Looking for Alex

by Marian Dillon

  ‘It didn’t sound so clear-cut to me,’ Fitz said. ‘Wasn’t his marriage finished anyway? It would have had to happen some time.’

  ‘Keep talking,’ I said. ‘You’re making me feel better already.’

  Perversely this seemed to shut him up, until eventually I asked what he was thinking.

  ‘I’m thinking nothing seems to have worked out easy for either of us. And here we are tonight, chasing the past, which was complicated enough. Here, this way.’

  We rounded the corner to see a boy on a skateboard flying down a ramp towards us. Fitz grabbed my arm and pulled me towards him and as our shoulders collided I stumbled on some cobbles. He put one hand briefly in the small of my back to steady me.

  ‘Watch yourselves!’ he shouted at the boy and his friends, and got an unnaturally polite ‘Sos mate!’ in response.

  ‘Ah, so middle-class these days, the skaters,’ he said, laughing.

  I said, ‘Jenny and Michael had a simple life, didn’t they? At least, I thought so at the time. Do you still see them?’

  ‘I keep in touch, but, no, I haven’t seen them for a long time. They’re still on the farm, got three children now.’ He said that he was godfather to the first, Lottie, and that she’d got her own children now, and I said how impossible that seemed. ‘I don’t know that their life was really that simple though. They had some big money problems, both had to get proper jobs. But they still grow things and sell them at market. I think they’re happy.’

  ‘I’d like to see Jenny again,’ I said. ‘She was so kind to us.’

  ‘She didn’t grass on Alex, you know,’ Fitz said abruptly. ‘I asked her once. She said she did consider ringing the police, but she was ill just after we left and all she could think about was not losing the baby.’

  ‘Poor Jenny,’ I said. ‘What a responsibility we all were.’

  Fitz glanced at me keenly, as if weighing up his next question. ‘Did you ever talk to Alex’s mother?’ he said. ‘About how she found her?’

  We’d reached the pub, a respectably shabby place with a long list of beers. It was a Thursday night, busy, smokers hanging around outside. I sat down at one of the tables to take a lump of grit out of my shoe, catching the faint whiff of cannabis in the air, and at the same moment Heart of Gold drifted out of an open window, the plaintive sound of Neil Young’s voice. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise and for a moment sat absolutely still, gazing at the ground, my foot half in, half out of the shoe, wondering if Fitz remembered how much he used to play this song, how much I loved it.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I never spoke to her. She didn’t want to see me. I told the police everything and I guess she got all her information from them.’

  ‘So…you never found out?’

  ‘Fitz—’ I looked up from fastening my strap ‘—you don’t think it was me, do you?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. I just wondered, you know, if you’d ever seen her since.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. My mother did, years ago now, somewhere in town. They chatted for a while but Mrs Day didn’t want to talk about Alex. She obviously hadn’t heard from her.’ I stood up. ‘Come on.’

  We went into the pub. Ordering the drinks, I asked the Aussie barman what time Midnight Blue would be on.

  ‘Ah, they’re on second.’ He placed my white wine on the bar and topped up Fitz’s pint. ‘After the guy with the guitar, can’t remember his name. Then it’s Shamen at the end. They’re a bit heavy, though,’ he added, looking up from the pump. ‘Shamen, I mean.’

  ‘He thinks we’re too old for anything raucous,’ Fitz huffed, leading us through to a long narrow room with a low stage at one end. ‘I was listening to “heavy” before he was a twinkle in his father’s Foster’s.’

  The room was already packed and a little steamy; this, and the thought that soon I was going to see Alex walk onto that stage, was making me jittery. I headed for the last empty table at the back of the room.

  Soon after the lights went down and the ‘guy with the guitar’ ambled on and began his set. His name turned out to be Guy. Fitz grinned.

  ‘Not too hard to remember,’ he said.

  His songs were listenable, in a James Taylor-ish sort of way, but really I wasn’t that interested and just wanted him to finish. When at last he went off to lukewarm applause, with a few louder cheers from one table near the front, the house lights came on and Fitz got up.

  ‘I’m going for a smoke,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll get the drinks.’

  I said I didn’t know he still smoked and he said, ‘I don’t. Only under pressure.’

  Left to myself I got more and more impatient and started to envy Fitz his cigarette; if I hadn’t thought we’d lose our table I’d have joined him, which would have been a first for a long time. Come on, Alex, come on. I started spinning a beer mat on the table, counting how many times it landed picture side up, willing Fitz to come back with my wine. When I next glanced at the stage she was there. Alex. She carried a glass of water, which she set down, and a guitar, which she rested on a stand. There was no mistaking her.

  Although her face was less elfin, rounded with age and a little more weight, those deep, dark eyes were the same as she surveyed the audience. I thought she must see me but somehow her gaze missed, slid right over this corner. Unobserved I took in the rest of her: hair that was dyed vibrant red, cut in a smooth bob; black jeans and a tight scarlet top; stilettos; a good figure, still. The whole package made her seem at least ten years younger than she was. She looked stunning. I felt my breath catch in my throat. Watching her flash a smile at the crowd, I wanted to stand up and shout, ‘Here, Alex! Over here!’

  One by one the other members of the band took their places on the stage and as the lights went down I turned to see where Fitz had got to, imagining him transfixed, staring up at the stage, a glass in each hand. He wasn’t there.

  They went straight into a gutsy song, a bit bluesy, a bit folky, all about being a miner’s girl. Alex’s voice was clear and strong, surprisingly so; I didn’t remember such clarity from school days. I watched her now, hypnotised, my only distraction being Fitz’s disappearing act. We’d come all this way to see her and he was missing it.

  After the first song Alex talked to the audience and I caught my breath, listening to the high timbre of her voice, the flat northern vowels instantly familiar; for a moment I was back in the classroom, listening to her tell a spicy story to a hushed huddle of girls. Her eyes were scanning the room as she spoke; this time they found me. There was the briefest of pauses in what she was saying, just a longer breath between two sentences that no one else would have noticed, but I knew she’d registered me. I panicked then that it would throw her, put her off her stride, but she carried on smoothly.

  The songs were good; some covers and some their own. Occasionally Alex played guitar — another new skill — but mostly she just sang, hugging the microphone with both hands and completely focused on her delivery. Soon she had the audience with her and at the end they managed two encores. Finally, preparing to go off for the last time, Alex beamed round the room, raising her hands to applaud the audience. She avoided my eyes, although I held my own hands high, clapping hard.

  When the house lights came on most of the crowd went through to the main bar, swapping places with the Shamen fans, who started to colonise vacant tables. I stayed put and waited, a little self-conscious, a middle-aged woman in white linen trousers surrounded by Death’s-Head T-shirts. As Midnight Blue began to dismantle their equipment Alex said something to the drummer and walked off stage towards me. I swallowed hard as nerves tightened my throat.

  ‘Hello, Beth.’ Alex stopped short of the table, cradling her guitar in front of her. ‘I wondered if you’d track me down.’ She nodded towards the stage. ‘Did you like it?’

  You’d think I’d just seen her yesterday. She stepped forward, a little nearer, and now I saw the threads of grey in with the red, and fine grooves etched around her eyes and mouth.


  ‘It was excellent.’ There was a pause. I’d imagined this moment so many times, wondering what I’d say, rehearsing opening lines, but in the face of Alex’s nonchalance all the momentous words faded away. ‘It’s good to see you.’ She dipped her head, some kind of assent. ‘You’ve got a great voice.’

  ‘Thanks. I never thought so but Steven persuaded me I can sing.’ Alex glanced round. ‘He’s the drummer.’ She sees me looking. ‘He’s just a friend.’

  Just then he called across. ‘Celia?’ She turned, and as I fleetingly wondered why, the reality of the name swap properly hit me. She went over to check something out with him and when she returned I asked if she wanted a drink. There was the briefest of hesitations.

  ‘Thanks.’ She put one hand on my arm. ‘To the band I’m Celia. Okay?’

  Before I could reply two glasses were set down on the table.

  ‘One pint and one glass of wine.’ Alex’s head shot up and I watched her eyes widen, the dark pupils dilating. ‘Hello, Alex,’ Fitz said. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Fitz!’ The shock on Alex’s face was absolute; my satisfaction at finally getting a response seemed almost cruel. Her gaze switched from one to the other of us in total confusion.

  I quickly said, to dispel any doubt, ‘We just met up, by chance. I happened to be working with Fitz’s cousin, Dan. Remember Dan?’

  ‘Yes.’ She seemed now to be avoiding eye contact with Fitz. I remembered how he’d described her leaving: slamming the door and screaming abuse. ‘Is this why you got in touch?’

  ‘Kind of. I suppose we were both curious to see if we could track you down.’ Thinking this sounded both lame and intrusive, I added, ‘There were other reasons.’

  She threw me a look but didn’t press me on that. ‘Well, this is bizarre. Fitz, as you’re offering, I think I’d like a large glass of white wine, please.’

  I passed mine over. ‘Here, have this.’ She tried to refuse but I insisted and Fitz went off to get me another. ‘You look like you need it,’ I said.

  ‘Too right.’ She sank heavily onto a chair and took a large gulp. ‘So you got your own back, Beth.’ I must have looked puzzled, and she threw me a wicked smile. ‘I mean, I guess it was a bit of a shock, to walk into that room and it was Celia, not me.’ I said that was the understatement of the year and she laughed and raised her glass. ‘Well, here’s to us all. However many years on — too many to mention.’

  The lights went down as Shamen began their set with a number that promised to be as raucous as the barman had warned; Alex pulled a face and drew one finger across her throat. We stood and made our way into the crowded main bar, where a group at one table offered to squash up. There was room for two, so that when Fitz brought my drink he hovered uncertainly beside us, until a man on the other side of the room called across, ‘Fitz! Hey!’ Fitz made his way over; I thought he looked relieved.

  ‘So how are you, Beth?’ Alex asked, her eyes searching mine. ‘How has life treated you?’

  For a while we did no more than play catch-up, giving each other the essence of our lives. Neither of us strayed into the past too much, except when I explained something fundamental — my marriage to Tim, my father’s death three years ago. Alex didn’t mention her family and I didn’t ask. The bare details I gathered were these: she worked for a children’s charity; she had never married; she lived with someone called Adrian and had done for years; she had a son, Jamie, who lived in Rome and taught English. She was learning Italian as she thought he might stay there a while. I asked how old he was and her eyes flickered. Twenty-two, she said, and that it was his birthday last week. Not Pete’s, then. She went on, ‘Adrian’s not his father, but he’s been like one to Jamie.’

  ‘Does he see his father?’

  ‘Yes, sometimes.’

  After this we were quiet. I thought we could either go on asking trivia or get to the point. We each took a drink. Sneaking a glance at Alex over the rim of my glass, I saw that she was gazing across the room at Fitz. She looked thoughtful. Fitz was talking animatedly but caught us looking and raised one hand. Back in two minutes, he signalled.

  ‘So what’s with you and Fitz?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing with me and Fitz.’

  She inclined her head towards him. ‘Is he married?’

  ‘No. He was. And he has a girlfriend.’

  ‘It must be pretty weird, to meet up after all this time.’ She winked. ‘Is there any of the old spark there?’

  I stared down into my glass, twisting it by the stem. ‘He told me about you two.’

  When I glanced up her smile had slipped, replaced by a watchful look. She picked up her wine and drank. ‘I see.’ She turned her head to look for the other members of her band. They were finished lugging equipment, having a pint at the bar. Steven saw her looking and raised his eyebrows; she gave a slight nod. ‘He probably shouldn’t have.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you didn’t really need to know. It was just a stupid mistake.’

  Across the room Fitz was standing up, shaking hands with the man, at the same time as Steven appeared at Alex’s side. She introduced me as an old friend, which I thought was rather understating things, but then what else could she say? There was an awkward moment when Steven asked how long I’d known Celia and for a fraction of a second I looked blank; and another when I almost called her Alex and changed it at the last minute. In an effort to play safe I asked him about the band. The next minute Alex had given Steven her seat and walked over to Fitz, so that I was left trying to concentrate on what Steven was saying while watching those two out of the corner of my eye. They stood close, heads bowed, talking earnestly, and a sudden hot wave of jealousy shot through me, as though I were fifteen years old and back at school, watching in despair as another girl talked to the boy I liked.

  It wouldn’t have been Alex, though. She’d have been too loyal.

  Next to me Steven had just said something and was patiently waiting for a response. He had a smile on his face, obviously aware that I didn’t have a clue what he’d asked.

  ‘There’s something going on here, isn’t there?’

  I sighed apologetically as Fitz and Alex walked towards us. ‘Sort of.’

  Alex picked her shoulder bag up off the back of the chair. ‘I have to go. Steven’s giving me a lift.’ At this cue Steven stood up. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It was great to see you, Beth. Lovely, really.’

  Her guitar was leaning on the wall; as she reached for it I put my hand on her arm. ‘Is that it?’ She looked startled. Steven and Fitz moved tactfully away, stood chatting by the door. ‘After all these years, that’s it?’ She hesitated. I pressed on. ‘Alex, I wanted to sort things out with you. I know it seems bizarre, now, but it’s important to me.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Like all the rows we had. All the misunderstandings. What happened to us. We were best friends and I missed you like mad when you disappeared. I wanted to just talk a bit longer.’ She was frowning, chewing her lip. ‘Maybe we could meet up again, somewhere on our own?’

  To my intense relief she agreed, although a little warily, and we arranged to meet in two days’ time, Saturday. It meant I’d have to stay an extra day in London and I was supposed to see Phil that day. But that was what she offered and I didn’t argue. I let her choose the place to meet, somewhere she knew in Covent Garden. Neither of us suggested swapping phone numbers. To me it felt too delicate, as though she were a horse that might bolt, but then after she’d left I felt that I somehow needed to secure her turning up. I went after her, urging Fitz to wait inside.

  She was halfway across the car park. I called, remembering just in time that Steven would hear.

  ‘Celia.’

  She turned and stopped while Steven carried on to his car. The tail lights flashed orange when he unlocked it, briefly lighting Alex’s face, and as he got in I walked across to her.

  ‘I didn’t tell your mother
where you were.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know.’

  ‘You know?’ Even to me my voice sounded incredulous.

  ‘Yes. She told me what happened.’

  ‘She told you? When?’

  Alex looked amused. ‘You still do it? That parrot thing? Look, we’ll talk on Saturday. I’ll see you then.’

  Before I could say anything else she was in the car and gone.

  *

  It was closing time before Fitz and I rolled out of the pub, having spent the last hour talking things through and sampling the whiskies behind the bar. In the cool night air I felt drunk on a tide of alcohol and high emotion, elated to have finally talked to Alex but pushing down a growing anger, something to do with the tough coolness she’d displayed towards me. That and the fact she would have just walked away at the end. But mostly it was because she’d found out she’d been wrong and could so easily have put things right between us, but had never bothered.

  Fitz was quiet as we walked, absorbed in his own thoughts.

  ‘Where did you disappear to?’ I suddenly asked, having forgotten all about it until now. ‘When the band was on?’

  ‘I just sat at the back of the room, out of the way, keeping my head down. Literally. They’d started while I was at the bar and I didn’t want to put Alex off by walking through the crowd in the middle of her set. You, she might have expected, sort of. But not me.’

  ‘You had a long talk to her at the end.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Did she swear you to secrecy?’

  He laughed. ‘No, nothing like that.’ He caught my arm and pulled me round; his eyes were not quite focused on mine, because like me he’d had one whisky too many. ‘Beth, how long did it take you to stop thinking about me every day?’

  The question punched into my brain, demanding an answer.

  ‘A long, long time. Two years, three years.’

  ‘And then sometimes you forgot, and when you remembered it was with a sort of ache that you had to just stuff down inside?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And dreams?’

  ‘Yes.’