“Why are you crying, Mum?” asked Esther.
“Because they’re so happy,” said Cecilia.
Because they endured this unacceptable thing. Because that woman probably thought, like so many people had, that the Wall would eventually come down, but not in their lifetimes, and that she would never see this day, and yet she had, and now she was dancing.
“It’s weird how you always cry about happy things,” said Esther.
“I know,” said Cecilia.
Happy endings always made her cry. It was the relief.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” John-Paul stood up from the dining room table, while Polly put away her book. He looked at Cecilia anxiously. All evening she’d been aware of his timid, solicitous glances. It was driving her crazy.
“No,” said Cecilia sharply, avoiding his eyes. She felt the perplexed gaze of her daughters. “I do not want a cup of tea.”
THIRTY-THREE
I remember Felicity,” said Connor. “She was funny. Quick-witted. A bit scary.”
They’d moved to Connor’s bed. It was an ordinary queen-size mattress with plain white Egyptian cotton sheets. (She’d forgotten that: how he loved good sheets, like in a hotel.) Connor had heated up some leftover pasta he’d made the night before and they were eating it in bed.
“We could be civilized and sit at the table,” Connor had offered. “I could make a salad. Put out place mats.”
“Let’s just stay here,” said Tess. “I might remember to feel awkward about this.”
“Good point,” said Connor.
The pasta was very good. Tess ate hungrily. She felt that ravenous sensation she used to feel when Liam was a baby and she’d been up all night breast-feeding.
Except instead of a night innocently suckling her son, she’d just had two very boisterous, highly satisfying sexual encounters with a man who was not her husband. She should have lost her appetite, not regained it.
“So she and your husband are having an affair,” said Connor.
“No,” said Tess. “They just fell in love. It’s all very pure and romantic.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I know,” said Tess. “I only found out on Monday, and here I am.” She waved her fork around the room, and at herself and her own state of undress. (She was wearing nothing but a T-shirt of Connor’s, which he’d taken from a drawer and handed her, without comment, before he went off to make the pasta. It smelled very clean.)
“Eating pasta,” finished Connor.
“Eating excellent pasta,” agreed Tess.
“Wasn’t Felicity quite a . . .” Connor searched for the right word. “How can I put this without sounding . . . Wasn’t she quite a sturdy girl?”
“She was morbidly obese,” said Tess. “It is relevant, because this year she lost forty kilos and became extremely beautiful.”
“Ah,” said Connor. He paused. “So what do you think is going to happen?”
“I have no idea,” said Tess. “Last week I thought my marriage was good. As good as a marriage can be. And then they made this announcement. I was in shock. I’m still in shock. But then again, look at me, within three days. Actually two days. I’m with an ex-boyfriend . . . eating pasta.”
“Things just happen sometimes,” said Connor. “Don’t worry about it.”