In a Kingdom by the Sea. Sara MacDonald

us to travel, take the boys to great places and both do jobs we love …’

      The doorbell rings. People are arriving.

      ‘I’ve had enough of living apart, Mike. Neither of us is young any more. I really believed you were going to start to wind down.’

      Mike shoots me a look. He hates being reminded of his age.

      ‘That’s why, if I was offered this job, I would jump at it, Gabby. This will, undoubtedly, be my last big, prestigious job with an airline. My swansong, if you like. I’d really like my career to end on a high note. Is that so selfish?’

      Of course not, this is Mike’s career, his life.

      ‘Sorry. I’m the one being selfish. Pakistan is a shock, but of course you have to consider it.’

      Mike hugs me. ‘Thank you.’

      The doorbell rings again and someone shouts irritably through the letterbox, ‘Is there supposed to be a bloody party in there or not?’

      I laugh. ‘Go on, Birthday Boy, let people in …’

      Mike grins and makes for the door. ‘I’m not going to mention this to anyone, until I know more …’

      Mike has asked too many people and they all seem to arrive at once, filling the hall and spilling through the sitting room and out through the French windows into the garden. They are mostly Mike’s friends and colleagues but I have asked two friends from my publishing world, to balance the airline banter.

      Emily and Kate arrive together. Emily started as my intern. She now runs foreign rights in the small translation company I set up fifteen years ago. Kate has a literary agency with her husband, Hugh. We all go back a long way and work closely together.

      I am hoping Dominique will come. My sister is on a flying visit from Paris and she promised she would try to pop in.

      Mike is in his element, catching up with people he hasn’t seen for a while, revelling in airline gossip. It makes me realize how restless he has been the last few days. What was I thinking? Age is never going to dull his ambition, Mike can only relax when he knows what his next job is going to be. Will and Matteo are right; their father is not equipped for downtime at home.

      I miss my sons with an abrupt little pang. I wish they could have been here for Mike’s birthday but they are both at uni in Scotland and in the middle of exams. They are secretly proud of their father but they are protective of me and not uncritical of Mike’s long absences. For most of their growing up it has been just the three of us, here in London. Mike working away from home is part of our normal, everyday life.

      Mike does the big adventures, plans wonderful holidays. I do the humdrum and the routine, but, inevitably, I am the one at the heart of their lives. The one who was there at the end of the school day and through all the small joys and boring minutiae. I listened to their secrets. I got the gossip and the hugs.

      I also get to trip over young, comatose bodies all over this three-storey house when Mike is away. I am the nag who yells at them to turn the music down but I am also the one they both come to when life gets tough, when they are flying with happiness or in hopeless love.

      Mike winks at me from the other side of the room and I smile back. He is an effortless host, circulating and making sure everyone’s glass is filled. He can light a room with his energy but he is mercurial and his moods can swing.

      Emily, Kate and I are bumping round each other in my crowded kitchen washing plates for Mike’s birthday cake, when Dominique finally arrives.

      Mike answers the door and I see them both air kiss in the hall. Mike and Dominique have never got on, but they both try, for me.

      I hug my sister. ‘Hi darling.’

      ‘Hi you,’ she says, smiling. She is wearing a dreary, dark dress that does not suit her. I wonder why. We both have Maman’s sallow colouring and dark colours make us look like Russian peasants. Dominique makes clothes for other people and has always had an instinctive dress sense, usually wearing warm, bright colours.

      I carry the birthday cake out to the garden and everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday’. As Mike cuts the cake I can tell from the look on his face that he is bursting to talk about his job offer. I will him not to. If the job does not materialize he will regret mentioning it later.

      I look at his tanned, mostly unlined face. It is hard to believe that he is fifty-four today. He doesn’t look it. I sometimes wonder if our marriage works so well because we lead independent lives. We always have a lot to talk about and there is rarely time to bicker. We also like each other, trust each other, because we have to.

      The thing that prevents smug middle-age and makes me wistful is the fact that we have never been a close little family unit of four. We have not had that intimate and unique bond that Dominique and I had when we were small, growing up with Maman and Papa in Cornwall. I wanted us to be like that, a family that makes everyone else into an outsider.

      I wanted Mike to be as protective of his boys as Papa was with Dominique, and me. I would love him to listen to them a little more and lecture them a little less. I would like him to accept Matteo’s non-academic choices and to spend more time with both of them, but it is not going to happen. Family life has changed; the world is faster. I am not Maman, either. Dominique and I never had an instant meal or un-ironed school uniform. Or, most terrible of all, Maman would never have forgotten a sports day because she was having a personnel crisis at work.

      I watch Mike as he leans towards Jacob and Nick. The three of them have all climbed the corporate ladder together. He cannot resist telling them about his phone call from the headhunter.

      Jacob whistles. ‘Pakistan Atlantic Airlines, Karachi?’

      ‘You do know that Karachi is one of the most dangerous cities in the world?’ Nick says. ‘I know someone who refuses to work anywhere in Pakistan. You should check how safe it is to be out there before you even consider it.’

      ‘PAA is based in Toronto, so if they want a European director for crisis management, why not pick a Canadian?’ Jacob asks.

      ‘The Karachi to Heathrow flight in particular is haemorrhaging money …’ Mike says. ‘So I suspect they are interested in anyone who might have some influence in obtaining slots at Heathrow.’

      They all laugh. Slots at Heathrow are like gold dust.

      ‘Apart from the obvious dangers, Pakistan will be a minefield!’ Jacob warns. ‘I bet one of your remits is to discover how much corruption is going on.’

      ‘Of course it will be.’

      ‘Rather you than me,’ Nick says. ‘I can see it might be a good career move, but personally, I wouldn’t be up for all the stress and cultural pitfalls …’

      ‘I bet they are tempting you with an enticing salary,’ Jacob says.

      ‘They are, but I never go anywhere just for the money. It’s the challenge of turning round a failing airline.’

      Nick raises his glass to Mike. ‘I know. Go for the interview. You can’t make a judgement before that. Good luck, mate. Happy birthday!’

      Jacob raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Bit hard on Gabby if you disappear again so soon, isn’t it?’

      ‘My clever wife has her own successful career,’ Mike says smoothly. ‘She is used to me disappearing. She knows I’m not ready to turn a challenge down yet. Anyway, I’ll have to check a lot of things before I agree to anything. Now, who needs a refill?’

      Kate and Emily follow me back into the kitchen. Dominique has stayed there, sitting on a kitchen chair, knocking back the red wine.

      ‘How do you really feel about Mike going for a job in Pakistan?’ Emily asks. ‘Karachi isn’t exactly a safe city for women. Will you be able to even visit him?’

      Dominique has ears like a bat. ‘Karachi!’

      I