We were travelling to our wedding. At a traffic light, my husband turned to me and asked, Are you absolutely sure about this? I didnt have time to answer.
The light turned green just as my lips parted.
David pressed the accelerator. The beige Ford Mondeo rolled forward, melted into the flow, and the question hovered in the air between uslike cigarette smoke, like the lingering scent of his Brut aftershave, like all the things wed left unsaid these six months.
David, I began.
Its green, he cut in. Were going.
I watched his hands on the steering wheel. Square palms, clipped nails, a slim gold band on the third finger of his left handhed put it on at the registry office, just an hour ago, and it still seemed strange, not yet familiar. So did mine. Id twisted it over and over as we posed for photos on the steps.
Mum was in the back seat. She was silenta rare state for herand I could feel her eyes on the back of my head. Heavy, perceptive; the gaze of a woman who knows everything but says nothing unless asked.
Seven minutes to the restaurant.
Are you absolutely sure? I repeated aloud, as if testing whether Id imagined it.
Claire. He gripped the wheel, not harshly. Not now.
When then?
After. Theres guests, theres food, Aunt Patricias come all the way from Sheffield.
Aunt Patricia, I murmured.
Mum coughed softly behind us.
I turned to the window. Outside, October in Birmingham flew pastslick pavements, bare sycamores on the high street, a woman pushing a pram who glanced at us with utter indifference. I wore a white dress and a veil, though Id tried all the way to the car to take it off, and Mum insisted, as was her way, that it should stay: tradition, beautiful, Id be sorry otherwise.
I watched the woman with the pram and thought, perhaps shes happy. Or unhappy. Or just heading home with her child, with not a single traffic light question on her mind.
The Oak & Laurel met us with parked cars, red balloons over the entrance, Aunt Patricia waving exuberantly in a wrap that glittered in the weak streetlights.
The newlyweds! she trilled, flinging up her hands. At last! We were starting to wonder!
And the question sank againdrowned now in embraces, in the sharpness of Prosecco, in the chorus of Kiss! Kiss! and the thump of bread against a plate.
*
The whole place buzzed.
Some forty guests filled the long tables. Davids side were hearty, generous, loud with song and cheer, hogging one end; mine were quieter, a touch shell-shocked by the noise, clinging to the other. In the buffer between them, our mutual friends: Rob and Anna, Steve from the insurance office with David, Katiemy uni mate.
Katie caught my eye, tilted her head: Well? I shook mine: Later.
David sat beside me, and we made the proper couplesmiling at the right times, kissing when the chants demanded it, clinking glasses with anyone who drew near. He was good. Hed always been goodand therein lay the trouble, and Id never seen it so sharp as now.
Claire, Davids mum, Elizabeth, dropped into the chair beside me. She touched my wrist. You look pale, pet. Have you eaten?
I have, honestly. Im fine.
Listen, she whispered, the brides in our family have always been pale at their weddings. Sign of a long life together.
Thank you, Elizabeth.
Just Liz, love. Were family now.
I looked at her: small, round, eyes brimming with unguarded kindness. My throat closed up. Shed done nothing wrong. Neither had David. No one had, and that made it worse.
Liz I managed. Thank you for everything.
She patted my hand before bustling off to chatter with Aunt Patricia, to laugh, to refill glasses.
Katie appeared at my shoulder five minutes later.
To the loo, she announced. With me.
It wasnt a question.
*
The ladies in the Oak & Laurel pretended at marblepainted tiles, naturallyand reeked of pink air freshener. We faced our reflections. My veil hung askew, mascara smudged beneath my left eye, lipstick faded to a faint outline.
Out with it, said Katie.
He asked me, I whispered. At the lights. ‘Are you sure?’ Before we got here.
She thought for a moment.
What did you say?
Nothing. The lights changed.
I see. She produced a lipstick from her bag, held it out. Here. Put on a fresh face.
Katie
First the lipstick, then the words. Its easier.
It was the wrong shade for medarker, deeper somehowbut I painted it on anyway, for the comfort of busy hands.
Hes worried, I muttered.
No*youre* worried, said Katie.
Im not…
Claire. She looked straight at me. Ive known you twelve years. You are. Since spring.
I set the tube down beside the mirror.
Hes a good man.
Yes.
And he loves me.
As much as I can tell, yes.
Weve been together three years.
Three years and four months, she corrected, lightly. Im not asking if hes good or bad. Im asking what you want.
Somewhere behind the wall, music playeda slow tune, maybe The Power of Love or something of that sort. A pair of heels tapped past, fading down the corridor.
I dont know, I said.
The first honest thing Id said all day.
Katie noddedwithout judgment, without advice.
All right, she said, voice gentle. Lets go back. Nows not the place. But youll tell me, later?
Later.
Promise.
I promise.
We returned as the dancing began.
*
David was not a natural dancer. Hed admit this with good-natured bravado, which somehow only added to his charm. He held me by the waist, moving awkwardly, but I rested my head on his shoulder and let him guide me round the parquet, and I thought: This is it. From the outside, it looks right. It looks lovely.
Claire, he whispered by my ear.
Mm?
Sorry about before. That question. Not really the best time at the lights.
When wouldve been?
Earlier. Much earlier. He paused. Or perhaps never. I dont know.
I raised my head, met his eyes. Closeclose enough to see the silvered chestnut of his stubble, the fine lines at his temples, though he was only thirty-two.
Why did you ask? I murmured.
He looked away, somewhere over my shouldertoward the circle where Aunt Patricia was already tugging Rob into a conga line.
Because youve had that look these last few months, he said at last. Not at me. Past me.
Im just tired. Work, wedding
Claire, he interruptedmy name like a bell.
I dont want to keep you, he said. Thats what I meant at the lights. If you need toleaveIll understand.
The song ended. Applause all around. We stood in the middle of the room and I couldnt find any words.
Lets step outside for a smoke, he said.
*
We slipped out to the little veranda that overlooked the car park and an inky green behind it. David lit upId quit three years backand I stood beside him, draped in his jacket, which hed slung round my shoulders in the doorway.
Tell me about Michael, he said.
I hesitated.
Why?
Because it matters to you. So it matters to me.
Michael. Eight months together at the magazinehed come in as editor last February, I was there as features writer. Nothing ever happened. Not a word, not a look that crossed a line. But I thought about him. Thought about him the way you think about a city youll never visit: vague longing mixed with an ache that barely registers.
Theres nothing there, I told him.
I know. David exhaled, smoke drifting. But thats not the point, is it? Its not him.
Then what is?
Its you, he said after a moment. Three years back you were different. Alive. You wanted thingswriting for a big magazine, a book, London
Theyre just dreams, David.
Why just dreams? You write beautifully. You always have.
I stared into the dark garden. Wet, thin trees, a doga knobbly ginger mongrelsat waiting for its owner on a bench.
I honestly dont know what I want, I said. And that scares me.
I know you dont, he replied. Thats why I asked.
David, we just got married.
Yeah.
With forty people in there.
Forty-two, he smiled, just the corner of his mouththe smile Id fallen for. Aunt Patricias brought her nephew.
David. My eyes stung. Why are you doing this?
What?
Youre so decent. You say all the right things. Always.
Is that bad?
Its unbearable, I blurted. If you were wrong somehow, it would all be easier. At least then I could be angry.
He snubbed out the cigarette on the metal rail.
Claire. Look at me.
I did.
I love you, he said. Genuinely. Thats why I asked. Not because I want to let you goI dont. But I dont want you to be miserable beside me.
Im not unhappy.
But youre not happy.
I said nothing.
Its not fair, I managed at last. You cant ask things like this on your wedding day.
Maybe, he conceded. He tucked my hair behind my earthe wind caught my veil and tugged it askew. But if not now, when? Next year? In five? Thats worse.
There was laughter insidethe din of a celebration, muffled through glass.
Lets go in, I said. Im cold.
He nodded, opened the door for me.
As I walked inside, I thought: I need to decide. Today. Before this evenings over.
*
Mum caught me as I skirted the tables.
Claire, come here a minute.
Her tone left no room for argument, so I stepped into a corner, behind a column wreathed in flowers.
Mum, not now.
Now, exactly, she countered. I saw you both leave for the terrace. I saw your face.
Mum
Shush. Listen. She caught my hand. Her grip was warm, a little roughthe hands of someone whos always making or mending, whos cooked a thousand meals, sorted someone elses tax returns, papered bedrooms. I married your father at twenty-two. I didnt know what I wanted. I thought it was fine, not knowing. That it would figure itself out.
And did it?
She paused.
I found something. Not what I expected. She squeezed my hand. Claire. Davids a good man.
Everyones said that today.
Thats because its true. But good and yours arent the same.
I stared at her.
Soyoure against this?
Im not against anything. Im for you. She sighed, barely audible. I spent thirty years with a man I respected. Thats a lot. But sometimes I wondered
She trailed off.
Wondered what?
Whether I was living someone elses life. Neat. Correct. But not mine.
We stood in silence. Aunt Patricia marched past with a platter of pork pie, nephew trailing in his little bowtie.
Mum, I managed. The weddings done.
I know.
The papers signed.
I know, Claire. She let me go. But paperwork can be changed. Lifelifes harder.
She melted away. I stood clutching the column, staring at the hall. David laughing with Rob. Liz topping up guests wine. Aunt Patricia, her nephew, Katie, whod already noticed me and nodded.
How did I end up here?
That was the wrong question. The right one was something else.
*
Katie sat close by me for most of the next hour. Didnt say muchjust poured my water when I forgot, fielded Davids cousin who wanted to debate mortgages.
Near half past nine, David appeared at my side.
Are you tired?
A bit.
Should we sneak away?
I eyed him.
Its our wedding.
I know. We could stay, or go. Or he faltered, or actually talk. Like we mean it.
Here?
No. Come on.
This time, we left for a small courtyard out back, wooden bench under a lamp casting an amber glow. We sat.
David, I said, I need to say something.
Im listening.
I dont love Michael. Never did. Theres nothing. But that doesnt mean things are all right, either.
I know.
Im thirty. I live in Birmingham, work at a magazine, write features about local shops and city parks. Its a decent life. A good life.
But? he prompted.
But sometimes in the night I open a file and write. Not for work. For me. And those are the only hours I feel, I dont knowalive.
I read it, he said. You left your laptop open in February. By accident, I think. I saw a few lines. I read it all.
David
Sorry. I shouldnt have. But, Claire, it was good. You dont know how good.
I had no words.
Why dont you writereally write? he asked.
Because I didnt finish.
Because its frightening, he did for me. Because trying means risking failureor, worse, success, and everything changes.
I said nothing, which was answer enough.
Claire. I know its late to say this. But listen. He turned to me. If youre afraid Ill hold you backyoure wrong. I wont. Ive never wanted that.
You cant know that.
I can. His voice was quiet, but steady. Because Ive watched you dull yourself, bit by bit. And every time, you wore that lookpast me. I know its not my fault. Youre doing it yourself. Im just here.
I realised I was crying. Silently, no sobsjust wet cheeks, and I barely noticed.
It doesnt mean everythings fine, I said at last.
No. It doesnt. He didnt comfort me, didnt reach outjust sat. But it means we can try to work it out. If you want to.
And if I dont?
Then Ill let you go. Itll hurt, but Ill do it. He paused. Claire. Tell me honestly. Just once. Do you want to tryus?
I wiped my cheek. My veil caught on the button of his jacket, and finally, I pulled it offlaid it on the bench.
I thought about my motherthirty years respecting a man. About Katie, divorced at twenty-eight, calling it the best choice of her life. About Liz and her gentle eyes. About the unfinished document David had found by mistake.
About the traffic light.
About how I never answered.
I want to try, I said. But on one condition.
Name it.
Im going to write. Properly. You cant tell me its not real work, or that I should find something sensible instead.
Ive never said that.
I know. Its more for me. I need permission. Onlynot from you. From myself.
He kept the silence perfectly.
And, I added, we need to talk. Like this. Not just today, not just at traffic lights.
Deal.
And about London, I said, feeling a weight loosen in my chest, like a dress unfastened at last. I want to try pitching to a London magazine. Or even move. I dont know yet. But I want to try.
David watched me. Then said, All right.
All right?
All rightlets go together. Or you go, then me. Well figure it out.
I laugheda startled, shaky sound.
David, youre mad.
Maybe. He finally grinned wide and warm, the first real one that evening. But Im your mad one. Thats official now.
Official, I agreed.
We sat in silence another minute. Somewhere, music played and someone toasted Kiss! Kiss! and the party sloshed on without us.
Shall we? he asked.
Lets.
He stood, offering his hand. I took itand realised his ring no longer felt strange. Nor mine. Or perhaps both.
*
Katie caught me at the door.
Well? she asked.
Its all right, I said.
Thats all?
All right is a lot, I replied. Believe me.
She considered me, then nodded.
Ok. Lets eat. Theyve brought out the roast.
We returned to the table. Aunt Patricia was holding forth about Sheffield, her nephew looked horrified, Rob and Anna danced, Liz dabbed her eyes with a tissuefor laughter, or sadness, who knew.
David sat next to me. Poured me Prosecco, himself water.
What shall we toast? Aunt Patricia inquired, glass upraised.
David glanced my way.
To not being afraid, he said.
Patricia blinkedodd toastbut drank. So did the others. So did I.
And I thought: maybe thats the answer. Not yes or no at the lights. Just dont be afraidand see what happens next.
*
We left around midnight. Guests lingeredAunt Patricia would be last to go, clearlybut David declared newlyweds get special privileges, and no one objected.
The car was silenta peaceful silence, not the heavy early evening one, but relaxed, as if something important had shifted.
I watched through the window. October Birmingham slid past againthe same damp lights, same autumn streets, maybe fractionally changed. Or perhaps I was.
David.
Mm?
When did you notice? I asked. About me looking away.
He thought.
In June. We drove to my parents, remember? You stared out the window the whole way. I talked, you replieda proper answer every timebut you were somewhere else.
And you never said.
Didnt know how. He sighed. Then I got used to silence. Bad habit.
Yes, I admitted. Me too.
At a red lightanother, not the samehe stopped.
Claire, he said.
What?
Are you sure, really sure?
I looked at him. He looked at meserious, a bit tired, with that crinkle-eyed smile.
Yes, I said.
The light turned green.
We drove on.
*
The flat greeted us in darkness and the smell of our catMoggy, perched on the windowsill, gazing at us with grave reproach, as if we were late and shed remember it.
Evening, Moggy, I said.
She turned her back to the glass.
Shes miffed, said David. Left alone all day.
Like Moggy, I replied. Always sulky if you dont speak for ages.
He chuckled, faintly worn.
I kicked off my shoes in the hallway, put them by the wall. They looked beautifulwhite, low-heeled, Mums prized find after a month of searchingand I thought, tomorrow Ill wear slippers and be just as happy.
David hung up his jacket, loosened his tie.
Tea?
Yes please.
In the kitchen, kettle on, I fetched our mugshis favourite blue one with a polar bear, mine with Dont talk to me until Ive had coffee on it, though I always had tea. Mums birthday gift, three years ago.
Claire, David said as the kettle hissed. May I say one thing?
Go on.
Im glad we talked tonight, he glanced at the kettle, not at me. Ive wanted to for a long time. Just never found the words.
Me too.
Were a pair, he said, wry rather than critical.
We are.
He poured boiling water, I dunked teabagsplain old builders, not loose leaf. We were not loose-leaf people. Maybe one day.
Moggy jumped down, padded to us, pressed against my shin.
Forgiven, apparently, he said.
Animals are good like that, I replied. They learn from the best.
We sat at the kitchens little table, where he read the papers each morning and his work papers gathered at night, for two mugs, nothing special. Ours.
David.
Mm?
Ill open that file tomorrow. And write. Just a page at least.
He looked up.
All right.
You wont ask whats in it?
When you want to show me, youll show me.
I nodded.
All right, I said. One day, then.
We sipped in silence. Moggy curled up on the radiator cover, tucked up her paws. Rain began against the panesoft, October drizzle.
I thought of Mum. Must ring her before she left tomorrow morning, just to saywhat? Thank you. Just thank you. Shed know why.
David, I asked, what are you thinking?
He paused.
That were out of sugar.
I laughed, real laughter.
Thats it?
And that Im married, he added, gently baffled. Doesnt feel real yet.
Me, neither. I looked at my ring. It barely felt foreign now. Will things be all right?
He waited, not rushingsomething I truly liked about him; no answering promises he couldnt make.
I dont know, he said simply. But lets try.
An honest answer. The right one.
Well try, I agreed.
*
A week later, I opened the file.
Eighteen pagesI hadnt realised Id written so much. Edited, trimmed, added. Worked three hours straight, forgot dinnerDavid silently brought me sandwiches.
A month on, I sent five pages to a literary journal. Not in Londonlocal, humble, but real. Just to see.
They replied three weeks later. Asked for more.
I called Mum.
Mum, do you remember what you said about living someone elses life?
I do, she answered.
Im writing my own, I told her. Slow, but its mine.
She paused.
Thats good, Claire.
Just thats good. Sometimes nothing more is needed.
*
Come November, we went to Londona long weekend, just wandering. David took leave, I packed my laptop.
We explored, had coffee in little cafes, I spent a day in a newsroomnot the place Id sent work, anotherand chatted with their editor for hours about whether they accepted writers from outside London. She said they did, gave me her email.
That night, we sat in a café near Angel, David sipping soup, I staring out at city lights. This city Id dreamedless glamorous, more urgent, far pricier, but alive.
What? asked David.
Nothing. Just watching.
Like it?
I hesitated.
It scares me, honestly, but yesI do.
Thats good, he said. The best things scare and thrill you together.
I glanced at him. He spooned soup, as serene as if discussing weather.
David. Do you regret it?
Regret what?
Marrying a restless soul.
He stopped, properly thoughtfulit meant he searched for truth, not the first words.
No, he said at last. Calm people are dull.
Youll regret it yet, I threatened, grinning.
Maybe. He grinned. Not today.
Outside, snow drifted downthe first of the year, slushy, vanishing on pavements. People scurried, talking, laughing, hurrying home. Just an ordinary night.
I opened my laptop, not the old document, but a blank one.
You writing? David asked.
Ill try.
Good. Ill order more soup. Take your time.
I tapped out the first line.
Looked at it. Deleted it. Wrote something different.
David scrolled his phone. London surged past the window. The snow melted. It was only a regular evening.
And I thought: perhaps thats how happiness is. No grand fireworksjust the one across from you ordering soup while you write. Just a city in the window. Just a sentence that leads who knows where.
Simply: dont be afraidand see what comes next.
I wrote the second line.
