Exquisite

by Sarah Stovell

  But Alice. Beautiful, hurting Alice. She wouldn’t sit back and accept it. She’d come here, demand conversations, arguments, make scenes that I couldn’t have because I had children, a husband, a life that could not accommodate another’s heartbreak…

  I clicked onto my email account. Sure enough, there they were: four emails from her sent since midnight, each one asking where I was.

  I felt a surge of anger rise inside me. I had asked her, more than two weeks ago, to stop emailing. I’d made it clear that I needed space, some distance from this, a chance to protect all that I was risking. She’d agreed to it for a day or so, but now she was back, emailing frequently, too frequently for me to keep up with, to keep track of, to protect myself from. They came at me like the wail of a newborn child at night.

  How dare she do this? How dare she put so much pressure on me? She was twenty-five. She was old enough to know what she was letting herself in for when she fell in love with a married woman; old enough to have a life to get on with, old enough, for God’s sake, to look after herself.

  This wasn’t all my fault. It was Alice, too. Of course it was Alice.

  I opened my sent folder and deleted every message I’d ever written her.

  16

  I went back to bed at five and slept. Maggie jumped into our bed at seven. I was heavy with tiredness, could barely open my eyes, and instead left Gus to the drudge of the morning – the breakfast shift that continued through yet another half-showing of Annie or Mary Poppins; the arguments about getting dressed, cleaning teeth, washing faces; and finally, the long walk down the fell to school.

  Even now, at nine, I wasn’t ready to face the day. I wanted to crawl back under the covers and hide.

  I forced myself out of bed, wrapped my dressing gown around me and went downstairs, straight to my study.

  Three emails from Alice, sent between 4 and 6 am. The girl was losing her mind. She had been up in the middle of the night, just as I had been.

  Oh, God.

  I heard the front door open and Gus go into the kitchen.

  I didn’t open the emails. I left my inbox on the screen and went out to make coffee.

  ‘Morning,’ I said to Gus. ‘The computer’s free, if you need to use it.’

  He mumbled thanks, then took himself off.

  I sat at the table, picked up the morning’s Guardian and read the front cover while I waited for him to return.

  When he did, the first thing he said was, ‘How many messages has Alice sent you today?’

  I made a dismissive gesture with my wrist. ‘Oh, God knows. I’ve stopped reading them. She has nothing else to do.’

  He nodded and left it.

  But I picked it up again. ‘I’ve been a bit worried, to be honest. She seemed lovely when we first met, but there’s something troubled about her. Needy. She won’t leave me alone.’

  Gus raised his eyebrows. ‘Another stalker?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Do you reply to them?’

  I shook my head. ‘I used to, but I haven’t for ages. She’s too demanding. She wants a lot of attention.’

  ‘Well, she can’t keep it up forever. Ignore her and she’ll move on.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. And something in me shifted. I shuddered at the thought of her, this troubled and troubling young woman.

  17

  I passed night after night in tumult. I was exhausted and angry; furious. How could I possibly set my own head straight, when Alice insisted on dumping all the wild content of hers on my computer screen, every hour, every minute? For my own health, I had to stop reading her messages.

  One morning – I don’t know which; time by then was indistinct – I got out of bed before six and went downstairs. I pulled back the curtains in the kitchen and looked out. Mornings were a little darker now, but as I watched, dawn smashed the night and burned over the rocky edges of the fells. I stood there for a long time, seeing the darkness fade and the mountains emerge, and wondering how on earth I got into this mess.

  Alice wasn’t going to just disappear, that much was certain. She wasn’t the disappearing sort. And even if I went to her and explained, and even if, in some miracle of reason over emotion, Alice accepted it and stayed away from me, she would still be here, because this was where she was: here, in my head, messing up the tight, neat order of it. And she was in my heart, too, filling it up when I had worked so hard to keep it empty, keep it functioning.

  What I really wanted now was to be able to brush her off, as if she were nothing more than the drone of a fly. I wanted to prove that the moment was over, the madness of love was finished and I could walk away, magnificent, unbreakable, heartwood at my core.

  But it was impossible, and I knew that. Alice would cry. She would cry and cry and make a scene. She’d declare a love that was forever, eternal, undying. She didn’t care about children, she’d say. She would give everything up for me, for me and my girls. I was her real love, her soulmate, all she wanted.

  But love would never erode me. I was locked in and alone, and God have mercy on the person who tried to get near, because I knew I had a weapon that surfaced at moments like this. It was a beast that lurked at the very heart of me, usually quietly sleeping, but other times ready to pounce and shred someone’s wellness to pieces.

  18

  Alice was working herself into a frenzy, and I couldn’t stop it. Every day, the emails and texts rolled in. They felt like an assault. I had no energy to read them.

  I thought about blocking her email address and her Facebook account so the messages would be sent back to her, but I wasn’t convinced it would work. Alice wouldn’t stop at that. She’d find some other way to contact me. She’d probably end up here at the house, banging on the door or the windows like something out of Wuthering Heights.

  Madness. She was a troubled young woman who’d lost her mind.

  My inbox was full. I didn’t know where to start.

  Eleven am. The 8th September. I sat at my computer, watching the messages drop in. It had become frightening now.

  I clicked on one and opened it. She was talking about moving to Grasmere. She was coming to live near me so we could be together, and she spoke as though we’d arranged all this between us. We hadn’t. I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  ‘Bo.’

  It was Gus.

  He walked in and handed me a letter. ‘This just came,’ he said.

  The postmark was from Brighton, the writing large and feminine. Alice, of course.

  I put it to one side. ‘Look at this,’ I said to him. ‘Just look.’

  A whole page of emails, all from Alice Dark, all with aggressive subject lines. One was, ‘Where the fuck are you?’ Another: ‘Speak to me’; followed by the most recent: ‘I am on my way’.

  ‘Good grief,’ Gus said. ‘What is going on?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. She emailed too often, and I started ignoring her, but she went on, so I blocked her address. I thought the messages would be sent back to her, but they’re just here in my junk folder instead. I hardly ever check it.’

  Gus looked at me doubtfully. I knew he was remembering Christian. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good God, Bo. What is this?’

  I said nothing. If I were to have any hope of protecting all this – my life with Gus, my children, myself – then I had to lie. I’d had a mid-life crisis, a trauma, an affair, and now I regretted it. I could be forgiven. But he must never know.

  ‘Open them,’ Gus said.

  I clicked the one called ‘I’m on my way’. She’d sent it at five o’clock that morning. ‘I will be at Oxenholme at 2 pm. Please meet me at the station platform. I would really like to just talk to you. If you’re having doubts, that’s fine. I understand. I understand completely. We can just be friends if you prefer. I want you to know that I will never, ever ask you to make sacrifices for me, but please don’t
leave me in the lurch like this. Let’s just talk. A.’

  Gus frowned and looked at me seriously. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘This woman clearly thinks there’s something going on between you. Where has she got that from?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

  ‘She speaks as though you two are having an affair.’

  I laughed incredulously. ‘Yes, of course. Bo Luxton, married mother of two, gets together with woman young enough to be her child.’

  He went on looking at me. ‘We’ve been here before, Bo. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Stop it, Gus.’

  He sighed. ‘I’ve learnt better than to try and talk to you.’

  I scrolled down all the emails. They went back four days. I opened the oldest one, aware of Gus reading over my shoulder: ‘I haven’t heard from you for too long’ it said. ‘I don’t know how many days it has been, but this silence is torture and feels like a lifetime. Please get in touch, darling Bo. I miss you.’

  Then: ‘For fuck’s sake. You are being so unfair. I have made a massive commitment to you and all you can do is fucking ignore me.’

  And another: ‘Are you alright? I love you and I’m worried about you. Has he found out about us, and hurt you?’

  Gus and I sat together in silence. Eventually, he said, ‘Either she’s insane, or you’re not being honest.’

  I sighed. ‘She is troubled, Gus. I always knew that. I thought I could help her, but I was wrong. She’s become … something else. Not what I thought she was.’

  ‘But she’s coming here today? Is that what she’s saying?’

  ‘She seems to be.’

  I opened the letter.

  B, I don’t know if you’re getting my emails. I will be arriving at Oxenholme on Wednesday, 9th September at 2 pm. Please meet me on the platform. Can’t wait to see you. Ax.

  Gus stood up and said, ‘I don’t want to be a part of this. Do whatever you want. Go and spell it out to her. Meet her at the station like she says. If something has gone on between you, or she’s got the wrong end of the stick, tell her it’s over. If she’s stalking you like you say she is, then tell her she needs to go away and leave you alone, or you’ll call the police.’

  ‘I cannot believe you’re doubting me, Gus.’

  ‘This is your second stalker in five years. I could sympathise with the first, but I can’t help losing faith with the second. Also, let’s be honest here. I like you less than I did five years ago.’

  I said nothing to that. I didn’t like him, either.

  19

  I was afraid. There was such rage in her emails now, I couldn’t face her. This woman, hurling abuse and foul language at me, telling me I was evil and behaving as though we were on the brink of living together … She was unrecognisable from the beautiful, funny Alice I’d met and loved. The thought of meeting her as Gus had told me to do filled me with dread. I’d seen anger like this before, as a child. It was violent.

  I took the car and drove aimlessly for a while. But then I thought, perhaps I should meet her. Perhaps I should go and talk to her, say I no longer wanted this and that she’d made a mistake – I had never, ever asked her to move to Grasmere to be with me. Perhaps if she heard it from my lips, that would put an end to it.

  I made it to Oxenholme in time for her train. I parked by a verge a few minutes’ walk away, then hung around among the silver birch trees on the footpath that linked the station to the village. I wouldn’t be seen from here, though it gave me a good view of the platform and the taxi rank outside. I thought I’d just watch her at first. I thought I might be able to tell, somehow, how crazy she was and whether going to her was a good idea.

  The train from London pulled in on time. I stood and waited. The passengers stepped onto the platform and then moved quickly on with their lives. They knew where they were heading. Then a lone woman with a shabby backpack slung over her shoulders simply stood and gazed about. She scanned the whole area around her, and looked ready to cry.

  I watched her take a seat on the platform bench and wait. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Eventually, she stood up and walked to the front of the station. She looked around again, then went towards the last waiting taxi.

  I could see the wild anger on her face, even from here.

  I didn’t go to her. I couldn’t.

  I picked the girls up from school, then drove home slowly up the fell to The Riddlepit. Gus was waiting in the kitchen. He would be angry, I thought, if he knew. I’d had enough of anger and hatred.

  ‘Lola,’ I said, ‘will you take Maggie up to your room and get your swimming things together so you’re ready for your lesson?’

  They went off. Gus turned to me. ‘Well?’

  I sighed. ‘I told her,’ I said. ‘I told her there seemed to have been some confusion – a mistake – in all this, and that I don’t feel about her the way she thinks I do.’

  ‘And how did she take it?’

  ‘Not that well. She didn’t seem to accept it, kept saying she knows I love her.’

  ‘Did you tell her to leave you alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you think she will?’

  My voice wavered as I spoke, ‘I hope so, Gus. I really hope so. I can’t take much more of this.’

  He said nothing.

  20

  After that, things quietened down for a while. The rest of the week passed peacefully enough. I’d been afraid Alice would turn up at the front door, demanding answers to questions I couldn’t understand, but she stayed away and I began to hope that perhaps she realised now that things were over between us and she’d made a mistake – I had never asked her to move to Grasmere. Never. I never would.

  I thought she must have gone back to Brighton.

  With relief, I slipped back into my normal life. On Saturday, Gus and I took the girls to the Grasmere Cake Shop for lunch. We sat on the terrace by the river, and were happy, the four of us – a family surrounded by the best of the Lake District: wild swimming, hikes to remote waterfalls, stickleback catching in Little Langdale tarn.

  Maggie said, ‘You said seven was old enough to climb Helvellyn. Can we do that before we go back to school?’

  I wiped soup from her chin with my napkin, ‘I did not say Helvellyn,’ I told her.

  Then suddenly, excitedly, Lola said, ‘Look! It’s Alice!’

  I looked where she was pointing. Alice stood in the doorway to the terrace, shielding her eyes with her hand, searching for us. Then she saw me, smiled and walked over.

  I gasped. ‘Alice! What are you doing here?’

  She looked from one to the other of us. ‘I…’ she began, and her voice trailed off.

  I turned to Gus and said quietly, ‘She must have followed us here.’

  I went back to Alice. ‘I have told you to leave me alone,’ I said.

  She shook her head. ‘I…’

  ‘I have tried to be kind to you, Alice,’ I said. ‘I have tried to be patient and sympathetic. But there is nothing going on here. I do not return these feelings you have, and I have never given you any reason to suggest that I did. Now, you need to pack your bags and go back to your house in Brighton, back to your friends and your job. You are young. You have the world at your feet. Go and get on with living, and leave me to get on with living, too.’

  People at the tables around us were watching.

  ‘Please leave,’ I said again.

  I watched her go. Oh, God. It was awful. I knew I was partly to blame, of course. I had lied to Gus. I’d lied to protect our life and the girls’ lives, and when I’d first done that, I hadn’t realised how messy it would all become, how many more lies I would have to tell to keep that first one believable.

  Inside, I felt shabby. Cheap. Horrible. But I’d made a mistake. That was all. A big mistake, a bad mistake; one I badly regretted and now I was getting lost in runaway consequences.

  We came home and I went str
aight to bed to lie down. It was the shock of it all, I said, after telling Alice so clearly that she’d made a mistake, that I didn’t return her peculiar feelings and wanted to be left alone.

  I was still uncertain whether Gus believed me, but the scene in the café seemed to have been a step forwards. He said he’d check my emails, to see if there was anything more from Alice. ‘There won’t be,’ I told him. ‘I blocked her ages ago, and deleted her as my friend on Facebook.’

  ‘She definitely can’t contact you there?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. Check and see – I’m logged in – but I don’t think she can, not if we aren’t friends.’

  I gazed up at the ceiling and focussed on Alice. Damaged Alice, who could barely move without me, she was so obsessed. She was needy and desperate, like a child crying for its mother. And that’s exactly what she was. An abandoned baby. Unstable.

  Gus came back into the bedroom, looking grave. ‘There are no emails,’ he told me, ‘but she’s sent you two messages on Facebook.’

  ‘Oh, God. What?’

  ‘In the first one, she says you’re vile. In the second, she says you need to put three grand in her bank account or she’ll tell me about your affair.’

  ‘That’s ludicrous.’

  ‘It’s definitely blackmail.’

  I was silent.

  Gus said, ‘Listen, Bo. You can’t blame me for having doubted this at first. I just … I find it very difficult to accept that someone can have two stalkers in five years. I know Christian Winter was a strange case. I know he was ill. But I’ve met Alice before and she struck me as very normal, very rational. The girls liked her. And from what I read of those messages, she seemed absolutely convinced that something had happened between the two of you. Where did she get that from?’