by Molly Flatt
‘But back then I turned from happy to miserable, Mum, and this is exactly the opposite.’ Alex spread her palms. ‘I remained that miserable shadow for so many years, and now, well, now I’m . . .’
A ripple of sickness. A quiver of vertigo. She leaned over the side of her chair and reached into her bag, pretending to check her phone while she breathed the episode down. As her vision cleared, she saw a ghost army of missed calls and message symbols lurking behind the lock screen. Amongst them were four new voicemails from that anomalous landline she didn’t recognize. She really should . . .
‘Yes?’ her mother prompted gently. ‘Who exactly are you now, darling?’
Alex sat up. ‘Well, I’m back to being that happy little girl,’ she said. ‘Only I’m not little any more, am I? I’ve finally grown up. I’m independent. I’m strong.’
‘And Harry?’
‘Harry’s Harry. Harry’s lovely. Harry and I are fine. I’m just too busy to focus on sugared almonds right now, and he’s finding it a bit tough to adjust to my new obligations, that’s all.’ She paused. ‘It seems he’s not the only one.’
‘Darling—’
‘It’s okay, Mum.’ It was Alex’s turn to reach for her mother’s hand. ‘I understand. You’re only trying to protect me. But you have to trust me, really, I don’t need protecting any more. Now why don’t you tell me how things are going at the Abbey?’
Her mother gave her a knowing look and a laden sigh, but took her cue. As she embarked on a dissection of the political maelstrom that was the Fring Abbey summer fete, Alex glanced over at her father and winked. But her father was still watching her with that strange expression, and the smile he summoned up was as tight and shallow as the one he’d given the bookshop girl.
4
‘Al! I haven’t heard from you in ages. How – Bo! Sorry, hang on. BO!’
Leaning over the sink in the deserted Eudo loos, Alex added a third layer of mascara in an attempt to widen her tired eyes. On the counter beneath her, her mobile speakerphone disgorged the sound of Bo’s tinny voice negotiating for ‘yog raisnis’ over the Peppa Pig theme tune. It had been a relentless afternoon. First, she and Lenni had interviewed five potential COOs. Not one of them had been right. Then she’d had to jump in and help Gemma defuse a flame war about breastfeeding, on the Eudo messageboards. And throughout it all she’d been distracted by the conversation with her parents, unable to shake the feeling that she was under attack at a time when they should have been most proud. At least, thank God, Lockie’s police contacts hadn’t been able to dig up anything sinister about the Opa! guys.
‘Sorry.’ Mae came back on the line. ‘How are you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t make the party. Was it like one of those Apple launches? Are you going to start wearing nothing but black turtlenecks?’
Alex snorted. ‘It was fine. No, actually, it was great. Except Harry got all jealous, and some nutter tried to lift my handbag on the way home. And this morning some other nutter lied his way into my office and basically accused me of destroying his life. And then my parents decided to have some sort of crisis about me finally finding my mojo.’
‘No! Al! What? What do you mean? Are you okay?’
Alex sighed and swiped two determined lines of blusher across her cheekbones. ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘it’s all petty nonsense. I don’t even want to talk about it. I’m totally fine. Except—’
‘BO! I told you.’ There was a volley of sobs. ‘Hang on.’ Alex heard a cupboard door bang, the crackle of a packet, abrupt silence. ‘Sorry.’ Mae reappeared. ‘Just rewarding bad behaviour. He was supposed to be in bed half an hour ago, but he’s had way too much attention today. And way too much cake. What were you saying?’
‘I wanted to ask your advice about something.’ Since the night of Southampton Uni Freshers’ Ball, when a tiny, bolshy Singaporean-Mancunian had told Alex in no uncertain terms that she was never to wear yellow again, Mae had been the one friend Alex could trust to give her an honest perspective on her life. Not to mention that Mae was the only real friend that her semi-reclusive student self, who scurried home from university on the train every weekend, had managed to make. As the memories of their friendship bubbled up – Mae dragging Alex along to parties, Alex proof-reading Mae’s essays, the pair of them getting fits of giggles in the solemn art-house cinema – the dizziness that threatened an episode rose in their wake. Alex shook it off impatiently and focused on the task in hand. ‘Or, rather, I want your advice about someone,’ she corrected. ‘About Harry.’
‘Ah,’ Mae said.
Alex paused, lipstick hovering in the air. ‘Ah?’
‘What? No. I don’t – well, I just mean I’ve been wondering if you’d changed your . . . I mean, if something’s changed between you guys.’ Mae paused. ‘I mean, obviously I’ve got all your round-robin emails and group WhatsApps, but we haven’t actually talked since February.’ The slightest edge crept into Mae’s voice. ‘You haven’t returned any of my calls.’
‘I . . .’ Alex was about to defend herself, but then she realized she really didn’t want to bullshit Mae. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I know I’ve been crap. I’ve been a bit . . . a bit burnt-out. I don’t know, Mae, somehow it makes it harder, being with people who knew me. Who knew me before. When I’m trying to focus on all the amazing opportunities coming up now.’ She paused, swallowed. ‘To be honest, Mae, thinking about the past? Remembering what a loser I was? I get these . . . It makes me feel physically ill. Not that you’re my past,’ she added hurriedly, ‘God, no, you’re still my best, my only—’
‘Al,’ Mae interrupted laconically. ‘I get it. Don’t sweat it. You’re a famous badass businesswoman now. Although, for the record, you really weren’t that much of a loser before.’
‘I really am sorry. Once this first phase calms down and I have time to get a bit more sleep, venture further than Zone One—’
‘Al,’ Mae insisted. ‘I understand. This is your time, and you should make the most of it. It’s my fault for living out in the sticks. Now what did you want to ask about Harry?’
In the background Bo started singing along tunelessly to a plinky-plonky song. Alex planted her hands either side of the sink, took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. ‘Harry’s wonderful, isn’t he?’ she asked her reflection, its brownish eyes made glamorous by glittering shadow, its brownish hair highlighted to almost-gold. ‘About as good a guy as any woman could hope for? Thoughtful, successful, upstanding, kind?’
‘Um,’ Mae said slowly, ‘aren’t you the one who should be telling me?’
‘I know, I know,’ Alex sighed. ‘And I know he’s all those things, Mae. He’s always treated me like a princess. Our relationship is great. We never argue, except when he goes on one of his jealousy crusades, and that’s only because he loves me so much. I can think of a hundred women who would be desperate to marry Harry.’
‘Okaaaay. So?’
Plink-plonk, plink-plonk.
‘So . . . I just . . .’ Alex paused. ‘Can you remember how I reacted, when he proposed?’
‘How you reacted?’
‘Because I remember calling you, telling you he’d popped the question, but I can’t quite remember how I felt about it, weird as it sounds. I mean, was I excited? Did I sound – did I sound certain? Did I seem happy?’
Plink-plonk, plink-plonk. As Alex tried to focus on the memory of that New Year’s morning, picturing Harry on his knee in her parents’ frosty garden, his handsome face smiling up at her, his grandmother’s sapphire glinting from the open box, she felt the details start to slip and blur like wet water-colours and the vertigo start to slosh against her mind.
‘. . . don’t exactly like to talk about your feelings,’ Mae was saying. ‘Or you didn’t, back then. You’ve always been such a closed book, Al. Not like now. It was like you used to silently analyse every little action for all its potential consequences, like you were watching out for hidden traps. And then there’s the commitment issue. I mean, w
e both know you always had trouble committing to things – wholeheartedly, that is—’
The word landed like a bullet, shattering the encroaching episode. ‘Exactly!’ Alex cried, slapping the countertop. The void snapped shut and oxygen swept back through her veins. ‘God, Mae. That’s exactly what this is about.’ She shook her head incredulously, watching her hair catch the light. ‘Poor old Mum. I was starting to get so defensive, but as usual she was basically right. I’ve been in danger of running away like I used to, buying into the bullshit, limiting my power. That must be what my procrastinating with the wedding has been about. A trace of scared old Alex clinging on.’ She paused. She smiled deeply into her reflected eyes. She murmured, ‘It’s okay now, Alex. New Alex. I’m here. She’s gone.’
From the phone: ‘Al? Are you okay?’
‘You know what,’ Alex said, hurriedly slicking on two curves of lipstick, ‘I’m better than okay. I’m bloody brilliant. And I love you very much. And I’m sorry for being so rubbish recently, but I’m late for something very important, and I really have to go.’
‘Al—’
‘I’ll call and explain tomorrow. I promise I’ll try and call tomorrow. Okay?’
Mae hesitated, as if she had been about to say something else, but then she said, ‘Fine.’
Alex hit the red circle on her phone and scooped up her bag.
Harry had tried to get Alex to come to his flat. She was relieved, now, that she had held her ground and insisted they go out, on the basis that she’d had a terrible day and needed a treat. Gemma had pulled some last-minute strings, and when she rushed up the worn stone steps of L’Antiga Capella – the big new venture from a Catalan chef who’d made his name throwing word-of-mouth supper clubs – she saw that the setting could not have been more perfect. A stern Spanish hostess escorted her up the steps of the deconsecrated chapel and across the nave. Harry was at a table near the back, stabbing at his BlackBerry from behind two untouched shot glasses of red goo.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’ Alex allowed herself to be tucked under the stone slab. ‘You’ll forgive me everything, when you hear about my day.’ Unbidden, an image of Not John Hanley’s Gormenghast face and ballet-dancer thighs superimposed itself on the snowy tablecloth. Alex forced it away and focused on Harry’s Hollywood jaw, his Air Force-blue eyes, the classical proportions of his Virgin Active physique. ‘God, I’m starving. Do you mind?’ She downed both amuses-bouches.
‘ – pacho,’ the waiter said. He paused. ‘May I explain the menu?’
While he droned, Alex gazed at Harry, bathing his lovely features in attention – until a flash of bling from the dim cavern beyond his shoulder caught her eye. ‘Shit!’ she hissed. ‘Helena Pereira! Three o’clock! Shit, Harry! She would be the perfect, literally the perfect, brand ambassador for Eudo. Do you think it would be totally inappropriate for me to—’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘I think it would.’
Alex collected herself. She unfolded her napkin. She let the silence settle. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I find it so hard to switch off. But I know I need to, Harry, I do. I need to get some balance back. And on that subject, there’s something I want to say.’ She took a deep breath and gave him a shy smile from under her lashes. ‘What I want to say to you is . . . let’s do it.’
Harry frowned, glass of tap halfway to his lips. ‘Do what?’
Alex let the smile spread into a grin. ‘The wedding, you idiot! Let’s bloody well get hitched.’ She leaned over the table and wrapped her arms round his neck for a kiss. He was slow to respond, obviously dazed. She felt a pang of guilt. How long she had kept him waiting. How nearly he must have given up hope. ‘You’ve been so patient,’ she said, settling back into her chair. ‘I know Eudo has kind of taken over everything recently, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today, and I’m ready now. I really am.’
‘Alex—’
‘No, wait.’ Alex held up her hand. ‘Lenni, Ahmed, Dale, everyone at work would say I’m mad to be thinking about a wedding right now. But I don’t care. I don’t want to hold myself back on any front any more, professional or personal. And I know your parents might not like it, but honestly, I’d rather not get bogged down by some big fat St Albans do. Let’s just take ourselves off to Shoreditch Town Hall one weekend and tie that knot as tight as we can.’ She stretched out her hand and cupped it over his. ‘Baby, I’m not afraid any more. I know we can make this a success.’
The waiter brought the food. Alex stuffed a forkful of something beige and grainy into her mouth. Harry adjusted the position of his knife.
‘Have you phoned Mae?’ he asked.
Alex blinked. ‘Have I what?’
He looked up, the Air Force blues direct on hers. ‘Did you call Mae today?’
Alex squinted at him. ‘Mae? Well, yes, I did, as a matter of fact, half an hour ago. That’s why I was late. I needed to ask her opinion on – on Lenni. But what on earth has that got to do with . . . Harry, did you hear what I just said?’
Harry lowered his gaze and fiddled with his napkin, looking shifty. ‘Okay. In that case, I apologize. I admit, I thought you’d forgotten about Bo.’
‘Bo?’ Alex paused, thoroughly confused. ‘Forgotten what about Bo?’
Harry stopped fiddling. His eyes narrowed. ‘So you did forget?’
‘Forget what? What are you trying to—’
‘It’s Bo’s second birthday today, Alex,’ Harry said. ‘Bo, your godson. Did you even mention it? Or were you too busy talking about Lenni?’
‘I don’t . . . what has this—’
‘Let alone a card? A present?’
Alex set down her fork. ‘Harry? What’s going on?’
Harry sighed. ‘I didn’t want to come here. To come out. I wanted to talk properly at home.’ He hesitated. ‘I had no idea you were planning to bring up the wedding yourself.’
Alex felt the mush start to curdle in her chest. ‘I don’t understand. I thought you’d be over the moon. Why are you so upset about one tiny slip concerning Bo?’
‘It’s not Bo. Well, it’s not only Bo. It’s symptomatic.’
Alex forced herself to swallow. ‘Symptomatic?’
Harry sighed again. ‘You’ve changed, Alex. Look, I’m sorry, I know it’s been an important period for you, these past six months, and you’ve achieved an awful lot. But, frankly, I feel like you’ve become a very different woman from the one I first met.’
Alex closed her eyes. Silently she repeated Chloe’s affirmations three times. Then she opened her eyes again and gave Harry the same calm smile she’d bestowed on her mother. ‘Darling,’ she said. ‘It’s alright. I know this must be challenging for you. I know that the power dynamic in our relationship has shifted pretty fast. But you have to understand: I’m still the same Alex underneath it all. Just with the rubbish bits taken out.’
‘But that’s exactly it,’ Harry said. ‘I’m beginning to suspect that what you consider to be your “rubbish bits” weren’t rubbish to me at all.’
‘Come on.’ Alex gave an incredulous laugh. ‘You can’t seriously mean that you liked the fact that I was so miserable? So directionless? So . . . so weak? Even thinking about it now makes me—’
‘But you see, what you call weak,’ Harry interrupted, unsmiling, ‘I experienced as moderate and thoughtful and sensitive. The woman I fell in love with didn’t forget her godson’s birthday. She didn’t fail to ask what was going on in other people’s lives because she simply assumed they couldn’t be as interesting as hers. She didn’t air her private thoughts in public, she didn’t want to spend all her time with a rabble of autistic men. And she certainly didn’t think that having her name splashed all over a Tube weekly was the ultimate achievement in life.’ He paused, flushed. The waiter approached their table, smiled, opened his mouth, then veered away without breaking pace.
Quietly Alex said, ‘Listen to yourself, Harry. Are you seriously saying that you loved me when I was small and fearful, but you can’t h
andle me now I’m spreading my wings? Are you really that Victorian?’
Harry was wearing the face she hated most, what she called his Puritan face. In one expression, it summoned the St Albans Bell Ringing Society, his black Marks & Spencer work shoes, his dislike for olives and the fact that his favourite book was Tuesdays with Morrie.
Alex shovelled up another forkful of mush, even though she had entirely lost her appetite. ‘Be honest,’ she said, after a long silence. ‘Is this a God thing?’
The Puritan face reached its Platonic ideal.
‘Because I’ve never let it get in the way of our relationship, Harry,’ she continued, chomping vigorously. ‘I’ve made a lot of effort to respect your beliefs. But if this is some kind of deep-rooted, Old Testament Madonna-whore crisis, I—’ She gulped down a great soggy bolus. ‘I mean, Jesus, you don’t really buy that stuff anyway, do you? You don’t go to church. You don’t hate gay people. You don’t even pray.’
‘This is precisely what I mean,’ Harry said coldly, looking with distaste at the bits of grain she had sprayed in his water glass. ‘I think you’re the one who needs to listen. I don’t recognize the woman saying those words.’
Alex took a deep breath and searched Harry’s eyes for the man she loved, for the man who always talked to the most awkward-looking person in a room and who used to make her packed lunches with notes hidden inside. She reminded herself of his addiction to old Astaire and Rogers movies. She thought about the way he adored Bo.
‘Okay,’ she said, leaning forward. ‘You want the truth? Half the time I don’t even recognize myself. This transition isn’t exactly easy for me, either, you know. It’s like this great force has exploded inside my brain, inside my body, and I’m having to sprint to keep up. I’m knackered, Harry. Sometimes I feel like I’m on the edge of this . . . this void, and that if I stop sprinting for just a second I’ll fall right in. But I also feel free for the first time ever, and I have no alternative but to keep going, now I’ve got out of my rut. I’m sure things will settle down soon, but honestly’ – she shook her head – ‘honestly, I can’t believe you can’t see how much better I am now.’