Page 49 of Strap In

And it’s true – fatherhood suits Henry. The kids have kept him active enough to avoid middle-age spread and, though his sandy hair is undeniably greying, the lines he’s acquired since their last meeting suggest a life filled with laughter.

To his credit, Henry doesn’t return the compliment. He’s kind, but honest too – and Jean’s grateful for the lack of pretence. ‘Jean – I wasn’t expecting you, but it’s good to see you again. Really.’

Her eyes prickle at his sincerity, and Henry squeezes before letting go.

‘Yes, well.’ Jean clears her throat. ‘Rhona Baird is one of our more promising junior associates, and she’ll be taking the lead today.’

Rhona looks almost as shocked as Henry, though she recovers quickly, stepping forward to shake hands with him and the young brunette from L that we both deserved more.’ Jean pauses until Henry nods. ‘And you seem to have found it, but I – Henry, what did you mean?’

‘Jean…’ He reaches across the table, attempting to cover her hand. But she pulls away.

‘No, tell me. Please .’ Jean despises her own voice, tight with desperation. ‘You were enough for me. Why wasn’t I enough for you?’

Henry’s expression grows pained. He’s silent for a long moment, sprinkling salt on his chips.

Until, at last, he says: ‘I wanted to be more than enough . You were so much more than enough to me. I was mad for you, Jean. And I wanted you so much that at first it didn’t matter if I loved you more than you loved me.

But you were alive at work in a way you never were with me.

As time went on, it felt like you were going through the motions. ’

‘In what way?’ Jean has her suspicions, but she needs to hear him say it.

‘Do you remember we went almost a year without having sex? I stopped initiating, because I realised it was always me. And I waited.’ Henry looks down, fidgeting with the strap of his watch.

‘But you didn’t seem to notice anything was missing from our marriage.

Then when I suggested couple’s therapy, you took me to bed. And I was thrilled until I realised.’

‘What?’

‘It was always Wednesdays in the morning or Fridays in the evening. You’d planned it.’

Jean sits up straighter, martini forgotten. ‘And that’s a bad thing?’

Henry takes a deep breath, and Jean can see him reaching for calm. ‘I didn’t want to be a task slotted in your diary. I wanted the kind of passion that defies a schedule; for you to crave me the way I needed you.’

‘You complained that I didn’t have sex with you, then you complained when I made time for it.

What else did you want?’ But even as the words leave her mouth, Jean understands.

Her need for Ava had defied all reason or planning, a tsunami that washed away every boundary Jean had erected to protect her heart.

She’d fallen for Ava, craving her body and spirit.

Though Jean had loved Henry dearly as a friend, considered him family well before swapping rings, she’d never felt any kind of sweeping passion for him. Nor any passion at all.

Henry sees the realisation dawn. Gives Jean a little time to mull it over. Then, ever so gently, says: ‘Did you ever find it with anyone else? I hoped that you would.’

‘I did,’ Jean breathes, barely audible over the restaurant’s hum of chatter. ‘But I screwed it up and it’s over now.’

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.