‘I’m not going to cry,’ Margot croaked. Den, sensing that there was a very real possibility that Margot would cry, said he needed to stretch his legs. The minute he left the table, Margot turned to Tracy who was also picking her way round her plate with little enthusiasm. ‘I’m going to say the same thing I said to you on the morning of your wedding.’
‘What? Wear comfortable pants because you don’t want to spend the whole of your most special day picking your thong out of your arse?’ Tracy asked with a defiant tilt to her chin.
‘That’s good advice for life, not just for your wedding day.’ Margot put down her knife and fork and pushed her plate away. She couldn’t even finish one measly piece of toast. ‘Look, I’m sure you’ll be happy, I want you to be happy, but if you’re not, you don’t have to go through with this.’
Tracy pushed away her own plate. ‘Margs.’ It was equal parts warning and endearment.
‘If you get there and you realise that it still is sheep and not much else, I won’t think any of the less of you if you decide to come home.’ Margot knew she was being off-message and a little bit selfish, but she couldn’t let Tracy go without a token protest.
‘Don’t do this,’ Tracy whispered. ‘Don’t tell me that I have a get-out clause. Tell me it’s going to be all right.’
‘It’s going to be all right,’ Margot said obediently, as the first inevitable wave of tears streamed down her face.
‘Margs . . . oh, Margs,’ Tracy sighed, reaching across the table. ‘I’m worried about you.’
Margot managed a watery smile. ‘I’m probably going to spend the rest of the day in tears, but somehow, some way, I will manage without you. Not going to lie though, I wish you—’
‘You’ll barely manage without me!’ Tracy brushed away Margot’s declaration of friendship with an impatient hand. ‘Which is why I’m worried about you and that Will.’
‘Why are you saying his name like that?’ Margot straightened up from her slumped position because Tracy had tucked her hair behind her ears, so she obviously meant business. ‘And, while I appreciate your concern, there’s nothing to be worried about. Things are going well. Really well. Surprisingly well.’
‘You’re in love with him,’ Tracy said flatly, as if this alleged love was a statement of fact, but also something that was a terrible idea.
‘I’m not in love with him,’ Margot said automatically, and she was just about to launch into her speech about how it was nothing serious, just one last glorious affair before she settled for the next man who swiped right or picked a sperm donor out from a glossy brochure. If that was her future, then didn’t Margot deserve to have a bit of fun first with a man who was witty and handsome and gave her an orgasm every time? A man who she was halfway to falling in love with . . . ‘I’m not in love with him. I’m not!’
‘Do you want to say that once more and try to make in convincing?’ Tracy had folded her arms now, like Margot was one of her students begging for another essay extension. ‘All you’ve talked about, been fixated on, since you turned thirty, is having children, having a family. That love isn’t even an option anymore. And yet here you are in love with this Will . . .’
‘Yes, OK, I could love him,’ Margot whispered, her eyes stinging with tears that she was holding back through sheer granite determination. ‘There’s a lot to love about him.’
Tracy sighed. ‘And could he love you?’
Margot couldn’t speak. So she shrugged instead.
‘Does he want to have children, have a family with you?’
‘Don’t,’ Margot begged, the tears rallying for an encore performance. ‘Don’t do this to me.’
‘George hurt you and you weren’t even in love with him – No, Margot, you weren’t,’ Tracy said, as Margot held up her hand to protest, though it was true, she hadn’t loved George. Had only stuck it out for two years because of all George’s vague promises, hints, the hope that he’d stop prevaricating and give her all the things she wanted. Margot had resigned herself to having George’s faintly irritating presence in her life because she’d be compensated by the family that they’d have.
But Will hadn’t made any promises or dropped any hints. He’d stated quite unequivocally for the record that commitment, deep emotional commitment, wasn’t for him. He didn’t want the things that Margot wanted. He’d been honest with her and, knowing that, she’d still ended up in this place where—
‘You’re going to get hurt and I won’t be here for you,’ Tracy said. She was crying now and Tracy hardly ever cried so it made Margot start to sob. ‘You have to get out now, Margs, while you’ll only be a little bit hurt.’
‘It will still hurt a lot,’ Margot choked out. ‘It will hurt like hell.’
‘I would love nothing more than to be proved wrong, but if he can’t make you happy and give you all the things, all the love, you deserve, will you promise me that you’ll call a halt?’ Tracy reached over the table to take Margot’s hand, squeeze her fingers. ‘It’s not going to end well, but it will be worse the longer you leave it.’
‘I know. I know,’ Margot said, properly crying now. She was still crying half an hour later as she waved Den and a weeping Tracy through security.
Why was it that everyone she loved left her? They moved on and Margot was still stuck in the same place. Even when she made changes to her life, getting a dog that she adored, getting involved with someone who she could probably adore too if he didn’t have more boundaries than an Ordnance Survey map, she was still no nearer to her goal. A man, a baby, ideally another baby after that, a family.
But irrespective of all that, her best friend of twenty years had left the country and Margot didn’t know when she’d see her again. Her phone chimed just before Margot reached the Tube. Hope sprang ever eternal. Maybe Tracy had decided not to get on the plane after all.
Hope the getting up early and the send-off wasn’t too traumatic. Do you need Blossom cuddles tonight? Will try and prise her from Mum’s clutches. W x
Just when Margot was sure that this thing with Will was unsustainable, he always found a way to pull her back in.
Five minutes after Margot got home from what had felt like the longest day at work ever, she was opening the door to Will and Blossom.
She could hardly bring herself to look at him; as it was, she’d spent most of the day either in tears or fighting back tears, so it was easier to kneel down and bury her face in Blossom’s neck, which always smelt like biscuits. Albeit sometimes really stinky biscuits.
‘How are you?’ Will asked, his voice soft with concern. He closed the door behind him and stepped past Margot and Blossom. ‘Can I get you anything? Cup of tea? Chocolate?’
She just wanted to be left alone with Blossom whose love was always limitless and unconditional, but when Margot reluctantly raised her head, she saw that Will was standing in the kitchen doorway, removing his jacket.
‘Are you staying?’ Margot asked, and in her emotionally fraught state, even that simple enquiry about Will’s immediate plans felt like a loaded question.