The Alone Alternative

by Linda MacDonald

Afterwards, Harriet disappears upstairs. ‘You left me,’ says Edward.

  ‘Easier to start the day from a normal perspective.’ Marianne decides to play it cool; Taryn’s words are loud and clear in her head. She is no longer sure what he wants, how much he wants, how much of the night was acting. She isn’t sure that she wants to know, in case he was. Acting. In which case it would be another thorn to spoil her dreaming.

  They talk some more about Patrick’s proposals, then go down the road for a late lunch at the New Inn. Edward orders lasagne and Marianne a ham salad with chips.

  ‘I have enjoyed your being here very much,’ he says, while they wait in the small restaurant area beyond the bar. ‘I would like to think we can do it again sometime.’

  ‘Which part of “it” were you thinking about?’ says Marianne, speculating that it might be what happened after the party and thinking, typical man.

  ‘All of “it”.’

  ‘There is a lot for both of us to think about,’ says Marianne. ‘But I’ve had a lovely time. My head is trying to assimilate all that has happened. I’m a little confused about my feelings; your feelings.’

  ‘I understand.’

  She thinks he could say more at this point. If he was sure. But she doesn’t push.

  They chat about less sensitive matters: about her hopes for the book, plans for retirement; his eagerness to progress with the TV project and wishes that it may lead to more work in the media. Too soon it is time to head back to the Deer Orchard, collect her things and be taken to catch the late afternoon train from Exeter to Paddington.

  She begins to descend the stairs with her bags when she catches part of a conversation Edward is having with Harriet in the hallway below.

  Edward is saying, ‘… no one can ever replace your mother.’

  When they see her, Harriet immediately ushers her through to the kitchen while Edward takes her bags to the car. ‘I wish you weren’t going so soon, Marianne. May I have hopes for you and Dad? Will you come again?’

  Marianne would love to tell her yes, but she doesn’t want to make false promises. ‘When you’re young things move so fast. At our age, we need to take it slowly.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ says Harriet. ‘When you get old, you can’t afford to hang about.’

  Marianne laughs and hugs her, thanks her; tells her to take care, knowing Harriet will understand the allusion.

  The drive to the station with Edward is mostly quiet. There is so much to say, yet both seem unwilling to start a conversation that may have to end abruptly. Marianne peers absently out of the window, watching the spring unfold along the verges and in the fields, commenting on the appearance of lambs and leaves and celandines.

  On the platform they hug and he kisses her cheek. She boards the train, finds a seat, waves and wonders if he is going to stand there until the train departs. She finds her book, settles in her seat, organises her water bottle and still he is there, catching her eye. She is embarrassed, she waves again, and as the train pulls out of the station, she chokes back tears and is alarmed by the power of her emotional response.

  22

  Bridled Joy

  There’s life in the old dog yet, thinks Edward, bounding over the stile at the bottom of the paddock, Meg leading the way down the narrow lane, her black and white tail held high. Then he feels that twinge in his back again and stops bounding.

  It is early Sunday evening and he has returned from dropping off Marianne at Exeter St David’s station. It is a pity her stay has been so brief but she has to be at college the following morning and he knows that she will have much to catch up on, having spent a weekend away.

  His senses are heightened and he notices the features of spring with the same wonderment and joy as during his first few years at the Deer Orchard. Trees are awakening, blossom is bursting, birds are singing and the one remaining hive in the orchard is showing small signs of activity, although the recent cold and wet weather seems to be deterring the usual level of buzz.

  Generally not one for jumping to conclusions or counting unhatched chickens, even he is surprised to find his thoughts wandering down the provisional paths of an as yet uncharted future. He can visualise himself and Marianne having passionate sex on a rug in front of a cosy fire in some fictional dwelling place. Her response to the ‘hussy’ comment has excited him. But he cannot quite see how either of them will make such a dramatic transition from their current lives. There are no signposts to show the way and there are hazards round every bend. He doesn’t want to lose the Deer Orchard, yet it is an uncompromisingly excessive space for a couple approaching retirement unless they are, as Felicity was but Marianne isn’t, inclined towards self-sufficiency.

  He and Marianne are likely both to be writing into their dotage. Also, giving the odd lecture in his case, and talks or book signings in hers. They would need space and peace with minimalist garden responsibilities – although his concerns for the future of produce availability suggest it would be unwise to sacrifice a garden altogether. He doesn’t fancy moving to London, although it is a useful hub from which to radiate if travelling to lecturing or book-related venues. It is also an excellent source of cultural entertainment, and he likes to think of having more time to spend visiting exhibitions and theatrical performances once his working life slows to permit more time for leisure. In his mind he is accompanied on these excursions by Marianne and he relishes the idea of being able to converse on the merits of a Turner or a Matisse, or an installation at Tate Modern, or an exhibition at the British Museum of artefacts from China or the Middle East.

  He wonders if Marianne would move to Broadclyst. When he probed, she said that if there was a good enough reason to leave Beckenham, she might consider it. But she didn’t say what that reason might be; whether it might be connected with having a relationship with him. Her life and her friends are mostly in Beckenham and it would be a challenge to start afresh, particularly when retired. He remembers a conversation at Beechview Close when Johnny was alive, and the three of them speculated about a return to Cumbria. Marianne said it was colder than the south-east and not well served by convenient hospitals at a time of life when such might figure more on the calendar. And Broadclyst is not as well located as London should her writing career take off.

  All this assumes Marianne wants a committed relationship with him. This is the crux.

  And then what? Living together? Marriage? Bloody hell, he’s not yet divorced. Or maybe something more long distance, overnight stays at each other’s homes and a looser partnership? He finds the logistics difficult to contemplate.

  She was pretty convincing during the party and afterwards on the bed. But her slight coolness after breakfast and over lunch had not gone unnoticed. He replays conversations, trying to fathom the meaning behind the meaning as she once told him was the key to understanding women.

  Although she had only been at the Deer Orchard for two days, Edward notices her absence as he noticed Felicity’s when she went to Italy. But differently so. When Felicity went, he was angry. Now he is filled with a sense of loss.

  Later, she calls him from home to say she is back safely and to thank him again for a lovely weekend. She says, ‘Do keep in touch,’ as one says to an intermittent friend and not one with whom one is conducting a relationship.

  He says, ‘Of course I will.’ How could he do anything otherwise?

  *

  On Monday after work, Jessica appears with a casserole dish.

  ‘A lamb stew,’ she says. ‘I saw Harriet wasn’t at home.’

  Edward is beginning to be annoyed that Jessica seems to know so much about the comings and goings at the Deer Orchard, yet it is hardly surprising when he and Harriet have to pass her house every time they make a car journey through Broadclyst.

  ‘I said no more food, Jessica.’

  ‘But I know you didn’t mean it,’ she says, giggling flirtatiously. ‘You were being polite. It would be a shame to waste it. It needs to be eaten. I haven’t any more spac
e in my freezer.’ And she hands him the dish.

  ‘This must be the last time,’ he says, sternly. ‘Thank you.’

  He is about to close the door but she hovers on the step. ‘So, how serious is it between you and this Marianne woman?’

  Edward is taken aback at the directness of the question. How can he get out of this one without lying? He considers his options rapidly while taking the stew into the kitchen. Much to his surprise, Jessica follows him inside and sits on one of the stools by the breakfast bar.

  ‘It’s early days,’ he says.

  ‘Does she know about us?’ she says, sharply.

  ‘There is no “us”.’

  ‘I thought we had an understanding of a sort. That you needed time. Now I find you all over Marianne at the party, my party, you can understand why I might be disappointed, even offended. Hearing the news from Harriet the other week was rather a shock.’

  She sounds angry and Edward begins to think he is going mad. ‘Jessica, I thought I had made my position clear when I dropped by. I asked if it was okay to bring a friend. I’m sorry if it was inappropriate.’

  Jessica pauses. ‘You keep telling me you’re not ready. I assumed when you said friend, you meant “friend”. It was Harriet who said she was your girlfriend, and that’s exactly what it looked like at the party. You never made it clear to me. I was under the impression that we would have some fun as soon as you were sufficiently ready.’

  Given the lack of fun he has so far had in Jessica’s company, he thinks this is highly unlikely. He remembers the touch of her hand on his leg, the invitation to come into her house after they had been to the restaurant. There was no ambiguity about what she had in mind.

  ‘Marianne and I have known each other a long time. We’re already starting from a different level.’ Again, he is obtuse in order to avoid lying.

  ‘Olivia says her husband died. So she’s on the rebound too. She was acting a little desperate.’

  Edward marvels that Jessica can see this trait in another and yet not in herself. He walks back towards the open door and holds it.

  Jessica remains seated. ‘Do you see her as a long-term prospect?’

  ‘Who knows what the future holds for any of us, Jessica?’

  ‘Do be careful, Ted. Rebound relationships have a poor track record. And so do long-distance ones. With her in London and you here, it could be lonely. Whereas I’m a stone’s throw.’

  ‘Jessica, you know as well as I that new relationships at our age are uncertain animals. We both bring baggage; half a lifetime of baggage.’ He means himself and Marianne, baggage-wise, but he doesn’t see the ambiguity until the words are out.

  ‘So I can still hope, can I?’ Jessica laughs and slides off the stool. ‘Don’t answer that, I’m teasing.’

  And then she leaves without further word.

  He knows Harriet would say he should tell it to her straight, but although able to tell colleagues and subordinates exactly what he thinks and feels, when it comes to women and personal relationships, he has always struggled, a fact which Felicity made known soon after their relationship began to go downhill.

  Afterwards, he decides he needs some clarification from Marianne. She said she wasn’t ready – almost the same thing he said to Jessica after their meal at the Retreat. He hopes she isn’t stringing him along; giving false hope. His ‘not ready’ to Jessica was a polite ‘not interested’, but what of Marianne’s? It has only been a year since Johnny died. He opts for sending a direct message via Twitter, and over the next two days they have the following somewhat impersonal interaction.

  @marihay1 When you say you’re not ready, do you mean ‘not ready yet’, or do you mean ‘not interested but trying to let you down lightly’?

  @Edward_Harvey1 Certainly not the latter.

  @marihay1 Would you like to elaborate?

  @Edward_Harvey1 I think we should take our time; not do anything hasty.

  @marihay1 Am I still allowed to visit you, and you me?

  @Edward_Harvey1 Of course.

  He is relieved, but puzzled. And he is not sure what to do next.

  23

  Unsettled

  Catapulted back into the working week, Marianne has little time for brooding, not least because she hears her printed books have arrived at the publisher’s and she is eagerly awaiting her requested copies which will be delivered when she is at home on Friday. She is still smarting from Olivia’s remarks in Broadclyst Post Office and is all at sea, emotionally tossed on the frothing foam of a high spring tide.

  When she left Edward in the middle of Saturday night and returned to the guest room, she had lain spread-eagled on her back suffused with optimism: hoping, wishing, wondering; almost sure that this was the beginning of a new and exciting phase of her life. It was like when she finished college and peered into the crystal ball of an unknown future full of expectation and promise. But the gods can be cruel, dashing her dreams before the next nightfall. You’re not Felicity … Felicity was a dynamo.

  She may be ten years older than when her own marriage hit choppy waters, but she hasn’t yet learnt how to harness the brain chatter of uncertainty and her dilemma has been subjected to extreme levels of scrutiny. She concludes that she and Edward could have a most enjoyable fling, but she is convinced that this would end in tears and pain for at least one of them. She doesn’t believe she could stand any more hurt or loss until she heals from the miseries of the past few years, nor does she want to cause him any further suffering.

  Commitment and a future together is a pleasant prospect in some ways, but she fears she is creating a fairytale illusion in her mind. Being fifty-something and both with previous relationships that worked well over at least two decades, the idea of starting again feels like embarking on a mountain climb. In truth, she is not sure how it can be achieved, or indeed whether it would work.

  Taryn phones, wanting details. Marianne doesn’t wish to disclose anything too intimate in case Taryn experienced something similar. She wants her night with Edward to be unique. It is never easy thinking about your man with another. She and Johnny were always very cagey about past conquests. It was taken for granted that each had a previous sexual history and that in Johnny’s case it was more substantial. The less said on the subject, the better.

  ‘I didn’t ask you for details. It wouldn’t be fair on Edward.’

  ‘He’s nice, isn’t he? I mean, you couldn’t complain,’ Taryn fishes.

  ‘I didn’t follow your instructions to the letter. We went some way down the path – enough for now.’

  ‘What an opportunity missed,’ says Taryn. ‘You could have relieved all your frustrations and tested your compatibility. But I suppose it wouldn’t be easy for you. Tell me, are you remembering to go back to the rules?’

  ‘I have no difficulty following them when it is unlikely that he would want to be with me permanently.’

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘I’m not Felicity.’

  ‘For goodness sakes! I can see we need to have a serious chat.’

  ‘Not now, Taryn. I need to think first.’

  After Taryn, Marianne is cooking supper when the phone rings again. She turns the heat down, hoping it is Edward, but by the time she gets to it, it has stopped.

  Curious, she thinks, but not to the point of concern. Probably an automated system malfunctioning, or one of those dreadful overseas callers that tell you your computer has a zillion viruses and that they can sort them out for a fee – before extracting credit card details and emptying your current account.

  But later in the evening the phone rings again and this time when she answers it, she is met with silence. She hangs on, waiting. The caller doesn’t hang up. After about twenty seconds, she places the phone by the side of the cradle and carries on watching TV. Ten minutes later, when she checks, the caller has gone. She tries 1471, but as expected, the number has been withheld.

  It is a while since she has been bothered by nuisance calls. She rememb
ers when she was flat sharing, soon after college, she was phoned by a man who said he was from the Thigh High Boot Company. She thought it might be a friend of her brother’s, playing a practical joke, as had happened once before. So she talked to him, asked why he was calling and how he had obtained her number. She even laughed and said, ‘Do you know my brother?’ This seemed to unsettle him and she was suspicious. Then the heavy breathing started and she realised what a fool she had been.

  She checks her Twitter feed, interactions and messages. The brief bout of direct messaging from Edward since her return has exhausted itself and following Taryn’s rules, she is not going to be the one to start another thread, send an email or pick up the phone. If he wants contact, it is up to him to initiate. The old order of her initiating has ceased.

  A few hours later, she is dragged from the deepest sleep by the phone again. She thinks about not answering it, but she has never been able to ignore a ringing phone. It could be an emergency. Once again there is silence. She says, ‘Hello,’ once. No answer. She replaces the phone. It rings again. Still silence. She hangs up and checks her watch. It’s two-thirty and she has college in the morning. Who would be calling in the middle of the night? She goes to the loo, fetches some water and dials 1471. Again, the number has been withheld. She returns to bed, tries to sleep but can’t. Anxious thoughts pervade: Who could it be? Someone with a grudge or a random nuisance caller? What seemed merely an inconvenience during the day, now takes on a more sinister tone. Her imagination will not be stilled and she lies awake for hours.

  *

  On Friday, late morning, a courier brings a hundred and twenty copies of Lydia in six boxes which the driver stacks up in her hallway.

  Lydia – the novel that would never have been written but for Edward Harvey’s presence in her class at Brocklebank Hall.

  She rips off the tape from the top box, revealing four covers awash with purple rhododendrons, Lydia in silver type across the top, her own name in white across the bottom. She takes one from the box, anxious to see if it looks good, that the type is clear, the pages aligned correctly. Her initial flick through it is reassuring, but she is frightened of reading it and being reminded of the risks she has taken in baring her soul of the autobiographical components in the book.