It Was You Page 9

  ‘Great,’ said Miriam, crouching down to speak to Phoebe, who had apparently given up all hope of spotting anything other than tangled branches in the darkness, and was now sitting on the floor, struggling to remove her shoes. ‘Don’t undo those, darling. How about we go through into the light room and see the rats?’ I shuddered at the thought. ‘You love the rats, don’t you? They can run along ropes, can’t they?’

  ‘Whilst carrying over two hundred communicable diseases,’ I muttered.

  Miriam stood up and tutted. ‘I don’t know what your problem is with the rats,’ she said.

  ‘Me neither. Winston Smith and I are just being silly. Come on, Phoebes,’ I said, taking the latter’s hand and helping her to her feet. ‘Come and show Alice the rats.’

  * * *

  An hour later, and we had seen not only the rats but also the penguins, the gorillas, the lorikeets and the pygmy hippos. Miriam and I were sitting on a blanket on the large lawn near the reptile house, eating our picnic, whilst Phoebe entertained herself by running around barefoot and rolling down the small slope behind us, returning to the blanket occasionally, for a handful of Wotsits or a grape. We had been discussing the differences between prairie dogs and meerkats, when Miriam suddenly changed topic.

  ‘Thanks so much for coming with us today,’ she said. ‘I know you have better things to do with your Saturday.

  I lay back, enjoying the unexpected warmth of the April sunshine on my face. ‘Like going to Tesco’s,’ I smiled.

  She looked down at me over her sunglasses. ‘No, like going on a spa day with Sophie and that other interior designer. The woman with the bracelets and the rhyming name.’

  I looked up at her, shielding my eyes from the sunlight with my hand. ‘Jane Crane. How do you know about that?’ I asked.

  ‘Sophie mentioned it. She didn’t know you were coming to the zoo with us.’

  ‘I didn’t want to go to a spa,’ I said, smiling and closing my eyes. ‘You know how I hate being touched.’ Miriam laughed. ‘And,’ I continued, ‘I would much rather be here in the sunshine with you and Phoebe. I genuinely like the zoo and you two are my perfect excuse to go.’

  ‘Well, I still think you’re lovely to come with us.’ I thought I heard her voice catch and I turned to look at her. With her eyes hidden behind sunglasses, it was impossible to guess her mood, but my mind returned to her near tears at the recent book group meeting.

  I raised myself up onto my elbows. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

  She pushed her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘Why?’

  I shrugged. ‘You just seem a bit flat at the moment. Not quite yourself.’

  She turned her head to look over her shoulder towards Phoebe. ‘Do I?’ she sighed. ‘Probably just my age.’

  I waited for her to laugh, or at least smile. She did neither.

  ‘Your age?’ I echoed incredulously. ‘You’re thirty-three, Miriam. Julia Roberts is fifty-five and Jennifer Anniston is over sixty. And look at them.’

  ‘Julia Roberts is not fifty-five,’ she said quietly, ‘and Jennifer Aniston is mid-forties.’ Once again there was no hint of amusement.

  ‘Miriam…’

  She turned towards me and at last managed a weak smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I’m not old. I’m young. I just meant that whatever age I am, whatever stage in life I am at, it’s not…’ She removed her glasses and began to clean them on her skirt. ‘I just don’t know where I’m going. Or who I am, for that matter.’ She replaced the glasses and stared directly ahead. ‘I mean, I know I’m a mother and a wife but I don’t want to be defined by my relationship to my family all the time. And what comes next? My days are just running into each other and every one is the same. There’s no plan; no forward thinking. Meanwhile, I’m getting older and,’ she looked down and patted her stomach, ‘fatter, and less attractive and less interesting.’

  ‘None of that is true.’

  ‘It’s all true,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you know what I found myself doing yesterday?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well,’ she bit her lip before continuing, ‘I was packing my bag at the checkout in Sainsbury’s and I suddenly realised that I was trying to beat the cashier.’

  I frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  She sighed. ‘I mean, I was trying to pack my items more quickly than she could scan them. My aim was that I should be waiting for her to scan, rather than her waiting for me to pack.’ She turned towards me. ‘That’s what I see as a challenge these days. That was my challenge for yesterday – to beat the cashier.’ She shook her head and laughed bitterly. ‘Pitiful,’ she murmured.

  ‘Not at all. I’ve done that before,’ I lied.

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not true, Alice.’

  ‘OK, but,’ I held up a finger, ‘I’m going to do it the very next time I’m in Tesco’s. Sounds like fun.’

  She offered me a tired smile. ‘I love Phoebe. I’m so grateful to be a mother but I look at you and you go to work, doing a job you enjoy, working with lovely people and then, at the end of each day, you can do what you like, when you like, with whoever you like. You’re a person in your own right. I, on the other hand, get up, take Phoebe to pre-school, do a few mindless secretarial bits and bobs badly for Craig, pick up Phoebe and then spend the rest of the day shopping, cleaning, attending toddler classes or, if I’m really lucky, having a coffee with other women who are in a similarly miserable situation.’

  She was now sitting cross-legged, her head bowed once again, whilst she busily decapitated a pile of dandelions she had collected on her lap. Silence, flippancy or a change of subject were not, I decided, options at this point.

  ‘But you’re so loved and needed. You’ve got Phoebe and Craig and I—’

  ‘I wouldn’t be without Phoebe.’ The beheading ceased momentarily. ‘As for Craig…’ She left the sentence hanging and recommenced the floral mutilation.

  I forced myself to press the matter. ‘As for Craig what?’ She remained silent. ‘Go on, explain what you meant.’

  She shrugged. ‘Nothing. I’m just being silly.’

  I touched her arm. ‘Please tell me, or I’ll imagine all sorts of things.’

  She lifted her head and addressed the middle distance. ‘Well, you say I’ve got Craig but I don’t feel I have. Quite a lot of the time these days I feel like a single mother.’ She swept the remaining dandelions from her skirt and threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperation. ‘He spends more time with his clients than he does with me.’

  ‘We both know he loves you and Phoebe so much,’ I sat up and shifted to sit next to her, ‘but you should talk to him about this.’ At that moment, Phoebe returned to the blanket and grabbed yet another handful of Wotsits. I gently pulled her to me and placed her on my lap. ‘Go out for a drink. You know I’m always happy to babysit.’ I kissed the top of Phoebe’s head. ‘You also know how rubbish I am at counselling,’ I added. ‘I’m used to being the one on the receiving end of your words of wisdom but,’ I squeezed her arm, ‘please talk to him.’

  With her shades still firmly in place, I was unsure whether to interpret the momentary jutting of her lower lip as emotion, or as a rejection of my advice. Either way, the expression quickly transformed back into a smile, as she stroked Phoebe’s hair, before suddenly rising to her feet and beginning to gather up the remains of the picnic.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said briskly, ‘that’s enough about me. What I want to know is how things are going with you and Hugh. That’s much more interesting. Abs showed me a picture of him.’ She stopped packing for a moment and looked at me. ‘I had no idea how good-looking he was. He has a gorgeous smile.’

  I stifled a groan at the recollection of the torture to come and began to pass the Tupperware. ‘Yes, well, I’m not sure I’ve actually seen him smile yet,’ I said.

  ‘So,’ Miriam recommenced packing, ‘when are you getting together? Anything arran
ged?’

  ‘Yes, I’m seeing him next weekend.’

  ‘Lovely,’ she said, absently, as she zipped up the cool-bag and began to help Phoebe back on with her shoes and socks. ‘Doing anything nice?’

  I mumbled a reply, whilst folding the picnic blanket. Miriam stopped what she was doing and looked up at me. ‘You’re doing what?’

  I dropped the blanket, flopped back down onto the grass and put my head in my hands. ‘He’s taking me to a battle re-enactment.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, stop being so melodramatic. Those kind of events can be very interesting. I watched one in—’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not watching it.’

  A slow smile spread across Miriam’s face. She put her hand to her mouth, in what I knew was a physical attempt to prevent laughter. ‘You’re…’ I watched as she took a deep breath and regained control. ‘You’re participating?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I am participating.’

  ‘In what capacity are you participating?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll find out more this week. But Hugh has my dress size and a costume will be provided.’

  ‘Oh, Alice.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you couldn’t say no?’

  ‘How could I?’ I sighed heavily. ‘He seems to have gone to an awful lot of trouble. And he’s so unaware – it was as if he was doing me a favour!’

  ‘Oh my goodness, Alice, that is so…’ She hesitated. ‘…so interesting. Which battle will you be—’

  ‘Actually, can we talk about something else?’ I put a hand to my forehead. ‘Because I’m trying really hard not to think about it.’

  ‘Gosh yes, of course, but…’ And at that point, Miriam finally gave in to a fit of the giggles. Phoebe stared at her mother, remaining expressionless for just a moment before sitting down on the grass and laughing along. Confronted by the pair of them, helpless with laughter, I found myself unable to cling to my misery over the battle re-enactment for more than a second or two, before I too was laughing. And, as the three of us sat, happy in the sunshine and leaning against each other for support, I realised that the prospect of a Saturday spent running round a hillside with Hugh did have an upside after all.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Dear God, there is just no upside to this.’ I articulated the thought, as I pulled back my bedroom curtains and peered out at the blustery, dank and extremely wet day; grim beyond its late April situation on the calendar. I sighed. He would be here in forty-five minutes and I still had to breakfast, shower and check the kit list with which I had been issued. I walked to my bedside table, picked up my phone and re-read the text Hugh had sent earlier in the week.

  I confirm that I have booked two standard double rooms at The George at a cost of £97 per room. This is inclusive of breakfast on Sunday morning. I will be picking you up at 10 a.m. on Saturday. Do not forget a packed lunch. As discussed, your costume has been arranged and you can collect it on arrival. There will be a number of layers to it but the location is an exposed hillside and depending upon the weather (rain is forecast), you may well need a waterproof to wear when not in character. I suggest you wear walking boots. Any colour is acceptable as your feet will be hidden by your costume…

  I put my phone down, feeling unable to read any further just yet, and headed for the shower.

  Forty minutes later and I was dressed in jeans, t-shirt and walking boots and sitting in the living room, cradling on my lap a fleece, waterproof trousers, waterproof jacket and a rucksack which contained my overnight things and, of course, a packed lunch. I sighed and realised that this might be in the running to be my worst weekend away ever. Of course, there had been the time an ex had taken me on a mystery mini-break for my birthday, telling me to pack for lots of walking. I had then spent two days in Paris dressed like a member of the Ramblers Association. That had been pretty bad but, try as I might, I couldn’t come up with anything as dreadful as this.

  I was just considering feigning illness, either physical, psychological, or both, when the doorbell rang. Deciding it was simply too late for quality artifice, I hauled myself up and, with the air of a condemned woman, bravely resigned myself to my fate.

  * * *

  ‘This is Barry.’ After just over an hour’s drive, psychologically extended to approximately one year by tedious conversation, Hugh and I had finally reached our destination; the expansive flat summit of a chalk escarpment in Wiltshire. In the distance, I could see the parked motor-homes and pitched tents of the Civil War enthusiasts who would be re-enacting the Battle of Roundway Down for a large (so I had been told) crowd later that day.

  ‘Barry,’ continued Hugh, his hand resting on the shoulder of a stout, heavily-bearded man in his late fifties, ‘is one of the principal co-ordinators of today’s event. It is thanks to Barry, that you are able to join in.’

  ‘Thank you, Barry,’ I said, astonished at the level of apparent sincerity I managed to inject into the phrase. ‘It’s very kind of you and I’m really looking forward to the day.’

  ‘Well, we don’t let non-members participate as a rule,’ Barry smiled. ‘But when Hugh explained the situation and how very keen you were to experience a re-enactment, we of course said yes. Hugh is one of our most experienced, knowledgeable and dedicated members. He has been of invaluable help with the website and with publicity.’ He gazed up at Hugh so adoringly that I feared for a moment he might actually kiss him.

  To his credit, Hugh looked mildly uncomfortable. ‘Not at all, not at all,’ he said quietly, whilst fastening his waxed jacket. ‘I wonder, Barry, if you could briefly explain to Alice, what she’ll be doing today.’

  ‘Delighted,’ beamed Barry. ‘Well, today, Alice,’ he said, ‘you will be one of our ladies.’

  ‘That’ll make a pleasant change,’ I laughed.

  Neither Hugh nor Barry seemed to enjoy the joke quite as much as I did, but Barry smiled kindly, whilst Hugh’s torso moved in a manner which seemed to indicate a suppressed sigh. ‘Sorry, Barry,’ I said. ‘I’ll be quiet. You carry on.’

  ‘How about we talk as we walk?’ he said, jovially. ‘Let’s head over to the tents.’

  ‘I’ll say goodbye now then,’ said Hugh suddenly. ‘You can contact me by phone, if there’s a signal. And we could possibly meet for lunch. If not, I will see you at the end of the day.’

  ‘Oh, so we’re not going to be together today then?’ I asked, looking up at him.

  Barry laughed. ‘You’re on different sides, Alice.’

  ‘We are?’ I looked at Hugh.

  ‘I’m a Royalist,’ he said, failing to make eye contact and instead addressing my forehead – something which made me want to stand on tiptoe in an attempt to meet his gaze. ‘You’re a Parliamentarian today, with a Roundhead regiment.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ I blinked, surprised to discover that I was not entirely happy with the idea of separation.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Barry. ‘Now, I don’t want to hurry you, Alice, but I’ve got some artillery to check in a moment, so if I could just get you over to the ladies that would be great.’

  ‘Sorry, yes.’ I looked at Hugh. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you later, then.’

  ‘You will,’ he said, holding up a hand and starting to walk away.

  I turned to find Barry already striding off in the direction of a group of women, one or two of whom were now in costume, wearing heavy dresses, aprons, shawls and Puritan caps. I hurried to catch him up and soon he was introducing me to two of my fellow ladies. Each greeted me warmly although also, I couldn’t help noticing, with a few sidelong glances at each other.

  ‘So, this is Alice,’ said Barry. ‘Alice, this is the lovely Val and this divine creature,’ he pointed towards a short, rosy-cheeked woman, ‘is my wife, Tina. Tina will be keeping an eye on you today and has a costume for you which you can pop on in our motor-home. You’ve plenty of time. The first skirmish won’t kick off for a good couple of hours yet.’

  ‘H
ello, Alice,’ said Tina, looking, I thought, just a little anxious. ‘Now, I think I better say right away that there has been a misunderstanding as regards your costume.’ Val solemnly nodded her assent.

  ‘A misunderstanding?’ queried Barry, now also looking worried.

  Tina turned to him. ‘I’m afraid when you told me to add an eight to ten to the list, I thought you meant an age eight to ten.’ She looked me up and down. ‘The dress I’ve got would barely cover your knees.’

  Relief flooded through me. ‘Oh dear, but you mustn’t worry,’ I gushed. ‘I’m more than happy just to watch, you know.’

  Barry looked stern. ‘Well, I must say I’m rather disappointed. Alice has been looking forward to this for some weeks now.’

  ‘Really,’ I touched his arm, ‘watching will be very exciting, I’ve never—’

  ‘I know there’s no one at fault here,’ continued Barry. ‘It’s just a silly misunderstanding and I’m as much to blame as anyone but, as I say, I am very disappointed, not to mention a little embarrassed.’

  We stood there unspeaking; a sombre circle of four. It was Val who broke the silence. ‘There’s always Ken’s costume,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Ken?’ Barry appeared confused.

  ‘Ken Lane,’ Val continued. ‘He’s down with a tummy bug so his costume is up for grabs. And what’s more he is…’ At this point she sucked in her cheeks and described the shape of a long thin rectangle with her hands.

  Unhappy with the trajectory of the conversation, I raised a hand, ‘Look, I honestly don’t want to be a—’

  ‘But Ken is a man, Val,’ said Barry. ‘I know you’re trying to help,’ he continued gently, ‘but I can’t hand the girl a pike and shove her into a skirmish.’ He turned to me. ‘Sorry, Alice, I know you’re keen,’ I nodded, judging it best to let the mistaken assumption slide, ‘but these things are carefully choreographed and it would be dangerous to allow you to participate untrained.’