‘So, you’renotvery nice, smart and likeable?’
He laughs. ‘I’m baring my soul to you here, Darling.’
‘Sorry,’ I say sheepishly, though in truth making him laugh feels just too nice to stop.
He tells me that he and Sara had been casually dating for less than a year when she fell pregnant. It was a huge shock to both of them. But he’d always wanted kids and to be a husband. ‘So . . . in all honesty, I was over the moon. She’s from a kind of conservative, traditional background – her mom is a devout Catholic. My folks are nothing like that, but I did grow up in a very loving family environment. I felt as if my child deserved that privilege too. Does that make sense?’
‘Of course.’
‘So I asked her to marry me. I thought it was the right thing to do, even though I always knew I wasn’t the love of her life. And she wasn’t the love of mine. We were more like good friends who happened to share a baby and a house together, which we hoped might be enough.’ He looks up from underneath his eyelashes. ‘It wasn’t.’
‘No?’
He shakes his head. ‘Turns out love, passion, desire . . . they’re kind of important.’
I’m not sure what he sees in my expression that makes him narrows his eyes. ‘You don’t think so?’
‘Well, yes, I mean . . . of course they’re all great,’ I shrug. ‘But I don’t think being in the throes of lust is the be-all and end-all. Certainly, when you’ve been married for a long time.’
‘That’s very practical of you, Darling.’
I laugh. ‘Sorry if that’s disappointing.’
‘Actually, I agree with you, in the main. But Istillthink that if you’re planning a whole lifetime together, then at the start, a little passion is the minimum requirement.’
There’s a short, loaded pause in which I realise that my palms are slick.
‘Anyway,’ he says, concentrating on his coaster. ‘She had an affair, which was about as shitty a discovery as you might imagine.’ He mumbles the words, like it’s a throwaway line.
‘Oh,’ I hear myself say. ‘I’m sorry, Russo. That sucks.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. It’s in the past. We did our fighting in the aftermath, there were plenty of pyrotechnics, and I got to take the moral high ground . . . though that was way less enjoyable than you’d think,’ he says with a flat smile. ‘Truth is, she did us both a favour. Hey, how the hell did you get me spilling my story of woe?’
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a Debbie Downer.’
‘Your turn now.’
‘Mine?’ I take a sip of my cocktail, then another, blatantly stalling for time. ‘Oh, I’m a disaster area.’
He tuts. ‘I find that hard to believe. I know you’ve had a divorce, but it’s hardly the end of the world.’
I look up. ‘Divorces. Plural.’
Some small, inscrutable reaction filters in behind his expression. ‘Huh. So exactly how many . . .divorcespluralare we talking about? Do I call you Joan Collins from now on?’
‘I prefer “Darling”. The answer istwice. I’ve been married and divorced . . .twice.’ I repeat it just to make sure he’s got the message. It doesn’t matter how many times I say this, though, I still feel as exposed as if I was declaring: ‘My name is Lisa Darling and I’m an alcoholic.’
I find myself watching him, working out exactly what thoughts are shuffling in behind his eyes. Believe me, I’ve seen them all over the years. Pity. Intrigue. That peculiarly smug kind of satisfaction when you know someone is congratulating themselves for not being feckless enough to lose not one but two husbands.
Zach, however, is impossible to read. ‘Could be worse,’ he says eventually.
‘I know. Still, it’s not ideal.’
‘Nor are most things in life. You must have worked that out by now?’
I smile, feeling oddly grateful for this reaction. ‘So what do you think of the UK? Do you like living here?’
‘Hmm . . . it has its pros and cons,’ he says.
