The Alone Alternative

by Linda MacDonald

  Back at the Deer Orchard, she takes a bath and goes through the old ritual she practised as a prelude to a special night out with Johnny. It isn’t that she has any firm plans about the outcome of the evening – no matter what Taryn may have said – but she knows it will be easier to play sexy if she feels sexy, and that it is what lies under her dress that will govern her state of mind. She would like to feel that should the circumstance arise, she is prepared. She does not want a Bridget Jones big-knickers moment. And she’s been neglecting herself. There is much to do with a razor, a pumice stone and an exfoliating mitt. By the time she emerges in a kimono-style satin robe and with her freshly washed hair in a towel, she is glowing. She will moisturise in the bedroom.

  She passes Harriet on the landing, already changed into black leggings with a short black dress over the top. Her hair is bunched and twisted, gelled and sculpted and has something of an Ascot hat about it.

  ‘When you’re dressed,’ says Harriet, ‘how about I help you with your hair? I have tongs. We could do the sexy tousled look.’

  Marianne laughs. ‘I’m too old for sexy and tousled. But I’m willing to give it a try.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re not Old-old yet. I keep telling Dad fifty-five is the new forty-five, and some would even say forty. It’s a new life-beginning time, not a pointer to the scrapyard.’

  ‘Sometimes you remind me of me,’ says Marianne. ‘The confident half of me that’s been buried for a year.’

  After Marianne has slapped on some body lotion, donned stockings and some matching black underwear, added the little black dress and then some night-time make-up with smoky eyes, she wraps the kimono over the top and knocks on Harriet’s door before entering.

  The room still has the air of a student’s, with arty posters on the walls and files and folders heaped on shelves and on a desk. Childhood trinkets and a teddy bear sit on shelves and the windowsill evoking memories of a more distant time.

  ‘I feel I should apologise for this,’ Harriet says, waving her arm in an arc.

  ‘Holly’s is the same,’ says Marianne, aware of the familiar nostalgic maternal tug in her heart.

  ‘It’s time I moved on. Keep thinking there’s no point in making myself comfortable here when I could be gone at any moment.’

  ‘Is this why you’re so keen to match-make your father?’

  ‘Ah! I’ve not been very subtle, have I?’

  ‘About as unsubtle as it’s possible to be.’ Marianne sits on a chair offered by Harriet and unwraps her half-dry hair.

  Harriet takes a comb and gently teases out the tangles. ‘Only if it’s you. Not that Jessica cow. She’s a strange woman. Blows hot and cold. Dad hasn’t seen much of the other side to her because she’s usually all over him. But when she sees me, sometimes she’s full of smiles and sometimes it’s like she doesn’t know me. Even Mum said she was moody, but excused it on the grounds that her husband was a nightmare. You’re nice. You and Dad understand each other. You’d be good for him. You are good for him.’ Harriet stares at Marianne’s reflection in the mirror.

  ‘I’m honoured – but both of us have had a rough time. We may not want to start again.’

  ‘Is that true of you? Is friendship all you want?’

  Marianne wonders. This is such a direct and honest question. But despite discussions with Taryn, she isn’t sure. One minute her wild side says life’s so short, take a chance; then the guilt sets in, even though she knows that Johnny was too selfless to want her to compromise her happiness.

  ‘I think sex is important to men,’ continues Harriet. ‘Even old ones like Dad. Although I don’t like to think about it.’

  ‘You’ve just said we’re not old.’

  ‘Whoops! I mean relative to the young. I find it sad thinking of him being all alone for the rest of his life. Mum was difficult for years. He was very patient, considering. I can’t stay forever and it’d be good if he had company – at least some of the time. But the right company. You’re a known quantity. He could get together with someone fresh and who knows what might happen in a year or two.’

  ‘No one ever knows what’s going to happen in a year or two.’

  And that’s the other problem, thinks Marianne. If they did take a chance, what if it didn’t work? Think of the disappointment; all the hassle of readjustment for nothing.

  But she’s getting ahead of herself. There is as yet no Relationship.

  Harriet produces her tongs. ‘I hope you trust me. I do know what I’m doing. And it is in my interests that you look fabulous. At least more fabulous than Jessica – which wouldn’t be difficult. I’d be happy to have you for a step-mum. Especially as my own has gone AWOL with an oversexed gigolo.’

  Marianne can’t help but laugh. ‘Oh Harriet, love, it’s so sweet of you. This, everything. But you hardly know me. I don’t know where this is going. I agreed to this plan of yours because it sounded fun. And I like your dad very much. I always have. I know he’s a good man. But a relationship is many steps along a path we haven’t yet begun to tread.’

  Ten minutes later, Harriet stands back and surveys Marianne with a critical eye. ‘You look brill and I’m sure Dad will think so. That Jessica witch won’t stand a chance. Can’t wait to see her face. Do you want to make a dramatic entrance downstairs, or would you rather Dad found you?’

  Marianne remembers what Taryn said about Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. ‘How about I sit on a stool in the kitchen, then it will be relaxed? He won’t feel obliged to say anything. If I make an entrance, he may be embarrassed.’

  Soon she is unwrapped from the kimono and drinking a cup of tea by the breakfast bar. Eventually Edward emerges from the study upstairs. When she hears footsteps, she turns to look over her shoulder.

  ‘Ta-rah!’ says Harriet, arms outstretched.

  ‘Very nice,’ says Edward, in the tone of someone who finds compliments difficult to give. If he is blown away, Marianne isn’t sure. What is certain is that when he joins her for a cup of tea, he can’t take his eyes off her.

  *

  Inside Jessica’s house it is open plan with a wooden central staircase leading down into the living area. Marianne shivers, visualising the husband tripping and tumbling; bruising contact on each of the step edges before crashing to the floor in a crumpled heap. He wouldn’t have stood a chance against the laminate floor.

  ‘Darling,’ says Jessica to Edward, pointedly kissing him on both cheeks before he can step back. ‘So this is your new friend?’ Her eyes scan.

  Marianne’s initial impression is of a moderately attractive and younger woman who has been generous with the blusher, highlighter and bright red lipstick and is exposing cleavage adorned with a sparkly necklace.

  Jessica extends a hand to Marianne and gives her a tight smile.

  Coats are taken upstairs by a young man in a bow tie, while a woman in a plain black skirt and blouse offers drinks from a tray.

  Not short of a bob or two, thinks Marianne.

  ‘Edward, do be a dear and introduce Marianne to some of our friends and neighbours.’

  Already the room is filling with an assortment of people, mostly of a certain age, some with a teenage child or two in tow.

  The music is eighties New Romantics, Adam Ant and then Duran Duran. Marianne is a seventies girl and not a fan, although she tolerates Ultravox and The Cure. Edward told her he missed the pop scene across both decades, his nose buried in archaeology books while his peers grew their hair long and dabbled in drugs. He favours classical music and opera but not to the point where they form a major part of his life.

  Harriet goes to talk to a young couple with identical beaked noses. Marianne at first assumes they must be siblings but Edward says they are married.

  ‘More evidence for the theory that those sharing similar physical characteristics gravitate towards each other,’ says Marianne, knowing Edward enjoys hearing snippets of psychology. ‘A subconscious strategy to increase the probability of one’s own g
enes appearing in the phenotype of any offspring.’

  ‘Felicity and I look nothing like each other,’ says Edward.

  ‘Perhaps not at first glance, but there is research to suggest that the similarity may be found in less obvious features such as the length of bones – like those in the arm or fingers.’

  ‘I’m not convinced.’

  Over a period of about an hour, Edward introduces Marianne to Olivia, Lyn Wade from the post office, one of the women from the Killerton shop whom she remembers from the day they went to look round the gardens, and two couples who live next door to each other in the newer houses in the centre of the village. She thinks they are an unlikely bunch of friends but no doubt this is typical in a village. They all shower her with questions and she sees it as a good opportunity to promote her book.

  Two waitresses circulate with a seemingly endless supply of varied canapés from the kitchen, while the young man who took their coats looks after a table of drinks.

  Each time Marianne and Edward move on to the next person or group, she has a sense that she is being discussed in their wake; that their relationship is under scrutiny. In a village where Felicity was such a pivotal figure, she can imagine the difficulty in gaining acceptance. It is as if she is staring through a window, looking on a life in the future should things develop between them. These are some of the challenges she will face; this is a trial run. If she doesn’t like what she sees, she can scurry back to Beckenham and remain there.

  Marianne doesn’t want Edward to think she is the type to be clingy. She says, ‘Don’t feel you have to stay with me all evening. I’ll mingle and then I’ll be back.’ She touches his arm before she goes, feeling his eyes following her towards the other side of the huge lower ground living space towards the dining table and the man with the drinks.

  She asks for half a glass of white wine with added sparkling water. She needs both courage and a clear head.

  Nearby, she finds Lyn Wade again and the woman from the Killerton shop whose name she can’t remember. Lyn has typical postmistress credentials: bespectacled, earnest, small, mouse-like. They chat convivially about village life compared with that of suburban London.

  Marianne wonders if there’s a Mr Wade, but doesn’t like to ask. She has noticed women out-numbering men by about four to one and wonders if this is a village trend or peculiar to the friends and acquaintances of Jessica. Either way, it suggests Edward will likely be in demand from the unattached.

  Harriet is talking to the beaky couple again and as Marianne passes, she turns away from them to whisper, ‘Girlfriend behaviour.’

  ‘Message received,’ says Marianne. ‘I’m working up to it.’ She wafts her almost empty glass.

  The Coven is in conversation nearby, standing side by side, surveying the thirty or so guests, pointing surreptitiously, gossiping. Behind them is a tall wooden stand with a cage on top, covered with a thick Paisley-patterned scarf. Marianne wonders what lies underneath.

  ‘Lovely party,’ she says to Jessica. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

  ‘Ah, Marianne, what a delight to meet you,’ says Olivia. ‘Ted’s kept you very quiet. How long have you known each other?’

  ‘Since school days.’ She omits the bit about the thirty-three year gap in their communication, and also the fact that even when they were at school their association didn’t extend much beyond a shared classroom. The only times they spoke to each other were during The Rivals and a paired appearance on the Sweeping rota.

  If Olivia is thrown out of her stride by this, she doesn’t show it.

  ‘You’re not the Marianne that Ted lodged with some years ago?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I thought that Marianne had a husband.’

  ‘I did. He died just over a year ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. And you and Ted have been dating since when?’

  ‘Possibly something for “Ted” to divulge if he so wishes.’ Marianne is rattled inside, but maintains composure. There is distinct hostility in their eyes. ‘There are daggers in men’s smiles,’ she thinks.

  ‘Ted says you’ve written a novel.’

  ‘I have. It will be out next week. I tried to get a book signing at one of your Exeter bookshops, but their current policy is that unless local or with proven track record, they are only interested if you have something else to offer – like a talk.’

  ‘And you’re not exactly Michael Palin or J. K. Rowling,’ says Olivia, exposing a mouth full of enormous teeth.

  Marianne is taken aback at the bitchiness of the comment.

  ‘And Ted will have told you about Jess, of course,’ continues Olivia. ‘I expect he mentioned that they’ve been out to dinner.’

  If this was another comment designed to unsettle Marianne, then it has the desired effect. How dare they! This is the red rag that motivates her to take matters into her own hands.

  ‘He’s lovely, isn’t he?’ adds Jessica. ‘Such a gentleman: so kind, so talented.’

  Marianne doubts that this overdone woman could ever turn his head, but you never know. Stranger things have happened. She excuses herself without answering.

  She finds Edward talking to Rick about the garden and is about to interrupt when Harriet appears by her side and says, ‘I think my being here is cramping Dad’s style. There’s nowhere to hide. So I’m going to leave soon. It’s all a bit staid for me anyhow. See if you can get him to dance; make you look more like a couple.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ says Marianne. She takes a deep breath and another gulp from her glass which she then places on the mantelpiece. Now is the time for the acting skills.

  She goes over to Edwad and links his arm, ignores his initial look of surprise, beams at Rick and says, ‘Might I drag him away for a dance. They’re playing one of my favourite old songs.’

  Edward appears happy to be dragged and they join three other couples on the floor, smooching to ‘Bridge over Troubled Water’.

  ‘This makes me sad,’ says Marianne, placing her hands on his shoulders. ‘But you are my bridge.’

  She knows it is risky.

  ‘Likewise,’ says Edward, clasping her waist hesitantly.

  Marianne relaxes.

  ‘Olivia and Jess have just given me a grilling. I don’t think they believe we’re serious. Assuming you want to throw them off your trail, this is the time to show them. So …’ It was time for the teacher tone. She knows he responds well to that. Felicity and Taryn both used it to good effect. He told her once. Once a long time ago when they walked in the park in Beckenham, when the rhododendrons were in glorious magenta bloom and they both thought about Brocklebank Hall at the same time and said it out loud and laughed at the synchronicity. For a moment they held each other’s eyes and lost themselves in a soul-searching gaze that exposed feelings beyond the ordinary and led to Edward’s decision to leave.

  Of course, he may no longer feel the same; no longer more than friendship.

  ‘So … Hold me with conviction. And move in a little closer. If your hand just happens to stray a little, I won’t slap you down. Don’t be shy. Remember Lydia. This needs an Oscar performance.’

  She wraps herself more tightly to him, her head against his neck, closing her eyes, caressing his back and being transported to the last time she danced with Johnny. She is being carried away by the lyrics. ‘And in a moment we are going to kiss,’ she mumbles, like an instruction manual.

  He doesn’t flinch.

  She starts with his cheek, the arching scar, tracing the line down to his mouth. The contact brings tears to her eyes. Confused emotions, memories of Johnny, but also a powerful resurgence of the feelings she has long suppressed for Edward. She catches sight of Olivia watching them. She closes her eyes and goes for it like a movie star, a sudden intimacy that has never been theirs in all their years of knowing each other.

  Edward responds and she muses that if this is acting, then he is extremely good. But then she knows he is from the time when he played a starring rol
e as Lydia. She must be the one to stop first. She doesn’t want to, but nor does she want to cause an uncomfortable moment.

  She meets his gaze and winks at him; an ambiguous wink that he can take any way he chooses.

  His hands have moved back up to her waist.

  ‘Bottom,’ she commands.

  ‘I don’t wish to take advantage.’

  ‘These women will have been reading bodice rippers, anything less than full-blown sex is going to seem very tame to them.’ She moves her body against his, aware of his aftershave, of mounting desire, of wanting more.

  ‘You look so beautiful tonight,’ he says.

  ‘Hey, steady on! Not so much Lydia as Captain Absolute. I could get used to this.’

  ‘But you do.’

  ‘Why, thank you, sir. All down to Harriet and the subdued lighting.’

  Edward looks into her eyes, and the voices and the music fade into the background. She leans against his heart, knowing there must be something more before the clock strikes twelve. Taryn is right that this is the perfect excuse to take things at least a little further with an easy escape route and no loss of face.

  *

  On the way back down the road to the Deer Orchard, with only a torch to light the way, Marianne links arms with Edward and allows him to guide her. Neither is drunk, but she is a little light-headed, buoyed by atmosphere and flirtatious intimacy.

  ‘It’s been such fun,’ she says. ‘For a while I felt the old me resurfacing, the me that has been lost for over a year.’

  ‘You seem to have recovered something of your spark,’ says Edward. ‘I’m so glad you came. It’s been one of those evenings I don’t want to end. Except I haven’t the stamina I used to have.’

  The scrunch of shoes on gravel as they turn into the driveway and the calls from an owl in a tree on the Molwings’ land are the only sounds in the windless night.

  ‘It doesn’t have to end just yet,’ says Marianne. ‘If you don’t want it to.’