Wise Follies (40 page)

‘Yes – yes, Alice. I suppose it is.’

I move towards him and he hugs me again. A big strong loving hug that I wish could go on forever. We stay, pressed closely, yearningly, for at least a minute and then, when I look up, I see something. I see Eamon and Mira staring, gobsmacked at us from my own window. Liam sees them too.

‘Oh shit!’ I exclaim. I scurry away from Liam up the pathway.

‘Who is he?’ Eamon demands as soon as I get in the door. ‘Who is that man you were with?’

‘My neighbour,’ I answer curtly, deciding not to be too apologetic. It might make Eamon even more suspicious.

‘A very close neighbour by the looks of it,’ Eamon says sarcastically, anger glinting in his eyes.

‘He’s a good neighbour, Eamon,’ I reply, in firm, even tones. ‘And you know what that song says – we all need them.’

‘Some more than others it seems,’ Eamon says, sitting with sudden dejection on the sofa. Mira pats his arm comfortingly.

‘We were just saying goodbye,’ I say. If I’m not careful I’ll start to blabber. ‘It was an affectionate hug. That’s all it was. He’s American and they tend to do that kind of thing more than we do.’ Silence. ‘Though, of course, the French and Italians are very demonstrative too,’ I add, quite unnecessarily. I don’t think Eamon and Mira are in the mood for a discussion about the social characteristics of different races. ‘Anyone fancy a glass of wine?’ I add. ‘It’s a good one. The woman in the supermarket specifically recommended it.’

‘No,’ says Mira, most disapprovingly. ‘Where were you, Alice? Don’t you remember? We were all supposed to go to lunch together. Eamon had booked seats at a lovely restaurant.’ She looks at him sympathetically.

‘Oh no! I completely forgot,’ I exclaim. ‘I really am very sorry.’

‘So am I,’ says Eamon, only I don’t think he’s just referring to our lunch.

‘Could we still go?’ I add hopefully.

‘No, it’s too late now,’ Eamon replies.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ I say, slumping into an armchair. Silence. I must say something. ‘I’ll tell you where I was,’ I say. ‘I – that is Liam and I, went to the Botanical Gardens.’

‘Oh, how nice,’ Eamon says dully.

‘You won’t believe this, Mira, but we saw Cyril.’

‘Who’s Cyril?’ Eamon says sharply.

‘He’s a budgie,’ Mira explains reassuringly. Eamon glances at her gratefully.

‘Tarquin didn’t eat Cyril at all,’ I continue. ‘He escaped.’

‘Good for him,’ Eamon says with a deep sigh. He’s getting up. He’s leaving.

‘I could make us lunch here,’ I say quickly, guiltily. ‘Do stay, Eamon. I could make us some spaghetti with pesto sauce. You know you like that.’

‘Thank you, Alice, but I think I’ll go and play a round of golf. I can have a sandwich at the clubhouse.’

As Eamon departs swiftly in his new Audi, Mira turns on me furiously. ‘How could you?’ she’s saying. ‘How could you treat the poor man like that?’

‘I’m sorry I forgot about lunch,’ I mutter, head lowered.

‘I’m not just talking about lunch.’ Mira is almost shouting at me. ‘You’ve been treating Eamon dreadfully lately. And then – and then – hugging Liam right in front of him like that. Since when did you and he get so close anyway?’

‘Just lately,’ I whisper.

‘Well, I tell you something, Alice – Eamon is distraught. Don’t you care for him at all?’

I look at her, a cold truth suddenly dawning. ‘Not as much as you do, Mira,’ I say softly. Then I walk slowly, sorrowfully, towards my bedroom.

‘What a ridiculous thing to say!’ Mira shouts after me, obviously furious. ‘I’m just being nice to him because of you. I won’t speak to him at all if that’s what you want. I was only trying to be helpful.’

‘She doesn’t even know it yet,’ I think, as I sit on my cane chair. ‘She’s such a loyal friend she wouldn’t be able to admit it to herself. And even if she did realize how much she likes him, she wouldn’t do anything about it. That’s the kind of person she is.’ I pick up the teddy Matt sent me. He doesn’t look sly anymore. I hug him to me, burying my face in his fur. It’s been such a long day already, and it’s only four o’clock. What’s more, as I look down at my feet I realize something. All afternoon I have been wearing my pink furry slippers, and I don’t care.

Suddenly I know I can’t stay in this room all evening. I can’t. I have to get out. Get away. Mira doesn’t see me as I leave. She must be in her bedroom. I’m walking in a daze along the road. When I reach the river I look down at the swirling water almost longingly. It’s deep at this place near the bridge. It wouldn’t be that far to fall To fall? Oh no – what can I be thinking of! Fall where? Surely that’s not the answer. It can’t be.

I have been so foolish. So foolish. All along I’ve been blaming other people for my unhappiness. Sarah, James Mitchel, Eamon. But I’ve caused most of it myself. I’m shivering now, trembling with fear. How can I have reached this point of utter desolation? Something inside me is curling into a tight ball of pain. Surely this misery can’t last? I can’t bear it. What I want now is just not to feel anything. I look at the river again. It seems the colour of endurance. My heart is breaking and yet I can still say ‘Nice evening’ to the woman who runs the newsagent’s as she passes by.

How I’ll have to smile and smile at my wedding. How I’ll have to hide my deepest, dearest longings in some place – some place where even I can’t find them. It would be so much easier if they went away, but I don’t think they ever will. They’ll make me hard. Brittle. Angry. One day Eamon will wish he’d never met me. Why couldn’t I have just said ‘no’ to him? That would have been the loving thing to do. Why didn’t I go to that art college in Paris after school instead of being persuaded out of it? Why was I so slow to admit that Liam cared for me, even buying net curtains to try to keep him out? Why? Why? Why? Those questions will go on for ever if I don’t do something about them. But do I have the courage? The conviction? I feel like I’m on the edge of my own life and I dare not, I simply dare not look down.

All my life I’ve been afraid of falling. Falling into some place where no one could reach me. Falling in love even – real love. The kind you can’t escape from. That leap of faith has eluded me. Terror has been locked inside me for so long that it has made me Almost Alice – only part of the person that I could have been. And it is this realization that has brought me to this river. Made me clutch the parapet with shaking fingers. I look at the river again. The comforting blankness of its depths. And then suddenly, almost from nowhere, the words of a poem come to me. A poem by Christopher Logue I thought I’d forgotten. I only read it once, very long ago. The words are drifting with the breeze now, dancing with the light dappling through the trees…It’s about people being called to the edge and replying that they can’t. They’re too frightened. ‘We might fall,’ they say. But amazingly, remarkably, they do come to the edge.

‘And they come,

and he pushed,

and they flew.’

Chapter
32

The church is almost
full. I peeped in a moment ago – Mira and I are hiding round the back of the building. Somehow we got here a bit too early. The service will be starting any moment now. We’re just waiting for our cue. Inside the church I saw heads in big hats bobbing around, whispering, fidgeting, looking behind them quickly, furtively. I’m really nervous, but I suppose that’s natural. It’s a big occasion.

I made love with Liam again last night. We’ve been seeing a lot of each other lately. It was wonderful. I’d forgotten how good sex can be with the right person. No wonder Sarah keeps asking me to write articles about it. The first time I made love with him was the day after we’d kissed each other in the Botanical Gardens. The ‘long day’ when I’d argued with Eamon and stared for so long at that river. When I left the river and turned homewards I felt quite different somehow. I saw all the things that didn’t matter and let them fall away.

Liam and I really thought we were saying ‘goodbye’ when we hugged each other outside the cottage and Mira and Eamon saw us through the window. By the next day, however, I wasn’t at all sure of the wisdom of our parting. So when he ‘just happened’ to be passing the cottage as I was watering the dahlias, I called out ‘Hello’ in a very friendly fashion. Though there were many things I yearned to say to him, I found myself asking him about his philodendron. He suggested that I might pop around and have a quick look at it. He also wanted advice as to whether his buddleia required pruning. I was rather surprised that he was being so conscientious about his garden since he planned to move soon, but I happily complied with his wishes. As we wandered through the greenery he asked me if his clematis had clematis droop, but it just needed a thorough watering. Liam didn’t have any kind of droop either, as it turned out.

His house is very colourful. Even though it’s rented, he’s done his best to make it ‘home’. He has all sorts of little objects dotted around the place, including a collection of old tin toys. He also collects old jazz records and played Bessie Smith for me on an ancient gramophone. In the kitchen there are a number of framed photographs of the Mississippi delta. He’s very fond of the Mississippi delta for some reason. In fact, he’s very fond of many things. He is what one might call a natural enthusiast. Maybe that’s what makes him seem so young. He’s not that much younger than me actually. Only five years. He kept rushing off to get things to show me. At one point it looked like he was going to play the guitar, only I managed to sidetrack him on to the subject of lobelias. Then he darted into the kitchen announcing he was going to make pancakes, but they stuck to the pan. So we had thick slices of toast and jam and three-quarters of a packet of chocolate chip cookies. I think it was around that time that we opened the first bottle of wine. Liam is interested in wine. A lot of my friends are these days. He said that one day he’d even like to have a vineyard somewhere warm.

‘Really,’ I said. ‘In Provence?’

‘I dunno yet,’ he replied, refilling my glass. The candles were making everything glow warmly. He’d lit about four of them and it was only three o’clock.

He’s a good listener. He loved hearing about the Delaneys’ shop and how Annie and I and Aaron used to play by the river. Then he told me about his childhood in New York. All the sights and smells and sounds he yearns for sometimes, and the people he loved who are no longer around. He told me about his work at the school too. How great the kids are. How honest. I loved listening to him. It wasn’t hard at all. The wine was delicious. I suddenly wanted to be closer to him. As close as we’d been when we kissed so deliciously, so naughtily, under the palm trees. I must have fancied him for ages, but just didn’t want to admit it. I was too scared. Jumping to the conclusion that Elsie was his girlfriend was very convenient. It gave me an excuse to hide from my feelings, but I didn’t want to anymore. I knew this when Liam asked if I’d like to see the rest of his house that afternoon and I said ‘yes’.

He took my hand and led me upstairs. I found myself lingering in his big and rather overcluttered bedroom. I was admiring the pictures, the kentia palm, the eclectic selection of books, the Victorian brass bed that he’d found at some auction. ‘It’s a very comfortable bed,’ he said, as he sat down on it and patted the cotton Indian bedspread.

Of course, I had to sit on it myself to find out if he was telling the truth and that’s how, five minutes later, we found ourselves semi-naked and entwined in a passionate embrace. It seemed inevitable somehow. Like something long postponed. He looked into my eyes and said, ‘Oh, Alice,’ in such a sweet, relieved, tender way that I almost cried.

It was so lovely, our lovemaking. He removed my clothes carefully, nuzzling my shoulder, breasts, cheek, arms, as he did so. ‘You’re obviously a layered person like me,’ he commented as he got to my rather ancient vest. I didn’t care that it was ancient. I would have with James Mitchel but with Liam I don’t feel there are all sorts of things I need to feel shameful or embarrassed about. Things that I should hide. I didn’t feel shy when his hand moved downwards, and reached in between my thighs. I didn’t feel bashful when he felt my excitement, my wetness. He moved his fingers expertly. Aided by my slipperiness. Then they reached inside me, probing, gentle, searching.