It Was You, Page 35

  ‘So this time,’ I said, leaning towards her, ‘you were drawn in by the drama in the domesticity, rather than by the melodrama.’

  ‘What a great précis from the English graduate.’ She looked at me and smiled. ‘Yes, that’s it exactly. What did you think?’

  ‘Well, I can relate to the changed reading perspective,’ I said.

  ‘In what way?’ asked Abs, smiling at me with teacherly interest and encouragement from across the room.

  ‘Well, I was more judgemental of Rochester and his choices.’ I looked at the book on my lap. ‘And a lot less impressed with him than I used to be.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ laughed Sophie. ‘I still fancy him rotten. What was your issue?’

  I opened the book. ‘I was just much more uncomfortable about him hiding his marriage and his feelings from Jane. I know he says he thought a governess wouldn’t want to stay in a house with a lunatic, but what about as he came to love Jane? Why not tell her everything then?’

  Sophie opened her mouth to reply but, unusually, was beaten to it.

  ‘Because he was afraid of losing her,’ said Jon.

  I turned to him. ‘Too afraid to be honest with her?’

  ‘I’m not saying it was the most selfless choice,’ he smiled, ‘but I think I’m going to allow him his selfishness.’

  ‘God, me too.’ Sophie sat forward in her chair and nodded. ‘If you don’t think someone could love you back, crap and all, then of course you’re going to hide your crap, or hide your feelings, or both. The only other option is to walk away without telling them about the crap and the feelings, so you don’t have to hear them say that they don’t want you. But walking away is fucking painful too.’ She reached for a handful of nibbles from the table in front of her. ‘So let’s give the guy a break.’

  The use of the f-word, which had never before made an appearance at book group, was an immediate indication to us all of how strongly she felt. I flicked a sidelong glance at Connie to see how she was coping with the bad language but, although she had coloured slightly, I saw that she was nodding in enthusiastic approval of Sophie’s impassioned, if somewhat foul-mouthed, defence of Mr Rochester.

  Abs was nodding too. ‘That’s the beauty of the book for me,’ she said. ‘The humanity of it. The mistakes, the imperfections, the misconceptions. There are no easy characters or situations. You can pick holes in all of them. It’s what makes it relatable, despite all the wild-eyed Gothic horror.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Jon.

  ‘You found it relatable?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I did.’

  ‘And such ground-breaking feminism,’ said Connie suddenly. ‘I love that Brontë made her protagonist female and small and plain and insignificant but then gave her a voice and such strength. So frail and so indomitable. She takes control. I love that.’

  I looked at Connie, the feminist, and smiled.

  ‘I love that,’ she repeated quietly.

  ‘And I love this,’ I heard myself say.

  I looked up at the sound of my own voice, expecting to be met with quizzical looks and bemused enquiries.

  But there were none.

  ‘Me too,’ said Sophie quietly. ‘We’re so lucky.’ And everyone else just nodded.

  * * *

  Jane Eyre, to Connie’s obvious delight, proved a universal hit. But as an uncharacteristically lengthy and in-depth discussion on the nature of feminism within the novel concluded, I couldn’t help experiencing a certain initial sense of relief when Miriam said she wanted to suggest a shorter, lighter read as our next book. This was subsequently revealed to be a romantic comedy Romy had lent her several weeks earlier – a proposal which was met with enthusiasm from Abs and also from Connie. However, the response from Sophie and myself, despite my eagerness for something light, was more equivocal.

  ‘I’m just not sure,’ said Sophie.

  ‘And I’m not entirely sold,’ I echoed.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Miriam, sounding affronted.

  ‘I just tend to prefer a little more realism,’ I shrugged.

  ‘There’s lots of realism in it. And besides, you’re always going on about loving The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,’ said Miriam witheringly. ‘Where’s the realism in that?’

  ‘I’m not going to veto it,’ I said. ‘I’m just saying I suspect it’s not going to be my cup of tea right now. And,’ I turned to Jon, ‘what about Jon?’

  Miriam pursed her lips. ‘Some might infer sexism there, Alice. But OK.’ She looked at Jon. ‘Are you OK with women’s fiction, Jon?’

  ‘Now you ask me,’ he laughed. ‘But Romy has mentioned the book to me. She enjoyed it and found it funny, so I’ll give it a go.’

  I was disappointed to feel myself deflate at this favourable reference to Romy’s literary taste.

  ‘Well, if Jon’s prepared to give it a go, then so will I,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s just that when your love life isn’t exactly soaring, that kind of thing can feel a bit like being beaten up by someone who’s reeling off the gags while kicking the shit out of you.’

  ‘But it can also cheer you up,’ argued Miriam. ‘It really cheered me up. It had me laughing on the same evening that Phoebe came down with norovirus and projectile vomited on Craig from her loft bed.’

  ‘Oh dear me,’ said Connie, gasping and putting an anxious hand to her mouth.

  ‘I know,’ said Miriam. ‘But the real downside was that only about eighty per cent of the sick landed on Craig. The rest ended up on the new carpet.’ She reached forward, picked up a nacho and scooped up a generous helping of hummus from a bowl on the table in front of her. ‘We scraped up the worst with a fish slice and then shampooed it silly but her room still smelled like Sainsbury’s cheese counter for a month.’ She popped the nacho and hummus into her mouth. ‘Yum,’ she said.

  Connie nodded in an empathetic manner and I thought I saw Sophie gag.

  ‘Well, I’d like to read it,’ said Abs, thankfully dragging the conversation back to literature. ‘It sounds fun and it might make you feel better, Sophie.’ She turned and smiled at me. ‘And you might find something uplifting in it, Alice. Remember A Simple Heart? Remember how much you enjoyed hating Felicité? You loved that!’

  I smiled and rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, go on then. Let’s try it.’

  ‘Great,’ said Miriam, placing her hands palm down on her lap in a job-done kind of way. ‘I really enjoyed it and, as Jon said, Romy loved it too.’

  My jaw clenched involuntarily.

  ‘Ah, but,’ said Sophie, ‘Romy’s love life wasn’t on the down and is now very much on the up, isn’t it?’

  I looked at her, surprised that she had made the comment in front of Jon.

  ‘Let’s not count chickens,’ said Miriam, looking like she had not only already counted her chickens but also entered the figures onto an Excel spreadsheet. ‘But it all looks promising.’

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I turned to Jon. He was smiling at Miriam in the manner of a despairing, but doting, parent.

  Abs clapped her hands. ‘It’s just so lovely knowing both parties.’ She looked around the room and was rewarded with nods of agreement from Miriam, Connie and Sophie and another smile from Jon. She then leaned forward and touched Miriam’s knee. ‘I’m keeping everything crossed.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Miriam, ‘but,’ she held up a hand, ‘as I said to Alice recently, what will be, will be.’

  ‘I agree totally,’ said Abs. ‘We’ll just wait and see. No pressure.’

  I sat there, unable to decide whether I was the only sane, or the only insane, person in the room. In the end, I felt a need to know.

  ‘Sorry but do you think we should be discussing this with Jon here?’ I said, attempting both a smile and to keep my voice light.

  They each looked at me and then at Jon.

  ‘Sorry, Jon,’ said Miriam, ‘are we boring you?’

  ‘I didn’t mean we were boring him,’ I said, frowning at her
. ‘I meant that the conversation is going on as if he’s not here.’

  It was Miriam’s turn to frown. ‘He knows he can join in if he wants to.’ She looked at Jon. ‘You’re not feeling left out, are you?’

  I groaned in exasperation and turned towards him. ‘If you object to a personal relationship being discussed like this, you should say so.’

  His expression was one of puzzled amusement. ‘You’ve lost me,’ he said.

  ‘And me,’ said Miriam, her bemused expression mirroring my own. ‘Why should Jon object? It’s not as if it’s his personal relationship under discussion. And you don’t object to a little bit of happy gossip, do you Jon?’

  She smiled at him and he sighed. ‘I’m loving it,’ he said. ‘Almost as much as the lengthy Spanx price comparison discussion at Christmas.’

  Everyone laughed and I felt myself beginning to redden.

  ‘There,’ said Miriam, smiling at me, ‘nothing to worry about.’

  I smiled sheepishly, pushing myself backwards on the sofa, hoping that by some miracle it might swallow me up. ‘I think I got the wrong end of the stick,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Like that’d surprise anyone,’ murmured Sophie, before winking at me and asking Miriam a question about projectile vomit, which prompted gasps and giggling and had the immediate, and extremely welcome, effect of distracting all female attention from me.

  I hung my head and closed my eyes.

  ‘Romy is going out with Hugh on Saturday night,’ said Jon quietly.

  I nodded. ‘I worked that out a moment ago,’ I whispered, keeping my eyes closed. ‘Just too late to save me from acute embarrassment.’

  ‘She’s very happy,’ he said. ‘She told me she liked him at the book group dinner and we talked about it again on our way to meet the pair of you last week.’

  ‘Thanks for sharing that,’ I groaned, opening my eyes and turning towards him, ‘just too late to save me from acute embarrassment.’

  He smiled. ‘Sorry, but Miriam gave us the impression that you and she had already discussed it all.’

  ‘I thought…’ I looked up at him and put a hand to my forehead. ‘Never mind. I’m just so embarrassed.’ He didn’t reply but instead opened his copy of Jane Eyre. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything to try and make me feel better?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘That was pretty bad,’ he said, ‘even for you.’

  I tutted. ‘You can go off people you know.’

  He looked at me. ‘I really hope not,’ he said.

  ‘Alice, can I give you a lift home?’ asked Connie, now standing next to me.

  I looked at Jon. ‘Me too,’ I said.

  ‘You too what?’ asked Connie.

  I looked up at her. ‘Sorry, Connie. I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.’

  ‘Alice, how many have you had?’ sighed Sophie, now standing next to Connie. ‘Hey, everybody, I reckon Alice has been sneaking drinks tonight.’

  Jon stood up. ‘I’d better be going,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Miriam. I hope all goes well for Romy and Hugh at the weekend.’ He walked over to her. ‘Be sure to text me the moment you hear.’

  She laughed and gave him a hug. ‘I hope we haven’t been too female for you tonight, Jon,’ she said.

  ‘Not at all,’ he smiled. ‘It’s always an education.’

  ‘You’re not coming back in the car with me, Jon?’ asked Connie.

  ‘No thanks, Connie,’ he said. ‘I could do with the walk.’

  Sophie and Abs stood up to leave and I decided that I didn’t want everyone to go before I had offered some sort of apology.

  ‘Sorry about the misunderstanding,’ I said.

  They turned towards me and I was aware that everyone in the room was now looking down on me simultaneously, their faces registering concern, puzzlement, pity and amusement in varying degrees.

  I stood up. ‘I just got a bit muddled.’

  My statement was met with a general murmur of unsurprised, philosophical acceptance. Then I was warmly hugged and kissed five times, and we all went home.

  Chapter 56

  ‘No, but thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Sophie, at the same time gesturing me towards the stairs. ‘It’s too crowded down here,’ she said. She turned to the barista behind the counter. ‘We’ll be up there, OK?’

  The woman smiled in acknowledgement and we headed upstairs to the largely deserted upper floor of the café.

  ‘They’ve discontinued the fabric Frances McGirr chose for those curtains and softs,’ I said, as we flopped down in two armchairs, beside a low table. ‘I’ve sourced a last batch but I’m not sure there’ll be enough.’

  ‘Why won’t you come out with me?’ asked Sophie, ignoring my attempt to change the subject.

  I sighed. ‘OK, well if you want me to be really honest, it’s because it sounds a lot like a pity invite.’

  She looked at me blankly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘I don’t ever,’ she said, leaning forward in her chair, ‘and I mean ever sully my Friday nights with pity invites. Friday nights are for fun. Wednesday nights are pity invite nights.’

  ‘We go out quite a lot on Wednesdays,’ I said.

  She shrugged and held her hands palm upwards, in a point proven kind of way.

  I laughed. ‘You’re lovely – and thank you for inviting me out – but I’m exhausted.’

  ‘And you’re not still worried about last night?’

  ‘See!’ I said, throwing up a hand. ‘I knew it was a pity invite.’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk bollocks,’ she said. ‘Me wanting to go for a drink and you making an idiot of yourself at book group, are wholly unconnected.’ She nudged me. ‘It was funny though. I keep laughing every time I think about it.’ She laughed raucously as if to illustrate the point. ‘The best bit was when you—’

  I glared at her.

  ‘Oh, don’t be a misery about it,’ she said. ‘Just come for a quick drink.’ Her smile faded a little. ‘You’d be doing me a favour,’ she added more quietly.

  ‘In what way?’ I queried this new spin with suspicion.

  ‘Well, you know, I’ve got a lot of stuff going on and it’d be nice to have a proper chat – one where we’re not rushing to get back to the office, or to see other people, that’s all.’

  ‘I honestly don’t think I’ll be of much use conversationally,’ I said. ‘I’m exhausted,’ I slid down in the chair, ‘in every possible way imaginable.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said.

  I experienced a rush of guilt. ‘How’s the job hunting going?’ I asked. I had determinedly avoided the topic for days, telling myself Sophie wouldn’t welcome it being raised. But, in truth, I had been sparing my own feelings as much as hers.

  ‘Two cappuccinos.’ The waitress placed the drinks in front of us. We nodded our thanks and she disappeared.

  Sophie reached for her coffee. ‘Two job offers within an hour of each other this morning,’ she said miserably.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ I said, matching her tone.

  We looked at each other and smiled ruefully.

  ‘Please come out,’ she pressed. ‘Not for you – for me.’

  I picked up my coffee. ‘Of course I’ll come out. But don’t moan if I fall asleep at the bar.’

  ‘Fab.’ She toasted me with her cappuccino and we drank our coffee. ‘I’m going to really miss working with you, Alice,’ she said suddenly.

  I attempted a smile and resisted the urge to beg her not to leave. ‘Well, we can still go out every Wednesday,’ I said. ‘And invite David.’

  She laughed and checked her watch. ‘And talking of David…’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Let’s drink up and get back before he starts to worry.’

  * * *

  It didn’t surprise me that David took making a decision over Sophie’s replacement right down to the wire. It was 5pm when he called me into his office to say that he agreed that M
errin was the most suitable candidate. He explained his decision with the air of a doctor tasked with delivering a terminal diagnosis and I kept expecting him to open a drawer and hand me a black arm band.

  ‘Well, it’s good that we agree,’ I said, attempting positivity.

  ‘Yes.’ He offered me a tired smile.

  ‘We should think about a gift for Sophie,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I’m going to give her a golden handshake, naturally.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘But something personal would be nice. I am, as you would expect, hopeless at that kind of thing. Any ideas?’

  ‘I’ll have a think,’ I said. ‘Was there anything else you needed to discuss?’

  He said nothing, his elbows resting on his desk, hands now interlaced in an attitude of deep contemplation.

  ‘David,’ I prompted.

  He looked up. ‘Sorry, yes?’

  ‘Was there anything else?’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, Alice, I think that’s everything.’

  I remained seated for a moment. ‘Are you busy tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Well, why don’t you come out with Sophie and me?’

  He blinked and I was unsure whether this was due to pleasant surprise, or mild distress at having to come up with a polite refusal.

  ‘Don’t feel you have to,’ I said. ‘I’m just going for one drink, to keep Sophie happy, and then I’m going home.’

  He smiled. ‘Thank you but I think I’m going to say no. I’m very tired and I…’ He paused before continuing. ‘I’m very tired.’

  I nodded, rose to my feet and walked to the door. ‘Another time then.’ I opened the door and looked back, with the intention of wishing him a good weekend, but he had turned his chair towards the window, and appeared once again lost in thought. I exited and closed the door quietly behind me.