Five Winters(75)

“It just made me think about our whole marriage, you know? Her ordering me about like that. That’s what she always does—says how something’s going to be. Expects me to just toe the line. And generally, I do.”

I watched him stroke the puppy’s silken fur, aware he was making a decision about much more than where he was going to eat Christmas dinner. It was difficult to stay silent, but somehow I managed it.

Finally, he looked up. “That curry smells very good,” he said.

“I haven’t started cooking it yet.”

His smile was wan. “It still smells good. I’d like to share it with you, if that’s all right?”

I nodded and pierced the film covers on the curries with a knife. Stab, stab, stab.

Within ten minutes our Christmas meal was on our plates, the bhajis and samosas arranged on a platter in the centre of the table. I hadn’t bought any Christmas crackers because I hadn’t expected company, so we didn’t have any paper crowns to wear, but I’d improvised by giving Mark a stripey bobble hat and myself a straw boater, so we looked appropriately ridiculous.

Mark poured wine from the bottle I’d had chilling in the fridge and raised his glass.

As I lifted mine, I wondered what he would toast to, given the circumstances. But in the end, he just said, “Happy Christmas, Beth.”

“Happy Christmas.”

The curry was surprisingly good. It was as if it knew it was being served for a special occasion and had presented its most fragrant, spicy self.

“Mmm, this is delicious. Maybe we need to change our traditional Christmas fare in this country.”

“Well,” I said, “it would certainly be a lot cheaper.”

I couldn’t help but think of the probable waste at Grace’s house—Mark’s empty place, appetites likely dwindled due to the atmosphere.

Before sitting down to eat, Mark had sent Grace a text message—presumably to tell her he wouldn’t be back for dinner—then turned his phone off. I felt sorry for Grace, to be honest, having to cope with her family on her own, all her efforts to make a perfect Christmas ruined, but I did think a large part of the situation was her fault. Even if she hadn’t wanted the puppy, couldn’t she have been kinder to Mark? She must have realised how disappointed he was by her rejection of his surprise. He’d only done it to try and cheer her up about them not having a baby yet.

“What d’you think Dad would think about all this?” Mark asked, the bobble on his hat quivering as he cut up a large chunk of chicken.

I thought Richard would have advised Mark to go home. Leave the pup with us, son. We’ll take care of it. Go and sort your marriage out. But I didn’t want to say that. “I’m not sure.”

“He’d probably have thought I was a complete prick.”

“He wouldn’t have said that.”

“Maybe not, but he’d have thought it. And it’s true. I am a prick.”

“You just wanted to give Grace a nice surprise,” I started, but he shook his head.

“No, not for getting Buddy.”

I looked over at the sleeping bundle of fluff. “Is that what you’re going to call him?”

Mark grinned. “Why not?”

I nodded, grinning back. “Good choice.”

“No, I meant for marrying Grace to begin with. God knows what I thought we had in common. Rosie was right last Christmas—what she said about Grace trying to change me.”

“She said that about us both,” I reminded him.

He pointed his fork at me. “Yes, but you got out, didn’t you? You ended it with Jaimie, whereas I stuck around for another helping of bludgeoning and criticism.”

There was a slight tremor in his voice as he finished, a brightness about his eyes which made me shudder at the thought of where I might be myself if I’d just dragged through another year of never quite measuring up to what Jaimie and his girls wanted me to be.

Mark swiped a hand across his eyes and smiled across the table. “Sorry. This is all very maudlin for Christmas lunch.”

“It’s all right,” I said, although in truth, I didn’t know quite what to feel. I couldn’t risk thinking about the possibility of Mark’s marriage being over, in case I accidentally let a chink of hope into my heart. Which would be a ridiculous thing to do. Time after time I’d been forced to accept that just because Mark was single, it didn’t mean he would look at me as anything other than a sister or a friend. Why should anything have changed?

“I tell you what,” he suggested. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. Or even think about it.” He reached for the wine bottle and topped up our wineglasses. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said, but that lasted only until we were halfway through our dessert—a tin of sliced peaches I’d found right at the back of my store cupboard—because my phone rang. It was Grace, ringing me because Mark’s phone was off.

“Could I speak to my husband, please, Beth?” she said, cold as you like, as if it were my fault he was here eating curry and tinned peaches.

“Yes, of course,” I said, holding my phone out to Mark. “It’s for you.”

This time, he didn’t go into the bedroom to speak to her. So I left the room instead, shutting myself in the bathroom and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. Even in there, I could hear his raised voice.