The Reunion

expectations to the contrary, she liked suburbia. She liked normality, the reassurance of the school run and dinner on the table at half past seven.
    She could hear Andrew and Jen chattering in the kitchen, Andrew asking questions about the baby, when was she due, did she have the scan? She was asking about his career, about Nat’s work. Is she still writing? Her cheeriness deserting her, Natalie felt a hot little prickle of anger at the back of her neck. You should know this stuff. If you really were our friend, you
would
know this stuff. And where were
you
, Jennifer, when I got
my
scan? She took deep breaths and tried to let it all roll off her.
    Lunch was delicious. A rib of beef, roasted on a bed of vegetables, accompanied by a rich, creamy boulangère. The wine was a deep cherry Pinot Noir. Conversation ebbed and flowed, swirling along gently before hitting rapids. They discussed Jen’s plans, where she would live, what she would do. Only she didn’t seem to have made any plans, just knew that she wanted to return to England, that Paris was done for her now.
    ‘What about the baby’s father?’ Andrew asked her. ‘Will he not want to be a part of all this? Is he OK with you picking up and taking off?’
    ‘I think he may have forfeited his right to have any say in the matter,’ Jen said, chin jutting out, mouth a firm line.
    ‘Really? You don’t want him to have anything to do with the baby at all?’ There was a note of disapproval in Andrew’s voice, probably inaudible to the others around the table, but Natalie caught it and she smiled. Of the many things which Andrew took seriously, fatherhood topped the list.
    ‘I forgave him his first infidelity, and his second,’ Jen said quietly. ‘After that, I tried to turn a blind eye. But when I discovered that he had continued an affair even after I told him I was pregnant, I decided enough was enough.’
    ‘Jen, that’s awful, but it’s still his child…’
    Natalie leaned back in her seat, trying not to enjoy too much the fact that her husband was, for once, standing up to her.
    ‘It’s not that unusual, though, is it?’ Dan cut in, spoiling the moment.
    ‘What isn’t?’
    ‘Well,’ he went on, thoughtfully stroking the touchpad of his mobile phone, ‘I think it’s just more common over here, isn’t it? In Europe, I mean. On the continent. They have a more… relaxed attitude to fidelity. Possibly a more mature attitude…’
    ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Andrew muttered, downing the rest of his wine. Dan looked up at him, a little surprised.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Where do you people get this idea that it’s in some way adult or sophisticated to betray the person you’ve promised to be with?’
    ‘That’s not really what I meant…’
    ‘You said it was mature. That infidelity was mature. So failure to stick with your commitments is a sign of maturity to you, is it?’
    Dan shrugged and shook his head and went back to his food. Natalie looked at the colour rising in her husband’s cheeks and felt herself flush with pride.
    It amused her, too, how quickly Dan backed down. After all these years, with all those oceans of water under the bridge, their relationships to each other hadn’t actually changed all that much. Dan, the big movie director, still deferred to Andrew, the teacher. Andrew was still the moral compass, still the principled one, to the point of self-righteousness, to a fault. Jen still looked to the men (Andrew first, then Dan) for affirmation of her actions, she couldn’t help herself. And when Lilah found something funny, she looked at Natalie, because she knew that Nat would be laughing too. They always had exactly the same sense of humour.
    Natalie wondered whether their dynamic was still the same because their friendship had formed with Conor at its centre. Since he couldn’t evolve, neither could they. Or perhaps it was just like with family: you can’t help but revert to your formative state, the way Natalie started acting like a fifteen-year-old the second she was under her mother’s roof.
    She herself, though, she
had
changed. Somewhere along the line, she had become an outsider.
    It was not a role she cherished. It didn’t come naturally to her. Andrew had said it to her, that morning: why can’t you remember the good stuff? She could, she could remember it, it was just that she didn’t seem to be able to feel it any more, even to remember how it had felt, to love them all.
    ‘Jen,’ Natalie said,