Alice rested her head on Jay’s shoulder, and for a while they sat in silence, watching the light fading behind the trees and a swirl of rooks cawing their way home across a sky pricked with the first pale stars. Alice felt empty and sad and utterly hopeless. Was her future always going to be like this? Sitting on the edge of Jay’s life, listening to him talking (or almost worse, trying not to talk) about his child, waiting, always waiting. And waiting for what? Jay would never leave Angela now, and while Alice had never really expected him to, there had always been that tiny chance that one day, perhaps, Angela and Jay would drift apart naturally, or Angela might even find someone else. But now, whatever happened, the two of them would always be connected by this child.
Scrabbling in her bag for more tissues, she wiped sooty streaks of mascara from her cheeks. She looked a mess, but in the dusk, Jay could barely see her, and Finn probably wouldn’t even notice. Besides, he still hadn’t forgiven her for “killing” Trot’s plant.
“I had a proposal recently,” she said.
“What?”
“Yes. Trot proposed.”
“You never told me! You didn’t say yes, did you?”
“Of course I didn’t, and I don’t think he really meant it, but it would have been a solution, wouldn’t it? And you’d be off the hook.” She looked at Jay. “Why? Would you have minded?”
“Actually, yes, I would have. Which isn’t really fair under the circumstances, is it? But I don’t think I could bear it if you… well, if you…”
“If I belonged to someone else?”
“Yes. I’m ashamed to say it, but yes. I know it’s not what I deserve, but I don’t want anyone else to have you.”
“I know what you mean.”
Jay rubbed his chin and then ran his fingers through his hair, a characteristic gesture when something was troubling him (although Jay himself was probably quite unaware of it). How well I know this man, Alice thought. I can read his moods as though they were my own; I can frequently anticipate what he’s going to say next; I know his likes and his dislikes; I know the feel of him and the smell of him. She wondered whether Angela knew him as well as she did, and while she thought that this must inevitably be the case — after all, they had been married for some years — she very much hoped that it was not. If she were to have any crumbs of comfort at all from this painful situation, she would like to be the one who knew Jay better.
Jay turned to her.
“Alice, we need a night away.”
“Just how are we going to manage that?”
“I’ve got a conference coming up. A big oncology do, with consultants from all over the country. It’ll mean a night in Birmingham. Could you come with me?”
Alice considered.
“I suppose I might.”
“It’s the week after next. The room’s sure to be a double — they always are — and it’s booked anyway. It won’t make any difference to the hotel if you join me.”
“Won’t other people notice?”
“Not if we get there before the others. It’ll mean you’ll have to stay in the room, and you can’t really come down for meals — I’ll have to bring you something — but you won’t mind that, will you?”
Alice sighed.
“Yes, Jay, I will mind that. I don’t want to be hidden away, using back staircases, avoiding people. I know we’ve done it before, and it didn’t seem so bad then, but I suppose I’m getting past that kind of thing. It feels so — so shabby, somehow.”
But in the early days, it hadn’t seemed so bad. Unable to get enough of each other, they had grabbed even the smallest of opportunities to be together and to make love. Those occasions had been few enough but, at the time, had seemed heaven-sent. A hotel bedroom with a big, comfortable bed; the luxury not only of sleeping together but of waking up together. On the first occasion, Alice had thought that she could ask for nothing more, and the subterfuge and the lengths they had had to go to to make sure that she kept out of the way of Jay’s colleagues had only added to the excitement.
“Then we’ll do our usual, shall we?” Jay said.
“I suppose we’ll have to.”
Nowadays, on the rare occasions when they could have a few hours together, they had resorted to booking a room in some small B&B “for a night.” They would usually reach their destination soon after lunch, and then in the early evening, they would pretend that they had received news of some emergency at home, necessitating their immediate departure. Although no one ever appeared to suspect them of any subterfuge — why should they? — Alice invariably felt embarrassed, guiltily aware of rumpled sheets and damp towels in the bathroom. And of course they had to pay for the full night as arranged, not to mention breakfast, so it was a costly exercise. But as things were, it was the best they could manage.
This was only a little less sleazy than the conference scenario, but at least both of them were in it together and on an equal basis. No one was being left hiding in a bedroom, being brought sandwiches like some kind of hostage, or being let out when the coast was clear. The only problem was that they were beginning to run out of venues and were having to travel ever farther afield in search of new ones.
And then of course there were the lies she had to tell Finn. Alice hated lying to anyone, particularly her son, but it seemed that lies were another part of the adultery package; it was impossible to conduct an affair such as hers without lies.
When she got home later on, Finn was sprawled on the living-room floor watching television.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked. “I’m ravenous.”
“Editorial meeting. I told you.” Alice took off her jacket. “And I left you something in the fridge.”
“I had that hours ago. By the way, Trot rang.”
“Oh yes?”
“He was asking about his plant. Said could you ring him.”
“Trot knows about his bloody plant! And no, I won’t ring him. I’ve got better things to do than run around after Trot.”
“That’s what I told him.” Finn got up and stretched. “Cup of tea?”
“Please.”
Finn always ended his sulks with offers of tea, and Alice was grateful. At least one of her relationships was back on track.
“Did you know,” said Finn as he dropped teabags into mugs, “that the only thing that stops us from going rotten is being alive?”
“Well, fancy that,” said Alice. And she actually laughed.
Mavis
Mavis had known for some time about the wedding, but had filed the information away at the back of her mind. She knew that when she retrieved it and considered it properly, she would find it very painful, and so she had decided to postpone the pain for as long as possible.
But now, she could no longer ignore it. Clifford’s elder daughter, Kate, was to be married in a fortnight’s time, and the subject was, inevitably, much on Clifford’s mind. If she loved Clifford — and at the moment, she thought that she probably did — then Mavis must try to be generous and allow him to talk about it.
“Is it going to be a big wedding?” she asked him, aware that this was something she might have been expected to ask some time ago.
“About a hundred,” Clifford told her. “And more for the evening do.”
Mavis had never understood the thinking behind “evening dos.” If she were young and newly married, she would want to drive off — preferably in an open-topped car, with her hair flying in the wind (impossible, as Mavis had always worn her hair short) — leaving her guests behind, waving and cheering her on her way. But people didn’t do that anymore. Instead, the dignity of the occasions seemed to degenerate gradually as the day wore on, ending sometime after midnight with a drunken bride shimmying among her guests and begging the exhausted band to stay on for just one more dance. Mavis had been to several such weddings and had reflected that, apart from anything else, the happy couple would be in no fit state to travel the next day.
“It’s costing a packet,” said Clifford
now (Clifford could be quite mean on occasions). “I can’t think why the bridegroom can’t chip in.”
“At least you’re not having to provide a dowry,” Mavis told him, picturing Clifford collecting together a small herd of cows and goats, and perhaps some gold coins as well, to be delivered to his daughter’s new family.
“Well, it feels like it,” Clifford grumbled.
“And the speech. Have you written that yet?” Mavis asked.
“Oh yes. I did that ages ago. I’m quite looking forward to it, actually.” Clifford liked being the centre of attention.
“I hope it’s not too long.” Mavis hated long speeches.
“Funny. That’s what Kate said. Short and clean were her orders.”
“I suppose the dirty jokes are for the best man,” Mavis said.
“Not if I can help it,” said Clifford.
The two weeks between this conversation and the wedding proved quite extraordinarily difficult for Mavis. While she tried to keep her mind engaged with other matters, her thoughts would keep returning to Clifford and his family. Clifford himself was understandably preoccupied, and while it was obvious that he was making an effort to keep off the subject, it was inevitable that it should crop up. Meanwhile, Mavis’s imagination ran riot. She pictured Dorothy (as much as it is possible to picture someone you’ve never met) busying herself with guest lists and table plans, with flowers and dresses and last-minute cancellations. She imagined the bride, too. How was she feeling? Were there any last-minute doubts? And how many people harbouring such doubts went through with the wedding anyway? Mavis could see that weddings gathered a momentum all of their own, and that as they accelerated towards the actual day, it must become increasingly hard to stop them. Mavis had had a friend who had called her wedding off on the actual morning of the wedding, and while Mavis had been full of admiration for what had seemed to her to be a most courageous decision, the girl’s parents hadn’t spoken to their daughter for months afterwards. Weddings, it would seem, didn’t just belong to the couple in question; they became the property of anyone who had an interest, vested or otherwise, and as such had the potential to wound (or delight) a great many people.
On the morning of the wedding, Mavis woke early. She imagined the bride having breakfast in bed and then luxuriating in a bath full of fragrant bubbles, while everyone bustled around her doing — what? What was there to do on the morning of a wedding? Mavis had no idea, since she imagined that most of the things that needed to be done would be well in hand by now, but she was sure there must be last-minute things — a final alteration, perhaps (Dorothy kneeling on the floor, her mouth full of pins, doing something to a hem?), the attentions of a hairdresser, and perhaps someone to attend to make-up.
And Clifford, what would he be doing? Mavis imagined him bumbling about, getting in the way, before it was time for him too to get ready — perhaps doing a last-minute run-through of his speech, getting dressed, maybe asking Dorothy to fasten or adjust something. Dorothy. Jealousy spread through Mavis in a sudden wave, taking her by surprise (she was not normally given to jealousy). Weddings brought families closer, didn’t they, so if ever Clifford was to feel close to Dorothy, it would be on a day such as this, an occasion in which Mavis could never play any part. She gritted her teeth. Just let this wedding be over, she thought. Just let it be over. In just twelve hours’ time, the whole thing would be finished, everything would return to normal, and Clifford would be hers once more.
Afterwards, Mavis realised that she had always intended to see the wedding, although it was only during that last fortnight that she had acknowledged the fact. This was a big day in Clifford’s life, and while she couldn’t exactly share it, she meant to be there. She had no illusions about how she would feel; she knew that it would be difficult. But apart from anything else, she was curious. She wanted to watch the guests arriving, to see the bride, and most important of all, Dorothy. Mavis had never seen Clifford’s wife, and this was the ideal opportunity. Of course, Dorothy would be looking her best — as the mother of the bride, that was her job — and in any case she was bound to be far more glamorous than Mavis herself (most women were), but Mavis still wanted to see her. She wouldn’t have put it so vulgarly as to say that she was eyeing up the opposition, but that was what it amounted to.
Once before, Mavis had tried to see Dorothy. She had taken a taxi out to Clifford’s home, which was some miles away, and had spent a morning hovering outside. She knew that the family weren’t away and she felt sure that Dorothy must go out at some stage, but although she had waited for two hours, no one had either entered or left the building.
The house itself was a substantial Victorian building, attractive in an ugly kind of way, with what appeared to be a substantial garden. Mavis had glimpsed a washing line to one side and found herself trying to examine the garments to see if they could tell her anything about their owners. She thought she recognised a couple of shirts of Clifford’s, and there were children’s dresses and shorts, and a lot of underwear, including several pairs of stout, no-nonsense women’s knickers. Mavis was enormously cheered by the knickers, which looked quite large. Did that mean that Dorothy was fatter than she was? Oh, please let Dorothy be fat! Even a little bit fat. Then she could be as beautiful as she liked, if only Mavis (who had always been quite slim) might be allowed the better figure.
Mavis was careful to ascertain from Clifford the whereabouts of the church where the wedding was to be held without actually seeking directions. Whatever happened, she didn’t want him to guess what she was going to do, and she even mentioned plans for that weekend so that he would think she was going to be busy. By dint of asking several vague questions and then phoning the vicarage pretending that she was a guest who had lost her invitation, she managed to obtain the information she needed.
It was a grey, billowy day in early June. The forecast had been good, but the sun had yet to make an appearance, and Mavis was relieved. It meant that she could cover herself up without looking too eccentric, and to this end she dressed in an old raincoat, headscarf, and dark glasses. She must have resembled a wounded celebrity hiding from the paparazzi, but she achieved the desired effect. A careful examination of her reflection in the mirror before she left home reassured her that, short of wearing fancy dress, she was as unrecognisable as it was possible to be.
She arrived at her destination in good time and positioned herself discreetly on the other side of the road, with a good view of the church. No one appeared to pay any attention to her. People always stop to look at a wedding, and several others had paused in small groups to watch and gossip. She was just another onlooker, another outsider.
As she watched the guests arriving at the church, she was overwhelmed with a sense of such isolation that it made her catch her breath. The embraces, the laughter, the excited chatter, and the anticipation were all going on just across the road, and here she was, Clifford’s lover, the woman who only a few days ago had been performing the most intimate of acts with him, feeling as though she were a spectator from another world. This was a family in celebratory mode, doing what families do best — everybody happy, any cracks carefully papered over for the occasion, and all to be photographed for posterity.
Dorothy was instantly recognisable — a great mountain of a woman, swathed in apple green silk, a complicated arrangement of tulle and feathers trembling on her head as though overcome by the importance of its role in the proceedings. Her large, rather pale face was not unlike Clifford’s, and Mavis wondered briefly whether married couples, like dogs and their owners, came to resemble each other over time. Dorothy seemed to tower over the other guests, who had parted before her like the Red Sea, and when she reached the porch, she busied herself tweaking and smoothing the small bridesmaids who were waiting there, her large hands waving and gesticulating importantly. Watching her, Mavis wondered that Clifford had ever had the courage to breach the more intimate areas of such a fortress, and she felt for him. Poor Clifford. No wonder his sexual
advances had been so timid in their early days together. Dorothy looked like the kind of female who would be more likely to consume her partner after intercourse than to cherish him. No wonder, too, that Clifford was such an expert in the field of male helplessness, for who would need to be capable with a large bossy Dorothy to put him right (Dorothy had always seemed to Mavis to be a particularly bossy name).
As Mavis watched Dorothy finally disappearing into the gloom of the church, she spared a thought for the bridegroom. If appearances were anything to go by, it was going to take a brave man to stand up to a mother-in-law such as this one.
But all thoughts of Dorothy instantly left her as the bridal car drew up at the church gate.
No one could describe Clifford as handsome, but he was one of those men who could look truly distinguished when the occasion demanded it, and this occasion demanded nothing less. The morning suit, the new haircut, the gold tie matching the yellow roses and — honeysuckle, was it? — in the bride’s bouquet, all combined to give him a sleekness and elegance that Mavis had never seen before. As he handed his daughter out of the car, Mavis was reminded of all the occasions when he had done the same for her, and for a moment, her feelings of isolation were compounded by grief — grief for her solitary state, grief for the smiles and the affection between father and daughter, and for the first and only time, grief for the daughter she herself would never have.
Kate was tall, handsome rather than pretty, and going by the tendrils escaping from her headdress, Mavis noted that she was the redhead of the playground all those years ago. The wedding dress was nice enough, but it looked to Mavis like all wedding dresses: it was white, and there was far too much of it. Mavis had never understood why it was that brides should wear on their wedding day dresses that were, to all intents and purposes, fancy dress — something they would never dream of wearing in the ordinary run of things and would almost certainly never wear again. She recalled poor Princess Diana — such a pretty girl — emerging from her coach so enveloped in that dress that she looked as though she were struggling out of an enormous wedding cake. No doubt she would have had to take half a dozen attendants with her every time she needed the lavatory. It didn’t bear thinking about. If Mavis had ever married (and during her brief engagement, she had had time to give the matter some thought), she would have worn something long and pretty, but definitely not white. White suited very few people, and it certainly didn’t suit Mavis.
Women Behaving Badly_An uplifting, feel-good holiday read Page 12
