by Beth Miller
Sitting upright in an armchair by the window, she ticked all the classic Alice Bright boxes. Navy skirt-suit in the Chanel style, tick. Perfectly neat ash-blonde hair, frostily unmoving, tick (and don’t ever suggest for one moment that it might be covering up some grey, by the way). Immaculate understated make-up, tick. Navy court shoes to match the suit, with sensible-but-chic low blocky heel. Light-tan tights. Confident facial expression, giving clear expectation of winning whatever battle was coming her way. Tick, tick and tick.
‘Kay!’ Alice said, getting up with unbelievable agility for someone of seventy-eight. ‘Isn’t this place simply awful? Such an inglorious setting for your grand adventure! Why not go to a decent hotel? The Connaught is always very good.’
I kissed her powdery cheek. ‘It’s somewhere to lay my head tonight, Alice, that’s all, before I fly to Australia.’
‘Ah yes, the antipodes. Home of convicts and scoundrels since time immemorial.’
I grinned. ‘Alice, anyone listening would think that rather racist.’
‘I am most certainly not a racist, Kay. I voted Remain, as you know. Our little island is thoroughly enriched by people of all backgrounds.’ She took both my hands in hers, and looked me up and down. ‘Oh, you look just dreadful. Being bold is such a strain.’
I could see my reflection behind her in one of those huge mirrors all these places have, to make the room seem more spacious, I suppose. My straight brown hair, which only ever looked decent an hour after being washed, was pulled into a lank ponytail, and I was wearing comfortable travelling clothes, and no make-up. Next to Jackie Kennedy here, I was a bag lady.
‘I might not look my best, Alice, but I assure you, inside I’m doing fine.’ At least, I was until that horrific fight with Stella. I pushed it out of my mind; I could think about it another time. It was too recent, too raw to make sense of.
‘Oh, my lovely girl.’ Alice let go of me in order to place her hands on her chest in a gesture of pity.
A waiter came over and asked if we would like drinks. ‘That’s so kind,’ Alice said in a noblesse oblige murmur, as if he was offering them for free. We ordered dry white wine, and sat down, two old adversaries facing each other. Over the years we had found a way to co-exist, but it had taken a very long time to get over our shaky start. I think she still believed, on one level, the same thing she had thirty years ago, the day Richard took me to his home and told her that we were getting married: that I had got pregnant deliberately to trap him. I’d never told her the truth, though Lord knows I longed to sometimes. Anyway, we’d eventually managed to develop a more cordial entente, and to be fair to Alice, she had always been an excellent grandmother, especially to Stella.
The irony was that for the first five or ten years of my marriage, Alice would have been delighted to hear I’d left Richard. A chance for her precious boy to marry the right sort of girl at last – what luck! But now I could see that, under her protective coating of powder and class, she was genuinely worried.
‘So, my dear, thank you for meeting me. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I’m simply here to, well, make sure that you’re absolutely dead-set on this scheme of yours.’
‘Do you mean my scheme to go to Australia? Or my scheme to leave Richard?’
‘Obviously the latter, Kay.’
‘I don’t know if I’d classify it as a scheme, but OK. Yes, I am absolutely dead-set on it.’
‘Would you mind, as a special favour to me, explaining why, exactly? Because I have to confess, I’m quite baffled. It has the whiff of mild insanity about it. Oh, thank you.’ This last comment was directed at the waiter, who delivered our drinks with no panache whatsoever, a fact not lost on Alice, who muttered something about how they did things in the Connaught.
I thought about those lists that went around periodically on social media, outlining the outré behaviours that got women locked up in mental institutions in the 1800s, such as reading novels. It looked like my own equivalent was going to be ‘leaving husband after long uneventful marriage while failing to express regret’.
Alice sipped her drink and made a face. ‘Is this Asda’s own grape, do you think?’ she said, and put down her glass. ‘Well, do go on.’
I launched into my now-familiar summary. ‘Neither Richard nor I have been having an affair, hitting each other, or any of the other traditional marriage-ending things. I’ve not lost my mind, and if it’s a midlife crisis, though it’s a little late for that, then it still feels like the absolutely right thing to do. Oh, and it’s not the menopause, either – I seem to be in peri-menopause, in case that matters.’
‘My dear girl! Defensive much?’
I loved how Alice could make even slang sound like the Queen’s English. She carried on. ‘I suppose everyone’s been trying to get answers out of you. Very well. I’ll not try. I’m simply here to ask if you’ll consider coming back after your jaunt to the southern hem, so you and Richard can talk properly, and he can attempt to understand what’s going on. Perhaps get one of those mediator people in? They’re quite the thing now, aren’t they? Doesn’t Richard deserve that, at the very least?’
She was very persuasive, her expression brimming with sympathy, but I’d had three decades of learning how to avoid getting suckered in. The trick was to not look her in the eye.
‘I’ve already said everything I want to say to Richard,’ I said.
‘Well, what did you say? He professes himself utterly bewildered. Which is why we must suppose that he produced little Anthony, like a rabbit out of a hat as it were, as the likely culprit.’
I managed not to laugh at the thought of Anthony coming out of a hat, Richard holding him by the ears. ‘I’m sure he knows now that Anthony had absolutely nothing to do with it.’
‘Indeed, though he was initially rather fixated on the idea. I did suggest he was barking up quite the wrong tree with ghastly Anthony. I can call him that now I know he’s not your paramour, though heavens, he will soon be my, what’s the word, colleague. Sends shivers. Anyway, Richard, I said, when Kay’s had steak at home, why would she go out for a cheap hamburger?’
I did laugh then, I couldn’t help it, it had been building up.
‘It’s wonderful you can find humour in the situation,’ Alice said. ‘This is because of your mother dying, I suppose.’
‘Me laughing?’
‘You shaking everything up in this somewhat destructive fashion.’
‘Why should it have anything to do with my mum?’
‘My dear, I remember so well when my father died. It was more than twenty years ago now. Twenty-two. Stella was a babe-in-arms. You remember him, of course?’
I nodded, intrigued. Alice rarely talked about her parents.
‘My mother, as you know, passed on when I was a child. Well, when my father died, and I was properly an orphan, I rather lost my head for a while. It’s terribly destabilising to be all at once the older generation, don’t you think?’
‘I’m only fifty-one.’
‘Yes, but now there’s no one standing between you and the grave.’
‘Great!’
‘It sets one off-kilter. I had a funny little turn myself when Daddy passed.’
‘What did you do?’ I tried to imagine what Alice’s midlife rebellion would have looked like.
‘Between us girls…’ Alice looked round the room and whispered, ‘I took a lover.’
‘You didn’t!’
This wasn’t totally shocking, as Alice’s husband, Richard’s father, had died long before, when Richard was a teenager, so she would have been very single at the time. I tried to remember what Alice was like twenty-two years ago, when she was in her mid-fifties. She was always very glamorous, of course, groomed, every hair in place.
‘A younger man,’ she said, her voice even lower. ‘Married.’
‘Goodness!’
Alice smiled dreamily, perhaps remembering long, lazy afternoons of love. Then, as if coming out of a trance, her expression
snapped into its more habitual patrician mask. ‘I came to my senses very quickly,’ she said, and sipped more wine, followed by another wince. ‘I’m only telling you this to explain that I do understand. I know how it feels to realise all at once that life is finite, that there is not unlimited time to do everything we would like to do, and that we had better get on with it.’
‘That’s it, Alice!’ I could have hugged her, though she didn’t do hugging. It was like she’d gone into my head and explained me to myself. ‘That’s exactly it! There isn’t an endless supply of time!’
If I’d thought that sharing this revelation would bring her on side, I was sadly mistaken.
‘Yes, my dear,’ she said, tapping my knee with a bony finger. ‘That’s why we must use our precious time carefully. We must use it to look after our loved ones, and nurture our relationships, and serve our communities. Not squander it on hare-brained schemes to travel aimlessly, or smash up solid foundations. Use your time wisely – not to hurt the people who love you, but to be with them! Love them! Cherish them!’
I glanced at my watch. All at once, I’d had enough. ‘Is this one of those things they do with drug addicts, an intervention?’
‘Yes,’ Alice said, sitting up even straighter. ‘I do want to intervene. You’ve not thought any of this through. You’re not in an unhappy marriage!’
‘You’re right, Alice,’ I said, and stood up. ‘I’m not, anymore.’
She stood too. ‘Don’t you think you can—’
‘I don’t, Alice. Goodbye. Thanks for everything.’ I turned and walked through the bar, feeling her eyes boring into my back. I asked the receptionist to put the drinks on my bill, went up to my room, got into bed, and slept like a baby.
Eleven
Stella
It took a long time to get out of the environs of Heathrow, and by the time I reached Romford it was almost seven. I was still feeling flat as a crêpe about the horrible things Mum and I had said, and I was keen to think about something else for a bit. I let myself in to the house. I hadn’t told Theo I was coming back today; my plan was to get unpacked, then go to his flat and surprise him. I was halfway up the stairs when I heard Gabby’s unmistakable laugh coming from the living room. I don’t know how, but I knew something sexual was going on. The fear I’d been pushing to the back of my mind all week, about Gabby and Theo, washed coldly over me. I crept back down, and went over to the door, which wasn’t quite closed. I could hear Gabby’s voice murmuring, then a man, so quiet I couldn’t tell who it was. Then there was a different noise: the sound of two people in a clinch.
Holding my breath, I pushed the door a little way, just enough to slip through it, and stepped noiselessly into the room. It was dark in there, the curtains closed, and after the brightness of the hall it took me a moment to adjust. I could make out shapes on the sofa and it was clear they hadn’t heard me come in. As I accommodated to the gloom, I could see that Gabby was sitting astride a man, kissing him. My eyes blurred over and, as so often lately, I forced the tears away. At no time in my life had I more needed to be able to see. The man’s face was obscured by the back of Gabby’s head. Could it be Theo? I looked at the man’s long bare legs along the sofa and realised with a burst of joy that they were unfamiliar. Thank God! I silently let out my breath; only now did I realise how long I’d been holding it for.
I turned, intending to slip out, go to Theo’s as planned, and give him the kiss of his life. Then, to my astonishment, the door was pushed wide open, almost hitting me, letting in a shaft of light from the hall, and a man walked in, straight past me, not seeing me. He was completely naked, and because it was so unexpected, it took me a second or two to process that this was Theo.
My breath caught in my throat and I thought I might pass out.
Theo walked over to the sofa and said, ‘You’ve started without me!’
I couldn’t have moved away if my life depended on it. I was paralysed with horror. With the light from the hall I could now see that the couple were Gabby and Piet.
‘We’ll catch you up,’ Gabby said, and she pulled him down to the sofa and started kissing him on the mouth, while Piet – oh Jesus – was doing something to Theo with his hand and even worse – actually, was it worse? – Theo was doing it back to Piet and also stroking Gabby’s breasts.
I wasn’t sure if I was really seeing this or if I was asleep and having the worst nightmare of my life. Somehow I got out into the hall and stood, blinking in the bright light. What a day, what a fucking appalling day. I could only think of getting the hell out of there, sliding into the safety of the car, going back to Dad’s, where things were weird, sure, but not this weird. Then a voice came into my head, and it wasn’t Bettina’s, for once, but Mum’s: ‘Don’t take any crap from anyone, Stella. Anyone.’
I looked longingly at the front door, then turned resolutely away and went into the kitchen. Once again, I’d have to amend my mental list of the top ten things I wished I’d never seen. I filled the kettle, turned on the gas and took down four mugs, not caring if I made a noise. I let the tears fall now without trying to stop them. Poor tears, they were working overtime lately.
I realised I didn’t blame Gabby, or Piet. If Theo wanted to see other people, or try a threesome, he should have told me. I might not have wanted to join him – let’s face it, I’d definitely not have wanted to – but we could have discussed it, like adults.
I thought back to the three little dots that had never materialised into a message last week. Perhaps he’d wanted to tell me the truth, but had lost his nerve. Perhaps we’d got out of the habit of talking. In the months after the end of university, when we didn’t see much of each other, only the occasional weekend, he was always so busy with his new job, his heavy workload. And then he’d introduced me to his old friend Gabby, who needed a partner in her rapidly expanding catering business. So I’d moved here, delighted to be near him, and we’d picked up where we left off. Or so I’d thought. Perhaps what I thought was the truth about me and Theo was actually just the story I’d told myself about our relationship. Like Mum and Dad’s two completely different stories of their relationship. I realised I didn’t know if my version of our story matched Theo’s version.
Why had I stopped crying? I thought for a moment. Bettina had often encouraged me to name my feelings. If you can name the feeling, Stella, you can work through the feeling. Well, I was sad. Theo and I had been together a long time. We’d even talked about getting engaged. But the thumping in my chest didn’t feel like sadness.
I looked in the mirror over the sink. I’d never considered myself particularly pretty – Edward was the looker in our family– but I looked rather good myself right now. My eyes were sparkling from the tears, and my cheeks were flushed. I pulled my straight brown hair, inherited from Mum, off my face and twisted it into a bun. Perfect tendrils fell magically into place by my ears. I looked hot.
The kettle started to boil but I didn’t take it off the gas. The shriek got louder and louder, and I pictured the three of them in the room next door, whispering in panic. ‘Shit, someone’s put the kettle on!’ ‘A burglar?’ ‘Go and see.’ I guessed that Piet would be the one chosen to check, and sure enough, moments later he came into the room, wearing only a pair of startling orange underpants, blinking against the light and the kettle’s screaming crescendo.
‘Hello, Piet,’ I said. I picked up the kettle at last, and started pouring water into the cups.
‘Stella!’ he said, so loudly that anyone who happened to be listening would be warned, and able to take evasive action. ‘When did you arrive? I am very pleased to see you.’
‘I should think you’re actually rather surprised to see me,’ I said. ‘Tea?’
‘Uh, yes please.’ His eyes darted to the door. ‘So, uh, have you been here long?’
‘I have been here long enough,’ I said, looking at the cups, rather than at him, ‘to see enough.’
There was a silence. It was a new thing, seeing Piet at a l
oss. It made me want to laugh.
Name your feeling, Stella. Are you angry?
You know what, Bettina, I think I am angry.
‘Let’s sit down.’ I handed Piet a cup.
‘I ought to, uh, I ought to put on something…’ Piet said, edging towards the door.
‘Sit DOWN, Piet,’ I said. And he did, abruptly.
‘I am sorry, Stella,’ Piet said. ‘Do you wish to talk about it?’
‘Let’s do that,’ I said, ‘when the others arrive.’ I put all the cups on the table, and sat down myself.
Name your feeling now, Stella.
I feel powerful, Bettina.
When did you last feel like this, Stella?
I can’t remember ever feeling like this, Bettina.
I smiled broadly at Piet, and he smiled back, friendly but puzzled.
I made a bet with myself that the next one in would be Gabby, and so it proved. She was dressed, her hair tidy. ‘Stella! How lovely! How’s your dad?’ She ran to my side and kissed my cheek, Judas-style.
‘I made you tea,’ I said.
‘Oh, thank you! Yes, I heard the kettle so I came downstairs.’
I took my time. ‘You came downstairs… from the living room?’
Gabby sat opposite Piet, and I saw him shake his head slightly at her. Gabby frowned in confusion at him. This was actively enjoyable.
‘Piet is trying to tell you that I know, Gabby,’ I said.
‘Know… what?’ Gabby said. Her acting was appalling, but she was saved by the front door opening and closing with a bang.
‘Ah,’ I said, ‘that will be Theo pretending to come in, even though he doesn’t have his own key. “Hi honey, I’m home!”’
‘Oh God,’ Gabby said, staring at the table. ‘Do we have to do this?’
