I sometimes wonder what’s going to happen to their relationship when they go to university. Tanya wants to be a vet and really must go where there are courses, which are few and far between. Liam wants to go into politics and is very keen to study in London – he already has a place confirmed at UCL, providing he gets the right grades. Their one chance of avoiding a long-distance relationship is if Tanya gets accepted at the Royal Veterinary College, University of London. She won’t find out for another month or so. I’m crossing my fingers for her. If that doesn’t work out I don’t know how they plan to manage. It’s their business and not mine. If Liam, or even Tanya, decides to discuss the matter with me then it becomes my business but until then I’ll keep my nose out of it.
We have a great night at the Golden Orchid. Again, it flies by. Again, I get a little bit drunk, I don’t know how. It sort of creeps up on me. I wonder whether it’s down to that thing Abi was saying in the cab? There’s something about being with her that makes me feel as though I’m eighteen again and can knock back drinks without any consequences. I want to use chopsticks in front of her, and not resort to a fork, so I don’t manage to line my stomach as efficiently as I should. Abi is a little worse for wear, too. When we are drinking our second bottle of wine, she reiterates the story of finding Rob in bed with his PA, for Ben’s benefit ostensibly. Although, the way Ben squirms on his chair, I think he’d have been happier not to get the details. I discover that Abi did indeed self-censor when she told me the story in front of Imogen and Lily. In the Golden Orchid, she is less discreet, which is a little tricky because it’s not a big place and the tables are quite tightly packed.
‘Sneaked up the stairs,’ she slurs, ‘like a criminal. In my own home. At it like dirty animals, they were. Tits practically hit me in my face. Slapping her arse as he came. Filthy bastard.’ Ben shifts uncomfortably, coughs and then suggests we might want coffee, in much the way I offered cake when I first heard the sad story. Ben and I are not prudish. We have a good sex life. There just comes a point when that sort of thing doesn’t seem appropriate conversation. My conversations with Gillian or Becky centre around OFSTED reports, not orgasms. Honestly? It’s often the same conversation at the school gate; we use one another as a check and balance. Are we doing enough as parents? I suppose Abi talks more openly. More honestly.
Abi accepts the coffee and stops talking about sex but can’t seem to get away from the subject of Rob’s infidelity.
‘The problem is, I’m left exposed, financially and emotionally. What a fool I’ve been.’ She shakes her head, still stunned. ‘Everything I’ve ever done was for him. The move to America, the type of work I took on, the size of our family – or rather the non-existence thereof, were all his decisions.’ Ben and I murmur sympathetic noises but don’t quite commit to words. ‘How has it ended up like this?’ Abi wails, disbelieving. ‘You know I had such promise,’ she says, eagerly grabbing Ben’s arm. ‘There was such possibility when we first met at university. I could have had anyone. Been anyone. Couldn’t I, Mel? Tell him.’
I nod because it’s true.
‘There’s nothing more heartbreaking than squandered promise,’ she adds.
I glance at Ben, and indicate, with an almost imperceptible shift of my head, that it might be time to get the bill. I don’t feel comfortable with her laying this all out in this tiny restaurant, in this small town; I know that big ears are always flapping.
‘My mother never liked him,’ Abi tells Ben. ‘Said that he’d turned my head.’ Ben smiles. ‘What?’ Abi demands.
‘Nothing. It’s just a funny turn of phrase.’
Abi laughs but she doesn’t sound amused, more bitter. ‘You are right,’ she says, poking his arm, one jab per word. ‘I always imagine a cartoon character with its head spinning, comically. But it’s not so funny now because that’s how I feel. Foolish, distorted. Two dimensional.’ She pauses and then adds. ‘Terrified.’
Abi starts to cry. Tears curl and swell; her long lashes can’t harness them. They trickle down her face. She’s a very beautiful crier. Ben looks about and grabs a clean napkin from a nearby unoccupied table, offers it to her. She takes it and dabs her eyes. I rub her back and try to stare down the rubberneckers. I can’t intimidate them – Abi is too much of a draw. It is impossible to hope that they’ll even pretend to stay in their own conversations.
‘I just want to undo the moment. To just rewind, or wipe it out. You know?’ Abi sighs and adds, with a stale air of defeatism. ‘I’d even settle for it happening but me not knowing about it,’ she admits. ‘How pathetic is that? I want to be an ostrich. I’m willing to bury my head in the sand.’
But, it’s not possible to do such a thing. She can’t scrub it out, she can’t unknow. That’s why it matters so much what you tell people, what you do to people. Some things can’t be undone. Not ever.
Abi suddenly turns from upset to angry. She’s always been mercurial, and drink doesn’t help. Nor does an adulterous husband. ‘I’ve always feared it might happen. I’ve never really trusted him. He wasn’t the sort you could trust.’ She stares at me, fuming. ‘How had I forgotten that?’
‘I guess because you’ve been together for a long time,’ comments Ben, gently. ‘Obviously, this is really hard.’
‘Yes! Eighteen is no age at all to make a decision as gargantuan as who you should spend the rest of your life with, but I did.’ Abi is swaying on her chair slightly. ‘The thing was, besides my mother, who doesn’t really like anyone, everyone adored him. Didn’t they, Mel?’
I shrug, unsure I can agree but feeling she really expects me to.
‘You know her husband?’ Ben asks, surprised.
‘Yes, absolutely she does,’ confirms Abi. ‘He was studying for his PhD when we were undergrads. He tutored some of our classes.’
‘Not mine,’ I chip in.
‘His power was very magnetic. Plus, he was absolutely beautiful. Wasn’t he, Melanie?’ She nudges me with her elbow.
‘Erm, well you remember him far better than I do,’ I mutter, embarrassed. I don’t want to fortify the image of Rob as an astoundingly sexy, desirable but ultimately unobtainable man. It’s too sad.
‘He was!’ she insists. ‘Irresistible.’ I nod – it’s just easiest to go along with her.
‘You know what you need, Abi,’ says Ben, lightly. ‘You need to get back in the saddle.’
‘Nice thought,’ I mutter, glaring at him. He ignores me.
‘Seriously. Give yourself a treat. Even the score,’ insists Ben.
Abigail stares at him from under her damp eyelashes but doesn’t comment. I put my hand in the air and wave at the waiter, make the universal sign that asks him to bring the bill. Ben doesn’t mean to be insensitive but at the risk of generalising, women just aren’t like men. We don’t move on so easily.
It’s a long night. When we finally get home, Abi suggests we all have a nightcap. Tanya says she can’t stay but will come back for Sunday lunch tomorrow. Liam walks her home, just ten minutes away. I don’t want to be rude – Abi so obviously wants company – and so agree to a quick one. Ben stays up with us as well. It’s a relief when Abi stops being maudlin and instead makes us laugh with stories about her old colleagues; the way she tells it every one of them was a marvellous character. Liam returns and delights me by not shuffling