Not That Kind of Girl

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Well, I’ve seen him since – I work for him, Marcus. But I haven’t seen him socially, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Haven’t had lunch? A drink after work?’

  ‘Marcus, he’s shagging a TV producer at Channel Four. This week. Last week it could have been someone different, but it was never me. Never would or could have been me, even if I’d wanted it to be, which I didn’t. I’m far too old for him,’ I added generously.

  He nodded soberly. ‘Yes, I can see that.’

  I blinked. Blimey.

  He scuffed his toe and gazed down at the floor. When he looked up, his eyes were full. His voice cracked when he spoke.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

  I boggled. Sorry again? Sorry twice.

  ‘Oh no, darling.’ I stumbled towards him. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry.’

  I fell into his arms and we clutched each other tight. I could hear his heart beating against mine. He smelled of lambswool, of shaving cream, of alpha male. Of Marcus.

  ‘I’ve been such a fool,’ he whispered. ‘So full of stupid, ridiculous pride.’

  My heart lurched, full of guilt.

  ‘No, I’ve been a fool,’ I cried, anguished. ‘It’s me! I’ve been so stupid!’

  He shrugged. ‘You got drunk. It happens.’

  ‘Yes, but …’ I bit my lip, stared guiltily into his blue sweater. Tears filled my eyes.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said huskily in my ear.

  ‘And I’ve missed you too,’ I sobbed, and in another instant, as our heads whipped round and his lips found mine, we were kissing madly.

  ‘Oh Marcus,’ I gasped, when we finally came up for air, holding each other tight, ‘haven’t we been ridiculous?’

  ‘Puerile,’ he agreed. ‘So much we nearly threw away. So much. What a waste that would have been. What a stupid, ridiculous waste.’

  ‘And actually,’ I sniffed, reaching for a tea-towel to mop my eyes, blow my nose too, ‘I only realized how much I loved you when all this happened. I mean – I always knew, obviously, but nearly losing you, nearly having it all taken away …’

  ‘I always knew,’ he said softly. He took a step back and regarded me steadily at arm’s length, his hands on my shoulders. ‘Have always known you were the only one. I think that’s why I reacted so childishly.’

  I gazed into his honest dark eyes, so full of love, full of warmth, and felt humbled. He’d always known. He’d never wavered, as I had, so very recently. He’d never considered an affair; considered someone else. It was my turn to hang my head. After a moment though, I raised it.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ I said decisively.

  His eyes widened. ‘Good Lord. Are you instigating sex?’

  I giggled. ‘When was the last time I did that?’

  ‘1991, according to my records. Every night for a month, but that was only because you were keen to conceive Lily and you’d read somewhere that blanket-bombing the eggs changed the nature of the sperm and would result in a girl-child.’

  ‘Well, it obviously worked.’

  ‘Clearly. And I have very fond memories of that time. It’s the only time I can remember gasping, “No! No more! Not again!” as you shimmied into the bedroom wearing nothing but a baby-hungry look in your eyes.’

  ‘No stamina, that’s your trouble.’

  He took my face in his hands and kissed my mouth hard. ‘Don’t bank on it,’ he murmured.

  For a moment there, as his eyes blazed hotly into mine, I was transported back in time. Back to his Holland Park flat, in fact, just after the split from Rupert, when he used to cook me supper after work. Only, on that occasion, on that particular evening, the kitchen table had been used for something else …I felt the pit of my tummy turn to liquid. Felt a degree of heat generate through my body. Why, of course, I thought in surprise. Lust. Benji would be proud of me. Although I wasn’t sure I was up to the kitchen table these days.

  ‘Come on,’ I murmured, leading him stairwards. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Have you shut the chickens up?’

  ‘Oh, Marcus!’ I stopped.

  ‘Only asking – it’s just the fox is about and I don’t think Bill’s done it. Where is bloody Bill?’ He frowned. ‘Tell you what, you go up and warm the bed, darling. I’ll be up in a jiffy.’

  He hastened out of the back door, leaving me smiling fondly after him, and then, with a lovely warm feeling inside, I mounted the stairs. My stairs. In my house. With my hand brushing the shiny oak banister I’d stripped myself and then had French polished at vast expense. I paused at the landing window; gazed out at the inky night with its sprinkling of stars. I could just make out the post and rails at the bottom of the garden: the stream, the horses beyond. My view. My horses. My home. And it was so good to be back.

  In the bedroom, I slowly got undressed, pausing occasionally to rearrange objects on my dressing-table which hadn’t been put back in quite the right place – photos, ornaments – still smiling foolishly the while. As I was peeling off my bra, the phone rang. I plucked it from the bedside table.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mummy? It’s me.’

  ‘Lily! Darling, how lovely.’ I turned as Marcus came in behind me. Lily, I mouthed.

  He nodded. Smiled as he began to undress, his eyes travelling down my bare back.

  ‘Mummy, it’s our school play on Friday, had you remembered?’

  ‘I had, my love, and you’re Friar Tuck.’

  ‘No, Maid Marion now, because Daisy Forbes is in the san, which is so much better. Except I have to kiss Lizzie Stanley.’

  ‘Robin Hood?’

  ‘Yes, but only an air kiss. Are you coming down?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘With Daddy?’ Her voice sounded a bit strained. I stood up straight.

  ‘Of course with Daddy. Why not?’

  ‘Oh good.’ She sounded relieved. ‘Oh Mummy, I’m so pleased.’

  ‘Why, my love?’

  ‘Well, I’m probably just being stupid and maybe it was Grandpa dying and everything, but you both seemed …I don’t know. A bit strange. And then Celia Parker’s parents split up and she was crying in the dorm and – oh, I don’t know. I’ve just had awful thoughts about you and Daddy recently.’

  ‘What nonsense,’ I declared roundly. ‘You read too much, Lily. Either that or too much television.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed happily. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. See you both on Friday then? I’ll reserve two seats.’

  ‘On Friday, my darling. Night night.’ I put down the phone. ‘That was Lil,’ I said fondly. No response from behind me. I turned. ‘Marcus?’ His face was like stone. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The pants,’ he said, nodding down.

  ‘Pants?’ I glanced down. Sprigs of holly twinkled back at me. ‘Oh, they’re Benji’s. I stayed there last night. He lent them to me.’

  ‘Ah.’ His face cleared. He slipped into bed. ‘That would explain the festive motto on the bottom. I thought you’d been telling me porkies, Henny. Thought you’d got mixed up in some vile sex ring while you’d been in London.’

  ‘Why?’ I frowned over my shoulder, trying to read it. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Santa’s little humper.’

  ‘Oh!’ I giggled and slipped in beside him.

  ‘I was about to hotfoot it to Santa’s grotto,’ he murmured in my ear, ‘and give him a piece of my mind.’

  I chuckled as he took me in his arms. ‘Chickens all tucked up?’

  He kissed my nose. ‘They are, but I had to do it myself. Bill’s nowhere to be seen. Hope he hasn’t finally gone to Clacton like he’s always threatened, to live with that widowed sister of his.’

  Oh Lord, I thought guiltily. Maybe he has. But actually, I had other things on my mind. It had occurred to me just now that I didn’t want my heart lurching every two seconds as it had over the pants incident. Didn’t want continually to be wondering what Marcus knew, or imagined, or was abou
t to find out. As he snuggled up to me, I took a deep breath.

  ‘Marcus, I ran into Rupert Ferguson while I was in London.’

  He moved his head back on the pillow, the better to see me. ‘Oh? That sad loser. What did he want?’

  ‘Oh just – you know, to chat. Catch up. Why loser? Why d’you say that?’

  ‘Well, anyone who cocks up his life as comprehensively as he has isn’t what you might call a winner, is he? He hasn’t exactly come first in life’s lottery, has he?’

  ‘You mean because he ditched me at the church door?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t imagine that’s coloured his life for the better,’ he said with a snort. ‘You make a prat of yourself in front of your family, your friends, your Commanding Officer, all your colleagues – doesn’t do much for your reputation, does it?’ He turned and reached for his alarm clock. Began to set it for the morning.

  ‘So …you don’t mind that I’ve seen him?’ I propped myself up on one elbow and stared at his profile as he frowned into the clock’s dials. ‘We spent quite some time together …catching up,’ I said bravely.

  He laughed and checked the time with his watch. ‘Henny, if you’re wondering whether I’m going to go off the deep end about you meeting up with that guy, you can relax. I’ve got a bit more faith in your judgement. An obvious charmer like Laurie had me worried, I’ll admit, but a man who’s never recovered from losing his bottle – no. Rest assured, I won’t be losing any sleep over him. I haven’t spent the last fifteen years wondering if you secretly wish he’d pitched up at that church, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ He sighed, put the clock back on the table and rubbed his eyes. ‘Six o’clock start tomorrow I’m afraid. Got a meeting at eight.’

  ‘Right,’ I muttered.

  ‘I imagine that decision has wrecked his life?’ He turned back to me, pulling the duvet over his shoulder.

  ‘A bit,’ I admitted.

  ‘And he never married?’

  I hesitated. ‘He did, but …oh, it’s complicated.’

  ‘Bound to be,’ he grinned, taking me in his arms again. ‘And frankly, I couldn’t be less interested, but what I’d really like to know is why you insist on doing so much talking, when you promised so much action?’

  Some time later, as I was lying back on my pillows, gazing at the ceiling and listening to Marcus’s rhythmic breathing beside me, I turned my head and looked out of the window into the velvety night. I hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains since the only peepers on our marital bed would be the night owls and the bats as they flew their dark corridor back and forth along the river.

  As I lay there, relishing the peace and quiet after London, something deep within me uncoiled. Relaxed. My soul was definitely at peace, I thought happily. But my mind …I frowned up at the ceiling. If only …Suddenly, on an impulse, and after a sideways glance at Marcus to make sure he was really asleep, I slipped out of bed. I reached for my dressing-gown and stole downstairs.

  Once in the kitchen, having reassured Dilly it was only me and she could go back to her basket, I shut the door softly behind me. Wrapping my dressing-gown around me I crept across the room, plucked the phone from its cradle and dragged a chair up to the Aga. Then I pulled up my knees and stared at the numbers. I started to dial, then realizing the door to the back stairs was open behind me, got up and softly shut it. I sat down again and dialled his number. It rang and rang, and for a moment I thought he wasn’t there.

  Then: ‘Hello?’

  ‘Benji? It’s me, Henny.’

  ‘Henny, my flower. How are you? Marriage intact?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s all going marvellously,’ I purred happily. ‘And you were quite right, it was absolutely the right thing to do, to come back. But Benj, as the married woman’s agony aunt, I have one more question for you.’

  ‘Fire away, dear reader.’

  ‘Well, I rather bravely told Marcus I’d run into Rupert in London. And he was incredibly relaxed about it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, extraordinarily so. But then, thinking about it, I didn’t exactly …’ I licked my lips. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly give him the whole story. I mean, I didn’t totally come clean and tell him I’d – I’d –’

  ‘What?’ he said sharply. ‘Slept with him?’

  ‘Oh no! No, because I didn’t, Benji. But there was quite a bit of – you know, hanky panky. And the thing is, Marcus was so sweet about everything and I’d like to tell him the whole truth, so there are no secrets between us. So that we’re absolutely back where we used to be before all of this happened. D’you think I should? Should I tell him there was a teeny bit more than I admitted to? More than just chatting?’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Do you even have to ask?’

  I nodded soberly. ‘I should, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘NO!’ he screeched. The receiver nearly jumped out of my hand. ‘You bloody shouldn’t! Henny, there are some things you can’t unburden yourself of just to make you feel better, because believe me, he won’t feel better, and he won’t be sweet and relaxed about it either. Jesus!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really! Take it from me, some secrets are worth keeping, particularly if they protect the fabric of a relationship. Christ. Elementary!’

  ‘Is it?’ I blinked.

  He sighed. Went on in a gentler tone, ‘You’re a new girl to such deceptions, aren’t you, Hen?’

  I frowned. ‘And you’re not?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Ah, my sweet.’ His voice, when it came, was distant. ‘Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies. We all make mistakes. But it doesn’t alter my commitment. Doesn’t alter my love and devotion. Not in any way, shape or form. That’s rock solid, buddy. As yours is, too.’

  I smiled into the receiver. We were silent a moment.

  Then: ‘Thanks, Benji. You’re right. I’ll keep schtum.’

  ‘I would, dear heart.’

  I was about to say goodbye, when I remembered. ‘Oh, and incidentally, your pants nearly got me into very hot water. The message on the back took a bit of explaining to Marcus.’

  He laughed. ‘Ah, you discovered that, did you? Yes, well, fair’s fair. Your undies nearly got me into trouble once, too.’

  ‘They did?’

  ‘Remember I borrowed a pair when Francis and I last stayed at your gaff? I hadn’t brought enough and snitched some from your room. Francis spotted their unfamiliarity that same night. Questioned me very closely.’

  ‘Oh God, you’re such a perv,’ I giggled. ‘And you probably went for pink frilly ones. Serves you right.’

  ‘Certainly not. Brand new M&S white, still in their packet. Nothing kinky about me. I did tidy your knicker drawer while I was about it, though. It was a disgrace.’

  Somewhere in the distance, across the fields, I heard a car engine start up throatily. After a moment, a car came down the track from the cottage, heading for the front drive. As it roared past the house, I recognized it as Bill’s Fiesta, stuffed to the gunnels with cases and boxes. A table was strapped to the roof, a grim-faced driver crouched over the wheel.

  ‘What?’ I croaked.

  ‘Well I had to, petal. There aren’t many knicker drawers I’d presume to knock into shape, but yours was one of them. Now. Any more questions, or can I get into my jim-jams and have my cocoa?’

  ‘No,’ I said abstractedly. ‘I mean, yes. You have your cocoa. And thanks, Benji.’

  ‘My pleasure, flower.’

  I put the phone down and stole back upstairs, pausing briefly at the landing window to watch the car roar down the lane, its tail-lights disappearing in a cloud of dust. I crept back to bed and lay there, my heart racing. Heavens. Marcus would freak. Completely freak. After a while though, my beating heart stilled. Yes, of course. Benji was right. There were some secrets that couldn’t be unburdened. Some secrets which preserved the very fabric of a marriage, and without whose necessary ballast, the whole edifice would collaps
e. Some secrets which had to be kept. And anyway, I smiled into the darkness. How would he ever find out? And with that reassuring thought in mind, I turned over and went straight to sleep.

  Chapter One

  Somewhere over the English Channel travelling north, closer to the white cliffs than to Cherbourg and whilst cruising at an altitude of thirty thousand feet, a voice came over the tannoy. I’d heard this chap before, when he’d filled us in on our flying speed and the appalling weather in London, and he’d struck me then as being a cut above the usual easyJet Laconic. His clipped, slightly pre-war tones and well-modulated vowels had a reassuring ring to them. A good man to have in a crisis.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I wonder if I could have your attention for a moment, please. Is there by any chance a doctor on board? If so, would they be kind enough to make themselves known to a member of the cabin crew. Many thanks.’

  I glanced up from Country Living, dragging myself away from the scatter cushions in faded Cabbages and Roses linen I fully intended to make but probably never would, to toss attractively around the Lloyd Loom chairs in the long grass of the orchard I would one day possess, complete with old-fashioned beehive and donkey. I turned to my husband. Raised enquiring eyebrows.

  He pretended he’d neither heard the announcement nor sensed my eloquent brows: he certainly didn’t look at them. He remained stolidly immobile, staring resolutely down at the Dan Brown he’d bought at Heathrow and had taken back and forth to Paris, but had yet to get beyond page twenty-seven. I pursed my lips, exhaled loudly and meaningfully through my nostrils and returned to my orchard.

  Two minutes later, the clipped tones were back. Still calm, still measured, but just a little more insistent.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry, but if there is a doctor or a nurse on board, we would be most grateful if they would come forward. We really do need some assistance.’

  I nudged my husband. ‘James.’

  ‘Hm?’

  His shoulders hunched in a telltale manner, chin disappearing right into his neck and his blue-and-white checked shirt.

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘They mean a doctor doctor,’ he murmured uncomfortably. ‘A GP, not a chiropodist.’