The Reunion

down to the river and turned left, passing under the bridge and skirting around a field full of caramel-coloured cows, Jerseys with huge, liquid brown eyes. It was early spring, chilly, the weather just about to turn. The sky, though blue, still had that wintry touch of pale. They talked about the others for a little while, and then, all of a sudden, Jen took his arm and stepped out in front of him, stopped him right there on the path and said:
    ‘It can’t happen, you know it can’t. I’ve only ever been in love with one person. I only ever will be. I know it seems silly, but we really are that rarest of things, two people who are meant for each other, only for each other. That’s how we are, Conor and I. I’m never going to love anyone else.’
    He’d handled it beautifully. He’d cocked his head to one side and smiled and given her a hug, picked her up, twirled her round, held her as tight as he could. He didn’t let her see that he was hurt. He didn’t give her a hard time, he didn’t make her feel bad. He wasn’t angry, not in the slightest, because he believed her. He
really
believed her, he did then and he’d continued to believe her, for all this time it had made it easier not to think about her. And now he finds out it wasn’t true after all.
    She had fallen in love. She’d been married. She’d made a whole other life for herself and now she was going to have a baby. And so what? What had he thought was going to happen? That she’d never move on? That one day, somewhere down the line, he’d get his chance? That one day he would finally be good enough? He felt a laugh rising in his throat. This was ridiculous. What on earth did it matter? It was a million years ago. It was just he would have liked the chance. That was all. He felt like he was always missing chances, as though his shot at real happiness was always obscured in some way. As though he was being unfairly disadvantaged.
    But he thought he’d made his peace with that. By choosing Claudia, he’d acknowledged that there would be no family, not with her. She alone would be enough. He just needed to talk to Claudia, to hear her voice, to know that they were on track and that in a couple of days’ time their life together would start, for real. That would be enough.
    He rang her again (just the one more time), and let the phone ring and ring and, finally, she answered.
    ‘What is it?’ she asked him in a whisper. ‘It’s not a good time now.’
    ‘He’s there?’
    ‘Yes, he’s here, obviously. We are at home.’
    ‘Are you OK?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘Have you spoken to him?’
    ‘Not yet, I’m waiting for the right time.’
    ‘I miss you.’
    Silence.
    ‘Claudia? Are you there?’
    ‘I’m here, yes.’
    Dan didn’t want to know, but for some reason he couldn’t help himself, and he asked her: ‘Have you slept with him?’
    ‘Dan!’
    ‘Well, have you?’
    ‘I’m his wife, and I’ve been away from him for five weeks. What do you think?’
    ‘Jesus, Claudia.’
    ‘Listen, I have to go. He’s coming now, we’re going to lunch. Just… be patient, OK?’
    She ended the call.
    Dan sat back down on the desk chair, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He felt nauseous. Why did she tell him that? Why did he ask? Bloody idiot. Suddenly he was beyond furious; he leapt to his feet, grabbed the stupid little pot with the stupid little purple flower in it and made to hurl it against the wall. He stopped himself in time. He put the pot back down and carefully brushed the bit of soil which had spilled out under the rug. He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs and resting the backs of his hands on his knees, thumb lightly touching the third finger. He closed his eyes and breathed, in and out. He felt a little better. He tried to clear his mind, to forget the here and now, but the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away and he couldn’t banish the image from his head of Claudia’s head thrown back, white throat exposed, someone else moving on top of her.

 
     
    17 November 1996
    Dear Jen,
    I don’t know if this will reach you. Andrew says he sends his letters to you care of your parents, but isn’t sure if they pass them on.
    It’s been almost five months. I waited, because I knew you’d need time, I knew you’d probably want to be left alone. But I didn’t want you to think that I wasn’t thinking of you, spending every moment wondering where you are and what you’re doing. Wondering