Auntie’s Grand Entrance

Auntie’s Exit

Youre not going out in that, said Victor, not even turning around. He stood in the hallway, adjusting his dark blue silk tie the one hed bought last month for an amount Hope only found out about later, quite by accident, when searching for the receipt for the fridge. Im serious.

Victor, its your companys anniversary. Ten years. Im your wife.

Exactly, he said, finally looking at her. There was something in that look that took her breath away; not tenderness, but something she recognised. She had seen it before, a long time ago, but never put a name to it. Youre my wife. And thats why Im asking you to stay home.

Why?

He sighed. Slowly, with the studied exasperation that always meant: Youre asking foolish questions and I have to waste my time on you.

Hope. Therell be business partners, important people. The press may be there.

So?

You He paused, searching for the word. Then he found it. Youre just frumpy. You know? An ordinary auntie. In that blue dress with the buttons. Therell be women there who look different.

Hope stood in the kitchen doorway, towel in hand one of those old, faded ones she used for wiping her hands. She looked at her husband and tried to work out exactly when all this became normal. At what point words like that stopped needing an explanation.

Will Helen go with you?

He didnt flinch. That was the worst part. No anger, no confusion. Just a steady gaze.

Helen is my assistant. Shes handling the event organisation.

Victor.

Hope, dont start.

Im only asking.

No, youre not only asking. He took his jacket from the hanger, flicking it straight with the practiced flair she knew so well. Youre hinting. Like always. Im tired of these hints.

Hope placed the towel on the arm of the chair, slowly. Her hands shook a little and she made sure he didnt see.

All right, she said. All right, Victor.

There we are. He took one last glance in the mirror, satisfied. Are the children home?

Katies round at her friends, and Leo is at university. Should be back by eight.

Tell him not to make noise when I get in. Itll be late.

The door closed. Hope stood in the hallway, surrounded by the scent of his cologne. Once shed loved it; now, it seemed expensive and foreign.

She went through into the kitchen. Put the kettle on. Watched the steam curl from the spout, thinking how, twenty-three years ago, shed married a man who looked at her quite differently. He used to love the way she laughed. Hed said she sounded like a bell and shed blush about it.

The kettle boiled. Hope poured a mug, dropped in a teabag and stared as the dark spirals spread through the water.

Auntie. Hed called her an auntie.

She was fifty-two. Not one hundred. Not eighty. Fifty-two, and, honestly, she was all right. Not a magazine beauty, no, but not what hed turned her into with a single word either. She had good hair, dark blonde, barely any grey because she looked after it. Hands that could do anything: bake a pie, hem curtains, calm a child at 3am, or sort out her husbands paperwork back when hed started Stonegate and was drowning in figures, begging her for help.

Who helped him, then? Who sat up all night with those invoices?

Auntie. Honestly.

She didnt cry. The tears were near, a tightness in her chest, but they would not fall. Maybe because this was not the first time. The first was three years ago, when he first said, You could dress a bit better. She was hurt, then. But you get used to things. You start to agree. And now she stood alone in the kitchen while her husband went to his companys anniversary not with her, but with Helen, who was twenty-eight, with, presumably, no pies in the oven, no faded towels, and none of their twenty-three years together.

It was slowly getting dark outside. A warm May evening, the scent of hawthorn drifting up from the garden. Hope finished her tea, washed the mug and went to the wardrobe.

In the furthest corner, behind the winter coats, hung a dress. Dark burgundy velvet, which shed bought three years earlier in a department store sale and tried on once at home. Victor had seen it, sneered: Where are you going in that? Too bright for your age. Tacky. Shed folded the dress up, put it in a bag and shoved it to the back of the wardrobe. Meant to give it away. Never did.

Now she retrieved it. Shook it out. The velvet was soft and warm to the touch. Hope held the dress to herself and looked into the mirror.

No. Not an auntie.

She heard keys in the hallway. Leo. She listened as he kicked off his shoes, dumped his jacket on the chair instead of hanging it, then came into the kitchen.

Mum, is there anything to eat?

There are some burgers in the fridge. Heat them up.

Why are you standing there with a dress?

Hope turned. Leo stood in the doorway, tall, with his fathers cheekbones and her grey, slightly weary eyes. His first year of university wasnt easy she could tell by how he moved lately, a little hunched, as if something heavy pressed down on him.

Im trying it on, she said.

Its nice. He pushed past to the kitchen and clattered about with pans. Where are you going to wear it?

Hope hesitated for a moment.

I dont know yet. Maybe nowhere.

Leo came back with a plate, sat down at the table and looked her over. He had that look sometimes, unexpectedly grown-up and direct.

Dads gone to the party?

Yes.

On his own?

She didnt answer right away. She hung the dress over the back of a chair.

Leo?

Mum. I know. He said it quietly, not angry, just stating a fact. Katie knows too. Weve known for a while.

The tears finally came then. Not in a rush, not in sobs. Just a thick lump at the back of her throat, and for a few seconds Hope simply breathed, staring into the darkness outside.

How did you find out? she asked at last.

I saw them together in spring. At that café on the High Street. He didnt see me. At first I thought it might be for work, but no. It was obvious.

And you didnt tell me.

What would you have done?

A good question. What would she have done? Pretended not to know, like she had done for the past three years, when shed noticed odd things and persuaded herself otherwise that it was something else, her imagination playing tricks. The sort of family denial women over fifty become expert at.

I dont know, she admitted.

Me neither. He looked at her and said, Mum. You look good in that dress. You really do.

Hope looked at her son. This boy she had once read bedtime stories to, who she had taught to tie his shoelaces, sent off to school with a sandwich in his bag. Nineteen. Already an adult. Already seeing more than she would have liked.

Thank you, she said.

After dinner, Hope phoned Katie. Katie arrived around ten, bursting through the door with a pink backpack and the smell of perfume from someone elses house.

Mum, whats the matter? Katie stopped and studied her mothers face with the uncannily sharp attention of a fifteen-year-old. Did Dad say something?

Sit, said Hope. We need to talk.

The three of them sat at the kitchen table with mugs of tea. Hope explained. Not everything, but enough. What Victor said. The dress. What she thought of Helen, and by her childrens faces, her suspicions were right.

Katie bit her bottom lip as she listened, a habit shed had since she was little a thing she did when she was angry or about to cry.

Dad called you frumpy? Katie repeated when Hope finished.

He did.

Thats Katie shook her head, searching for the word. Its cruel.

Cruel, Hope agreed.

Mum, are you going anywhere? At all?

Hope looked at the dress, still hanging on the back of the chair.

I dont know yet.

She slept poorly that night. Lay on her half of the big bed, thinking. Thinking about the past. Twenty-three years. Youth wasted on this house, these children, this man. She gave up work when Leo was born. Before that, shed worked in a tailors, a good one, in the centre of town, one of the best. Her boss, Mrs. Ingram, had said Hope had a real gift. Then Victor said, Why bother working? Ill provide. And she believed him. Why not? He really did provide, for a time. She thought: here it is. A good life.

A good life. She rolled onto her side and stared at the ceiling.

What could she do now? Sew. Cook. Keep house. Stay home and disappear. The last part shed always managed best.

No. She wouldnt think like that. She could sew, and that was something. She had hands, a brain, and twenty years experience, even if broken or unofficial, since shed always sewn, for herself, her children, Mrs. Williams next-door (who always said Hopes dresses were better than anything in the shops).

Her mind turned endlessly. She drifted in and out of sleep. At half past two the front door shut. Victor was home. She heard him in the bathroom, the sound of running water. He got into bed beside her and within a few minutes was breathing evenly.

Hope lay awake for a long time.

He went out early the next morning, almost skipping breakfast. On his way out he called:

Ill be busy all week. Dont wait up for dinner.

The door. Silence.

Hope poured herself a coffee and sat by the window. Rain pattered on the glass; the hawthorn tree outside looked darker now, leaves glistening. She sipped her coffee and thought. Calmly, almost coldly, which was strange in itself. Perhaps when pain reaches a certain threshold, it turns into something else. Something solid and clear.

The anniversary party was that Friday. Today was Tuesday.

Three days.

She took out her mobile and messaged Tanya. Tanya Rivers had been their accountant for many years before changing jobs, but she and Hope had stayed friendly met up for the occasional coffee. Tanya was practical, level-headed, just turned fifty, someone who saw things as they were.

Tanya, are you free today?

Reply came quickly: Of course. Three oclock, at Cozys?

Hope replied: See you then.

They sat in the little café two streets away. Tanya wore a neat grey jacket, her hair cropped smartly, her eyes shrewd. She listened intently, only raising her eyebrows once when Hope mentioned the word frumpy.

So he really said that, Tanya noted.

He did.

And about Helen?

I always suspected. Leo confirmed it yesterday.

Tanya turned her mug in her hands.

Hope, let me say something, and dont be angry.

Go on.

I knew. Back when I worked at Stonegate. Two years ago. I saw them together a few times. I thought about telling you. I didnt, because I figured it wasnt my place, you would sort it yourselves. Now I see I was wrong. Im sorry.

Hope paused a moment.

Its all right, Tanya. It really doesnt matter anymore.

What are you going to do?

Hope met her friends gaze.

Im going to the party.

Tanya looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

With the kids?

With the kids.

You know itll be messy?

I know.

You know hell be furious.

I know.

Tanya was silent for a bit.

All right. Then tell me what do you need?

Hope smiled for the first time in days.

I need someone to help with my hair. I cant do it alone.

On Thursday evening, Katie sat beside her at the dressing table, brushing Hopes hair with a patience reserved for important moments. Her hair was thick, shoulder-length, a little dyed the day before just to even out the tone after the winter.

Mum, are you scared? Katie asked.

A bit.

Dad will kick up a fuss.

Probably.

What will you say?

Nothing, said Hope, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. I wont say a word. Ill just walk in.

Katie pinned the last strand, stepped back, and appraised her mothers reflection.

You look beautiful, she said. Really, Mum. You always have. You just forgot.

Hope turned and hugged her daughter, tightly, truly. Katie was surprised, then hugged back.

The dress was on the bed. Burgundy velvet, soft as ever. Hope put it on slowly, zipped up the back; Katie helped. Hope looked at herself in the mirror.

A stranger looked back. No not a stranger. Just someone long forgotten. The woman whod existed before the endless compromises.

She did her own make-up. Just a little. Mascara, lipstick. Brick-rose lipstick, the one she used to love. Black onyx earrings, a gift from her mother.

Mum, Leo called from the hallway, the taxis nearly here.

Im coming.

She grabbed her little black clutch, old but good. Headed for the hallway.

Leo looked her up and down and said, Wow.

Wow, echoed Katie, coming after.

Hope put on her coat. Her hands shook a little, but she noticed and made herself move slowly. Calm. Just calm.

Lets go, she said.

The Northern Star Hotel was a good one. Not the citys fanciest, but respectable. Victor had chosen it for the prestige: a big room, high ceilings, in-house catering. Hope had last been there eight years earlier for someones wedding. She remembered the marble floors and the massive chandelier.

The taxi stopped at the entrance. Hope stepped out first. She paused for a moment on the steps, breathed in the night air. Still warm, still scented with the maple tree in blossom somewhere nearby.

Mum, Leo whispered, were with you.

I know. She took Katies hand. Come on.

In the lobby, a few late guests hurried toward the stairs, name tags on their jackets. Hope walked calmly. A young administrator in uniform approached.

Good evening. Are you here for the Stonegate event?

Yes, said Hope. Im Mr. Victor Allens wife. These are our children.

The administrator hesitated a moment, then nodded.

Upstairs, second floor, the Amber Suite.

The Amber Suite was packed. Well-dressed people with wine glasses, the smell of expensive perfume and hot hors doeuvres, laughter at the bar, soft background music. Hope paused on the threshold, feeling eyes flicker her way. She didnt belong here and knew it. These people knew Victor Allen, his habits over the last few years. Some probably knew about Helen. No one knew her.

See Dad? Katie asked.

Not yet, Hope scanned the room. Well find him.

Victor was by the far wall, beside a table of canapés, talking with two men in dark suits. Hope recognised one: George Marshall, a longstanding Stonegate partner, a big, heavy-set man with a shock of white hair and an imposing stare. Victor respected or perhaps feared him. Hope never worked out the difference.

Standing close to Victor was Helen.

Hope saw her for the first time in person, though shed imagined her for ages. Young, tall, wearing a fitted blue dress, hair perfectly styled. Attractive. Hope noted it coolly, without bitterness, as you note the weather. A pretty girl. Twenty-eight. Her hand rested lightly on Victors arm, familiarity worse than any words.

Theres Dad, Katie said, her voice impressively steady. With that woman in blue.

Hope moved forward.

She threaded her way through the crowd, people parting, attention shifting. She didnt look around, just ahead, at her husband by the table.

Victor noticed her with three metres to spare. His face changed instantly, mouth falling open, then clamping shut, his eyes suddenly cold.

Hope, he said, very quietly, what are you doing here?

I came to your companys anniversary, she replied, matching his tone. Ten years. Big milestone.

George Marshall looked at her, then at Victor, then back.

Mrs. Allen? he said, warmth and surprise in his voice. Its been years. You look wonderful.

Good evening, George, she smiled. You, too.

Helen stepped discreetly back, her hand sliding away from Victors arm.

And then Katie, whod been hovering just behind, stepped forward. Fifteen, dark-eyed, ramrod straight. She eyed Helen with the innocent candour only a child has the kind that unnerves adults precisely because its honest.

Dad, Katie said, loud enough that those nearby could hear, how come you were just hugging her? Shes not Mum.

Conversation faltered around them, like someone turned down the music. The two businessmen with Marshall exchanged glances. A woman in a pearl necklace swivelled round.

Victor paled, obvious even beneath his tan.

Katie, he started, its for work, I can expl

Dad, Im not a child, Katie said, still calm. Weve known for ages. So has Leo.

Leo stood beside his sister, silent, his arms by his sides. He said nothing, only looked at his father.

George Marshall coughed, setting down his glass. Victor, he said, and in that single word was everything: rebuke, silence, consequence. Looks like youve got family matters. Well talk later.

He nodded to Hope with old-fashioned courtesy, turned, and joined another group. The other men followed him.

Helen murmured, Ill just go and check the catering, and vanished.

Victor and Hope were left alone, except for the children. He stared at her with an expression shed once mistaken for tiredness; now she saw it differently. It was not anger or frustration. It was bewilderment. He had no idea what to do.

Hope, he said in a low voice, do you understand what youve done?

Ive come to your companys anniversary, she repeated. Ten years it is a big occasion.

She picked up a glass of champagne from a tray. Bubbles streamed upwards.

You couldve stayed home, he said, more softly. Like I asked.

I could have, Hope agreed. But I didnt.

She looked at him, and at that moment, everything slotted into place. No anger, no triumph just clarity. She looked at this man in his expensive suit, with the flashy cufflinks and the pricey tie, the man shed cooked for, laundered for, raised children for, believed in and realised how much time had been wasted.

Ill drink to your company, she said. Then Ill go. The kids are tired.

She turned to her children. Lets go, she said quietly.

They walked to the exit, and Hope felt eyes following curious, sympathetic, judging. All sorts. She didnt care. No, not quite true: but no hurt now could compare to the pain shed already borne.

By the door, Leo took her arm.

You were brilliant, he said.

I just turned up, she replied.

You turned up, Leo repeated. Thats what matters.

At home, she undressed carefully, hung the dress up. Washed her face. Went to bed, and for the first time in weeks, slept heavily, without that sticky, half-wakefulness that had become routine. Slept through till nine.

What happened next unfolded slowly but steadily, like a spring thaw. Not the next day, but in the two weeks following the party. Hope pieced it together from Tanya, who heard things through mutual friends, and from Katie, whod glimpsed a message on their fathers phone as it charged in the kitchen.

George Marshall refused to sign off on a new development contract. Not outright, not publicly, but politely, via a go-between. Just phoned after the party and said he needed more time to consider. Marshall was old-school family meant something specific and what hed seen in the Amber Suite smashed his respect for Victor Allen. Not that Victor had a mistress people have mistresses but that hed brought her to an official event rather than his wife. That showed a lack of respect. Marshall wouldnt countenance it.

Others followed Marshalls lead. Business, like reputation, is built over years and collapses in weeks. There were awkward conversations. The Stonegate board started asking difficult questions about management. It turned out some contracts over the past year and a half hadnt passed proper review. All of a sudden, it wasnt just about a dress or Helen. When one stone shifts, others follow.

Helen quietly disappeared from Stonegate three weeks after the party no drama, just a resignation letter and gone. Victor walked around for days as if someone had pulled the rug from under him.

After that, he came home and sat down at the table. Hope put a bowl of soup in front of him and left the room. He sat for ages, sighing.

That evening he called her in.

Hope. We need to talk.

We do, she agreed. But first tell me: do you want to talk, or do you want me to listen?

He didnt grasp the difference at first. Eventually, he did. He lowered his gaze.

Im sorry, he said.

Hope sat across from him. Hands steady in her lap. She looked at her husband and thought: too late. Not out of anger. Forgiveness needs something alive, and between them, that had long since withered, somewhere between years and frumpy.

All right, she said. Im listening.

It wasnt forgiveness. He sensed that.

She started the divorce conversation herself, a month later, calmly, with a lawyer by her side Tanya helped her find a good solicitor. The house was divided. The children stayed with Hope. Victor didnt contest it; it was the one thing he never challenged.

While the divorce paperwork mounted up, Hope opened a dressmakers. Two rooms, in the next block. Shed thought hard about what to do. A bakery might have been easier in some ways, but her hands remembered needle and cloth better than anything. Mrs. Ingram, her old boss at the tailors, was retired but answered Hopes call immediately: Hope, you should have done this ten years ago.

It was a comfort, a little bittersweet. Ten years ago Hope wouldnt have dared. Now she did.

The first months were hard. Money tight, few clients, she worked from dawn till evening, coming home with a sore back and chalk under her fingernails. Katie sometimes came by after school, did her homework in the corner of the room, eating sandwiches, occasionally asking questions about fabric. Katie had an unexpected eye for colour, studying swatches intently and making shrewd observations for a fifteen-year-old. Hope filed it away to consider later.

Leo meanwhile wrestled with his own problems. Victor tried to meet up with him, phoned, proposed coffee. Leo went but came home withdrawn. One night he told his mum:

He wants me to understand him.

And do you? she asked.

I dont know how to understand a man ashamed of his own wife, Leo stared out the window. Mum, you were never you were normal. Always normal.

Thank you, love.

I mean it.

I know you do.

He hesitated.

Im having trouble with Paula my girlfriend.

Hope looked up.

She says after all this, she doesnt know what sort of father Ill be. Shes scared itll repeat itself.

Its not your pattern, Leo.

I know. She doesnt.

Hope paused.

Give her time. Let her see for herself. Words wont help, only time.

He nodded, uncertain. The thing with Paula dragged on, a rollercoaster, and Hope sometimes worried, but she didnt interfere. Children need their own space to fix things. Shed learned that late, but learned.

The dressmakers shop grew slowly but surely. After a year, regular customers. After eighteen months, the first wedding gown commissions difficult work, but well-paid. Hope hired an assistant, another young woman called Lena not to be confused with Helen clever hands and a nature you could write an essay about. They got on. Needed few words, understood each other by the way they handled fabric.

Tanya dropped in now and then; they drank tea among paper patterns and spools and chatted about middle-aged life health, family, what actually matters. Tanya once said, What I like about you, Hope, is you dont get angry.

I do, sometimes, Hope admitted.

No, you get cross. Thats different. Anger destroys; crossness passes.

Hope thought about it and agreed.

By seventeen, Katie was set on becoming a designer. She didnt make a fuss one day just turned up with a folder of sketches and laid them in front of her mum. Hope spent ages leafing through the drawings. They had something raw, with mistakes, but with vision.

Its what youre meant to do, Hope said.

You dont mind?

No. Its yours, and you know that better than me.

Katie smiled, carefully but warmly.

Mum. Youve changed.

Changed?

You used to ask, What would Dad say? What will people think? Now you dont.

Hope looked at her daughter. I learnt late.

Not too late. Katie scooped up her drawings. Youre all right.

It was the best thing Hope had heard in years. Better than praise, or compliments. Just youre all right from someone who saw you as you are.

She saw Victor rarely. He sometimes came for the children or dropped off forgotten things. He looked different each time: sometimes still put together, sometimes not. Through mutual friends, Hope heard Stonegate had new management and Victor was now some sort of middle manager. A comedown. But she didnt dwell on it. She had her own life.

The third summer after the divorce was a good one long, warm. The shop moved to bigger premises, she had three seamstresses. Hope often sat on her new flats little balcony in the evenings, sipping tea and watching the sunset. Not every night usually she was busy with paperwork or orders. But when she did just sit, she noticed something simple: she felt fine. Not storybook-happy. But fine. Quiet. Tired. But fine.

That autumn, he came.

She saw him through the shop window while sketching with a coffee. Victor was standing awkwardly at the door. She noticed hed aged considerably not just in time, but in the way men age when certainty leaves them. His shoulders had rounded. His suit was nice, but a bit out of style.

She went to greet him herself.

Victor, she said. Come in.

They sat in the little meeting room Hope set up for clients. Table, two chairs, a vase of dried flowers. She made him tea, set the mug in front of him.

How are you? he asked.

Fine, she replied. Busy. Works good.

I heard, he said. Youve done well.

She didnt reply, just held her mug in both hands, the way she always did.

Hope. He paused for a while. I wanted to say something Ive been thinking.

Thinking, she echoed. No question, just repeating.

I was wrong. About a lot. I see that now.

Victor.

No, wait. He looked up. I want to say this. You you were a good wife. You kept the house. Raised the children. I didnt notice. Or I did, but I thought it was normal. That it should be that way. He paused. I was wrong.

Hope watched him; this older, slightly defeated man, in whom she recognised both the Victor she married, the Victor whod whispered frumpy, and the one left staring blankly after Helen left. All the same man, she realised.

I hear you, she said.

I wondered He stopped. No, its silly.

Say it.

I wondered: perhaps perhaps not start again, but see each other. Talk. Im alone now, Hope. Really alone.

Silence.

Hope set her mug down gently and glanced out the window: grey autumn sky, leaves on the pavement, a bicycle leaning against a lamp post. Then she looked at him.

Victor, she said, Im not angry any more, I promise. Thats all gone. Im sorry for the wasted years. Not for you for the years. For how they ended up. Thats all.

Hope

Let me finish, she cut in, softly but firmly. Youre not alone. You have your children. They still come. You know that. They never stopped being yours. But I cant be whatever it is you came for. I dont know what, exactly conversation, habit, just not being lonely. I dont know. But I cant.

Why?

She thought. Not to find cruel words, but to be accurate.

Because Ive finally become myself, she said, with no drama, just certainty. And that took too much. I cant turn back.

He was silent for a long time, looking at the tea he hadnt touched. Then he nodded, once.

I understand.

I know you do.

The children he started.

Youll manage with the children, she replied. Thats your work now, not mine. Go to them. Talk to them. Leo struggled with it all, but hes open, if you really show up.

Victor stood. Straightened his jacket, as always a gesture she knew by heart. So many years watching that gesture.

That dress suits you, he said suddenly.

She glanced down. It was a different dress today not burgundy, but dark blue, with a plain collar. Shed made it herself last winter.

Thank you, she said.

He left. She heard the shop door open and close. Then, silence.

Hope sat for a few moments more. The meeting room was quiet and a little chilly. The dried flowers in their vase. Cooled mugs. Her sketches on the corner of the table.

Then she got up, rinsed her mug, and returned to her work, bending over a fresh design as the day continued.

Lena poked her head around the door.

Miss Allen, your next customers here.

Yes, Hope said. Ask her to wait a minute, please.

Lena nodded and closed the door.