It Was You, Page 22

  He placed his beer on the table.

  ‘Am I being told off here?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ I smiled.

  He nodded. ‘Noted.’

  ‘Here I am!’ Miriam bustled into the kitchen, hurrying towards me and enveloping me in a tight squeeze. ‘I’m so sorry, Alice. That was Mum on the phone.’ She straightened up and beamed. ‘I’ve had such a lovely afternoon and now I’m going to have a lovely evening. I feel so spoilt!’

  I looked her up and down, taking in the earrings, necklace, bracelet and rarely worn make-up. She had clearly gone to some trouble today.

  ‘You look lovely,’ I said and then, turning to Craig, ‘Doesn’t she look beautiful?’ He said nothing, instead staring fixedly at his beer.

  ‘Oh, don’t,’ protested Miriam with a delighted grin. She walked to the fridge and extracted the bottle of Prosecco. ‘And I must smell like a giant sausage after the barbecue. Which is appropriate,’ she added in an undertone, ‘since Craig is forever telling me I look like one.’ She held up the almost empty bottle. ‘I’m sorry my husband didn’t think to open a fresh one for you, Alice.’

  Craig shot her a glance and then stood up, picking up his glass and pushing back his chair. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy,’ he said, saluting me with his beer.

  ‘Cheers.’ I smiled, raising my glass and, with Miriam ignoring his departure, he exited the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him.

  I looked after him, as Miriam returned to the table, champagne flute and bottle in hand. ‘Shall we stay in here or do you fancy an armchair?’ She seemed in high spirits, and I suspected that the drink she poured herself was not her first one of the day.

  I looked up at her. ‘I’m OK in here for now.’

  Her smile faded and she sat down. ‘What’s the matter? You don’t look very happy.’

  ‘Craig was just telling me he’s been working all day,’ I said.

  ‘Oh,’ she waved a hand dismissively and her smile returned, ‘don’t you worry about him. If it makes him happy, then let him get on with it.’

  ‘Yes, he seemed over the moon about it,’ I said. She appeared not to hear and sipped her drink contentedly. ‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘you evidently enjoyed your afternoon at Eammon’s barbecue.’

  She placed her drink on the table and looked at me, her smile now taking on a fixed quality. ‘Yes, I did. Phoebe and I both did.’ She paused. ‘So Craig told you whose barbecue it was then?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nope,’ I said. ‘That was just a lucky guess on my part.’ I drank my Prosecco. ‘Is that a new lipstick?’

  There was silence between us, as she picked up the bottle and needlessly topped-up my glass. ‘Don’t judge me, Alice,’ she said eventually, putting down the bottle and staring at her drink.

  ‘Well, would it be OK if I judged Eammon?’ I asked.

  She shook her head and smiled sadly. ‘I’d be disappointed if you thought there was anything going on,’ she said quietly.

  ‘As if I’d think that,’ I said, leaning towards her and placing my hand on hers. ‘And I’m not judging.’ I paused. ‘I’m just asking you not to give up on Craig. Don’t cut him off.’

  She turned her hand over and took mine, lowering her eyes as she did so. ‘Sometimes I feel very cut off,’ she said.

  I sighed and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m not blaming you for anything, or for one minute saying that Craig isn’t at fault here. But one of you has to start a conversation about all this, or you may as well call it a day right now.’

  ‘I think maybe he has already.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘Up here at least.’

  I looked at her, feeling horrified at this starkest acknowledgement yet, of the trouble they were in. After a moment’s hesitation, I managed a smile and shook my head. ‘I’m certain he hasn’t. He just seems exhausted by work and bewildered by home.’

  There was a pause and then she heaved a sigh, released my hand and picked up her drink. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Cheer me up by telling me about last night. How did it go?’

  She looked up at me expectantly and I wondered what to do. My urge was to run upstairs, find Craig and drag him down to the wife who clearly believed she was losing him – or had already lost him. However, aware that my most impulsive actions often proved my most disastrous, I decided that it would, for now, perhaps be better to divert Miriam from her troubles with Craig, rather than locking her in the kitchen with him and forcing her to dwell on them. I therefore accepted the change of subject.

  ‘The play went really well,’ I said. ‘It was a sell-out.’

  ‘You know full well I wasn’t asking about the play,’ she tutted. ‘Besides, I saw it on Thursday.’

  ‘And did it go OK then?’ I asked.

  Her expression became pained. ‘Well, naturally, there was lots of unscheduled swearing.’

  I nodded. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘But also,’ she hesitated and put a hand to her mouth, ‘he came off the trolley.’

  I put down my glass and laughed.

  ‘Alice!’ She made a commendable attempt at sounding shocked.

  ‘Oh, come off it! I bet it was really funny.’

  She smiled guiltily. ‘Well, once it was clear he was OK.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘He just sort of toppled off. The other kids seemed quite flummoxed and didn’t move to help him. And then there was total silence while he rolled into the wings. He was in the middle of the stage at the time, so it took quite a while.’

  ‘He rolled?’

  ‘Yes. It was a linear roll – like a sausage,’ she explained. ‘Not head-over-heels.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s OK then,’ I said.

  She giggled. ‘I do love Abs’ plays,’ she said fondly.

  ‘Me too,’ I smiled.

  ‘But,’ she said, after a moment, tapping the table lightly with a forefinger, ‘I want to know about you. You and Stephen.’

  I tutted. ‘I know. But you’ll make me blush.’

  ‘Ooh!’ she said, pouring the last dregs of Prosecco into her glass. ‘So there’s something to blush about!’

  I sighed theatrically. ‘You’re so shallow, Miriam.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she prompted impatiently. ‘I need details.’

  I stared at her. ‘I genuinely, genuinely don’t know what you mean by that. You’re not honestly expecting me to describe anything, are you? Maybe you’d like a diagram?’

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ she said, sounding exasperated. ‘I want to know how you feel about it all. Happy? Regretful? Indifferent?’

  I had asked myself the same question a number of times during the hours which had elapsed since Stephen left, just after breakfast. Unfortunately, I had been unable to provide myself with a definitive answer. It was no easier now.

  ‘Well,’ I said, picking up and sipping my drink, ‘I’m not regretful.’

  She leaned towards me conspiratorially. ‘Is there a “but” looming?’

  ‘I like him,’ I said, ‘a lot. He’s funny and good-looking and we talk… a lot…’ I ground to a halt.

  ‘But…’

  She was right, of course, there was a “but”. I was aware of a reservation, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or an item just out of reach at the back of a shelf.

  ‘He’s not your Mr Right?’ Miriam persisted.

  I would have to give her something. ‘He’s my Mr Right for now,’ I offered. ‘But I’m not head over heels.’

  She seemed satisfied. ‘Well, I think that’s a very reassuring “but”, actually,’ she said. ‘You’ve only known him a very short time. If you’d come here claiming to be in love, I’d have had to give you a good shake. But it’d be lovely if it works out,’ she added brightly. ‘I spoke to Sophie earlier in the week and she said he seemed really nice.’

  I rolled my eyes and she held up a placatory hand. ‘I was chatting to her about heels.
You and Stephen just happened to come up in conversation.’

  ‘I bet we did,’ I said, injecting as much scepticism as possible into the phrase.

  ‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘And I’m just so pleased that you’ve met someone… well… nice.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And you were right that I needed to give the idea of a relationship a chance.’

  ‘And you feel completely free of Eddie?’ She looked at me questioningly.

  I shrugged. ‘I felt free of Eddie almost as soon as he walked out the door.’

  She looked surprised. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The manner of his exit was devastating, but not the exit itself. I wasn’t in love with him at the end.’

  She looked thoughtful. ‘So, your apathy about dating definitely wasn’t anything to do with Eddie then?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not sure apathy is the right word. I think maybe I was just unconsciously assuming that something… someone… was ready and waiting to fall into my lap. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Basically, you’re saying you couldn’t be bothered,’ she said.

  I laughed. ‘You’re right. I’m just glamming-up the apathy.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m just pleased it’s all going so well.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Going so well, so far – in a relaxed, let’s-see-what-happens kind of way,’ she added. ‘Ooh, but,’ she turned her head towards the kitchen window as we heard an indistinct farewell from Craig, immediately followed by the front door slamming, ‘I nearly forgot! Tell me about Suzanna.’ She looked back towards me, her face falling as she saw my expression. ‘Oh my goodness, you’re going to tell me she’s a cow.’

  I shook my head emphatically. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Well, why that face, then?’ She gestured towards my head with her glass. ‘Come on, spit it out.’ There was a distinct, gossip-loving eagerness in her tone regarding the possibility that Jon’s girlfriend might not be entirely without fault.

  My shoulders sagged involuntarily, as I felt suddenly exhausted at the thought of trying to explain a situation to Miriam which I couldn’t even explain to myself. ‘I didn’t dislike her at all. She was very lovely,’ I began, ‘very attractive and very keen to get to know us all. And she spoke extremely highly of you.’ I concluded my statement with a brave attempt at a smile, keeping my fingers crossed that this brief, and scrupulously accurate, synopsis of the situation would suffice.

  No such luck. Miriam’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me,’ she said.

  I shook my head. ‘No. That’s it.’

  She remained sceptical. ‘That’s not what your face said.’

  I sighed. ‘It was just a bit strange seeing him with someone else.’

  ‘Ah,’ she smiled sadly and nodded. ‘Of course it would be,’ she said quietly, before adding, ‘but as you’ve said before, we must try and set our own feelings aside – if he’s happy.’ She frowned. ‘Is he happy?’

  I took a gulp of Prosecco. ‘I assume so.’

  ‘Hasn’t he said anything?’ she asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, did he seem happy?’ she pressed.

  I slumped back in my chair. ‘Miriam, I’m really not the one to ask.’

  Her frown deepened. ‘What do you mean? Why not?’

  I stared at the table. ‘I’ll tell you another time.’

  She said nothing more but instead rose to her feet, walked to the fridge and took out a fresh bottle of Prosecco. Then she returned to the table, uncorked it and looked at me questioningly. I held out my glass and she topped it up.

  ‘So, has your dad invented anything good lately?’ she asked.

  I sipped my drink before replacing it on the table and resting my head in my hands. ‘I don’t think Jon and I are friends anymore.’ I continued to stare at the table, while the simple truth of my own words sank in. ‘We’re not friends anymore.’ It felt like the acknowledgement of a bereavement.

  There was a pause before she spoke. ‘What happened, Alice?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘I said something I shouldn’t have at Eleanor Black’s party,’ I admitted, looking up at her guiltily. ‘I mentioned that he was seeing someone. I know I shouldn’t have,’ I continued hastily, as she opened her mouth to interject, ‘but it was just a single sentence and I did apologise. Repeatedly. But things have gone from bad to worse. I haven’t discussed it with you because I didn’t really want to think about it, or draw you into it,’ I concluded miserably.

  ‘What,’ asked Miriam matter-of-factly, ‘has he actually said?’

  ‘Well,’ I took a deep breath, ‘he finds me irritating and—’

  ‘He said that at the party?’

  I shook my head. ‘As we left the last book group meeting.’

  She was immediately aghast. ‘You’ve misunderstood,’ she said flatly. ‘It just sounds so unlike him. In what way did he say he finds you irritating?’

  ‘I didn’t let him go into detail,’ I admitted, in the interests of being as honest as possible with my account. ‘He wanted to discuss it, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, I can’t blame you for that. It’s not a nice thing,’ she said gently. ‘And has anything happened since?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Last night, when I saw him, he was very distant and when I spoke to Suzanna I realised that he hadn’t told her anything about me. And I mean nothing. She knew all about you and Abs and even Pete, but nothing about me.’

  ‘Maybe she got muddled about names,’ she suggested. ‘I forget names all the time.’

  I shook my head. ‘She didn’t know how Jon and I knew each other. She didn’t know that I was a member of the book group. She didn’t even know,’ I concluded quietly, ‘that Lydia and I were friends.’

  At that, Miriam put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Alice,’ she gasped. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s awful.’

  I picked up my drink and took a gulp, desperate not to cry. ‘I actually wonder at what point he told Suzanna I was even going to be at the play,’ I said. ‘Presumably as they pulled into the car park. Otherwise she would have asked a few basic questions about me, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘This just can’t be right,’ murmured Miriam. ‘I’ll talk to—’

  ‘No,’ I said abruptly.

  She looked up at me. ‘You can’t leave things like this.’

  ‘I don’t want the conversation to go beyond this kitchen.’ It was my turn to be matter-of-fact.

  She nodded. ‘I won’t mention it to him.’

  ‘Or to anyone else,’ I insisted. ‘Promise me, Miriam.’

  ‘I promise. But Alice,’ she said gently, ‘hard as it may be, and I do accept that it’s difficult, you should listen to what he has to say. Your friendship is such a long and a close one. If you think he’s not going to be as upset as you are over this then you’re wrong. I’m sure of that. And I also know that silence won’t resolve this.’

  I smiled sadly. ‘So you’re telling me to have a conversation?’

  ‘I suppose I am.’ She returned the smile with one equally as rueful. ‘It’s very good advice, actually.’

  I looked at her and heaved a sigh. ‘We’re so good at giving advice, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Now, if only either of us would take it.’

  * * *

  It was eleven-fifteen when the taxi dropped me at my flat and, feeling too awake and too low to go to bed immediately, I decided to pour myself a drink and call Stephen. I had no intention of burdening him with my concerns regarding the state of Miriam’s marriage, or my friendship with Jon, but I felt a chat about how the flat viewings had gone, and what we each had planned for the rest of the week, might be a welcome distraction.

  Within five minutes, I had settled myself on the sofa and, with a glass of wine in one hand and my phone in the other, I called him. His phone rang twice and then switched to voicemail. Disappointed, I didn’t bother leaving a message but instead plac
ed my phone down next to me and half reclined along the length of the sofa, propping myself up on one elbow and sipping my wine. Everything was, I thought, in flux: my relationship with Jon, Miriam’s relationship with Craig, my relationship with Stephen, Jon’s relationship with Suzanna – even Sophie seemed to be experiencing some sort of mild inner turmoil. And I suddenly, as never before, found myself looking forward to the upcoming weekend away with my father with a real enthusiasm – a longing even. I always enjoyed his company but, on this occasion, what I was most looking forward to was the status quo. My relationship with him was solid and unchanging and I just wanted some down-time from flux. Unlike Stephen, I decided, I was not a fan of change.

  My musings were interrupted by the bugle blast which alerted me to text messages. I picked up my phone. The text was from Stephen.

  Sorry I missed call. Been out with industry contacts for dinner. Just in and off to bed. Are you free to catch up tomorrow? Am working in Bristol a week Mon. Fancy getting together Sun evening when you get back from the Cotswolds? Think about it. Speak tomorrow. X

  I heaved a sigh, reassumed my semi-recumbent position and then, feeling in need of a friendly voice, I called Sophie. She picked up after a single ring.

  ‘Hi.’ She sounded sleepy. ‘Are you with Miriam? Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I’m home but didn’t fancy hitting the sack yet,’ I said. ‘I didn’t wake you up, did I?’

  ‘No,’ she yawned. ‘I’m just slumped on the sofa with a glass of wine, watching some total crap on TV.’

  ‘Same here, except without the crappy telly.’

  ‘An early-ish end to your evening with Miriam then?’

  ‘Yes. But how’s your weekend going?’

  ‘Same old, same old,’ she said. ‘Another man, another mess. If she wasn’t my sister, I wouldn’t bother. She’s a…’ she sighed. ‘She’s a disaster.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophie.’

  ‘Mmm…’

  ‘Is she there now?’

  ‘In bed.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I do love her, you know, Alice. She just doesn’t help herself.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘She’s lucky to have you.’