Falling (23 page)

•   •   •

The days pass in a flurry. Jesse is cool with Emma again, excited at the prospect of staying with Stacy. She is not surprised. She understands that he is simultaneously excited at the prospect of staying with the woman who is his mother, and angry at Emma for taking his father away. Emma understands. On some level, and certainly from a six-year-old's perspective, she
is
taking his father away. Not emotionally, and certainly not for very long, but this is the first time, other than a night in Rhode Island two years ago, that Dominic has left Jesse overnight.

She understands that this is a big deal, and not just for Jesse.

Dominic's whole life has revolved around his son. His guilt at being a single parent, at not being able to give Jesse the proper family life he deserves, has meant that Jesse is indulged. He is a child used to having his father at his beck and call always.

Dominic has not had a life because he has given it to Jesse. He's kept his relationships from Jesse, working hard to ensure that they neither impact nor infringe upon his life with his son in any way whatsoever.

Jesse has no idea that Dominic has even dated. Until now. And the woman his father is dating is taking him away.

The wicked stepmother,
thinks Emma.
Isn't that the way these things work?
But wicked stepmothers rarely start out that way. A woman, a loving, kind, caring person, falls in love with a man who has children. She decides to work hard to earn the love of his children; surely they will respond to her overtures of kindness, affection, and warmth. She
is a good person; all these children need in order to love her is a happy family, a stable and loving life.

She marries the man, ignoring the fact that the children are distressed, or angry, or in pain. They take the children shopping, redecorate their bedrooms, buy them toys, and accompany them to their favorite sports events in a bid to seduce them, but the children can tell they are being seduced, can smell the disingenuousness, and no amount of gadgets will give them their father's undivided attention again. Their dislike and distrust of the stepmother grows.

The children get more sullen and resentful. The stepmother grows more sullen and resentful. She has tried so hard! She has done everything for these ungrateful children! She has had enough of being nice. And thus, the wicked stepmother is born.

Emma knows how these things happen. She has read enough fairy tales, been friends with enough women who have stepmothers. She will not be one of those women. She will never try to get between Jesse and his father, will never try to take Dominic away from his son. And she will have patience with Jesse's feelings about her.

She's a good person, and kind. All Jesse needs is a stable, loving family. If Emma can give it to him, they will all, surely, live happily ever after.

Dominic comes downstairs, his hair wet from the shower, muttering in anger as he casts a dark look at his phone.

“What's the matter?”

“I knew it.” He shakes his head. “I fucking knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“Stacy. Just called to say she couldn't change her flight without it costing her hundreds of dollars that she doesn't have. So she's going back, and now I have to tell Jesse that once again she's let him down.”

“When's she leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry,” says Emma. “That sucks.”

“It really does. I really thought she had changed, but turns out she's as irresponsible as ever. I shouldn't have said yes. I should never have let her back in our lives.”

W
hoa.” Dominic lets out a low whistle in the Virgin Atlantic upper-class lounge. “This is
awesome
!”

Emma still has thousands of air miles from when she traveled with the bank. She would never have paid for these tickets, but she decided to upgrade, knowing that for Dominic, a man who has never even left the country, business class will be an experience he will never forget.

She finds a spare sofa in the lounge and curls up with a book, while Dominic goes off to explore. He has a head massage in the spa, two dirty martinis in the bar, and orders a plate piled high with antipasti, which he brings back to the table for them to share.

“Is this really all free?” he leans forward and whispers.

“It's all included in the astronomical price of the ticket,” Emma whispers back, amused and touched by his wide-eyed wonder at something she has taken for granted for so many years.

“Emma?”

She looks up to see Caroline, a girl she used to work with at the bank, a girl she hasn't seen since she left two years ago when she got pregnant.

“Caroline!” Emma stands up and gives the girl the obligatory air kiss on both cheeks before crouching down to admire a beautifully dressed toddler in what has to be the most top-of-the-line stroller she has ever seen. “Is this the baby? Oh my goodness!” Emma says. “He got so big!”

“That's Burke,” says Caroline. “My husband is over there. Hunter. Did you ever meet him?”

“Not really,” says Emma, who remembers being briefly introduced at their engagement party. He was a big, tall, golden preppy man, filled with the kind of confidence that comes from being raised in a family that has always had the best of everything. “Although I did meet him before you two got married. This is Dominic,” she says, as Caroline casts a curious glance over Dominic and extends her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she says.

“Hey.” He smiles. “How are you doing?”

“Great. Thank you.” She smiles politely before turning back to Emma. “So how is everything at work? I wish I could tell you I miss it, but I'm thrilled to be a stay-at-home mom.” Caroline lets out a peal of laughter, as Emma remembers how she never really liked Caroline. She seemed pleasant enough, until you realized how competitive she was.

Whatever anyone had done, Caroline had done better. If someone came in with a new bag, Caroline showed up the next week with the more expensive version; when someone bought a house, Caroline would make sure everyone knew hers was bigger. Or more expensive. Or in a more prestigious town.

When she and Hunter got engaged, Emma suddenly remembers, Caroline showed up with a ring so big, she joked that she had pulled a muscle in her finger trying to hold it up.

She claimed it was Hunter's great-great-grandmother's diamond, which they had had reset. No one quite believed her. It could have been bought wholesale the day before on Forty-Seventh Street, but that didn't make for such a good story.

“I left the bank,” says Emma. “A few months ago. Burnout!”

“Good for you,” says Caroline. “So you're a lady of leisure, like me. Isn't it fun?”

Emma nods. “It is fun, although I'm starting my own interior design business.”

“I had no idea interior design was your thing,” says Caroline. “I ought to get you over to look at our house. I wanted to do it myself, but frankly ten thousand feet is a little overwhelming. Every time I start thinking about it, I get the cold sweats, so of course we're living in it with no wallpaper and not a single window treatment anywhere. Can you imagine?”

“Deathly.” Emma shakes her head, without a trace of irony.
Now I remember,
she thinks.
You are awful.

“I'm the carpenter,” Dominic offers. “If Emma helps you out, I come along as part of the deal and build a great bookcase.”

Caroline closes her eyes for a second before shaking her head with an embarrassed laugh. “Oh God! I'm mortified. For a moment there I thought you were Emma's boyfriend. I'm so sorry. I couldn't quite make sense of the two of you together.” She lets out another peal of laughter, oblivious to the looks on Emma's and Dominic's faces. “I'll definitely give you a call. Emma, do you have a card?”

You bitch,
thinks Emma, fishing for a card, her heart pounding.
You fucking bitch.
She glances at Dominic, who also looks a little stunned, and knows she has to say something.

“Dominic
is
my boyfriend,” she says eventually, her voice shaking.
Fuck it.
She's not going to give her the card. “And we work together.”

“We sleep together, too,” says Dominic, seeing Caroline's face fall. “Apparently I'm a fantastic fuck.”

Caroline's mouth opens in a small O.

“So nice to see you,” says Emma, gathering her things and standing up. “Enjoy your ten-thousand-foot monstrosity and the sunlight streaming through your curtainless windows.” Summoning as much hauteur as she can manage, hauteur that may, in fact, put Caroline to shame, she glides off, with Dominic at her side.

“What a bitch,” says Dominic. “Who the hell is she?”

“Someone I used to work with. I'd love to tell you she is unique in her cattiness, but sadly, that kind of attitude is one of the reasons I had to leave banking. There were some wonderful people, but too many like that. I just can't play that stupid game of ‘I have more money than you, therefore I'm better than you.'”

“I really wanted to say that I was also overwhelmed in my
twelve-thousand-foot
house, but I thought she might have knocked me out.”

“She's far too polite to have knocked you out. She may have turned you to stone with a withering look, though.”

“Eurgh.” Dominic shudders. “Please tell me that if she ever manages to track you down, you won't work for her? Life is too damn short to be around people like that. Too much negative energy.”

“I couldn't agree more. Shall we go to the gate and wait there? At least outside this first-class lounge with the masses, we won't have to see her again.”

As they walk toward the gate, Dominic turns to her. “Your mother isn't anything like that, is she?” he says.

“Like Caroline? Why would you ask that?”

“I don't know. You said she was a roaring snob. If she's like that woman, this isn't going to go so well.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yes. What if they hate me? What if I hate them? What will happen to
us
?”

Emma stops walking and turns to face Dominic. “Well, my mother may be a roaring snob, but not remotely in the same way as Caroline. She's funny more than anything else. Once you understand that she's not to the manor born, her assumed superiority is hilarious. And she's not mean. Truly. My mother doesn't have a mean bone in her body.”

“Do you think she'll like me?”

“I think it's impossible for anyone not to like you.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Dominic, I can't speak for my mother. I am sure she will love you, but even if she doesn't, it doesn't matter. I love both of my parents, but I moved across the Atlantic to get away from them. That should tell you everything you need to know about how much it matters to me whether they like you or not.”

“But it matters to me.”

“It shouldn't.
I
like you. I
love
you. Jesse loves you.” She smiles. “That's all that matters.”

“Okay, you're right.” He nods. “You're right. I have no idea where this anxiety came from.”

“It's all going to be fine,” Emma says. Hoping very much that's true.

They call Jesse just before they get on the plane. Dominic describes everything to him in detail. The lounge! The massage! The free food! He promises to try to find a
TARDIS
for him from England.

“How is he?” Emma looks over at Dominic, who is frowning slightly, staring at his phone.

“He's okay. Quiet. I think he was really looking forward to staying with Stacy. Jesus.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Poor little guy. And now he's stuck with my parents, and I don't know if this is a good idea.”

“Which bit?”

“Getting my parents to stay with him. He doesn't really know them.”

“Don't you always say you think they'd be better grandparents than parents?”

Dominic's laugh is bitter. “They are, but that doesn't mean they're any good.”

“It's just a few days,” Emma tries to reassure him. “I'm sure he'll be okay for just a few days. What specifically are you worried about?”

“I just haven't left him this long before. He said Nonna and Papa were having a fight. That's the thing I was worried about. That they'd get violent in front of him.”

“Violent? What kind of violent?” For everything Dominic has told her about his parents, he hasn't explicitly described any violence. Then, with a start, she remembers the man she met at the start of the summer, when she was out with Sophie. Jeff. The real estate agent. The one who had known Dominic when he was little, when his parents were still living in town. Hadn't he said something about Dominic's mom cracking his dad over the head with a frying pan? Something like that. She hadn't paid much attention because it was . . . well, it was
before
.

It's only a few days, she reassures Dominic. It will be fine. However badly his parents had got on when they were young, they're still together, aren't they? Not to mention they're in their seventies, and would have undoubtedly calmed down.

Jesse is going to be fine.

M
uffin?” Georgina Montague shouts down the corridor to where her husband is trying to have a peaceful hour, tucked in the old battered wing chair in the library, with the paper and a small nip of scotch.

He sighs as he sets the newspaper down. They have been married forty years. For forty years he has pleaded with her not to roar through the house when she wants someone, and been duly ignored. If anything, he is convinced she now roars more loudly, just to spite him.

“In here.” He raises his voice just a little bit, knowing she probably won't hear. He can't bring himself to shout, nor is he willing to get up and go to her. This chair is perfectly comfortable, Petey's nose is resting on his good foot, and the foot that is still recovering from gout is resting on the ottoman.

“Where are you, Muffin?” shouts Georgina, drawing closer, for he knows she knows exactly where he is, where he
always
is on a hot
day. Or a cold day. Or a rainy day. The library, which is the only room in the house he considers “his.” It's too warm for a fire today, more's the pity. He glances out the window at the unseasonable Indian summer and sighs. He never quite got the hang of gardening, and summer is only enjoyable for about four weeks. By mid-July he's always longing for sweaters, and thick socks, and hikes with their chocolate lab, Petey, pushing the leaves out of the way with his walking stick.

He is an autumn/winter person, he had decided long ago. Georgina, or Muffin, as he calls her—as they, in fact, have called each other for the best part of forty years—adores the summer.

He looks out the library's French doors, sighing as he sees the large white marquee sitting on top of the lawn, tables and chairs stacked up on one side. When Georgina asked him if they could throw an engagement party for his nephew George, he thought she meant a bit of wine and a few nibbles in the living room. It's why he said yes. He thought it would be a relatively quiet affair.

There have been men shouting in his garden all day as they hoisted up the marquee, and trucks filled with equipment that they have put in the barn, turning it into what is apparently called a caterer's kitchen.

Simon Montague loves his wife. He doesn't love crowds. He can only tolerate the kind of parties at his house where, at a certain point, he is able to quietly disappear. He enjoys people very much, but only for limited periods of time, and only if he can escape by himself to recharge his batteries.

This library has always been his refuge, but it's not much of a refuge today, with all the activity right outside the door, the men shouting back and forth, the bursts of raucous laughter.

Why can't people be more respectful?
he thinks sadly, waiting for Georgina to come pounding into the room.

“Thought I'd find you in here,” she pants, resting in the doorway.

“Why were you shouting for me, then?”

“Habit,” she says brightly, ignoring his irritation.

“Muffin,” he says sadly, as another burst of laughter comes from outside. “Is it really too much to ask for people in our house to be quiet?”

“They're not in our house, darling. They're outside.”

“But it's so disturbing! Every few seconds there's a burst of shouting or laughter. Why can't they do their job quietly?”

“They're almost finished,” she says. “Don't be an old grouch, Muffin. I know you hate lots of people, but George and Henry are thrilled.”

“You're calling her Henry now?”

“Apparently everyone calls her Henry. They'll be here in time for supper tonight. I know he can't wait to see you. And I've made a lovely beef Wellington for you.” She smiles, seeing the look of pleasure on her husband's face. “With apple crumble for pudding. See? I'm trying to look after you amidst the madness.”

“Party's tomorrow evening?”

“It is. Will you be sociable? Just for one night?”

“Just for one night,” grumbles Simon. “But you mustn't do this again, Muffin. Truly. You know I only agreed to host an engagement party because I thought it would be small.”

“Darling.” Georgina leans over to give her husband a kiss on the cheek. “How long have we been married? When it comes to parties, when have I ever done anything by halves?” She smiles at him indulgently. “Are you able to run to the cellar and get that lovely wine? I'm putting out a plate of cheese and biscuits for when Emma arrives with her man. They should be here soon.”

Simon takes his foot off the ottoman with great reluctance and heaves himself out of the comfort of his chair. “Know anything about this man?” he asks his wife as he slowly makes his way out of the room. “Is it serious?”

“I imagine it must be if she's bringing him home to meet us. I trust you'll be on your best behavior with him?”

“Me?” He turns to look at his wife, aghast. “I have never been the one in this partnership that anyone has had to worry about.” He lets out a bark of laughter. “Let's just hope he's looking after her. That's my only concern.”

“Ssssh,” says Georgina, suddenly, her head cocked. “Oh my goodness! I think I just heard a car door. I think they must be here.”

•   •   •

It has been ages since Emma has been to her parents' house. She has barely given England a second thought during her five years in the States. She has made a few sporadic trips back, but not to Somerset, only to London, for work, where she has stayed at the Four Seasons, dined at the best restaurants, had her parents come up from the country to see her, and taken them out somewhere fabulous for dinner.

She hadn't been back to Brigham Hall since she left. She told people she was from a beautiful part of the world, but her heart didn't ache for her house, the fields, the narrow country lanes overgrown with lush hedges.

At least, it didn't ache until today, driving along those winding roads with Dominic, seeing everything through his eyes, passing charming thatched cottages and village streets lined with pretty stone buildings older than anything Dominic had ever seen in his life.

She drives the rental car expertly, even though it has been years since she drove on this side of the road. As they draw closer to Yeovil she remembers it all, and she laughs in pleasure as she points out pubs she used to frequent as a teenager, fields in which she snogged teenage boys, buses she used to take, sitting on the top deck in the seat at the
front, puffing on cigarettes and blowing smoke out the side of her mouth in a way she thought at the time was ineffably cool.

“Snogged?”
Dominic starts to laugh. “I've never heard anyone but Austin Powers use that word. I didn't think it was even real.”

“It most certainly is real,” says Emma. “You know what it means, right?”

“Sure. Having sex.”

“No!” She laughs. “It most certainly does not mean having sex. Oh my God, you think I was having sex with teenage boys in fields? What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“My kind of girl?” he says.

“Well, I wasn't. Having sex in fields.
Snogging
is kissing. Proper kissing. French kissing.”

“Do you mean with tongues?”

“Yes. With tongues.”

“So . . . making out?”

“Yes, exactly. Making out.”

“Hmmm.
Snogging.
I like that word. I'm going to call it snogging from now on. Do you want to go snogging with me?”

Emma cracks up. “I can't actually believe we're having this conversation. Anyway, that's not how you'd say it. You'd say, ‘Fancy a snog?'”

“No way.” Dominic starts laughing. “Is that really what you'd say? ‘Fancy a snog?'”

“Yes, but it's not
snahg
.” She starts to laugh. “It's
snog
. Short
o
.”

“Snog. Fancy a snog?”

“Are you asking?” Emma is still laughing.

“I'm asking.”

“I'm dancing.”

“What?” He stares at her.

“Never mind.” Emma shakes her head, giggling. “It's an old joke. The boy who walks up to the girl and says, ‘Are you dancing?' ‘Are you asking?' ‘I'm asking.' ‘I'm dancing.'”

“I don't get it.”

“No. It's an old phrase. Must be an English thing.”

“Shall we pull over into a field and
snog
? I'm feeling competitive with all those old boyfriends of yours. I'm not going to feel like I've had the full English experience until I've snogged someone in a field.”

“When you say ‘someone,' do you mean anyone at all? Like, say, her?” Emma gestures to a sour-faced older woman on the pavement.

“No thanks. When I say someone, I mean you.”

“I'll think about it,” says Emma. Once they have pulled through the village, she veers to the left and parks. “Come on.” She gets out of the car and pulls Dominic out, too, pulling him behind a bush where she snakes her arms around his neck and passionately kisses him.

“Mmmm.” Dominic starts to unbutton her jeans. “I could get used to this.”

“Not now.” She giggles. “I don't want nettle rash. Later. I promise you,” she says. She gives him another kiss, before dragging him back to the car.

A mile, another mile and a half, a left, a right, and the car slows as Emma drives through the wooden gates and up a winding driveway, rounding a small copse of trees to reveal Brigham Hall, nestled in a gravel driveway, fields stretching all around it, the setting sun turning the pretty stone a glowing pinkish gold.

“Whoa.” Dominic whistles, gazing at the house. Emma realizes with a start that it does look rather stately and grand, particularly to an American newcomer. She'd never thought of it that way when she lived here.

“You never told me you live in Downton Abbey.”

“Hardly,” Emma says. “This is nothing. It just looks grand from here. Wait until you get inside. It's all falling apart.” She steps out of the car, pausing to really look at the stone Georgian house she has always taken for granted. Seeing it through Dominic's eyes, she recognizes how beautiful it is, how lucky she was to have grown up here.

As she stands by the car and Dominic busies himself with their bags, a chocolate lab suddenly emerges through the front door, his tail wagging furiously in delight. Emma flings her arms around him, covering him with kisses. As much as she has made America her home, this is home, too, she realizes. And for the first time since moving to New York all those years ago, she is happy to be here.