Although Ralph was in his element at the very centre of the action, he had been looking drawn after a couple of months in post, tackling the ever deteriorating economic situation. To make it worse the jubilation of victory had been replaced by a tetchy expectation of great things now the party with all the promises had been put into power.
As the autumn wore on, and the relationship between the two of them cooled further, Emily began to suspect Ralph had resurrected his relationship with Susie. Even with her and the children living at Number Ten, he was frequently absent from family life for days on end. Taking to sleeping in his dressing room with the excuse that he didn’t want to disturb her by coming in late, she had noticed that, on at least a couple of nights a week, the bed was not slept in at all. At the same time, the silence from Matt remained absolute. Was he still seeing Susie? After calling her a whore, there was no chance Emily could casually ask her. She couldn’t help thinking Ralph might be cheating again but was aware her fragile mental state was probably making her paranoid and she didn’t want to interrogate him for fear he would tell her she was imagining it.
When the term ended, Emily decided, she would take the children back to Sussex for a long break over the holidays, which were longer now that they were both at private school. They could have Christmas there and see if pretending hard enough to be a happy family could turn them into one. Emily was also keen to see more of Nessa, who was true to her word in coming to London much more than she had before, but her trysts with her mysterious boyfriend left time for little more than a quick cup of tea and an occasional hurried shopping trip with Emily, who craved more of her friend’s time but was desperate not to appear needy.
The children were delighted with the plan and came straight home from school to pack after an interminable final assembly with prize giving, speeches, carols and mulled wine for the parents – most of whom Emily saw for the first time.
In just twenty minutes Alfie arrived in the sitting room breathless and with his little backpack overflowing. ‘Let’s go home now,’ he said. Emily sorted through his bag with amusement. There were no clothes of course, not even a change of underwear. Alfie’s essential ‘going home’ items apparently consisted of his toy doggy – one ear torn and chewed nearly off – his plastic dinosaurs and a rubber snake mixed in with a selection of scruffily well-read Thomas the Tank Engine books and a lump of Blu-tack.
‘Perfect, darling,’ she said fondly. ‘We’re just waiting for Tash now then.’ He ran off to hurry her up while Emily arranged to get their real bags down to the car where the driver was waiting.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After a whole autumn of neglect the house smelled musty and unloved. Even the lock in the front door seemed to have forgotten its relationship with the key and Emily had to wrestle and pull for several seconds before it allowed her to push it open with a squeak of underuse.
Most of the furniture had stayed in the end, but it was like a stage set with personal possessions largely absent, books gone from shelves and the contents of cupboards sparser than before. The children ran to their rooms with whoops of joy and Emily heard them thundering about upstairs, shouting to one another. Within minutes, Alfie was contentedly sprawled in front of the television and Tash was hogging the phone, hooking up with her friends.
Nessa had been in, switching the Aga back on and stocking the fridge with essentials, Emily noticed with gratitude. She would put in a big supermarket order tomorrow, she thought, sliding the big old Aga kettle onto the hotplate. Actually, perhaps she had better do it this evening as the precious pre-Christmas delivery slots tended to get booked up pretty quickly. This little detail reminded Emily how little she now did on a daily basis to run the household. In London a housekeeper would be appalled to see Emily bothering with such things and yet what else was she good for? She was looking forward to running the house, getting ready for a lovely Christmas and worrying about all the logistics that made it special. Not being allowed a career, the domestic goddessery was her only outlet. Hell, she might even dust off the Felicity Wainwright Household Management book, it was bound to have some comments on how to “do” Christmas correctly.
Over supper Tash informed Emily what she, Tash, would be doing in the few days leading to Christmas. As a result of her phone marathon, she had lined up a schedule of sleepovers leaving no time for anything else. ‘Not Thursday night,’ was Emily’s only comment. ‘We’ve got tickets for the panto.’
‘But can’t Megan come with us?’ wailed Tash.
‘I doubt I can get her in, they’ve been sold out for weeks,’ Emily reasoned.
‘But Daddy runs the country,’ Tash replied, ‘surely he can sort it out.’
Emily laughed in spite of herself. ‘I’ll try,’ she promised, ‘but I think Daddy’s a bit busy with world peace and the public sector borrowing requirement at the moment.’
Really, she admitted to herself, Tash was becoming quite a monster.
Over the next few days Emily cocooned her family in the house, enjoying the familiarity – and the solitude. The constant pressure in London, she realised, was partly because they were never truly alone as a family. There was really the most extraordinary lack of privacy even in their own flat, with aides frequently interrupting the supper and homework routine with batches of papers that Ralph apparently ‘simply must see’, on his return from whatever vital meeting he was attending.
Susie was frequently one of these aides, Emily noted. She had also noted the return of Susie’s joie de vivre lately, this blossoming happening to coincide with the improvement in Ralph’s temper – more evidence, she thought, that their affair had resumed. Prodding her psyche with this idea, Emily discovered that she cared very little if it had, other than to wonder what had happened to Matt. If anything, her anxiety had improved recently, especially now they had come back home.
Of course it could be the drugs.
As the days ticked down towards Christmas day, the feeling of escape lessened and the anxiety returned. It was about seeing Ralph again but worse than that, she was grieving because it was the last, but the last of what she was not sure. The choice, when she dared to think about it, was stark. This was either the final Christmas the family would ever have in this house, their home with all its precious memories, where Emily had always fully intended they would stay forever. Or, alternatively, it was the last Christmas they would spend as a complete family. As she squirmed in bed throughout the early hours, her head constantly looking for a cool part of the pillow, the latter option seemed the best of the two. By Christmas Eve, Emily had come to two conclusions; the first was that this Christmas would be the best ever; the second was that she would sit Ralph down and tell him the marriage was over.
Matt had barely registered it was Christmas. Desperate to bury himself in work he had encouraged his editor to commission him for every article the paper’s shrinking in-house team was unable to cover itself. With family commitments and ‘to do’ lists growing longer by the day, the other staff grew used to having Matt churning out vast quantities of copy on every subject, even if his sombre presence reminded them all of the Grinch. Previously happier working alone in his flat, he came into the office more often now, soothed by the normality of chatter about holiday plans, though he had none himself.
The other advantage – or disadvantage – of being in the office was that he was constantly surrounded by the outpourings of the national press. Piles of newspapers, their own and their rivals, jostled for space and several television screens were constantly on, tuned permanently to the major news channels. To see Ralph was a distraction which barely interrupted his thoughts but to catch a glimpse of Emily was to throw him totally. He pored over every picture of her in the newspapers, usually where she was turning up to events on Ralph’s arm. He searched her face for information … was she well? Happy? Looking tired? He craved reassurance that she was okay, frustrated that he could do nothing but watch from the sidelines.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
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The rituals of Christmas preparation were soothing. Tash, in particular, was clingily desperate that all the correct procedures would be observed, from the decorating of the tree with the shabby and random selection of decorations acquired over the years, to the final ceremonial placing of the wreath on the front door knocker.
The family Christmas tree – always a fresh, real one – would be in the kitchen, placed in front of the French windows. Since Ralph had become an MP they had also had a more formal Christmas tree in the hallway, with co-ordinated decorations on a changing yearly theme. This would be seen and admired by the various guests attending the series of drinks parties held to thank the local party faithful. This year by unspoken consensus, the hallway tree was forgotten. The party faithful had all been invited to an alternative drinks party at Number Ten, a considerably more glamorous option which had proved extremely popular. It had not been necessary to make excuses for the absence of an invitation to Ralph’s constituency home. As far as Emily was aware, no-one had questioned its omission, but she suspected if anyone had, quiet words about the ‘strain’ and ‘exhaustion’ Emily was suffering would have been muttered to excuse it.
More likely to excite comment had been the absence of Emily at the Number Ten Christmas events. The office had not pressed for her to be there and she had been quietly thankful. She kept herself busy at the Sussex house instead, taking comfort in baking the kind of things she would normally just buy. The kitchen was filled with the scent of cinnamon and candied peel as she turned out mince pies, Christmas cake – which was rather too late in the day really, but lots of brandy would help – and even star-shaped biscuits to hang on the tree.
The last was a particular success. Tash and Alfie worked contentedly side by side at the scrubbed kitchen table. Tash, with her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth, iced careful lacy patterns on the biscuits and Alfie conscientiously placed little silver balls onto the icing before it dried. In unusual accord, they then threaded ribbons through and hung the stars on the tree.
Next year, thought Emily, we’ll have a dog. The children had wanted one for years but Ralph had always said ‘no’. A golden retriever, she decided. The star biscuits would have to be hung only on the upper branches then of course. She would look for a puppy in the New Year. With no other adults in the house, the dog would be company for her in the evenings, and an excuse to go for walks too. She really must get fitter, although at least now she was skinny. Thinner than ever in fact, with her ribs showing on her chest and thighs that would no longer meet, she noticed with detached interest on getting out of the bath that morning.
As Emily sipped her tea, watching the children finish decorating the tree, she wondered vaguely about the financial situation. Ralph would have to pay maintenance presumably. It would look terrible for him if he didn’t cover his responsibilities as a father, but she wondered if it would be enough. Would they have to move to a smaller house? They didn’t really need one this size. There was a whole upper floor they didn’t currently use, although Emily had always had it in her mind that the children might like to have their bedrooms up there when they were older. It would make a fabulous teenage den.
No, she decided, they would move out of this home over her dead body.
If she needed to she would get a job. She should do that anyway. Surely the separated and ultimately divorced wife of the Prime Minister could finally do whatever job she liked? Would journalism still want her though, after all these years in the wilderness? She would have to look through her address book and do a bit of networking. With this thought, Matt came – unbidden – into her mind. A sudden wave of longing and loneliness swept over her. She brushed a tear from her eye before the children could see. For days she had been tortured by images of Matt and Susie enjoying a romantic child-free Christmas together at Susie’s flat, making love in front of an open fire and drinking champagne together. She told herself it was unlikely as her suspicions over Ralph and Susie continued. Ironically this thought was less hard to bear, but – one way or another – the pain went on.
It had been arranged that Ralph would return to the constituency house on Christmas Eve but regular telephone bulletins from his office announced later and later departure times from London. In the end, Emily had no choice but to persuade the children to go to bed, promising them that their father – like Father Christmas himself – would arrive silently in the night, but only for good boys and girls who went to bed when they were told.
They observed the final ritual of hanging stockings on the high marble mantelpiece in the sitting room and leaving out a glass of sherry, a mince pie and a carrot for the reindeer on the coffee table. Doing so, Emily had a pang of reminiscence of past years when Ralph and Emily would roll back from a drinks party late on Christmas Eve, tucking an already sleeping Tash into her bed and then arguing amiably about who would swig the sherry which was not the drink of choice for either of them. Emily would argue even more vociferously against having to bite into the raw carrot. Ralph would generally end up generously playing Rudolph, she remembered. They were happy, she reassured herself. The marriage had worked once.
‘I’m glad we’re home for Christmas,’ said Tash, when Emily went to kiss her goodnight.
‘So am I darling,’ agreed Emily.
‘Do you think …?’ Tash paused.
‘What darling?’ prompted Emily, dreading what Tash was going to ask.
‘Do you think we could live here again? All the time, I mean?’ she asked at last.
‘Daddy needs to be in London darling, you know that,’ said Emily.
‘Yes but we don’t,’ said Tash simply. ‘Daddy’s never around anyway. What would be the difference?’
What indeed, thought Emily as she went downstairs. God forbid that the children would know too much about these awful adult dilemmas but Tash, in her nine year old way, knew everything. As far as Emily could tell, her daughter was telling her to “go for it” and she was relieved. Although she was dreading the process, especially the conversation she would need to have with Ralph, the way forward was clear. It was going to be all right.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emily fell asleep before Ralph arrived. When she heard the children sneaking downstairs to collect their stockings the following morning – she guessed it was around half past five – she worried that they would find their father in the guest room. To her relief, when she turned her head, she saw him beside her in bed, fast asleep. His jaw was slack and the bags under his eyes more apparent than she ever remembered seeing them before. Without its careful combing, she noticed she could see his scalp more clearly than ever through the hair at the front of his head.
‘Daddy!’ Tash and Alfie exclaimed, as they burst into the room with their full stockings. Mayhem ensued as the stockings were emptied and examined in the bed.
‘What about our big presents?’ asked Tash after an indecently short time.
‘Let’s get downstairs then,’ said Ralph with a pretend sigh, looking ostentatiously at his watch. He had a point. It was barely six o’clock.
‘Tell me we don’t have people joining us for lunch or anything,’ he pleaded with Emily as they trailed downstairs.
‘Just us,’ she reassured him. ‘We can stay in our pyjamas all day if we want to.’
‘Sounds like bliss,’ replied Ralph, giving Emily a rare squeeze of approval. She smiled, but then the corners of her mouth turned down against her will. She busied herself with the kettle until the tears that had sprung to her eyes drained away again.
‘Wait!’ commanded Ralph, as the children both circled the pile of presents under the tree, prodding and squeezing as they went. ‘We’re going to need a cup of tea, to say nothing of breakfast.’
‘Mine’s the biggest,’ observed Alfie delightedly.
‘Mine’ll be the best though,’ countered Tash, giving him a shove.
‘Children, children,’ rebuked Emily as she came over with steaming mugs, passing one to Ralph. ‘Rig
ht, come on then, who’s first?’
The pile of presents disintegrated quickly under the onslaught, resolving itself into drifts of torn wrapping and towers of brightly coloured boxes.
‘Daddy!’ shrieked Tash when she unwrapped the present Emily had chosen for her to get from her father. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, it’s exactly the Nintendo I wanted – how did you know?’
Ralph gave Emily an amused look over Tash’s head and mouthed his thanks. ‘It’s my job to get things right,’ he told Tash, ‘and luckily I have a fantastic team around me that makes sure I do.’
‘That’s it,’ said Alfie, regretfully at last, stirring the pile of wrapping paper with his toe.
‘Not quite,’ said Ralph. ‘There’s a little one, now where’s it gone … ah! Here it is.’ He handed Emily a little square box, exquisitely wrapped in embossed paper with a striped silk ribbon. Under his gaze, she read the little label attached.
“To the mother of my children, for the loyalty I don’t deserve, with my heartfelt love and respect forever, Ralph.” Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes again and she surreptitiously wiped them on her dressing gown sleeve. ‘Goodness,’ she said, ‘what can it be?’
She quickly unwrapped it to reveal a dark green box with gold writing on it.
‘This is the jeweller my engagement ring came from,’ she exclaimed.
‘I know,’ said Ralph. ‘Open it.’
Inside, nestling in black velvet was a pair of exquisite jewelled earrings. Each one was a tiny spray of flowers, the curving stems in gold with emerald-studded leaves, sapphires for petals and diamonds at the centre.
‘Forget-me-nots,’ said Emily reverently. ‘They’re beautiful.’ And they were, quite the most charming, probably Victorian, objects that Emily had ever seen. She was astonished Ralph had chosen something so perfect on his own.
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