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Maggie

Armed with a strong cup of coffee, Maggie typed Catherine’s name into a search engine.

There were pictures of Dan’s mother at a benefit in Manhattan, slender as a reed, blond hair swept up in a style befitting a red-carpet appearance.

Feeling gloomy, Maggie scrolled through a dozen more images.

Catherine, skiing a near-vertical slope in Aspen.

Catherine, fist in the air in a gesture of triumph as she stood on top of Mount Kilimanjaro, raising money for a charity researching heart disease.

Catherine, rushing to a meeting in a form-fitting black dress with a planner tucked under one arm.

Rosie had told her in an earlier conversation that Catherine’s husband had died suddenly of a heart attack when Dan was in college. The family had been devastated by the loss, but Catherine had forced herself forward.

Maggie enlarged the photo. This woman didn’t look broken. There were no signs of grief or anxiety. Not a frown line. Not a silver hair. How could someone survive such a life blow and look so together? A leading American magazine had run an article on her, entitled “From Tragedy to Triumph.” Maggie read it from beginning to end, learning that Catherine Reynolds had set up the wedding business after she was widowed, turning her skills as a hostess into a commercial venture.

Dan was twenty-eight, which meant that unless she was a medical freak, Catherine had to be at least late forties.

The woman smiling back at her from the screen didn’t look forty.

Maggie fiddled with the ends of her hair. She’d had it cut at the same place for the past thirty years and had kept the style the same. In fact there was very little of her life that she’d changed.

While Catherine had been reinventing herself and starting over, filling her life with new challenges, Maggie’s life had slowly emptied. First Katie had left home, and then Rosie. Her daily calendar, once filled with a whirl of school and sporting commitments, had big gaps. She’d carried on doing what she’d always done, working at her job and tending her garden. She’d been used to cooking for four, but that had turned to three, then two and then, after the life had drained from her marriage, one. Instead of building a new life as Catherine had obviously done, Maggie had carried on living a diluted version of the life she’d always had.

She pushed her laptop to one side and looked at the file that lay open on the table next to her. It was almost full. Soon she wouldn’t be able to close it.

Reading about Catherine’s determined fight to reinvent herself made her feel pathetic and useless. Catherine had lost her husband in a tragic way. Maggie had lost hers through carelessness. Or was it apathy? She didn’t even know.

Maggie couldn’t shake off the feeling that she’d somehow wasted her marriage.

Part of the reason she hadn’t yet shared the news with the girls was that she hadn’t managed to absorb it herself.

Should she and Nick have tried harder?

Conscious that she’d wasted an hour depressing herself, Maggie closed the file and tucked it into a drawer out of sight. She didn’t want Nick to see it, or it would trigger a conversation she didn’t want to have.

Next she closed her favorite Christmas recipe book that had been open on the table for the past week and slid it back into its slot on the shelf. She wasn’t going to be needing it after all.

It was embarrassing to admit it, but she’d been planning Christmas in her mind since September and making lists since October. The first hint of winter in the air had her thinking of slow-cooked casseroles, hearty soups and roasted root vegetables. She’d been looking forward to the festive season for the comfort of its culinary rituals; stirring, simmering, baking in a warm cinnamon-scented fog. Most of all she’d been looking forward to the time she’d get to spend with her family.

She curled her hands around her mug and stared through the window into the garden while she sipped her coffee. Frost sparkled and shimmered on the lawn and a layer of mist added an ethereal touch. At this time of year the only splash of color in her garden came from the holly bush, its berries bloodred and plump. Maggie had been hoping the birds would leave enough for her to use as decoration around the house, but it no longer mattered.

She wasn’t going to need berries. Nor was she going to need the mistletoe that grew in clusters on the ancient apple tree. She wasn’t going to be here for Christmas.

She’d already had her last Christmas in Honeysuckle Cottage and hadn’t even known.

She’d never been away for the holidays before. Never had a Christmas that she hadn’t owned. She had friends who delighted in “escaping” at Christmas so that they could avoid the craziness, but Maggie loved the craziness. What would Christmas look like without that?

And why was she worrying about Christmas, when the real issue here was Rosie’s wedding? What was wrong with her?

She checked the time.

Nick had said he’d be with her at eleven and it was now half past. Since he was invariably late for things, including their wedding, that wasn’t a surprise. In the past it had infuriated her that he was fluent in Classical Greek but couldn’t seem to communicate what time he would arrive home. He could read hieroglyphic but not, apparently, a watch or a simple text message.

To begin with it hadn’t mattered. She’d loved his passion, and the fact that he was so focused on the things he loved. What he lacked in reliability, he made up for in spontaneity. One day he’d be brandishing two tickets to a concert at the Sheldonian Theatre, the next a picnic which they’d devoured by the river watching sunlight dance over the surface of the water. Nick had uncovered the fun side of Maggie. For her that was as much of a discovery as Tutankhamen’s tomb. She was the child of older parents who took their responsibilities seriously and invested everything in her development and education. Earning their love had been exhausting, and it was an uncomfortable, stressful relationship. Having fun hadn’t been part of her life until she’d met Nick in her first few weeks at Oxford.

He’d been studying Egyptology, and she English. His reputation and academic career had bloomed. They’d stayed in Oxford, and she’d taken a job with an academic publisher and spent her days editing textbooks. If it had ever crossed her mind that she didn’t love her job the way Nick loved his, she ignored the thought.

And then Katie was born and the strength of her emotion and the power of the bond she’d felt had shocked her. Maggie had loved fiercely, and discovered that her passion was for her children, her husband, her family. For creating a home like the one she’d dreamed of living in herself.

Katie’s arrival gave her the perfect excuse to reduce her working hours. She’d ended up taking responsibility for the childcare simply because she enjoyed it more than she enjoyed working.

When Katie had started school, Maggie returned to work for the same publisher but once Rosie arrived she’d taken a second career break. Her youngest daughter had been born premature, a tiny fragile being weighing less than a bag of sugar. As a baby Rosie had suffered endless coughs and colds, and then came her first asthma attack.

Maggie had never forgotten it. After that, they’d happened regularly, and life became a series of sleepless nights and panicked journeys to the hospital.

For the first decade of Rosie’s life, Maggie had walked around in a fog of exhaustion.

They’d moved out of the center of Oxford and into Honeysuckle Cottage, hoping that the air pollution would be less than it was in the middle of the city. Tests showed dog hair to be a trigger which meant that they’d been unable to have the family dog that Nick had badly wanted.

Rosie’s childhood had been a roundabout of canceled plans and terrifying sprints to the hospital. Then she hit the teenage years and it became harder to control. It wasn’t “cool” to carry an inhaler, and denying her condition landed her in the hospital on far too many occasions. The tension of it affected all of them, as did the general ignorance from their friends and acquaintances who had always thought of asthma as being something mild and benign.

Maggie remembered the day Katie had stomped into the kitchen and slammed her books down on the table.

I’m going to be a doctor, because then I can cure Rosie.

Maggie had often felt guilty that most of her time and attention was focused on her youngest daughter, but Katie hadn’t seemed to be affected. She was a bright, fiercely determined child who had grown into a bright, fiercely determined adult. She’d set herself goals, and lists of things to do to achieve those goals. Unlike Nick and Rosie who made decisions based on impulse and emotion, Katie never did anything she hadn’t thought through.

She’d gone from being a hardworking child to a hardworking adult. Now she was a dedicated and talented doctor and Maggie was proud of her.

Unlike Rosie, who veered from one thing to the next, Katie always knew exactly what she wanted and never wavered.

The sound of the doorbell cut through her thoughts and she walked to the door and opened it.

Nick stood there. His long wool coat was one he’d had for years. He wore it with the collar turned up and his favorite scarf wrapped round his neck. He gave her that same crooked smile that had snagged her attention all those years before and she felt a rush of sadness. Where had their love gone? There had been no great falling-out. No clandestine affairs or flirtations. She’d tried repeatedly to identify when her marriage had malfunctioned, but had been unable to pinpoint a specific event. She and Nick had lived parallel lives and then drifted apart so gradually neither of them had noticed, until one day they’d simply been unable to connect the way they once had.

Even their decision to part had been mutual and amicable.

Sometimes she wondered if they’d simply lost each other under the pressure of being a family.

Despite everything, she felt relief that he was here. She needed to talk to someone. Anyone. She opened the door wider. “You’ve lost your key again?”

“For once, no, but I didn’t feel comfortable using it. This isn’t my house anymore.” He hesitated and then stepped over the threshold.

“It’s still your house, Nick. We bought it together and when we sell it we’ll share the proceeds. You have a right to walk in whenever you like.” No part of her was screeching change the locks. Why would she?

“I don’t want to intrude.” He glanced at the stairs and she gave a half laugh as she realized he was respecting her privacy.

“You think there’s a Christmas elf hiding under my bed? Santa? Some muscular young guy?”

Another serious relationship wasn’t on her wish list. As for anything more superficial, well, the thought of an affair was ludicrous.

“It’s cold in here.” Nick touched the radiator closest to him. “Broken again?”

“It waits for the first hint of frost to malfunction.” As usual she was wearing two sweaters, which made her look heavier than she was.

“Do you want me to call someone?” He didn’t offer to look at it himself. Nick could hold a lecture hall spellbound, but he couldn’t fix a dripping tap and was bemused by flat pack furniture.

“I’ve already done it. They’re coming next Monday.”

“You look tired.”

“That generally happens when someone calls you at three in the morning.” She knew Nick probably would have gone straight back to sleep. His ability to sleep, no matter what the crisis, had been a source of envy and frustration over the years. She would have given anything to be able to switch off and let someone else take responsibility for five minutes. Maybe it was because he knew she couldn’t that he’d been able to switch off himself, soothed by the knowledge that she was in charge.

“Rosie shouldn’t have called you in the middle of the night.”

“She was excited. She wanted to share her news. And I’m pleased. She might be living miles away, but I still want to be part of her life.”

“But middle of the night calls always scare you. I’m sure you answered in a panic, assuming she was having an attack. Not easy to go back to sleep after that.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Sit down. I’ll make coffee and then we’ll book flights.”

“Oh.” Her stomach gave a lurch. “What’s the rush?”

“The wedding is happening in a little over three weeks. We’ll be lucky to get seats as it is.” Nick ground beans and made two cups. The machine had been their indulgence, a mutual gift that kept delivering when stress piled upon stress. Coffee had become a shared habit during those early, sleep-deprived years and it had stuck. They both drank it black, mostly because they’d been too tired to reach for the milk. “Then there’s the fact that if I give you time to think about it, you’ll find a reason not to do it.”

She took the coffee gratefully, knowing he was right.

“I have to do it. I’m not going to miss Rosie’s wedding.”

“In that case, we need to book.” He put the cup on the table and unwound his scarf.

The scarf had traveled the world with him. It had protected him from sandstorms and dust storms and he refused to be parted from it or have it replaced. It fascinated her that someone so clever could think a scarf could bring luck. She couldn’t understand how someone with his brain could think there was something magical about a wool/cotton mix.

“I can’t believe Rosie is getting married. She’s so young.” She was desperate to talk to someone about it. Nick might not have been her first choice, but as he was the only candidate for her confidences, he won.

“Twenty-two.” He spooned sugar into his coffee. “If this were ancient Egypt, she would have been married a decade ago.”

Comments like that, Maggie thought, were why a woman needed girlfriends.

Sometimes she wanted to lift up the nearest frying pan and clock his clever, but somehow still clueless, brain.

“This isn’t ancient Egypt.” Sometimes his head was so deep in his studies, she was convinced he’d forgotten that. “And we haven’t even met him.”

“Well, we’re not the ones marrying him. As long as she likes him, that’s all that matters.”

“Likes him?” Sometimes she despaired. “They’ve barely spent any time together. And it’s all been heady, romantic good times. That’s not real. That’s not what marriage is.” Marriage was holding tightly to each other as you stumbled over rough ground. Marriage was never letting go.

She and Nick had let go.

He stirred his coffee slowly. “Maybe it should be. Maybe there should be more of those romantic good times.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was it a dig at her? “Life happens, Nick. Someone has to handle it.”

“Woah—” He sent her a startled look. “What did I say?”

“You were implying that I was so busy looking after the practical side, I forgot to be romantic.”

“I wasn’t implying anything.” He put the spoon down. “You know I don’t think that way. I don’t go for hidden messages, or subtext or any of those other complex ways of communicating. I was simply saying that romantic, heady times can be real, too.”

Was she overreacting? “All I’m saying is that they’re still in the dizzy whirlwind stage. They’re not arguing about who is going to change a lightbulb or cook dinner. They haven’t had to cope with things going wrong. We both know there will be challenges. That’s life. They barely know each other. I’m worried this is the wrong decision.”

“If it’s the wrong decision, then it’s their wrong decision.” He took a sip of coffee. “And people who know everything there is to know about each other can get divorced, too.”

She felt herself flush. “I know that, obviously, but—oh, never mind.”

This was often how a discussion between them ended, with her giving up. It hadn’t always been that way. At the beginning, they’d talked about everything but somewhere along the way that had stopped. Conversations had gone from deep to shallow and practical.

Can you pick up Rosie’s prescription on the way home?

At some point she’d stopped sharing with him and it occurred to her now that she had so many thoughts and emotions that he knew nothing about. She’d never told him she sometimes felt inferior next to him, even though she knew deep down that she wasn’t. She felt, somehow, that she’d forgotten how to be her.

She remembered attending a parents’ evening where the teacher had said oh you’re Katie and Rosie’s mother as if that somehow became an identity. At the time it hadn’t bothered her because she was their mother. And she was Nick’s wife.

Who else was she? Lately that question had started to trouble her.

Nick put his mug down on the table. “You’re upset.”

“A little, yes. I’ve been looking forward to Christmas for so long. I brought the decorations down from the attic last week, and the cake is made—” She finished her coffee. “Ignore me. Christmas is just a day. We can all get together some other time.”

Nick frowned. “We’ll all be together in Aspen, but we both know that’s not why you’re upset.”

She put her cup on the counter. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not upset because of Christmas. You’re upset because our Rosie is marrying an American. You’re thinking that she might choose to live there permanently. Have kids there. Grow old there.”

Maggie felt as if someone had punched the air from her lungs.

She’d been trying not to think about that. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about that part of the equation.

She’d kept her thinking short term. Christmas. That was about all she could handle. But Nick was right. Deep down that had been her fear from the moment Rosie had made her announcement.

Maybe he knew her better than she thought he did.

She felt a surge of emotion that felt almost like grief. When Rosie had moved to the US to study it had shaken her, but she’d told herself that it was only a short-term thing. Not for a moment had she considered the move might be permanent.

“I feel as if I’ve lost her.” She wasn’t going to cry. That would be ridiculous. All that mattered was Rosie’s health and happiness. “You probably think I’m the most selfish mother on the planet, wishing she’d come home.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’re a great mother, you always have been. Perhaps a little too good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You put those girls ahead of everything else.”

“You make it sound like a sacrifice, but it wasn’t. I loved being there for our girls. If I had my time again I wouldn’t change a thing.” Some people had big dreams and big goals, but Maggie enjoyed the smaller things. The first buds appearing on the apple tree, the soft scratch of pen on paper as Katie had done her homework at the kitchen table, the scent of fresh laundry, the joy of the first cup of coffee of the day, and the sheer pleasure of a book that transported her to another life and another place.

But it was true that taking two career breaks had narrowed her choices. And then there was the fact that she’d built up goodwill with the publishing house where she worked. Because they trusted her to get her work done, they were flexible when she needed time off to care for Rosie. Worried that a new employer might not offer the same latitude, she’d felt it safer to stay where she was.

She looked closely at Nick and noticed the fine lines around his eyes. He looked tired.

“Have you eaten?”

She knew he sometimes forgot, and judging from the sheepish expression on his face this was one of those occasions.

“No. I forgot to shop, so I thought I’d grab something in college.”

“I’ll make you something if you have time to eat it.”

“I always have time for anything you cook.” He stood up. “What can I do to help?”

She gaped at him. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”

“That’s not true. I clean up after you. I am a champion cleaner-upper.”

“But you don’t usually help with the cooking part.”

“Because you’re so good at it. Also, you never let me near the kitchen.”

Was that true? Probably. She’d wanted and needed something that was all hers. Something she could excel at and own.

Plenty of people would have rolled their eyes at her apparent lack of work ambition, but Maggie didn’t care. She’d been there when the girls had taken their first steps. She’d taught them both to read. Never once had she felt that what she was doing was anything less than valuable.

It was only in the past couple of years that she’d started to feel dissatisfied.

She envied people whose life looked exactly the way they wanted it to look. People like Nick and Katie, who had a passion and followed it. Even Rosie seemed to know the path she wanted to take.

Maggie felt as if she’d strolled randomly through life with no map.

“If you want to help, you could fetch eggs from the fridge.” She pulled a large bowl out of the cupboard and a whisk from the drawer.

When he put the eggs next to her she selected six and broke them into the bowl while he watched.

“The last omelet I made was crunchy.”

She tried not to smile. “Generally, it’s best not to include the shell.”

“Ah, so that’s the secret. I knew there had to be one.”

She snipped fresh herbs from the pots she nurtured on her windowsill and added them to the mixture, then she poured half into the hot pan, waiting as it sizzled.

“It isn’t only about me. I worry about her.”

“You have to stop protecting her, Mags.”

“The day I stop protecting my child is never going to come.”

“You know what I mean. She knows she will always have our love and support, but we have to let her live her life the way she chooses to live it.”

“Even if that life is a million miles away?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“It might as well be that far.” She lifted the edges of the omelet and when she was satisfied she folded it perfectly. “Life can be tough, we both know that. You need family around you. What if she does settle there? What if they break up? What happens if they don’t break up, and have babies? I’d want to be able to help, but I won’t be close enough.”

“Wait—you’re worrying you might not be able to help with the baby they don’t have yet? You expend a huge amount of energy worrying about things that haven’t happened.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.” She slid the omelet onto a plate, sprinkled it with a few chopped chives and handed it to him. “All I’m saying is that it will be tough to support them from here.”

He put the plate on the table and sat down. “This looks delicious, thanks.” He picked up a fork. “And as for support, maybe they’ll live close to Dan’s mother.”

Why didn’t that make her feel better? Her mind raced ahead. Catherine was already arranging her daughter’s wedding, and there was every chance she’d be the favored grandmother. Maggie would be the stranger they saw a few times a year.

Who’s that, kids? No, it’s not a stranger, it’s your granny. Give her a hug and a kiss.

She imagined them recoiling, screwing up their faces as they tolerated a kiss from this semistranger.

A lump formed in her throat.

She wanted to tell Nick how it had made her feel, but she couldn’t find a way to say it that didn’t make her seem horribly small-minded. And maybe she was being ridiculous. Worrying about things that hadn’t happened. She did that a lot.

She poured the rest of the egg mixture into the pan, even though she didn’t have much of an appetite.

“Talking of tough stuff,” Nick said, “we need to fix a time to tell the girls the truth about us.”

“We can’t tell them yet, Nick.”

“Why not?” He took a forkful of fluffy omelet. “Neither of us has had an affair, we don’t hate each other, we don’t have any issues being in the same room. We’ll still be able to meet up at family gatherings and it won’t be awkward. Not much will change.”

Was he serious?

“Everything will change. We’re their parents, Nick! They see us as a unit. And maybe family gatherings will be amicable for a while, but in time you’ll meet someone. Then you’ll be bringing someone else and we’ll have to take turns and—”

He put his fork down. “Maybe you’ll be the one who meets someone.”

Where? How? She almost asked the questions aloud and then realized how sad they made her sound. She needed to build a new life. One that didn’t have Nick in it. She needed to join a choir, or learn Italian, or something. Anything.

After the wedding, she promised herself. After the wedding, she’d pull herself together. First she’d spruce up the house, then put it on the market and find somewhere smaller.

The idea of selling Honeysuckle Cottage made her feel physically ill. All the best parts of her life had happened here. Nick. Katie. Rosie. She still remembered the day they’d moved in. Nick, ducking his head to avoid the low beams. Fixing a gate across the stairs so that Rosie didn’t tumble down them. And hours spent in the garden, shaping it into the tranquil haven it was now.

There had been tough times, but the place was full of laughter and memories. All those things would be erased when someone else moved in. They’d see a dent in the wall and think it needed fixing. They wouldn’t smile, remembering that was where Rosie had ridden her bike into the wall on that Christmas morning when it had been raining too hard to go outdoors.

A new story would be written into these walls.

But that wasn’t her immediate concern.

“Hear me out.” She tipped her omelet onto a plate and grabbed a fork. “Whether it turns out to be a mistake or not, this is Rosie’s big day. This is all about her and Dan. A celebration. What do you think it will do to the mood if we announce our divorce at the same time?”

“If we do it today, then it won’t be at the same time. She’ll have had time to get over it.”

“This isn’t flu, Nick. You don’t ‘get over it.’ A divorce changes the landscape of our family. We all have to find a new way to be together. To fit. It’s going to be a massive adjustment.” Saying it aloud somehow made it all the more depressing. “And today she is going to choose her wedding dress. It wouldn’t be appropriate to spoil her day.”

“Divorce is part of life. Life happens. Wasn’t that the point you were making earlier?”

“It doesn’t have to happen before what is supposed to be one of the happiest days of our daughter’s life.” She forced down a mouthful of her breakfast and then put her plate down.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“That we act as if nothing has changed.”

“You—” He broke off, bemused. “You want us to attend this wedding together as a couple? Pretending everything is fine?”

“Yes. We present a united front. There will be plenty of time to share our less-than-happy news once the wedding bells have stopped ringing and the snow has melted.”

“To be clear about this, you’re suggesting we ‘act’ married?”

“Well, technically we are married, Nick, so it shouldn’t be much of a challenge to pretend for one week.”

His gaze was steady. “You want us to travel together, share a hotel room—”

“Whatever it takes.” She wasn’t going to offer to relinquish the bed. Nick could sleep anywhere, whether it was a tent in a desert or the hard floor of a hotel room. Maggie could barely doze off if she was lying on a feather-filled mattress, so she didn’t need to make things harder for herself. “It will be easy enough to keep up the pretense. It’s not as if we argue all the time or anything.”

He pushed his plate away. “It doesn’t feel right to lie to them.”

“We’re not lying. We’re withholding our news. We haven’t told them we’ve been living apart for a while. What difference does it make to wait a few more weeks?”

“We haven’t told them because we agreed it was better done face-to-face when we’re all together.”

“You seriously think the right time to announce a divorce is at our daughter’s wedding?”

He sighed. “No, I don’t think that.” There was a long pause. “All right.” The words were dragged from him. “But as soon as they’re back from their honeymoon, we’re telling them.”

“Agreed.” She felt a rush of relief which died as he reached across and dragged her laptop toward him.

“What’s this?”

Why, oh why, hadn’t she closed the browser? “I was finding out a bit about the family.”

He lifted his gaze from the laptop to her face. “You mean you’ve been torturing yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re the same before every college social event. You panic about what you’re going to wear and what people will think of you.”

“That’s called being human.”

“You’re lovely, Maggie.” His voice was rough. “I wish you had more confidence.”

She was a soon-to-be-divorced mother of two grown children who didn’t particularly like the way her life was looking. She thought about the file, safely tucked away in the drawer.

What did she have to feel confident about?

And if he thought she was so lovely, why were they getting divorced?

He tapped the keys and brought up airline details.

“How are we going to transport all the Christmas gifts?” She picked up her coffee and sat down next to him. “I won’t be able to carry everything.”

“Take a few key things, and they can have the rest next time they’re here.”

“I always make them a stocking. And I can’t imagine a tree without all the decorations the girls made over the years. It’s tradition.”

“So pack them up and bring them.” He glanced up from the screen, seemed about to say something and then changed his mind. “We’ll pay for excess baggage if necessary.”

Excess baggage. He could have been describing her.