange socializing on her own, but as the evening progressed and Maggie had a couple of drinks inside her, she began to enjoy herself. Anyway, she argued, I knew William and Liz long before I met Jamie, and the other guests have never met me before, so why shouldn’t I let loose a little?

  At about nine o’clock, when Liz was muttering that they couldn’t wait any longer and would have to start eating without him, Alex arrived. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Peace offering.” He handed over not one but three bottles of champagne.

  Liz had organized the seating so that Maggie and Alex were next to each other: as the two “single” guests it seemed an obvious move. The irony of being planted next to her ex did not escape her, and Maggie was pleased. It gave her a chance to update him on the situation with Jamie without having to yell it across the table, and also, as she rapidly realized, it made it easy for them to flirt.

  By the time it reached eleven o’clock she was warmly, but not uncontrollably drunk and at ease, though not so much so that she didn’t appreciate the spark developing between Alex and herself. Over the hour the chemistry became more marked, until eventually Alex leaned in close and asked, “Hey, Mags, d’you reckon you’ll get back together with Jamie, or is there any hope for an old flame like me?”

  Maggie couldn’t think what on earth to say. Just then, as she was sitting there with her mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish, the countdown to midnight began.

  “Ten!” shrieked William, poised at the head of the table, with one of Alex’s bottles in hand, his wrist tilted to face him so he could see his watch.

  “Nine … eight … seven … six!” Everyone else joined in, standing up in the excitement. “Five … four … three … two … ONE!”

  “Happy New Year!” There was the crack of a cork and champagne flew everywhere other than into the glasses. At that moment Alex grabbed Maggie’s hand and led her out of the dining room into the hall. “Only this once,” he said, “for the New Year. May the next one be better for both of us than the last.”