‘What time did you start?’
‘About three. I woke up when the rain stopped.’
‘I’m not crying.’
‘You’d better not be.’
‘I think my sinuses are having trouble adjusting to the dust-free environment.’ I laughed. ‘No. Iamcrying. Mack, you have no idea. Nobody, ever, has ever… Nothing like this.’
‘Well, I’ve never done anything like this before. I was half expecting you to freak out because I’d let myself into your house again and messed about with your stuff. But, well, it’s Christmas. Sort of.’
I flapped one hand at him. ‘Oh, I’m so over getting annoyed at that.’
We collapsed onto each end of the sofa and simultaneously took big sips from our coffee mugs.
‘What were Christmases like, when you were a kid?’ I asked. And, to my surprise, Mack told me. Nothing special – parents, two older sisters, grandparents, a dog, arguments over food, films, presents.
‘What about once you got married?’ I asked.
The Mack portcullis clanged shut.
I sat there, watching him stare very hard at the switched-off fire.
‘This might sound pathetic, but I’ve never had a proper friend before,’ I started, my voice hesitant. ‘Until I moved here. I have no clue about boundaries, or hanging out, or even what friends talk about. You’ve met Sarah – she told me all her dirty secrets the first time I went for dinner. And Ellen shares about anything. So, if I ask a question that’s too probing, or personal, please bear with me, just tell me and don’t get all, y’know, inside yourself.’
I coughed, and adjusted my position on the sofa. ‘Having said that, I don’t think it’s beyond the realms of acceptable conversation to ask why your friend’s wife is never there.’
Mack slowly put his mug on an end table. ‘My wife is currently in London.’ He went quiet again.
‘Was that your other plans? Were you hoping to see her?’
‘I was hoping to bring her home with me.’
‘Ah.’
‘I need to start dinner.’ He stood up.
‘Can we cook and talk?’
‘Yes, but it’s your turn. I need some meat, and at least half that trifle, before sharing the mess that is my marriage.’
‘Okay. But you might have to settle for a third of the trifle. Quarter.’
So we cooked – a chicken breast and one roast potato each, a hotchpotch of vegetables cobbled together, instant gravy and a disastrous attempt at home-made stuffing. And I told Mack about my family, including Zara, right up until the day I moved to Edinburgh.
‘Why did you leave?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’
‘Nah-ah.’ I shook my head. ‘Food is ready. We eat, open this bottle of wine, you tell me about your messy marriage.ThenI’ll tell you about Edinburgh.’
I had to consciously slow down and not scoff my dinner like a warthog, I was so intrigued and excited to finally hear more about the mystery wife – but not in a gossip-hungry way, just a looking-forward-to-getting-to-know-you-better way. I think. And definitely not in a tell-me-all-about-your-awful-marriage-so-I-can-feel-less-guilty way either. I hope.
It turned out to be significantly less exciting, and far more depressing, than I’d anticipated.
‘We got married four years ago, six months after meeting at a conference. Both in the same industry, both sharing this dream of working from home, in a cottage in the woods. She chose Sherwood Forest. Had this Robin Hood thing going on since that old film.’
‘Prince of Thieves or the Disney fox?’
Mack looked at me sternly.
