The Alone Alternative

by Linda MacDonald

  ‘I’m sure there is enough of a spark between you two already. Wits or no, it won’t take much to rekindle his flame.’

  ‘What about my flame?’

  ‘I can tell you’re interested. You’re alive again for the first time in a year. Take your chance to test the water in a “no-pressure” kind of way. Play the girlfriend role until morning. And then … Then back off. Let him wonder; let him chase. Even if men don’t think they like chasing, they become more enthusiastic and excited if they have to. You know this but when you were younger and you liked someone, you were too much of a pushover.’

  ‘It worked with Johnny.’

  ‘A fact which never ceases to amaze me.’

  ‘And what if Edward doesn’t chase? You said yourself that he’s naive when it comes to dating rules.’

  ‘He’s an intelligent man. He will learn fast. In any case it’s biologically programmed. He won’t be engaging his brain, just his dick.’

  ‘Taryn!’

  ‘Your Mr Perfect is just as much fuelled by primal needs as the next man. Give or take. I know.’

  ‘I don’t wish to be reminded,’ says Marianne, recognising a tremor from the past; the betrayal, the double betrayal, forgiven but not forgotten.

  ‘You need to be unpredictable and funny – which you are, naturally. Create a little resistance, tease him and challenge him. You can do all these things, and you must appear confident, even if you’re not. It’s important you believe me,’ says Taryn. ‘When you’re in Broadclyst, you’re on your own. The best you can hope for from me is the odd text. Call it distance learning. You need my support now while I’m available. Jessica has her buddy Olivia to engineer on her behalf.’

  ‘And the pies,’ says Marianne. ‘I can’t compete with pies.’

  ‘Edward doesn’t like pies,’ says Taryn.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He told me – when I was complimenting him on his flat stomach. And you do a mean Chinese,’ she adds, licking her lips, waving a delicate hand at the three separate dishes of delights on the table. ‘However, I also know he likes pasta. On the two occasions I met him it was pasta that he chose when eating at the museum. And I can teach you a thing or two about that – though your Tagliatelle Cavalli hits the mark already. All you need to do is learn to make your own with eggs and 00 flour. You need a machine; a rolling pin is too much like hard work.’

  Marianne dares to imagine Edward kissing her ever so gently, taking his time. For a few seconds she is filled with a childlike glow of hope and excitement. Then she remembers Johnny.

  ‘I feel guilty having those kinds of thoughts for another man,’ she says.

  ‘I expect that’s normal,’ says Taryn. ‘And if you were ten years younger and had time to wallow in your guilt, or seek therapy, or wait until you felt an even more respectable amount of time had passed, then I would say fine, wait. But you’re fifty-five. You’re a woman. The closer you get to sixty, the less attractive the prospect, in real terms. I know that’s harsh; I know there are plenty of celebs out there flaunting it in their sixties, but the truth is that we can just about get away with the sex-bomb thing now, at a push, and in two or three years we risk looking foolish. Do you happen to have a basque?’

  ‘I do, but there is no way I’m confronting Edward in a basque. He will run a mile. Far too overt.’

  ‘But they do hold you in, while still maintaining sexy.’

  ‘Are you saying I need holding in?’

  ‘Not much, but we of the certain age all have a less streamlined silhouette than we used to. And those shapewear undergarments may prevent the VPL, but if you have to get out of them in a hurry, it’s not pretty.’

  ‘I wouldn’t wish to deceive. Imagine the shock. Like wearing one of those super-stuffed bras before you have your first unclad encounter with Mr Gorgeous. And I would hate to be confronted by a man in a corset.’

  ‘Or with a sock down his pants,’ says Taryn. ‘You’re probably right. Stockings and suspenders it will have to be.’

  ‘Does it have to?’

  ‘Have you ever seen anyone looking sexy parading around a bedroom in a pair of tights?’

  ‘I’m not sure I shall be doing any parading. I’m not ready to go that far.’

  ‘But it’s as well to be prepared, just in case. You will feel sexier in stockings. It will help you to play your role at the party.’

  After Taryn has gone, Marianne makes a list of things to take on her next visit to the Deer Orchard. She surveys herself in her full-length mirror from as many angles as she can. She knows she has kept in reasonable shape – give or take an ounce or two of the dreaded spreading in the middle – but the prospect of romance makes her hypercritical.

  Oh bother this getting older! Bother the constant pushing of the inevitable tides, the pressure to re-invent, to present a package of artificiality to the world. Why can’t we, as a society, embrace age and all its physical imperfections? Why can’t we celebrate its wisdom? There must be some compensation for the creaking and the aching and the shock of the mirror.

  Perhaps an existing relationship removes the age problem. Remembering people when young has the effect of being able to iron out the lines and look beyond the grey. That is how it is for her with Edward. But is it the same for him?

  She plays a few delicious scenarios in her head and then takes a deep breath, goes to her office in the spare bedroom and tries to distract herself with some work for college.

  18

  Other Women

  ‘You haven’t said anything to James and Rachel about Marianne, I hope,’ says Edward to Harriet.

  ‘You keep telling me there’s nothing to say. But after the party, I’m hoping for developments.’

  It is still the university holidays but Edward goes to his office to catch up on paperwork. Gemma Saborey, the archaeology department’s administrator, is pleased to see him. She is Edward’s BlackBerry in human form and she monitors his appointments at home or away with patient efficiency and more personal attention than is necessary in her professional position.

  She started out in the university at much the same time as Edward and has refused all offers of promotion, saying that she prefers the job she knows. Conrad tells Edward she is in love with him and that is why she stays. Edward is always careful not to lead her on; more so since Felicity left and Gemma began visiting the hairdresser’s and wearing perfume every day, none of which alters the fact that she is angular and awkward, prim and pathologically precise.

  Over the years he has gleaned something of her home life, looking after an ailing mother for many years and now somewhat at a loose end with little social life. He gathers that she follows The Archers passionately and has been known to write to the producers suggesting storylines. In the 1980s she became obsessed with some US actor – he can’t remember whom. She apparently went on holiday to Florida and hunted him down to a bar he was known to frequent. When she returned home, she told Edward that she met and talked to him and that he had bought her a drink and said he would write to her. It didn’t make any sense and Edward deduced she was something of a fantasist. Since then Conrad has always believed her to be unstable.

  She inhabits the office next to Edward’s, accessible through a door between his rows of bookshelves, as well as from the outside concourse. Visitors are encouraged to see Edward via Gemma and she acts like a filter system, rejecting those whom she sees as tiresome. When Edward is alone, the door between their offices is left open, principally so he can shout through to her to provide him with any information he requires.

  Over the weekend he has printed off some articles from which he thinks Marianne will draw inspiration for her presentation to Patrick: two primary schools with gardening on the curriculum and a secondary school with the environment as part of its pastoral programme. He takes an acknowledgement slip from a drawer in his desk, scribbles on it: Thought you might find these of interest, love Edward x. Then on a piece of scrap paper he writes Marianne’s name a
nd address before taking the pile through to Gemma.

  ‘Would you send this lot off first class, please, and then if you could get hold of Patrick Shrubsole for me.’

  He returns to his desk and momentarily thinks of being at Beechview Close again, alone in the living room with Marianne. He wonders if he should have made a romantic gesture during her visit to see him. He is so used to treating her as a friend, he doesn’t know where to start in moving the demarcation line.

  After speaking with Patrick about June being a good time for the three of them to get together, he phones Marianne to confirm the date, asks Gemma to log details in his diary and then meets Dick Fieldbrace about the two awkward members of staff with the time-keeping issues. He is back in his office for a mid-morning cup of tea when Gemma appears in the doorway. Usually she phones through details of visitors she thinks he may want to speak to, but today she closes the door behind her, indicative of an intrusion he might rather not have.

  ‘There’s a Jessica Hennessy here to see you,’ she says, the ruffles on her high-neck blouse stiffening with disapproval. ‘Says she’s a friend of yours.’

  Edward frowns. ‘What does she want?’

  ‘She says it’s important she speaks to you; that you will want to see her.’ It is clear from Gemma’s brisk manner and sharp expression that she does not approve.

  ‘You’d better show her in. But tell her I’m busy; that I only have a minute before an appointment.’

  Gemma retreats backwards through the door and almost before being invited, Jessica breezes in, all tarted up and clearly fresh from the hairdresser. She is wearing a bright turquoise mac, impossibly high heels and is carrying bags from two up-market boutiques.

  ‘I wanted to see where you worked,’ she says. ‘And I thought it was time I paid you a visit.’ She eyes one of the easy chairs and sinks into it, dropping the bags to the side and kicking off her shoes. ‘My feet are killing me. Heels can be such a drag. What price we pay for glamour.’

  Edward wonders how she came to be passing when the university is not exactly on the direct bus route from Exeter to Broadclyst.

  ‘Given that it is the holidays, how did you know I was here?’

  ‘I recognised your car in the car park.’

  He bristles. ‘Did Gemma not tell you I’m very busy?’

  Jessica looks startled by his tone. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just that now we are getting to know each other better … And I wanted to check something with you. Olivia tells me she saw you out with a woman a couple times last week and that Harriet said she was your girlfriend.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I assumed that can’t be right. You told me you weren’t ready. I took that to mean that you might be ready in time. Ready for us, perhaps?’

  Edward is beginning to realise that Harriet is correct when she says that some women make all kinds of assumptions and are inclined to put their own interpretations on events with the flimsiest of evidence.

  ‘And maybe I will be ready for a relationship in time,’ he says, thinking of Marianne, ‘but I’m at a transitional period in my life and I don’t know how I will feel in the future.’

  ‘Oh, so it’s not serious, then. I can still hope, can I?’

  Edward marvels at her persistence but he is at a loss for the right thing to say. It is one thing for Harriet to say Marianne is his girlfriend, quite another for him to lie. ‘Felicity and I are not yet officially divorced. There are many things to address. The person Olivia saw is someone I’ve known for a long time.’

  ‘I see,’ says Jessica. ‘An old friend; a shoulder to cry on. Not someone important.’

  Before Edward has a chance to decide how to respond to this, his buzzer rings. It is Gemma giving him the excuse he needs of a fictional caller on the line.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, Jessica, there’s a call I have to take.’

  Still she sits there. He covers the mouthpiece, stands up and looks at her. Eventually she takes the hint, puts on her shoes, gathers her bags, then leaves.

  For the rest of the day Edward is impatient and unusually short-tempered. His attempts to deal with the backlog of paperwork are less productive than intended and he snaps at Gemma when she calls him during a second meeting with Dick Fieldbrace.

  This is all because of Jessica. Intrusions at work are beyond the pale. He realises he’s been too gentle with her and that she has chosen to misinterpret his signals.

  He knocks on Conrad’s office door and finds him feverishly tapping away on his computer keyboard. For all that Conrad gives off an air of being laid back, he is one of the most hard-working in the department and has a prolific list of publications to his name – even more so since he starting night-time liaisons with his research assistant.

  Edward tells of his dilemma, first regarding Jessica and then about Marianne, the party and the pretend girlfriend plan.

  Conrad sits back in his swivel chair with his hands behind his head. ‘Used to think your life was so straightforward when I first knew you. Jess needs to be told; Marianne sounds like she needs a good seeing to.’

  ‘I don’t want to presume anything with Marianne. She’s still grieving.’

  ‘Given that she lives so far away, I’d take the chance. Couple of glasses of wine and there you go.’

  Edward thinks perhaps Conrad is not the best person to advise him about Marianne. It can take a long time to recover from the loss of a loved spouse. Some never do; never want to move on. He would hate her to think he was being opportunistic.

  But Conrad is probably right about Jessica.

  On his way home, he stops the car on the road outside Jessica’s house. It is of modern build, red brick, one of a kind, set back off the lane behind a five-barred gate and surrounded by tiled paving interspersed with shrubs.

  She answers the door quickly and greets him effusively.

  ‘Might we have a word,’ says Edward, as if to one of his colleagues.

  He refuses the offer of going into the house. ‘I’m not staying, Jessica, but I want to clear up any further misunderstandings.’

  Her face falls.

  ‘I don’t want people to misconstrue our relationship when there isn’t one,’ he says. ‘We hardly know each other and I thought I had made it clear.’

  ‘You made it clear you need time.’

  He carries on regardless. ‘I’d like to ask you if it’s okay to bring my friend Marianne to your party. She will be staying here during that weekend.’

  Jessica hesitates and folds her arms. ‘As your girlfriend?’

  ‘My relationship with Marianne is private,’ says Edward.

  Jessica looks at her feet and screws up her mouth. ‘Oh, well, yes, if that’s the only way you’ll be able to come, I suppose so. Hang on a minute.’ She disappears for a few seconds and returns with a tin. ‘I forgot to give you this earlier. Don’t want it to waste. Eat hot or cold.’

  ‘I think perhaps you shouldn’t be giving me all this food.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, I like to cook.’

  ‘Well, thank you – but no more, please. I feel guilty.’

  Back at the Deer Orchard, he finds Harriet chatting to Rick in the greenhouse.

  ‘Glad I’ve seen you,’ he says to Rick. ‘Forget reinstating the lawn. Let’s keep things going as they are for another year. Might want to do some filming.’

  Harriet follows Edward back to the house. ‘Rick’ll be dead pleased. He thought he was going to be out of a job.’

  ‘It’s a stay of execution, not a complete U-turn.’

  ‘Either way, it’s great.’

  He tells Harriet about Jessica, taking a pie of some description from the tin and cutting a small slice.

  Harriet says, ‘Did you actually specify that you weren’t interested in her, that you never would be, even with time?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘You’re hopeless, Dad. Women like that need to be told in words of one syllable. You have to be blunt; saves aggro in the
long run. Is that one of her concoctions? Should you be eating it?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Husband, stairs, broken neck.’

  He takes another bite. ‘She makes damned good pies, though.’

  ‘A woman scorned.’

  He looks at the pie, then at Harriet, and eats it all the same.

  19

  The Party

  Marianne arrives at the Deer Orchard the evening before the party and spends the following day relaxing with Edward at Sidmouth on the coast, strolling along the promenade while admiring the spectacular sandstone cliffs on either side of the bay. Not a place for walking underneath, she thinks, commenting on a deep fissure a few feet back from the edge. Edward tells her of a recent news item about the rocks giving way and burying a woman.

  They are still catching up on their lost years, sharing more in-depth worries about their children and the future.

  ‘I always believed Johnny and I would make the next step together,’ says Marianne, ‘be it retiring to the sea, returning to Cumbria or moving into a smaller house. What happened to him is a reminder of the pointlessness of planning too far ahead and the importance of “Now”.’

  She notices the age demographic in the town is mostly that of the silver haired, often with crepe bandages, sticks or mobility scooters aiding their perambulations. A man who looks like an old rock star walks in front of them: straggly grey hair, wiry limbs, saggy faded denims and a cowboy hat. A woman with long, blonde crinkly hair, limps at his side, a patchwork skirt, a denim jacket, black suede boots. Marianne thinks they would have been A-list glam in their youth. Briefly she wonders where she will be in ten years’ time. If this is a spyglass to her future: Sidmouth prom.

  Edward says, ‘Would you consider moving away from Beckenham?’

  ‘If there were a good enough reason, I might be tempted,’ and she gives him one of her coy glances.

  Then they both fall silent, lost in thought.

  They lunch on crab sandwiches in The Mocha restaurant and then drive up to the cliff tops for a cup of tea in the Clocktower café, all the while maintaining barriers of propriety and leaving Marianne wondering how in the evening, they will accomplish the transition from friendly conviviality to something evoking at least an impression of passion.