Not That Kind of Girl

by Catherine Alliott

  Yes, that was my life, I thought miserably as I picked the car keys up from the table. The one I knew, the one I could do. The one I liked. Not this one. Whatever had possessed me to do this one? To throw it all away?

  I patted Dilly, knowing that Linda would look after her, then went out to the car. I carefully arranged a plastic bag over the seat of the MG and drove to the station. Now that paying to leave my car didn’t come as such a blinding shock, I had a clutch of pound coins ready for the attendant. I didn’t express naked astonishment at the transaction, nor riffle frantically in my bag apologizing profusely, nor write him an IOU on the back of a vet’s bill. I took it all in my stride, seasoned commuter that I was, and swept under the barrier. I knew the best place to park too, closest to the platform. Knew all the tricks. Could turn them, too, Marcus would no doubt rejoinder sourly. I hung my head in shame and walked doggedly to the train, catching it, casually, by seconds as Marcus had taught me. I had a quick look around the carriage just in case …no. No sign of him. That was probably a good thing, I reasoned, leaning my head back as I sat down, shutting my eyes. Unless of course I was going for the sympathy vote, in which case looking and feeling like death might well swing it for me.

  Once in London, I made a quick detour to the flat with my suitcase, then went back to Covent Garden. Laurie was extremely surprised to see me. In fact, he nearly choked on his pain au chocolat.

  ‘Henny!’ He stood up quickly from his desk, spraying crumbs everywhere and knocking his chair over backwards in his confusion. ‘I wasn’t sure – I mean, I didn’t expect –’

  ‘No, you didn’t expect me to come in, Laurie, and I can quite see why. If I had any sense, I wouldn’t be here.’ I flopped down wearily on one of the creamy sofas, misery making me casual. ‘My own cowardly inclination was simply not to pitch up at all, but your niece persuaded me otherwise. She felt I owed it to you to explain my outrageous behaviour yesterday. To explain why, when you offered me a mushroom risotto, I interpreted it as an invitation to ravage your body. She thought I should apologize, which I do, unreservedly. And now, please feel free to fire me.’

  I rested my head back on the cream damask and shut my eyes. Yes, fire me. Marvellous. I couldn’t resign for fear of looking culpable according to Penny the Sage, but the sack – oh, splendid. What a relief. God, I’d be so grateful. Then I could just go home. Except I couldn’t. My eyes filled with tears under my lids. I blinked them back, and through the haze, saw Laurie sit down opposite me. He perched on the edge of the sofa and leaned forward with a smile, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped.

  ‘I’m not going to fire you, Henny.’

  ‘Damn!’ I moaned, thumping the cushions with both fists.

  ‘I’ve never had so many tapes transcribed so quickly and so accurately. It took Emmanuelle weeks to do what you did in a day, so no. No dice, I’m afraid. As for your behaviour,’ he shrugged, ‘surely it’s easily explained away by the amount of narcotics and alcohol in your bloodstream. My only reservation about you staying on here, though …’

  ‘Yes?’ I sat up eagerly.

  ‘Is what Marcus will think.’ His eyes sidled nervously out of the window, as if half expecting to see Marcus pounding across the Piazza in his shirtsleeves and braces, dodging and weaving like a prize-fighter, fists balled in preparation for Laurie’s teeth.

  ‘Won’t he mind?’ he quaked.

  I sank back into the cushions again, defeated. ‘Oh no, Marcus won’t mind,’ I said blithely. ‘He’s chucked me out.’

  ‘Oh!’ Laurie looked astonished. Then horrified, as he considered the implications of this. ‘But Henny, where will you go?’ His face paled, nearing the colour of his biscuit linen jacket. He looked like a man on the receiving end of a paternity suit. ‘I mean –’

  ‘I’ve got the flat in Kensington, remember?’

  ‘Ah yes.’ His face cleared dramatically. ‘Of course.’

  I smiled ruefully. ‘Relax, Laurie. One kiss places you under no obligation. You are not The Other Man. Rest assured, I have no plans to get into your distressed corduroys, nor to go around Peter Jones looking at toasters with you. Your body, and your desirable townhouse, are safe with me.’ I heaved myself to my feet. ‘And now, since you’re determined to drag this thing out and extend my contract beyond two days – and frankly, beyond all reasonable limits – just point me in the direction of the box of tapes, there’s a good chap. I’ll go and chain myself to the computer. I hope you’ve got a truckload for me, incidentally. I want to type myself senseless. Wednesday’s performance will pale into insignificance compared to what I’ve got in store for you today.’ I flexed my fingers. ‘Lead me to Anne of Cleves and her saucy philandering, I’ll soon show her the error of her ways.’

  He smiled up at me. ‘Brave words, Henny, but you look like a prisoner going to the gallows. Don’t you want to talk about it? Tell me what Marcus said?’

  I shook my head, willing the tears not to fall. Not to soak his exquisite Turkish carpet until the colours ran.

  ‘No thanks,’ I muttered. ‘He’s just a very angry man at the moment, Laurie. But hopefully he’ll calm down. Hopefully he’ll get over it.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ he said warmly. He hesitated. ‘Um, would it help if I spoke to him? Reassured him that nothing …you know?’ He tailed off.

  I focused on him properly for the first time, truly grateful. ‘No, but thank you. Thank you for that. I consider that the true hand of friendship.’

  Relief flooded his face, clearly overjoyed he didn’t have to make that call. He got smartly to his feet.

  ‘Right,’ he rubbed his hands together with brisk finality. ‘Well I’ll get on then, if you don’t mind. Got a load of correspondence and admin to do today, so I’ll be here at my desk, scribbling.’

  ‘And would it be all right if I went in there?’ I nodded my head towards Emmanuelle’s old room. ‘I just think I might be able to concentrate better.’

  ‘Sure! No, do. Absolutely.’ He grinned. ‘Absolument!’

  I tried to grin back, but my mouth wasn’t having it. That all seemed so long ago now, that jolly banter of yesterday.

  Soulfully, I shifted my few belongings: my box of tapes, my notebook, my little packet of paperclips, from one room to another. I seemed to be moving rather a lot recently, I observed. And it wasn’t Laurie’s presence that had prompted the relocation. I wasn’t distracted by his beauty or anything like that – no, far from it. Now that I’d bitten into that particular poisoned apple and spat it out, it no longer held any charms for me. No, I just wanted to be on my own in case I needed to …well, howl. Or puke. I’m sure Laurie understood.

  As I rearranged my new office, I heard him moving around. Making calls, then a cup of coffee. He kindly brought one in for me. Set it down beside me.

  ‘If it’s any consolation,’ he whispered, ‘I was terribly flattered to be ravaged by you yesterday. Enjoyed it immensely.’

  I blushed and raised a smile. ‘Couldn’t ravage a paper bag today, Laurie. Look at me. Actually, don’t.’

  I peered into a tiny mirror Emmanuelle had thoughtfully hung over her computer, the better to apply her pre-lunch lipstick, no doubt. Bags and lines blazed back. Laurie patted my shoulder, rather as one might pat a smelly old retriever. ‘You look fine to me,’ he said kindly.

  I tapped away for an hour or two, and then I sent Marcus an email. We always contacted each other at some point during the day, usually with a phone call, but recently, with Angus’s help, I’d got the hang of this more modern, and certainly today, more appropriate, form of communication. I hesitated before I sent it, but – no. I wasn’t about to change the polite habits of a lifetime, I thought staunchly.

  Dear Marcus,

  I’ve come to work today purely to explain my extraordinary behaviour to Laurie. I will resign now, if you want me to.

  Henny

  Half an hour later, I got one winging back.

  Certainly not. Now that we are running two
households, we will need two incomes.

  Marcus

  I stared at it, dumbfounded. Two households? After a single kiss? A single trifling, piffling indiscretion? Oh, the man was insane!

  Furious, I typed up a storm, sending the keys skipping and dancing, frankly amazed that steam didn’t pour from the keyboard. I transcribed reams and reams of manuscript tapes, some dating back as long ago as 1998, I noticed, since Laurie always dated them, and at length, exhausted, I took a pause for breath. As I removed the headphones and sank back in my chair, the telephone rang. I answered, but no one spoke. Odd, I thought, replacing the receiver. That had happened yesterday, before I went to lunch with Laurie. Before Lunch with Laurie – oh God! I rested my elbows on my desk and put my head in my hands. Was everything going to be Before Lunch with Laurie or After Lunch with Laurie? BLWL or ALWL for the rest of my life? Was it such a defining moment?

  At five o’clock, I put my head around his door. ‘I’m going now, Laurie.’

  He looked up from his writing, pen poised. Gave a sad smile. ‘You’ve been in there all day.’

  I shrugged. Made a face. Couldn’t speak.

  ‘You all right?’

  I nodded, but I was very tired now. Very emotional.

  He smiled gently. ‘See you Monday, then. If you feel up to it.’

  I gulped. ‘Bye,’ I managed. ‘See you Monday.’

  Yes, of course, it was Friday. And I had the whole weekend ahead of me. The whole weekend in that flat. Alone. At least the children weren’t around to witness all this, I thought with a shiver. At least they were safely back at school. Before I went down the stairs, I popped back to my desk and sent them both an email.

  Hiya!

  How’s it all going? Miss you lots and love you loads,

  M.xxxxx

  Lily, I knew, would write back immediately, a gushing message with an eagerness that made my heart lurch and wonder if we’d done the right thing by sending her to boarding-school, even though she swore she loved it.

  ‘You know all those Mallory Towers books, Mummy,’ she’d said to me, her eyes shining as we’d picked her up from her first half-term, ‘when the girls are all jumping on the beds in the dorm and using their hairbrushes as microphones? Well, that’s just how it is! Every day!’

  And I’d been so relieved. Angus had been more taci-turn.

  ‘Do you like it?’ I’d asked anxiously in the school quad, piling his stuff in the boot at his respective half-term.

  ‘Yeah, it’s fine.’ He went round and got in the front seat.

  ‘Really? You really love it?’ I shut the boot and ran around to the driving seat.

  He gave me a withering look as he reached for his seat belt. ‘Love it? Mum, it’s school.’

  And he’d take his time to respond to the email, too. Be more considered, more cool, but actually, no less loving.

  My eyes filled as I walked down the stairs to the front door. As I closed it softly behind me and walked towards the Tube, I thought of them both; in prep now perhaps, or maybe lining up for tea: Lily, giggling with her girlfriends at the salad bar, Angus, coming in from football covered in mud without a care in the world, laughing with his mates, his voice at that unpredictable half-man-halfboy stage. I smiled, in spite of myself. But as I crossed the Piazza, deep in thought … it was strange. I glanced around at the crowds. I had the oddest feeling. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but …it was almost as if I was being watched.

  Chapter Eleven

  I couldn’t go straight back to the flat, just couldn’t. It would be cold and empty and I’d feel very alone there on a Friday night. Oh, we’d used the place a bit, Marcus and I, had one or two drinks parties even, but I don’t think I’d ever put my feet up and watched television there. It wasn’t a home in that sense and I shivered at the thought of making it one. Instead, on an impulse, I took the Circle Line from Embankment to Sloane Square and walked a long way down the King’s Road. Eventually I turned into Limerston Street and passed the Sporting Page on the corner. Tables and chairs had been set up outside the pub on this mild October evening, and a few people had already gathered for a drink after work. Two roads further on, my feet becoming weary now, I halted outside some pretty white mews houses. I gazed up at number eleven, then walked up the black and white chequered steps, noting with a smile the elegant lead window-boxes and the Versailles pots frothing over with a charming white flower I’d never seen before and couldn’t begin to identify. It would doubtless be unavailable anyway to the likes of me, and sourced only through word of mouth by the cognoscenti from some obscure nursery in Gloucestershire. No common-or-garden geraniums here.

  I rang the bell and after a moment Benji opened the door. He took a theatrical stagger backwards, then beamed at me, clasping his hands in delight, like a small boy regarding a new bicycle.

  ‘What a treat! We were just saying we craved company tonight but couldn’t be bothered to go out and find any, and you would have been right at the top of our list.’ He held out his arms, and I walked into them. ‘What a surprise! What the devil are you doing up in The Smoke, Hens?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Well, tell Uncle Benji then. Come, come!’ He released me and tugged playfully at my arm, pulling me bossily inside, but maddeningly – and it was probably the hug that had done it – my eyes filled with tears. He stopped, his hand on my arm. ‘Oh Lord. What is it, dear heart? What?’

  Emotion, at this point, got the better of me, so much so that however much my brother coaxed and cajoled, he had to wait, as Penny had had to, until the sobbing and catchy-breath routine had been gone through. Once the shuddering had subsided he managed to manoeuvre me down the hall and into the sitting room – a pretty, chintzy room with botanical prints on every conceivable fabric, brimming with tasteful trinkets – hustling me to a sofa in the window piped to within an inch of its life in shocking pink, and made a space for me amongst the tapestry cushions and the West Highland terriers. Falteringly and gaspingly, I told my tale. When I’d finished, he passed me a tissue from an embroidered box beside him and held my hand as I wiped my face with the other.

  ‘Lordy,’ he said finally, with feeling.

  ‘Quite,’ I muttered miserably, clutching my wet tissue. ‘Lordy.’

  ‘What a cock-up.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like that expression,’ I sniffed, blowing my nose.

  ‘I don’t, as a rule, accompanied by the usual heterosexual titter in our direction, but in extremis, I’ll make an exception. And speaking of cock-ups, you don’t think Marcus thinks …’

  ‘No!’ I gasped, horrified. ‘No, Benji, he was there! He saw us with his own eyes and we were both fully clothed.’

  ‘I know, but he might think it had happened before, mightn’t he?’

  ‘When?’ I squeaked. ‘I’d only been working there for two days, only known him two days!’

  ‘Well, you managed to get him in a fairly compromising position in that short space of time,’ he reasoned. ‘Marcus might well be wondering what went on on Day One, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, you mean, as I arrived for work on my first day? Panting up the stairs in my coat, running into his office and launching myself at Laurence De Havilland in a headlong dive, surfing over his desk and sticking my tongue down his throat?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to put myself in Marcus’s shoes.’

  ‘Well, don’t,’ I snapped. ‘No one can wear Marcus’s size nines and stay reasonable. Oh, it’s all such a nonsense.’ I got to my feet and paced about the room clutching the tops of my arms. ‘Such a huge overreaction, it’s not true.’

  Benji sighed. ‘It is a reaction, though. A natural reaction. You’ve got to accept it as such, my love. Let him get over it. And given time, he will.’

  Through the French windows at the far end of the room, I could see a tall figure out in the leafy enclosure tying overblown dahlias to canes in the fading light. His blond head was bent to his task.


  ‘As you would if it were Francis? You’d get over it?’

  I felt Benji hesitate behind me. ‘It’s never happened, to my knowledge, so I don’t know. But …it’s almost harder for us. So we’re more careful.’

  I turned. ‘Harder? Why?’

  ‘Because men are naturally more promiscuous. And there happen to be two of them in this relationship. We don’t have the glue, either.’

  ‘The glue?’

  ‘Marriage, children. That’s your safety net. No one wants to wreck all of that. No, we have to rely on love.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Boring old love.’

  I turned back to the garden and watched as Francis worked. Well, they certainly had a surfeit of that, I thought, as I considered what he’d said.

  I think I’d always suspected that Benji was gay, but my parents certainly hadn’t. They’d nearly died on the spot when, walking back up the Finchley Road one night after a meal out with friends in their local Italian, they’d discovered their son kissing a boy in a car outside their block of flats. Both boys were seventeen, and the other lad was the son of some friends of theirs.