The Friends We Keep(103)

“It’s a coffee and walnut cake with a toffee sauce running through it. It was one of your father’s favorites.”

“My father.” Jack laid down his fork, his face serious again. “I look like him then?”

Maggie shook her head. “It’s unbelievable. I’m sorry that I keep staring at you. It’s just so . . . strange. Your dimples when you smile, he had exactly those dimples. Do you know what he looked like?”

Jack shook his head, following Maggie as she beckoned him to the living room, the two of them flanked by Scout, who seemed to have attached himself to Jack. There were photographs everywhere, and she picked one up, then another, handing them to Jack. The first was one of their wedding pictures, taken on the steps of the church, Maggie and Ben in the middle, flanked by Topher and Evvie, all of them grinning, although with the knowledge Maggie now had, she thought she saw that Evvie’s smile was forced, that she must have been putting on an act.

“We look like the same person.” Jack’s voice was disbelieving.

“Yes.”

He looked up at Maggie. “What was he like? Tell me about him.”

They sat on the deep sofa in the bay window, Maggie curled up like a cat, Scout in between them. Ben never allowed the dogs on the sofa, she remembered, feeling the solidity of Scout’s warm, furry body pressed against hers, grateful for the comfort as she introduced Jack to his father.

She told him what she knew about his childhood, that his father—Jack’s grandfather—was still alive, now living in Scotland, and that she only spoke to him a few times a year, on birthdays, Christmas, things like that; that he would be beside himself to know he had a grandson.

She told him about her crush on Ben at university, how she decided he was her perfect man long before he even knew who she was. She never knew why it was Ben, only that she never had eyes for anyone else.

She described walking into the cafeteria on the first day at her new company and seeing Ben, how they had gone for drinks on the Friday night. She thought back to that night, but didn’t tell Jack the details. How Ben was a little drunk, she a little sober, how a tickling fight led to their kiss.

She told Jack how he loved football.

“You mean soccer?” Jack frowned.

“I mean football. Footie. He supported Sheffield Wednesday.” She told him how Saturday afternoons were always spent in front of the television, and how her whole family teased him about it, because no one in her family knew anything, nor cared, about football. She told him that he was a loyal friend, who would help out anyone in need. He would lend people money or give advice without blinking an eye, and he was never frightened of getting involved. If he saw an injustice, he would step in to try and right it, never thinking of the consequences.

Jack grinned when he heard this. “You’re like this, too, aren’t you?” Maggie guessed, and he nodded.

He was fearless, she told him. And he loved children. He was godfather to three of his friends’ kids, and desperate for children of his own.

“He wanted a son,” she said. “He wanted a son so badly. He wanted to bring his son to Sheffield Wednesday games, to be his pal. He would have . . .” She trailed off, gazing at Jack. “He would have loved to know you,” she said, blinking away the tears.

She thought about telling him about Ben’s drinking, but that could wait, she decided. Jack was so overwhelmed at finally discovering who his father was, it would be better for him to find out his flaws later and just let him enjoy getting to know the best of Ben for now. And in telling Jack about the best of Ben, Maggie began to remember it herself, and it was only when she had finished describing him that she realized a sense of peace had settled on her shoulders.

When she had told him everything she could think of, she asked Jack to tell her about himself, and he did. He told her about his childhood, how his mom had always put him first, that he didn’t feel he missed out on not having a dad, because she made sure he was loved fiercely, although he always hoped he might find his father. He told her about playing soccer in elementary school, how things had changed when his mom got married. It had been the two of them, a perfect team, until Lance, and in the beginning it all seemed perfect. Lance gave Jack everything he had ever wanted, and Jack loved the idea of a family, until everything changed.

Jack talked about how his mom tried to protect him from his stepfather’s rages, ushering him out of the room, trying to keep the fury from him, but he always knew. He wanted to protect her, but didn’t know how. Jack’s confusion was made worse by the fact that Lance could change in a heartbeat, so charming one minute, so frightening the next. It felt like standing on shifting sands, and as a young boy, he knew he didn’t have the power to do anything.

Maggie knew some of this. Evvie had talked about it a little, but had never gone into detail. When Lance’s name came up, which was rarely, Evvie had always quickly changed the subject.

A wave of remorse came over Maggie as she listened to Jack. Evvie may have betrayed her in the most terrible of ways, but look at the life she had led, the difficulties she had endured. On the outside she may have seemed glamorous, wealthy, as if she had everything she could ever possibly want, but no one had any idea what was going on behind her closed doors. Maggie had been in touch vaguely, but their friendship was one in name alone by that time. Where was she when Evvie was going through hell; where were Evvie’s trusted old friends when she needed them most?