The Alone Alternative

by Linda MacDonald

  Subject: Richard lll

  Dear Edward,

  Fascinated by the search for Richard lll’s remains in Leicester car park. God help the poor chap if they find him. His poor bones will be given the third degree. And then what? As I’ve said before, cremation is the answer. But as an archaeologist, I imagine you have a different take on the matter.

  love,

  Mari x

  *

  To: Marianne Hayward

  From: Edward Harvey

  Date: 24th August 2012, 22.22

  Subject: Re: Richard lll

  Dear Mari,

  Quite so re archaeology! It will be most unexpected and exciting if they do find him. Most of these searches end in disappointment.

  James and Kate have arrived with a vanload of stuff and moved into James’s old room. May be temporary – will have to see how it works and what all our future plans are. House feels full again. Harriet and Rick have gone public. He wants her to move in with him but am pleased she’s not rushing. This means, I’m afraid, that you will be relegated to Chris’s old room for the night before Scilly departure. Hopefully this will not be necessary when we return!! Sorry, being presumptuous …

  love,

  Edward x

  *

  To: Edward Harvey

  From: Marianne Hayward

  Date: 27th August 2012, 10.24

  Subject: Food Crisis

  Dear Edward,

  After Scilly, who knows?!! We may drive each other crazy after ten days together. It happens!

  Almost every day this week there has been a news crisis story over food. First fish shortages and then another reminder about bees. Today we hear that the plum harvest is poor and that prices are rising. The maize crop has been devastated worldwide and in UK cereal yield is down. It was reported that the UN say food prices may rise 70% by the middle of the century. Not only due to adverse weather, but increasing global population also cited, but not elaborated or linked to any ideas of control. If we don’t impose control, then as in the natural world there will be starvation and survival of the fittest.

  It is interesting that when African countries were hit by years of drought and war, we used to say that the world had plenty of food to feed everybody and that distribution was at fault. Now it is no longer so certain.

  There is talk of people needing to change what they eat; to become less reliant on expensive meats and to follow a more vegetarian-based diet. Some are even talking about insects being a staple food!

  And now the ice caps are melting faster than anticipated. What are we going to do? The sooner the programme airs the better. At least it will get people talking.

  love,

  Mari x

  *

  To: Marianne Hayward

  From: Edward Harvey

  Date: 27th August 2012, 19.55

  Subject: Re: Food Crisis

  Dear Mari,

  You sound so like Patrick! Not that I disagree.

  I know you won’t drive me crazy. You keep forgetting that we have virtually lived together for almost half of three years. I know lodging is not the same, but if anything, having a closer relationship will be easier.

  Our local news reports apple crops failing in West Country. In Somerset they believe yield is down 90% – due to bees lying dormant during the cold blossom time and therefore insufficient pollination. This means reliance on imports and higher prices.

  Looking forward to your arrival on Wednesday.

  love,

  Edward x

  Wednesday, Broadclyst; Thursday, Scilly. The beginning of a dream or the beginning of the end.

  39

  St Agnes

  ‘Paradise,’ says Marianne to Edward as they walk up the path from the St Agnes quay.

  ‘What a sky,’ says Edward.

  It is an uninterrupted blue and there is warmth in the air. It seems that their week on the island will be a window of something bordering on an Indian summer relative to the unsettled weather during most of the previous few months. The vegetation is still green but the faded heads of the agapanthus betray the end of the season. They exchange a few comments about previous visits, but mostly they are lost in thought, appreciating the scenery.

  At the Parsonage they are welcomed at the door by Pam Beresford-Smith, full of smiles and introductory questions about the flight from Exeter to St Mary’s.

  Edward has been a visitor with Felicity and several times since. And Marianne has been twice with Johnny. Pam is aware of both their circumstances, but Edward apparently said only that they were friends. They follow her up the small dark staircase to the bijou flat overlooking the lush garden. In the living room with its galley kitchen in the corner, she peers at them as if unsure how to react.

  ‘There are beds made up in both the rooms,’ she says, without any hint of judgement. ‘We have turned the bunk room into a single room since you were last here. More suitable for most of our visitors.’

  After Pam returns downstairs, Marianne looks at their cases and bags expectantly waiting on the green carpet. The butterflies in her stomach begin to flap their wings. Somebody is going to have to say something.

  Marianne swallows. ‘Despite the fact that you stayed in our house for three years, and I have since been to yours and you to mine, this seems strangely intimate.’

  ‘It’s because we are alone, properly alone. No ghosts.’

  ‘No Johnny, no Harriet, no Holly,’ says Marianne. She decides to take charge and err on the side of caution. ‘I’ll sleep in the little room. I’m quite happy in a single bed.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Edward, frowning.

  ‘What do you mean, “Oh”?’ says Marianne, somewhat sharply. She immediately regrets her tone.

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning … When you said you’d stay here with me, I hoped …’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit previous?’ says Marianne. She remembers what Taryn said; that if sex comes before love, you can never go back to doing it in a different order.

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘You thought wrong. I can’t suddenly sleep with you just because we’re here. I don’t want to be used as a stepping stone between Felicity and your next great love.’

  ‘Used? Stepping stone? Is that what you think of me?’ says Edward.

  Marianne realises her poor choice of words but is unsure how to retract. ‘No, I didn’t mean that.’

  But he appears not to hear her. His expression has changed from relaxed and happy to tense and stern. ‘You’ve made your position clear. Forgive me. I didn’t think you were a tease. I’ve misinterpreted …’ And his words trail away as he grabs his jacket and heads back down the stairs.

  He is gone before Marianne can speak again. He has never raised his voice to her before and is clearly frustrated by her mixed messages. She didn’t intend to sound so reticent, but the words came out all wrong. The compact space and the double bed had scared her: the thought of such intimacy, the disrobing, the expectation of what would follow. She chokes back tears. How has this happened without warning? Here she is in the place of her dreams with the man of her dreams – because there is no denying that he has been for a very long time – and in the space of five minutes, she has destroyed the brightening flames with a bucket of ice cold water.

  She sits down on the little green sofa, her eyes stinging, her stomach clenching. She knows she has upset him. What should she do? How can she repair the damage without taking risks?

  Minutes later, a phone rings. Not her phone, but Edward’s. It is on the table in the window, behind a brown paper bag of apples that they brought up from the shop. She hesitates then answers it, struggling to find the right button on an unfamiliar keypad.

  It is Harriet.

  ‘Your Dad’s gone for a walk and he left his phone. I’m not sure where he is or when he’ll be back.’ Her voice cracks with emotion. She is close to tears.

  ‘That doesn’t sound lik
e Dad. What’s happened? Are you all right, Marianne? You sound weird.’

  ‘We had a misunderstanding.’

  ‘And there was me thinking this would be the place and time when you two got together, properly.’

  ‘Which is clearly what he thought too.’

  ‘And you didn’t?’

  ‘I did. But I panicked. I wanted to take it one step at a time. And it came out all wrong. I keep having doubts because of something Olivia said.’

  ‘What in God’s name has that witch got to do with it?’

  ‘In the shop after the party, she told me I didn’t measure up to your mum. She implied that all I would ever be was a fling.’

  ‘Oh good grief! And you believed her? Surely you know better than that after everything you and Dad have talked about? And he’s walked off? Do you like him as much as I think you do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go and find him. Tell him what you’ve told me. Tell him!’ And she hangs up.

  Marianne stares at the phone for a while, confused. Then she grabs her cagoule, the sunny weather no insurance against the possibility of a shower, particularly this year.

  She locks the door out of London habit, steps softly down the stairs, puts on her shoes and heads outside, up the dampened leaf-strewn path, through the Parsonage trees and hydrangea bushes to the roadway. She pauses, glancing left and right. Instinct makes her turn left up the hill. At the junction with the main road, by the red telephone box, she sees Pam coming up from the shop with a bag of groceries.

  ‘You haven’t seen Edward, have you?’

  ‘Lost him already?’ Pam grins. ‘I think I saw him heading up towards the lighthouse a few minutes ago.’

  Marianne considers the options. On an island only a mile square, one would think it would be easy to find someone. She thinks she knows where he would go. It would be where she would run for solace. She heads up past the lighthouse and beyond the line of coastguard cottages where she cuts through a gate and down the hill to the rock formation called the Nag’s Head. The turquoise sea and granite piles fill her view with breathtaking splendour. At the Nag’s Head she touches the stone as if for luck, turns right and follows the path to the Troy Town maze.

  *

  Edward is sitting on the mound of tufted grass next to the most recent incarnation of the maze. His almost euphoric mood as they crossed by boat from St Mary’s to St Agnes has quickly been extinguished.

  He is furious with himself for sounding presumptuous about the sleeping arrangements. He hadn’t meant to. He had been carried away by things that had been said in the long weeks before. And then when she implied that he might use her as a stepping stone … That hurt him badly and all the anticipation collapsed in seconds into a disordered mess.

  Too much has been left unsaid. He tries to remember their conversations. He is sure that he hasn’t misinterpreted her genuine feeling for him beyond the friendly, and equally certain that she hinted at the possibility of intimacy while on Scilly. Yet she retreated the day after the party. There was no mistake about that. And she avoided further visits to Broadclyst despite his invitations.

  He is not used to taking the initiative in relationships. Felicity chased him and she was the first. Taryn chased him. Even Jessica chased him in her own gauche and inappropriate manner. He is more skilled in running away – an art in itself. Marianne’s withdrawal from him, he saw as guilt; something she would recover from in time. He has since been waiting for her to indicate her readiness. And she did say that Scilly might be the time. Or is his mind playing tricks?

  This is the closest they have been to an argument since their renewal of friendship. When he thinks of what she has been through with Johnny dying, it saddens him that she has misinterpreted his motives.

  He hears the sound of shoes on the path behind him and looks up. He is relieved to see her.

  ‘Harriet called,’ she says, joining him on the ground. ‘You left your phone and I’ve upset you.’

  ‘I don’t know where I am with you. I thought we had something special after the party and I imagined that in time you would feel like taking it further. Everything you’ve said … I’m sorry if I’ve expected too much.’ He stares out to sea, to the Bishop Rock lighthouse rising in the distance. He does not meet her eyes.

  ‘We do have something special.’

  She tells him about the conversation with Olivia in the post office.

  ‘And she’s right,’ she continues. ‘I cook, but I’m useless at catering. I’m a dreamer who needs plenty of space. I can barely organise myself, let alone you. I’m not and never can be like Felicity. To have a fling with you might be glorious. But what happens after? It’s so easy to let down my defences and to flirt. But then I remember.’

  There is a pause while Edward registers what she is saying. In the distance, gulls swoop over the Western Rocks. His shoulders drop and he turns towards her.

  ‘You think I’m after a fling? I have never intended to give that impression. Do you think that I would risk hurting you; or me? Everything we’ve talked about – the future, the children. I thought you knew. I know there are no guarantees, but my intentions are serious, not frivolous.’ He takes hold of her hand and with his other hand he very gently brushes her wind-blown hair away from her face.

  ‘Mari,’ he says. ‘You know that I love you, don’t you? It’s because you’re not like Felicity that I do.’

  Marianne’s eyes register surprise then joy.

  He continues, ‘Felicity’s attributes were everything I needed when I started out, when we had the kids. I don’t need someone running my life any more. I know you, Marianne. I lived with you and Johnny for nearly three years. I know what you can do and what you can’t. I know your moods. I couldn’t bear to hurt you again with a mere fling.’

  ‘You love me?’ says Marianne.

  ‘Of course I do. How could you possibly think otherwise?’

  ‘Because you never said.’

  ‘I thought you would assume, as I assumed.’ He takes a chance. ‘You do, don’t you?’

  She pauses and meets his eyes. ‘Yes. And I’m sorry I doubted you. Sorry for what I said.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to endure the spite of Olivia.’

  ‘When we were talking about possibilities, it felt far away. Now here we are on St Agnes; you and me alone in the flat and faced with the question of bedrooms. I didn’t mean to say what I said. The wrong words came out in the wrong tone.’

  He pulls her to her feet. When he was young, a declaration of love had been easier because it didn’t carry the weight of expectation of a future. Felicity had been the first to stir the passions and he had been swept along with her enthusiasm in a rush of sexual energy and hormones. Now the fire burns with more gentle flickering flames. He understands the challenges of partnership. His words have not been said lightly.

  ‘Look at that view,’ he says, waving towards the jagged outlines of many small rocky islands, and beyond to the Bishop Rock lighthouse, rising in the mists four miles away. ‘What better place to ask you to take a chance with an ageing archaeologist. I know you are uncertain. I know because you send mixed messages in your emails, texts and phone calls. And I do understand. But sometimes that leap of faith that we mentioned needs to be made and we are unlikely to have another opportunity such as this.’ And he faces her and touches her cheek.

  Marianne’s green eyes sparkle in the sun. ‘I trust you,’ she says, briefly laying her head on his shoulder.

  It’s all she needs to say and he puts his arm around her and they breathe the salty air and gaze across the beginnings of the wide Atlantic to an ocean of unseen delights.

  *

  Patrick and the rest of the documentary team are due to arrive the following day for their week at Lowertown Farm. Edward considers himself the Advance Party, and after walking with Marianne back to the Parsonage via a late lunch sandwich at the Coastguards café, he leaves her to plan an evening meal while he consults Pam and her husband Ju
lian about prospective interviewees on St Agnes and St Mary’s.

  He is clearly in work mode when he returns and over a simple supper of spaghetti bolognaise, he relays what he has discovered and how he expects the next few days to pan out.

  ‘Pam and Julian have already earmarked several people to be interviewed regarding their roles in the day-to-day working of the islands,’ he says. ‘Farming is obviously an area to cover, but waste disposal is of particular interest, both sewage and domestic rubbish. We will also explore education, health care and building maintenance.’

  ‘We take so much for granted on the mainland,’ says Marianne.

  ‘At the core is population management and housing development, those from the older generation primed to tell stories passed on by their ancestors who suffered hardship in the 1800s.’

  Afterwards, they walk down to the Turk’s Head for a drink. The question of sleeping arrangements that night hasn’t been raised again but Edward is aware that Marianne has unpacked her things in the single bedroom.

  When the darkness begins to fall and they return to the flat under a blue-grey sky, Marianne says, ‘I’m glad you said what you said about Felicity. It makes a difference; in a good way.’

  He takes her hand as they pick their way carefully along the uneven stretch of path, wondering what this good-way difference might be and reminding himself that he might need to take the lead.

  In the flat, he makes tea for them both. ‘Just to demonstrate that being tea-lady is not the purpose for inviting you.’

  Marianne sits at the table, staring out into the night, reporting on the lighthouse beams and other flashing markers as they become visible.

  In between her sporadic comments, the silence in the room is audible.

  Edward sits on the sofa, making notes for the following day. After half an hour he puts his papers to one side and says, ‘Are you going to sit there forever? Come sit by me.’ He holds out his hand and she leaves her chair and slips down beside him. ‘Closer.’ She moves until her body touches his and he puts his arm around her shoulders and turns her gently towards him. And then he kisses her softly on the mouth, long and slow and lingering. She follows his lead, she closes her eyes.