After You Left(70)

And so, I tell Evelyn. I tell her in so much detail that the tea turns cold. In a way, it’s easier than talking to Sally; Evelyn has never met Justin, and she brings a certain objectivity that pares everything down to its simplest form. She makes a fresh pot, and by the time I go to drink this new cup, the sun has moved around to the west and is illuminating a different patch of floor.

I don’t think anyone has ever listened to me so thoroughly before. She seems to absorb my story with the complete cessation of thought.

‘What do you think I should do?’ I ask her. I catch myself realising that I actually love hearing what Evelyn thinks.

‘Do? There’s nothing for you to do. It’s done, Alice. You might not understand him or agree with his choice, but it doesn’t alter the fact that it’s his to make. It’s his own code he has to live by. He even said it to you: that he wants you to let him do what he thinks is right. So you have to have the grace to let him go, and to live with his choices. Don’t be a clinger. Don’t make it hard for him. Don’t behave in a way you’ll later regret. You can’t fight to keep him, because you won’t win.’

Her advice comes at me like a gentle hail of bullets. ‘I know that,’ I say, realising I didn’t actually know anything for sure until now. ‘I just don’t know how to let him go. That’s the part I am grappling with.’

‘You have to keep reminding yourself that it’s the right thing. That in four months’ time you will have reached a slightly higher level of acceptance. Then in four more, the pain won’t be nearly as sharp as it is today . . .’

‘I can’t decide if I should feel angry at him!’ I throw up my hands. ‘Should I? Would you?’

‘If you even have to ask me that, then you’re not angry. Not really.’ She studies me with eyes full of understanding. ‘From what you’ve told me of him, he did a hurtful thing, but he didn’t do it to intentionally hurt you. I think he’s probably a good man at heart, even though, of course, he could have perhaps handled it differently. But we could all handle things differently.’

‘I know I should be thinking about his little boy, but I just keep thinking about her. She loved him. She lost him. She got him back.’

‘I doubt it’s anywhere near as simple as that. But don’t envy her. Envy is the most futile of emotions. Sometimes, you are envying an idea you have about someone, but you’re actually envying fiction.’

I think about this. Yes, the grey area between what we know and what we think we know. I think of how quickly I assumed that Justin was living in that house, happily ensconced in bigamy.

‘I wonder, though, if the baby dies – I mean, I really, really hope he doesn’t die; that would be absolutely awful – but if he does, will they still stay together? Is the baby the glue, and if the baby isn’t there, is he going to regret leaving me? Will it fall apart? Or will he somehow discover that he and Lisa had been right for each other from day one – more so than we were?’ I don’t necessarily believe it. I just want someone to tell me I’m wrong.

‘Who knows and who cares?’ Evelyn gives me a look that says, Come on! Way too much over-analysing! ‘You mustn’t wonder, Alice. Personally, from what you’ve said, I’d entirely believe him. He’s only thinking about his son right now. It’s guilt that’s driving him. Guilt and responsibility. And I, of all people, know what it’s like to drag around guilt.’

I have so many more questions. There is so much more I want to say. I’m a curious cross between burned out and fired up. ‘Guilt that you didn’t go to him when you said you would? Can we stop talking about me for a moment? I need to hear somebody else’s happy ending. Please.’

Evelyn cocks her head, and seems to contemplate this. She stands up. ‘I think perhaps we should take a short walk to the shops. Perhaps our legs need to be stretched before the next instalment of the mammoth talking session. What do you think?’



We take a pleasant stroll in the sunshine. At the corner shop, Evelyn buys a pint of milk.

‘You told him you couldn’t leave Mark for him,’ I say as we begin walking back. ‘That must have been so very hard.’ Was it hard for Justin? I would love to know how long he wrestled with his dilemma.

‘I told him it might be best he forget me – and he did. And now I’d give anything for him to remember me! Isn’t that ironic?’ She is slightly breathless, from emotion rather than exercise.

I stare at our feet – my blue-and-white Converse, and Evelyn’s neat little tan loafers; we are walking in perfect step. I watch our rhythm for a while. Evelyn tells me about the bomb, and how her doubts had suddenly crystallised in that moment. ‘He sent the letter back to me, along with all the others. His way of telling me that he was rather disgusted at me, I suppose.’

‘But it was your right to change your mind, Evelyn!’

She stops walking and looks at me. ‘But because of my actions, I ruined a man’s life!’ There are bubbles of tears in her eyes.

‘But . . . I don’t understand. How did you ruin his life? You just told him you weren’t leaving Mark for him.’

Evelyn goes to the wall, and perches on it, even though there isn’t much room due to an overgrown hedge. ‘I don’t know how well you remember the dates of the letters . . . I was supposed to move back there in December. The plan was that in the early new year he was going to tell his wife. But he jumped the gun. He told her while I was still in London, and then I didn’t leave Mark, and his wife booted him out.’