Amy listened without interrupting, giving Sarah the space.
“If I leave… I mean, when I leave him, at some point, because I think it’s a when now… I’d need to spend more time out west. Hugo would keep the house, I’d need to get somewhere nearby. I’d still do this job, still be in London mid weeks, but I’d be there more rather than here. And, look, I’m fine with that. Really. I’d be much more present in their lives and I’d hope that it would be amicable with Hugo, that we could co-parent. I know it could well be hard, but… worth it.”
She looked at Amy who was nodding her understanding.
“But here’s the thing. You… anyone… would have to accept that you could have some of me, maybe even most of me, but not all of me. And for a lot of the week my geography would be determined by my children.” Sarah smiled. “You, or whoever, would have to either like the countryside or pretend to.”
“That’s a lot to change.”
“It’s a lot to gain.” Sarah smiled again. “I’d actually be there. School runs, bedtime stories, weekends that aren’t just me arriving exhausted on a Friday night and leaving again on Sunday.” She paused. “The thing is, I’m going to do it regardless of Hugo or anyone else. I did wonder whether it would work for me to do the part with being there more without saying anything to Hugo, but I realised that part of what I’m doing at the moment is hiding… spending my weeks in London so that the time where I have to pretend being the straight, loving wife is kept to weekends and holidays. If I’m going to be there more it has to be the real me, otherwise it’s not fair to me or him.”
Sarah paused to give Amy the opportunity to say anything, but she sat there in sympathetic silence.
“I’m not asking you to sign up for anything, Amy. I know that’s a lot, and I know you’re twenty-eight and building your career. This might not be what you want at all. Put it this way… you’d have to be comfortable with weekends hanging out with me and the twins. But you asked me to think about it, so I have. It’s how it would be for anyone, not just you.”
Amy was quiet for a while. “It’s not for me to offer you advice on your marriage or your family. Those are your decisions and I’d never presume to tell you what to do.” She paused, and Sarah could see something genuine in her expression, a respect that went beyond their usual dynamic. “But I really appreciate that you’ve thought it through properly. That you’re not just reacting, that you’ve actually sat with it and worked out what it would look like. That matters to me.”
“It matters to me too.”
“And the answer to the question you didn’t quite ask is: I don’t know. But the good thing is, we don’t need to decide that yet or any time soon. I’d like to think that tonight is the end of what we had, and the start of whatever you and I might be. You said I need to accept that I can’t have all of you.” Amy shrugged. “Both of our situations are complex.”
“See how we go?”
“See how we go. But Sarah… I like the picture of a future that you just painted. Many women would. Just don’t do anything with your family, Hugo or the twins, because of me. Do it because of you. Ok? Because…”
Amy trailed off but Sarah knew exactly what she meant… because nobody ever fell for someone and thoughtthis mightnot last, but more often than not it didn’t. Because this mustn’t be a romantic gesture towards Amy, rather it had to be a serious commitment to herself.
Sarah simply nodded. “I will.”
***
They ordered more wine, and the conversation loosened. Amy talked about LA, carefully skirting around the topic of Luisa but talking openly about the experiences… hikes and restaurants and a particularly fun night out at a club. For her part Sarah talked about a particularly complicated matter she was working on at work, and then about how the twins had decided that elaborate den building was the greatest thing in the world. It was easy and natural, just like it had been before that fateful Saturday, two women who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company and whose minds worked in ways that complemented each other.
Then, tongue loosened by her third glass of wine, Amy said, casually, “So Monday night. You and Rebecca.”
Sarah looked at her. “What about it?”
“What did you do? After you left the restaurant.”
There was something in Amy’s tone that was a little tighter than casual curiosity, there was an edge that she was trying to hide and at that moment Sarah realised something: everything she’d been thinking about Amy and Luisa on Monday, Amy had been thinking about Sarah and Rebecca. It went both ways.
“I’ll tell you,” Sarah said carefully, “if you tell me what you and Luisa did when you got home from dinner.”
Amy’s mouth opened, then closed. Sarah watched her realise she’d gone a step too far in real time, the desire to know fighting with the knowledge that that went both ways.
“Maybe,” Amy said eventually, with a wry smile, “there are some things it’s better we don’t tell each other. Sorry, I crossed a line there.”
“I think that’s wise.” Sarah clinked her glass against Amy’s. “Boundaries.”
“Boundaries,” Amy agreed. She held Sarah’s gaze for a moment, and there was a mutual acknowledgment there, that they were both picking their way through a bit of a minefield without a map, and the only way to really do it was by being completely honest with each other about what they should and shouldn’t share.
They sat in comfortable silence for a minute, and then Amy finished her wine.
"I should get going," she said, and Sarah just about managed to hide her surprise…is this Amy just playing hard to get, or is she genuinely just going to leave?
There was a pause. Amy was watching Sarah.
Here goes nothing.
