The Accidental Woman

by Jonathan Coe

  Maria considered her own recollections of married mealtimes.

  ‘But when you hear the sound of food in his mouth,’ she said, ‘don’t you feel like stabbing him with the carving knife?’

  Sarah, thinking that she was joking, smiled.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Is there nothing about him that you find repulsive? What about when you’re having sex?’

  ‘Maria!’

  ‘Whenever I saw Martin naked, I always wanted to chop it off. I’d never seen anything so grotesque.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. There’s nothing ugly about…’ here her voice sank very low’…men’s privates. You’re embittered, Maria, and you forget, because it was all such a long time ago. You’ve forgotten what it was like.’

  This was far from the truth, for Maria had not forgotten, and never would forget, about penises. She had had them up the front, round the back, down the hatch, and dangled in front of her nose, and was rather hoping that she would never have to see one again in her life. But she didn’t bother to say so to Sarah.

  ‘Did you never love Martin, Maria?’

  She shrugged. ‘As you say, it was all such a long time ago…’

  ‘Have you ever been in love at all? Ever?’

  She laughed. ‘You asked me the same question once before. But that was even longer ago.’

  ‘But have you, Maria? Have you ever been in love?’

  ‘No,’ she answered, since even heroines tell lies occasionally. And she knew that it was a lie even as she said it, because she was thinking of a day in Oxford, the day of the storm, when she had waited for so long in the dreadful heat, and Fanny had told her that a man had rung. The noises of the restaurant died away and for a moment she could only hear the clatter of her feet on the stairs as she ran up to her room to cry.

  Then she noticed that Sarah had leant forward and was holding her hand. She withdrew it.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘what’s the use of talking about marriage if I haven’t even got anyone to marry.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sarah, ‘there’s Ronny.’

  This actually made Maria laugh. ‘Now who’s being silly!’

  ‘I’m not being silly. You say you haven’t got anyone to marry. But look how often Ronny’s asked you.’

  ‘Yes, and look how often I’ve refused him. I’m very fond of Ronny, you know. Very fond. But that will never happen.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Maria sighed, and pushed her plate away. ‘I’ve got other plans, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh? Such as?’

  ‘Nothing definite, as yet. I’m tired of London, Sarah. I think I might give up my job, and leave. I know it’s not easy to get jobs any more, but I’ve got to get away from here. I don’t know where I’ll go, yet. I thought that just to start with I might go back to live at home, with my parents. It’s so long since I’ve seen them properly, I feel I hardly know them any more. Bobby tells me they still keep my old room for me, just as it used to be. It would be nice to go back there for a while.’

  ‘You can’t live in the past, Maria.’

  ‘Oh, I know that. My past is nothing to write home about, anyway. But l’ve gotto start again, from somewhere.’

  In fact the idea of returning home had only occurred to Maria that evening. Somehow she had started to feel weak and foolish in front of Sarah, and all she had been trying to do was to put up a feeble pretence of resolve. Having presented herself with this new option, however, she thought carefully about it on the bus back to Hornsey, and came, eventually, to the conclusion that it probably wouldn’t do. It was only as a small child that she had ever enjoyed living at home, and there was no reason to suppose now that she and her parents could co-exist happily together. Sarah had been right to be sceptical. The whole evening, it now seemed, had been wasted, for it had not helped her to reach a decision, and had only shown that she and her best friend no longer understood one another. Maria’s heart as she unlocked the door of the flat was heavier than ever.

  Although it was late, Dorothy was waiting up for her. Maria could tell immediately from her agitation that she had some bad news.

  ‘Your mother phoned,’ she said. ‘You must phone back at once. She left this number.’

  Maria did not recognize the number, but it was her mother who answered. Her voice was breathless and tearful.

  ‘Where are you?’ Maria asked. ‘Why aren’t you at home?’

  ‘I’m next door, at Mrs Chivers’. Oh Maria, there’s been a terrible accident. It’s all Bobby’s fault. He was staying in your room, because you know it’s the one we always keep nice, and he came down late to watch the football, and he must have left his cigarette burning, and oh my darling, half of our house is in ruins, it’s been burnt down to a cinder.’

  Maria found words, at this juncture, to be of no use to her.

  ‘All your bedroom, and all your lovely things, and all your wardrobe, and everything, and your desk with all your old school books, it’s all gone, and it spread to the bathroom, and downstairs.’

  ‘Is anyone hurt? Are you all all right?’

  ‘Yes, we’re all still here, thank the Lord our God. We could so easily have been killed, all of us. But everybody escaped. Everybody. Except –

  ‘Yes? ‘Maria suddenly tightened her grip on the receiver.

  ‘Except Sefton.’

  There was a moment of deathly silence, and then Maria dropped the receiver, threw herself onto the sofa, and wept until she was too tired to weep any more.

  *

  This time Ronny answered on the second ring. It was Sunday morning, breezy but bright and with every prospect of a fine sunny afternoon. Maria told him what had happened, explained that Bobby was looking after her parents and that there was nothing to be gained from her going home, and asked whether he was free to spend the day with her. Of course, the answer was yes, she had expected no other. Ronny had once told her that he would, if necessary, have cancelled an audience with the Queen if it coincided with an appointment to see Maria, and she remembered this remark, about the funniest he had ever made, believe it or not, with a grateful smile as she watched out of her bedroom window for the sight of his car.

  They drove aimlessly out of London, bearing, did they but know it, slightly to the north-east. Neither spoke much, Maria for obvious reasons and Ronny, I suppose, because as usual he had nothing to say, although today Maria fancied that she could sense a deeper reticence, deriving perhaps from his sympathy over all that had lately befallen her. They were a silent, sombre pair, then, by the time they arrived in Broxbourne, where they decided to stop for lunch. They ordered one meal and shared it between them, so small were their appetites. In the afternoon they walked beside the river. The sun, as promised, was shining in a half-hearted way, but at four o’clock it abruptly disappeared behind a screen of grey, a breeze began to blow, and Ronny insisted that Maria wear his jacket, which he had been carrying over his shoulder all afternoon. Fearing rain, they took shelter in a roadside café and ordered two cups of coffee.

  ‘Have you enjoyed this afternoon?’ Maria asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s been lovely’ said Ronny. ‘It’s so nice to get away from the city, and to be with you.’

  ‘You’ve been very quiet,’ she said.

  ‘There’s a certain sort of silence, Maria,’ he answered quietly, ‘where no words are necessary, and which signals not the end but the start of understanding.’

  Maria stared at him in surprise, trying to recall when she had heard those words before.

  ‘Yes, I suppose there is.’

  It was now, she felt, merely a question of waiting. She stirred her coffee, slowly, deliberately, with the plastic spoon provided, and this in spite of the fact that she did not take sugar, thinking to herself with amusement meanwhile of all the other times when she had sat in silence with Ronny awaiting, dreading, the inevitable question. Should she have agreed long ago? No, she thought not. What did it matter now, anyway.

/>   ‘Well, I think we’d better be getting along, don’t you?’ said Ronny suddenly, looking at bis watch. Then, noticing that Maria seemed shocked: ‘I’m sorry, you haven’t even finished your drink. Don’t let me rush you.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  He seemed not to understand.

  ‘It’s just that… there’s something that you normally do, Ronny, which you haven’t done today’

  ‘Oh?’

  She could not even bring herself to be exasperated, so excited was she that the moment was about to come, even if it had to be forced.

  ‘You haven’t asked me to marry you,’ she said.

  Ronny gave a good-natured laugh.

  ‘It’s not like you to tease me, Maria, but it shows you’re feeling better, so I can’t be angry with you.’

  ‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why haven’t you?’

  ‘Because I know you’d say no. Maria, I’ve been asking you that question for nearly ten years now, and I may be a bit slow, but even I start to realize in the end when I’m fighting a losing battle. You’ve been very patient with me. I know you’ve always seen me as a friend, and I’ve always wanted to be more than that. Well, you’ve got enough troubles, without me making a nuisance of myself. I see that now. So you don’t have to worry, Maria. That’s all over.’

  ‘But today,’ she said, ‘I wanted you to ask me.’ She took a last good look at his far from handsome face, his foolish, questioning mouth, his absurd ears, and felt a little quiver of doubt, but she brushed it aside. ‘Because I was going to say yes.’

  I feel in no position to describe the reaction which this statement produced. Visually, it was complex. It was also absolutely silent.

  ‘Ronny, will you marry me?’

  There was a short pause, in which it is impossible to say whether he was hesitating, or deliberating, or recovering from his astonishment, or whatever.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course. Yes.’

  *

  It rained heavily on the day of the wedding. Maria had made all the arrangements. She had wanted it to be done as quickly as possible, and as quietly as possible. She had not wanted her parents to be present, although it proved necessary to take Bobby into her confidence. As soon as he returned to London, she contacted him, told him of her plans, and then moved all her belongings out of the flat and into his spare bedroom, where she was to stay for the next few days. She handed in her resignation at work, and managed to book a time at a London register office for the end of the week

  ‘I don’t want anybody to be there except you,’ she said. ‘I just want the whole thing to be over with, and done. It’s just like going to the doctor’s or the dentist or something. There’s to be no ceremony and no fuss.’

  Having heard and agreed to this, Bobby was surprised to enter his sister’s bedroom on the morning of the great day and to find her trying on a hat, in front of the mirror. It was a small hat, red and pretty. She seemed embarrassed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I was walking past the shop yesterday afternoon, and just thought that it looked nice. After all, I thought that I ought to do something a bit special. It’s not every day of the week that a girl gets married.’

  They took a taxi to the register office, arrived early, and sheltered from the rain in the doorway of an adjacent shop while waiting for Ronny to appear. Maria put on her hat, and admired her own reflection in the shop window against a background of magazines and sex aids.

  At five past eleven she looked at her watch and said, ‘He’s late.’

  But Ronny was more than late, and after half an hour the truth of the matter was obvious. The bastard had stood her up.

  Maria and Bobby crossed the road and went into the local fast-food restaurant. They were the only customers. They took a window seat, drank tea, and, between them, tried to decide what she should do next.

  9. Mana in Exile

  Three years later, and it is still raining. I tell a lie, of course, there have been intervening periods of sunshine, but they do not concern us. To find Maria now, you would have to travel far to the north, for she lives in Chester. A fine city, I fully recommend that you visit it one day. A Thursday in autumn, for instance, would be ideal. This, on the other hand, is a Tuesday in summer, and yet it is still raining, but there you are, that’s England for you. Maria is walking home from work, and we find her, you’ll be pleased to hear, in an interesting frame of mind. Not that she is actually doing anything special, to all outward appearances, but then we would have had to choose our moment very carefully, very carefully indeed, in order to catch Maria doing anything special, during her time in Chester. If her happier days in London resembled a calm sea, then her days in Chester resembled a desert. An infelicitous figure, that, though, because it fails to take account of the rain. What I am really trying to say, as you can hardly fail to be aware, is that life for Maria was, at this stage, extremely dull, and by dull I do not just mean that nothing of interest ever happened, although it didn’t, but that it was a life lived in a dulled state of mind, seen and felt through a perhaps irreparably dulled consciousness.

  Well, I know how she feels, I have unhappy memories of Chester myself, but it cannot be the fault of the place, surely, because look at all those fine old buildings, and that splendid cathedral. Maria was especially fond of the cathedral, which is strange, because she was not naturally of a religious temperament. It was one of her few pleasures, nevertheless, to go into the cathedral on light summer evenings, when it would be full of visitors, many of them in attitudes of prayer, to kneel down beside one of them, and then, if she was feeling passionate, to hurl abuse at her creator, or, if she was feeling calm, to present him with reasoned and fully substantiated accusations of professional incompetence. All this was done in silence, of course, so as not to disturb her fellow-worshippers. Maria, whose nature was essentially trusting, had always believed in God, but on the other hand she saw no evidence whatsoever that he believed in her. She frequented the cathedral like a ghost, and its grounds too, for she spent many evenings, and some afternoons, in the Garden of Remembrance, a shady spot which actually has not much going for it other than its name. What an opportunity for metaphor! Unfortunately we don’t have the time. There is a bench there, with its back to the cathedral wall, where you might often have seen Maria sitting, apparently deep in thought, or lost in wistful recollection, or sunk in romantic yearning, but in reality her mind a complete blank, unless she was wondering whether to have ravioli or tortellini for her supper that night. Many were the evenings, and many the afternoons, when lonely young men would stop to gaze at her with eyes full of longing, or would sit down beside her and engage her in suggestive conversation, or would sexually assault her while nobody was looking. Even here, among the dead, Maria could not guarantee that she would be left alone, which was now all that she desired, all that she asked of the world. Of course, never in her life having been left truly alone, she was in no position to know whether that was what she truly wanted, so, since accuracy seems to be the order of the day, it would be better to say, no doubt, that all that Maria wanted was the chance to find out whether being left alone suited her. Nothing else did, after all.

  But she lives alone in any case, you protest, or would do, if I had told you that she lives alone, and if I haven’t I must say it’s because I thought that any intelligent reader would have guessed as much by now. Yes, Maria lived alone, and was therefore free to enjoy as much solitude as she could wish, one would have thought. And yet this was very far from being the case. Sheer perversity, surely. The explanation, quite a simple one I assure you, is that Maria never felt less alone than when she was by herself, in her own house. It was her own self which she most wanted to escape. Sounds rather trite, put like that, doesn’t it. We must recognize, though, that included in what Maria, or was it me, termed her self, was a whole crowd of people who really had no business to be there at all. I don’t have to remind you of their names, for you know them all; I have introduced all the im
portant ones in the course of telling this story. These people, former friends, former husbands, former colleagues, brothers and mothers and fathers and sons, simply would not leave Maria alone, and never more so than when she was alone in every other respect. Their voices and faces and sometimes bodies filled her thoughts, dominated her feelings and dulled each and every one of her senses. They had become so thoroughly attached to her self that she was obliged to cart them about with her wherever she went, even though they weighed a ton, and nothing would have pleased her more than to be able to dump them on the wayside.

  It was in the hope of shaking them off that she had come to Chester. Why Chester, you ask? It is true that she chose the city more or less at random, but it had one factor heavily in its favour, which was that neither she, nor anyone she had ever known, had any former connection with it whatsoever. You see, in her simplicity, Maria had resolved to start a new life. She seems to have believed that if she could only remove herself geographically from all the people and places she wished to leave behind, then they would cease to exist. Or at least, if she did not actually believe this, and I must admit that it seems unlikely, she thought that it was at any rate worth a try. This will give you some idea of how distraught she was at the time. She certainly hadn’t banked on them all coming with her, and installing themselves like so many phantoms in her home and in her mind.