The Alone Alternative

by Linda MacDonald

  The weather remains stubbornly cool and wet with regular reports of flooding from different parts of the country. The evening news is filled with tales of rescue and ruined possessions, with pictures of water rising up living room walls or cascading down streets while displaced homeowners, tearful and anxious, praise the emergency services and the community spirit. Aerial shots from helicopters show the extent of the problem. In towns and villages, the streets are waterways with the odd boat ferrying supplies or extracting a determined resident who refuses to evacuate until there is no alternative. In the countryside, rivers expand onto fields and clusters of sheep or cows huddle on tiny patches of visible ground, entirely surrounded by murky water. Meanwhile, the environmentalists gather on Newsnight and weather presenters begin their forecasts with apologies and don’t blame me expressions.

  Edward continues to exchange emails with Marianne, hinting again that she might like to arrange another visit to the Deer Orchard. She says she is too busy with upper sixth exams and other college-related preparation. ‘And I need my weekends for completing the Education Pack,’ she adds. He decides not to issue any more invitations until she appears to have fewer commitments.

  He asks Gemma to post her another pile of literature that he has discovered about education and sustainability. He gives Gemma an acknowledgement slip on which he has written: To peruse if and when you have time. Edward x.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to give me her address again,’ says Gemma, looking flustered. ‘That piece of paper on which you wrote her details seems to have vanished into thin air. It’s odd. You know I don’t lose things. I meant to file it after addressing the last batch, but it disappeared. I couldn’t find it anywhere and I went through everything on my desk.’

  ‘Gemma, don’t worry. It’s probably caught up with something else and will turn up eventually.’ He checks his diary and scribbles Marianne’s details on a memo pad.

  Two days later Marianne texts to say thank you. She also writes that she hasn’t had any more nuisance calls since putting a block on the phone.

  Edward is relieved. If it was Jessica, he assumes she has given up the chase. She seems to be keeping a low profile, no more food having been brought to the Deer Orchard. At last the message appears to have sunk in that he is not interested in having a relationship with her.

  When he returns home from work at the end of the week, he can hear raised voices from the kitchen long before he opens the door. One is Harriet’s, sharp and aggressive; the other is Rachel’s, calmly assertive.

  He is always pleased to see Rachel and his heart fills. First daughter, sensitive and sweet; daddy’s girl. He is lucky if he sees her three times a year since she moved from uni to employment in London, and he returned to Broadclyst on a permanent basis. He’s always had a special bond with her, the image of Felicity with her long wavy hair. But she has a temperament like himself. She understands him like no one else on the planet.

  He overhears: ‘And you’re just going to stand by and watch him bring another woman into our house?’ This is Rachel. Not so sweet today. Perhaps she doesn’t understand him as much as he thought.

  He steps inside and the voices still. Harriet is leaning against the counter with a mug in her hand and Rachel appears to have been pacing the floor. He catches her looking distinctly cross. When she sees him her expression changes and she walks over to him, giving him a somewhat tentative hug which he returns.

  ‘What a lovely surprise. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?’

  ‘I’ve come to check up on you, Dad.’

  ‘So why the arguing?’

  ‘A few rumours on the Harvey grapevine. I want to know what’s going on with you and Marianne Fanclub.’

  For an instant he wonders if their night together has been discovered. He looks at Harriet.

  ‘I’ve said nothing specific,’ says Harriet. ‘Other than I think you and Marianne would be good.’

  ‘And I think it would be dire,’ says Rachel. ‘What will Mum think?’

  ‘What your mother thinks is hardly relevant,’ says Edward. ‘But more to the point, there is no me and Marianne. But I’d like there to be.’

  ‘And what about us?’

  Edward takes off his jacket. Perhaps Kate is correct and she is huffy about the idea of taking second place to Marianne. He plays for time, going over to the kettle while the eyes of both daughters follow him, waiting for an answer.

  ‘I see you at Christmas and possibly another couple of times a year. James even less – although that looks likely to change; Christopher, not at all since he went to Italy. You have chosen to live away from home, therefore it should be of little consequence to you whether or not I share my life with someone else.’

  ‘And I would like Dad to find someone,’ says Harriet, stoutly.

  ‘Only so you can shack up with—.’ Rachel stops short and looks away.

  Harriet yells, ‘You bitch, you promised!’

  ‘What’s this?’ says Edward.

  ‘Irrelevant,’ says Harriet. ‘I want to be independent, that’s all. And I would prefer to leave you with someone to keep you company rather than being on your own – as long as it’s the right someone and not the witch Jessica. Marianne is perfect for you. I can’t see why Rachel would object.’

  ‘This is our home. It doesn’t seem right that another woman should be in it.’

  ‘So Dad is supposed to stay on his own so you can come here for a few days a year? That’s so selfish.’

  ‘Irrespective of Marianne,’ says Edward, ‘I will probably move. Somewhere smaller. So the idea of the family home is not relevant.’ He sits down at the table with a mug of tea. ‘Did James also fill you in about coming back to Broadclyst? He and Kate may take over the Deer Orchard.’ He is deliberately vague, not wanting to add further problems until James and Kate begin to put their plans into action.

  Rachel appears to ignore the implications of her brother’s involvement. ‘Let’s assume there is Marianne. What happens when you die?’

  ‘Rachel!’ says Edward.

  ‘Ah, so this is about money, is it?’ says Harriet.

  Rachel sits down and flushes. ‘It can’t be ignored.’

  Edward says, ‘Do you think if I were to get together with anyone, I wouldn’t ensure your interests were taken care of?’

  ‘You might be carried away with love for some spendthrift manipulating hussy.’

  Edward can’t help but laugh. ‘You think I lack judgement?’

  ‘I hear loneliness does strange things to older people.’

  Harriet says, ‘Marianne isn’t a spendthrift or a manipulator. We know her. She’s trustworthy.’

  ‘I keep telling you there is no me and Marianne. If there were, Harriet is right, she’s no manipulator.’

  Harriet says, ‘But you’d like there to be a “you and Marianne”. And so would she, I think. You’re both being too cautious. And,’ she adds, scowling at Rachel, ‘we need to support this rather than finding yet more reasons for it not to happen.’

  ‘So you’d take out a pre-nup, or something?’ says Rachel, ignoring Harriet.

  ‘Or something,’ says Edward. ‘If I were to be seriously involved with another woman – any other woman – I would protect your interests in the long term. There are various ways it can be done. Possibly by creating a trust fund for use during the lifetime of whoever it happens to be. And that’s assuming I don’t outlive her. If we’re talking Marianne, she has her own money and only one daughter, so if anyone needs their interests protecting, it will be Holly.’

  Rachel looks suitably chastened.

  ‘What was that you were going to say about why Harriet wants me settled with someone?’

  ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘She was having a go at me, that’s all,’ says Harriet.

  Edward isn’t so sure.

  ‘I’m meeting some friends in Exeter,’ says Harriet, a little too quickly in Edward’s opinion. She turns to Rachel. ‘Give you a cha
nce to catch up properly with Dad. Sort supper, perhaps? There’s fish in the fridge.’ Then she is off before she can be questioned further.

  Rachel sits down opposite Edward, her mouth in a tight line.

  Edward continues, ‘Marianne has been a very good friend to me in the past – when I was in hospital and when I was lodging in Beckenham. She was a great support when your mother and I were struggling. I became very fond of her, but she had a husband with whom she was happy, I had your mother with whom I wanted to try to recapture the good times. When I returned to UD, Marianne and I drifted out of touch. It’s what happens when life gets in the way. Then all my efforts to improve the situation with your mother failed and she left with Gianni.’

  ‘Didn’t see that coming,’ says Rachel, mellowing slightly. ‘He used to flirt with me.’

  ‘Harriet suggested I get in touch with Marianne again. She found her on Twitter and only then did I discover Johnny died just over a year ago. All things then became possible – except we are both in our mid fifties with grown up kids and living two hundred miles apart. She has been down for a couple of weekends and we pretended she was my girlfriend to throw Jessica off her pursuit – not that it did, but that’s another story. It was fun. I began thinking we might take things further … and I thought she was thinking that too. But suddenly she backed off and although we email, she keeps resisting my invitations to come to stay.’

  ‘I can’t take it all in,’ says Rachel. ‘You being close to another woman.’

  ‘I understand your concerns. If anything should develop, the family will not be forgotten. That is the only assurance I can give.’

  Then Rachel asks him about Jessica, having heard about the cake incident from James. ‘I never thought you would have been so naive,’ she says. ‘Don’t you understand women at all? If you give us the tiniest hope, we embellish; we create our own fantasy and believe it’s real.’

  That night, with two girls under the roof looking out for him, he is enveloped by a feeling of being ancient and it makes him sad. There seems to be so little time to do all the things he wants to do; to start afresh. He replays parts of the day’s conversations, trying to think of the most diplomatic way of dealing with Rachel’s concerns. And what was that sentence she cut short, the one that inflamed Harriet? He remembers: shacking up. He hasn’t been aware of Harriet seeing anyone for some time but now his suspicions have been aroused, he doesn’t like to be kept in the dark.

  *

  ‘Harriet,’ says Edward, at breakfast the following morning when they are alone. ‘What was Rachel saying about you “shacking up” with someone? Is there anyone in your life I should know about? Is this why you want me to get together with Marianne?’ He has one eye on some grilling bacon and is unprepared for the bombshell she is about to drop.

  ‘I would be happier moving out if you were not on your own. I don’t think you’re very good at looking after yourself long term.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to stay here. The others have gone; you deserve your chance of independence.’

  ‘It’s Rick.’ She blurts it out behind his back.

  ‘Rick who?’

  ‘Rick. Our Rick.’

  Edward swings round on his heels. He’s becoming used to the unpleasant visceral reactions to shock. ‘Rick!’ He can’t believe what he is hearing. ‘You are seeing Rick? Rick who’s had almost every woman in Broadclyst, married or otherwise?’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

  ‘You know his reputation.’

  ‘He’s changed since he and I—’

  ‘Him and you! My God, girl, wait till I see him. Are you completely insane? I mean how? When?’

  ‘You know when I go to my Italian classes? Well … I don’t go.’

  ‘You underhand little madam. I thought better of you.’

  ‘Stop talking to me as if I were a child.’

  ‘He’s old enough to be your father.’

  ‘You always discourage us from using clichés.’

  ‘He’s not good enough for you, Harriet.’

  ‘And what exactly is “good enough”? If you mean he didn’t go to a private school like you and Mum, no, he didn’t. But nor did we. And no, he didn’t go to university. But that’s because he didn’t have the opportunities we have had, not because he’s not intelligent.’

  They are now facing each other across the central work station. The smell of burning bacon fills the air and the smoke alarm starts bleeping. Edward rushes to rescue his breakfast while Harriet wafts a damp dish cloth at the alarm.

  Edward is not distracted for long. ‘He has relatively low earning potential, as you know.’

  ‘How can you be so materialistic? I thought better of you. That’s Mum talking. You once said you would be happy living in a caravan if you had her and us.’

  This was true. And in his heart, he still believes it – the caravan part. But his children only know the comfortable life. He isn’t sure how any one of them might cope on a budget. ‘Much of what he earns has come from me or your mum over the past ten years. Which is why you were so defensive about me downsizing the vegetable side of our arrangement, I suppose.’

  ‘He makes me happy,’ says Harriet.

  ‘But for how long? He’s fit enough now to keep up with you. But twenty years on?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be like this if he was Rod Stewart.’

  ‘Because Rod Stewart isn’t short of a bob or two.’

  ‘Charles and Diana?’

  ‘That didn’t go too well, if I remember.’

  ‘But no one objected to the age difference, which was huge.’

  ‘Ditto financial security.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re being so money-driven. It’s not like you, Dad. I have earning power too.’

  ‘And when you have kids?’

  ‘I don’t want kids. We don’t want kids.’

  ‘Is this another of Rick’s ideas?’

  ‘At the moment we feel the same. Rick says, “it’s better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave”. My experience of young men says give me Rick anytime. In any case, you can’t stop us. But we’d rather have your blessing. I can’t believe you’re being like this when I have been so supportive of you and Marianne.’ She starts to gulp away tears.

  Edward has rarely seen Harriet cry. She is the tough one, the unemotional one, the one who confronts and won’t back down. Then he remembers how touchingly compassionate she was when he was injured all those years ago. ‘I only want what’s best for you. I don’t want you to make a big mistake.’

  ‘Sometimes we have to take a chance. This is a considered chance, just like you and Marianne would be.’ She starts to sob and flees upstairs.

  Too much stress. He now understands how easy it would be to have a nervous breakdown. If only Felicity were here to help him deal with this. She was the one who said yes or no to the children when they were teenagers wanting extra freedom. Only rarely did she defer to him for adjudication. Mostly it wasn’t necessary. But if anyone pushed boundaries it was Harriet, so this latest announcement is hardly a surprise. It is no use expecting Felicity to help now. No matter what she said, Harriet would not be influenced by a mother who had left with a significantly younger man. He might ask Marianne for some advice.

  He settles at the table with his overcooked bacon sandwich. Now he has two unhappy daughters, an estranged wife, a stalker and a woman full of mystery, sometimes beckoning, sometimes pulling away, often confusing. All he wants is the quiet domestic life he once took for granted; a life that freed his mind to wander and wonder, to theorise, idealise and hypothesise about archaeological matters and the essence of being. Each time he believes he might be getting there, someone pulls the rug.

  31

  Messages

  All is not well in Beckenham either.

  Marianne comes home from work after a difficult day with her returning lower sixth students. She collects her post from behind the door: the usual collectio
n of junk mail, a bank statement, an energy bill and another large brown envelope with a University of Devon stamp across the top.

  More guff from Edward, she thinks, pleased rather than otherwise. Then the phone rings.

  She puts the mail on the table in the hall and rushes to answer it. Nothing. She hangs up. She thought the block had solved the problem but perhaps the caller is using another phone. Most people still have a landline and a mobile. She assumed the block was most probably on the withheld landline number. She punches 1471, and it sounds like a mobile number. Of course, it could be someone else.

  She goes through to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. The cat appears at her ankles. The phone rings again.

  This time she doesn’t say hello. Instead, she listens intently. She can hear the birds twittering. She closes her eyes.

  Then a female voice says, ‘She thinks she’s so wonderful with her London ways.’ It is as if the speaker is talking to someone else by their side. ‘Thinks she’s so clever; a teacher; psychology to boot. And an author too.’

  Marianne catches her breath, wants to defend herself but knows she mustn’t let on that she is listening.

  The voice lowers, still seeming to be talking to someone else. ‘But clever isn’t everything, is it?’ Perhaps she is conversing with the birds.

  Then staccato, low and determined. ‘He’s not stupid. It won’t last.’

  It is unmistakably Jessica.

  Marianne hangs up and takes the unusual step of trying to reach Edward on his mobile, but is diverted to answerphone. She leaves a message, asking him to call as soon as possible. Her mind is working overtime, fretting.