Henry nods sagely. ‘Would you like to tell me about them?’
Them.He says the word so casually, as if the sex of Jean’s hypothetical lover scarcely matters. As if the idea of Jean being with a woman were of no significance. And this is what gives Jean the courage to speak. ‘I met someone. At a bar.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. I was stood up for a date.’ She tells him about Ava between mouthfuls. Everything they’d had, what could have been, and how it all slipped through her fingers.
And Henry listens without judgement or surprise – he wouldn’t be able to hide either from her, even after all these years.
‘You were right,’ he says, when the waiter goes to fetch them coffee. ‘I did wonder about you and Marianne. At the time I was trying to provoke a reaction, but in recent years…’
‘What?’
‘My son. Lucas. He hasn’t said anything about his sexuality to me or his mother.’ Henry steeples his fingers. ‘Let’s just say that we’re alive to the possibility he might be gay. I’ve been doing research, just in case – I want to be able to support him through whatever difficulties he might face. And some details made me think of you.’
‘How would you feel about it, if I were a lesbian?’
‘I… I would want the same things I’ve always hoped for you,’ Henry says, carefully. ‘I’d hope you’d be happy.’
Happiness, again. He’s more like Ava than he could possibly know.
‘You wouldn’t resent me, for having married you?’ This time it’s Jean who reaches across the table. ‘I really did love you, Henry. If I could have been in love with any man, it would have been you. I just hadn’t realised there was a difference between that kind of love, and…’
Henry takes her hand, his smile tinged with sadness. ‘I don’t regret the time we spent together. We were good friends once, with so much laughter. And if our marriage hadn’t ended when it did, I wouldn’t have gone to L&P, wouldn’t have met Nina. My children would likely never have been born.’ He looks at Jean then, earnest. ‘But even if I wasn’t glad for you, there’s no sense in letting other people’s opinions keep you from what makes you happy.’
Jean blinks. ‘I… will keep that in mind. Thank you for this, Henry. I’ve missed your friendship.’
‘Me too.’ He gestures to the waiter for their bill. ‘Actually, on that note, I’m delighted that you’re a lesbian.’
Jean laughs loud enough that the nearest table turns to stare, ribs aching with the force of it. She’d forgotten Henry’s gift for the unexpected. ‘Why?’
‘Because Nina won’t have any suspicions if we do become friends again.’
They part with firm plans for Jean to come over and meet his family. Jean’s still smiling when she gets home, picking up the bundle of post from her doormat. There’s another book waiting – the memoir of a Christian mommy blogger turned gay rights activist. Plus, the usual assortment of bills, communications from her local councillor and coupons for nearby takeaways. And a creamy envelope, her name written in a familiar looping hand.
Jean can’t breathe as she opens it. Even her heart comes to a standstill inside her chest. But there’s no letter. Only a solid invitation card listing the date and venue for the CJC’s launch event, with her name written in that same flowing script. Nothing else inside the envelope.
If it had come to the office, Jean would have suspected Ava meant for Peter to attend instead – he’s been an enthusiastic supporter of the CJC since she’d mentioned it, signing up personally to represent clients and encouraging various senior associates to do the same. But the invitation has her name, it was delivered to her home. And though Ava has said nothing directly, Jean can’t help but hope there’s a message in it.
Chapter Thirty
The venue isn’t difficult to find, a five-minute walk from Waterloo Station. The building has a beautiful exterior, cheerful yellow panels and broad windows. From the website Jean had learned that it’s run as part of a social enterprise – and that ethos can be felt the moment she steps inside the foyer, where a magnificent ficus tree stretches up towards the glass ceiling. Children’s laughter echoes down from the upper floor, where signage indicates there’s a nursery. Beside it there’s a printout emblazoned with the Colourblind Justice Caucus logo with a downward arrow.
A lift ride later, she queues for the registration table, alone amidst clusters of people she recognises from the party. Nobody else within her line of sight has a solid card invitation – they display either phones or paper printouts to the women manning the desk. And when Jean reaches the front of the line, a girl with tight sisterlocks hops to her feet.
‘Oooh,’ she says, coming round the table. ‘You’re at the Crenshawe table. Come with me.’
Jean follows her along the corridor. ‘Is that a good thing?’
‘It’s Ms Harris – Ava’s – personal table.’ The girl turns back, smiling sheepishly. ‘I’m Beth, her assistant. And I’m still getting used to using her first name. Too many years in corporate.’
Beth keeps up this excited flow of chatter all the way, which is just as well because Jean’s mouth goes dry as they step into the main hall. The space is filled with round tables dotted with a smattering of people – the majority are still lining up to register. Only the leftmost table by the stage is almost entirely full, and it just so happens to be the one Beth is leading her towards.
There’s no sign of Ava at the table, nor elsewhere in the hall. But Aaliyah sits by Simon in an elegant shell pink dress suit, pausing mid-sentence as she catches sight of Jean. Laila’s there too, resplendent in a gold-stitched sari, bangles chiming as she stands to kiss Jean’s cheek.
Ava’s parents are just as effusive. Chibundo pulls Jean close for a sweetly perfumed hug, which she returns, realising that Ava has neglected to tell her parents about their split. Even Alasdair – a bowtie his only concession to the occasion – seems pleased to see her again. ‘Comrade Howard! Glad you could join us.’
‘I’m glad to be here,’ Jean says, meaning it. ‘And honoured that Ava has seated me with all of you.’
