Date Sunday 16 April Time 4.20pm
My thoughts and reflections:
Mum was rearranging one of the multiple posies of primroses, forget-me-nots and grape hyacinths dotted around the house. ‘I’m just saying it’s not like Alice to turn down chocolate on Easter Sunday.’ Mum sounded offended, as though I’d just rejected her and Easter itself rather than a mini egg.
‘I’m fine,’ I repeated, fiddling with a forget-me-not. ‘Honestly. Just excited. About Easter.’
‘Yes, and normally that’s because you’re excited about chocolate,’ Mum said, pulling the vase away, and sliding the basket of mini eggs across the table towards me.
‘And bacon,’ added Dad, sadly.
Edwin came running into the kitchen, red-cheeked and asking for water, and Arrie sighed with irritation. ‘Roger, get him water.’
Roger stood up and dropped his newspaper on the floor.
‘Totally incompetent,’ Arrie muttered, watching him with undisguised disgust. ‘I told you to stay in the garden, Edwin,’ continued Arrie.
‘You’d better not be after more chocolate.
You’ve got the manic look in your eye of someone who’s already exceeded their fair share. ’
‘He’s just excited,’ I said, palming him extra chocolate as agreed. ‘Like his aunty.’ The twins never did tell their mum about Jurassic Park and I like to think we’ve reached a position of mutual respect.
‘Out!’ Arrie took his empty glass and shooed her progeny away.
I checked my watch again. Any minute now, Matthew would be here.
I texted him yesterday to ask if we could talk.
And, despite having spent near enough every minute since then planning what I’m going to say, I am still unprepared.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so unhungry in my life.
I zoned in and out of Arrie’s conversation with Mum and Dad.
They were talking about Astrid and Aziz and what the announcement could be.
Dad was lugubrious and trying to prepare himself for bad news.
He was midway through a four-part special on Radio 4: Grounds for Divorce.
‘The sad fact is,’ he said, ‘forty-two per cent of marriages in the UK end in divorce, and seven years is particularly high risk. The odds are stacked against them. Add to that the other life changes and you’re looking at a cataclysm.’
‘Astrid and Aziz are fine,’ snapped Arrie. ‘Their life is a bloody picnic. They don’t even have kids. Let’s face it, that’s the real problem. For fuck’s sake, Roger, could you sniff any louder?’
Roger looked affronted. ‘It’s all the flowers. They’re every-where.’
‘Allergic to spring,’ said Arrie. ‘That’s what I’ve married… ’
And then the doorbell went.
‘I’ll get it,’ I said in a shrill voice, jumping up, and dashing out the kitchen.
I could hear vague snippets of my family’s concern, ‘very odd’ from Dad, ‘I didn’t think she understood what a doorbell was’ from Mum, and ‘she’s done full make-up and got dressed and it’s not even noon’ from Arrie, but I wasn’t really listening.
I was on a mission. All I could think about was the person waiting for me on the other side of the front door. Matthew. Matthew. Matthew.
I took a second to prepare myself in the hallway; I don’t know if I’d ever felt this nervous before. It was even worse than the time I realised Belinda Howard had overheard me bragging that I’d shagged her stepdad.
‘Please,’ I asked the Universe. ‘Help me.’
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
‘Take your time, why don’t you?’ said Astrid, hopping from one foot to the other, then pushing past me rudely and rushing into the house.
‘She’s needed the loo since the flyover,’ said Aziz by way of apology, and giving me a quick squeeze hello.
‘But what about the house?’ said Mum. ‘How will you pay the mortgage? And you won’t have jobs to come home to!’
‘My partners are classing it as a sabbatical,’ said Astrid, looking a little embarrassed. ‘And being very generous in terms of extending my salary. So the mortgage will tick over. I’ve told them not to but… ’
‘They don’t want to lose her,’ said Aziz.
‘And Aziz is just taking one month’s extra leave on top of the crazy long summer holiday he gets, plus he can do some remote teaching and therapy.’
‘Advantages to working at a university,’ agreed Aziz. ‘And being a therapist.’
‘Besides, it’s only four months,’ said Astrid.
‘For now,’ added Aziz.
I watched as Astrid reached across for Aziz’s hand, their fingers entwining whilst they both glanced at Mum and Dad.
‘Well, I think it’s fantastic.’ Dad wiped a tear from his eye. ‘What a marvellous thing to do.’
‘Are you serious?’ said Arrie. ‘It’s fucking mental.’
‘I’m a bit uncomfortable with using “mental” pejoratively, Arrie,’ said Aziz.
‘Well said, Aziz,’ said Dad, reaching across for Aziz’s other hand.
‘Oh come on,’ said Arrie. ‘Mum, you’ll back me up? I mean it’s one thing having a mid-life crisis because you’ve got a big birthday coming up… ’
‘And quite another to go travelling,’ agreed Mum. ‘To Indonesia of all places. God, darling, haven’t you seen Bangkok Hilton ?’
‘Wrong country,’ said Astrid.
‘But she makes a bloody good point, Astrid,’ said Arrie. ‘Tell her, Roger.’
‘I loved Nicole Kidman in that,’ said Roger. ‘Pre the surgery. And I’ve always wanted to go to Bali.’
‘Fucking useless,’ said Arrie.
‘They’ll do bottom searches,’ said Mum, ‘mark my words. And they love the death penalty.’
‘I think we’ll be okay,’ said Astrid, meeting Aziz’s eye and smiling.
‘It’s so nice to see you two happy again,’ I said. ‘You’ll love Bali. When are you off, Astrid?’
‘Thirtieth of June.’
Mum looked panicked at the imminent reality and tried again. ‘Look, wouldn’t it be more sensible to have a couple of weeks in Spain, maybe even three?’
‘Not the same,’ said Astrid.
‘What about Verbier? Weren’t you planning a holiday there?’
‘We were. But we’re not now. We’re doing this.’
‘So presumably you’ll forget this whole medicine thing at least?’ said Mum.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Astrid. ‘Maybe I was a bit hasty looking to change my career. Maybe I just need a break. I guess I’ll, we’ll, reassess when I get home.’
Mum elbowed Dad. ‘Aren’t you worried Astrid’s going to destroy everything she’s worked so hard for?’
Aziz stroked the back of Astrid’s hand with his thumb.
‘She’s not destroying anything, Nell,’ said Aziz. ‘She’s exploring her options.’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Dad. ‘You only get one life.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Arrie. ‘You explore your options when you’re nineteen. And Bali! It’s bad enough that Alice thought it was acceptable to have gap years into her twenties but you’re forty next birthday, Astrid! Who has a gap year at forty?’
‘Us,’ said Aziz, calmly. ‘And strictly speaking, it’s a gap four months. At the moment, our return flights are booked for 30 November.’
‘Maybe Alice had the right idea all along,’ said Astrid. ‘She made the most of her twenties. I spent my time working. And then my thirties doing the same. And what’s it all for? All the seventy-hour weeks, all the earning, all the stress. Do I just barrel on up the ladder until I retire?’
Arrie rolled her eyes. ‘Yes!’
‘I’m serious,’ Astrid insisted. ‘I’ve been so busy trying to succeed that I’ve never really had that time. For me.’
‘Yes, darling, and that’s why you’re successful. I mean, look at Alice.’ Mum inclined her head.
Everyone looked at me.
‘What can I say?’ said Mum. ‘I remember the day the head of St Hilda’s told me that Alice had the lowest maths score she’d ever seen in a child, but that with hard work anything was possible.
Then she told me that Alice was also the laziest child she’d ever encountered.
So obviously, given that, we’re proud of anything you’ve achieved, darling Alice. ’
‘So proud,’ murmured Dad.
‘But honestly, Astrid,’ continued Mum. ‘Don’t start thinking Alice had the right idea. Just look at her.’
‘She looks all right to me,’ said a deep voice from the kitchen door.
‘Matthew!’ Mum and I responded simultaneously.
I swivelled round, and for a second our gazes collided, and it may have been an aneurism or it may have been the after-effects of last night’s chilli, but the force of seeing Matthew Lloyd, really seeing him, did something irrevocable to me.
‘What a wonderful surprise!’ interrupted Mum.
‘The front door was wide open,’ said Matthew, ‘do you want it open, Nell?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mum, ‘it’s that latch. No.’
‘I’ll shut it,’ said Matthew, leaving.
‘No, no, I’ll shut it,’ I said, jumping up, and following him out. ‘It was my fault.’
‘Coffee?’ shouted Mum to Matthew.
‘Yes please,’ called back Matthew.
And then Edwin and Ernie ran past us, slamming the kitchen door shut behind them and suddenly it was just me and Matthew, alone in the hallway.
He closed the front door, securing the latch and then started walking back towards the kitchen.
‘Matthew!’ I stopped him in his tracks. ‘I was hoping we could talk?’
‘I know,’ he said easily. ‘I got your messages. Shall we go in the kitchen?’
‘Um, can we go in the sitting room actually? It’s kind of private.’
‘Sure… ’ He sounded uncertain.
We walked through to the sitting room in silence and sat down on the faded sofas facing each other, the April sun forming windows of pure light on the rugs. The clock ticked softly. I stood up and went to shut the door, and then sat back down again.
He looked at me, his eyes unreadable. I waited for him to smile. He didn’t. He just waited and suddenly I didn’t know if I could do this.
‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s up, Alice? Work?’
‘No, not work.’ I swallowed nervously. My palms were clammy, my stomach gurgled, and I was genuinely concerned I might be about to shit myself. I would never ever want to do a job interview with Matthew Lloyd.
‘Some time today would help,’ he said.
‘I saw Ollie,’ I began, and then faltered.
‘Right,’ said Matthew, slightly impatiently. ‘And you’re telling me this because?’
‘I saw Ollie,’ I tried again, ‘because I wanted to find out why you two were no longer friends. And because I kept thinking about what you said in my room, about that night the photo was taken, when Ollie and I got together. You asked me if I overheard everything. And I said I did. But it turns out I didn’t. ’
‘I don’t think there’s much point raking over this, Alice,’ said Matthew, sighing.
‘But there is. There really is.’
I took a deep breath and hoped my voice wouldn’t crack.
‘The thing is, I only heard you tell Ollie that I wasn’t worth it and not to go for me and that if he did you’d lose all respect for him.
So I assumed that was the way you felt about me: that I wasn’t worth anything and that I wasn’t good enough for your best mate.
That’s what I’ve thought for well over a decade. ’
Matthew didn’t say a word.
‘And yesterday,’ I continued, ‘Ollie told me that you didn’t think that. And I never knew, Matthew.’
There was a silence.
‘Okay,’ said Matthew. ‘Well, thanks for sharing that.’
He sounded pissed off. This wasn’t going how I’d hoped.
I tried again. I’m trying to say that I had no idea. Otherwise—’
‘Otherwise what? You wouldn’t have got with Ollie?’
‘You’re not getting it,’ I said, my voice rising. ‘I thought you didn’t like me.’
‘I am getting it,’ he said. ‘And my point is, what difference would it have made? Your interests lay elsewhere.’
‘My interest lay entirely with you,’ I said. ‘I was coming over that night to tell you how I felt about you. That I really liked you.’
I could barely breathe, waiting. Days, weeks, years passed. Someone knocked at the front door. Then knocked again. Did they have no idea that a life-changing conversation was happening in here?
Finally, Matthew spoke. ‘But then you got with Ollie. As I said, your interests lay elsewhere.’
‘What?! I told you I only did that because I heard you say you didn’t want me!’
Matthew looked at me and then shook his head. ‘And you’d have been interested in someone like me beyond a summer fling? I don’t think so.’
‘What is that even supposed to mean? Someone like you?’
‘You’d always have ended up with an Ollie, Alice. Ollie, Monty, Guy – that’s your type. Someone who can afford to have fun and not take work seriously. Someone from the right family going the right places. Like you said.’
‘That’s unfair. And you’re deliberately choosing not to hear what I’m saying.
’ I could feel my eyes stinging. This conversation was not going the way I’d imagined it would.
I looked down at the ground and tried to compose myself.
I could hear the front door opening and muffled voices in the hallway.
‘Well, what does it matter now?’ Matthew stood up. ‘It’s in the past. It took me a long time, but we’ve both moved on.’ He started walking away, but I grabbed his hand.
‘Matthew,’ I said, and my voice sounded weird. The White Rabbit from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland saying Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late! kept repeating in my head , mocking me . Please don’t let me be too late.
We both looked down at our hands. I didn’t let go.
I cleared my throat. ‘But what if I haven’t moved on?’
The sitting room door handle turned and Matthew pulled his hand away just as Mum came in.
‘There you are!’ she said. ‘Hiding away from the rest of us. Your coffee’s getting cold. And Ebba’s arrived.’
‘Hey, darling,’ said Ebba, peeking round the doorway.
‘Hey,’ said Matthew, smiling at her.
‘Are you staying for lunch, Ebba?’ asked Mum.
‘Of course,’ said Ebba, ‘if you’re happy.’
‘Well, this is marvellous,’ said Mum. ‘Matthew’s never brought a girlfriend for Easter before.’
I waited for Matthew to say, ‘Ebba’s not my girlfriend.’
But he didn’t.
And then Ebba said, ‘Ah, that’s sweet,’ and walked over to Matthew (it only took two strides because of her modelly long legs) and used her modelly hands to pull his face towards hers, and then she kissed him. Full on the mouth. Lingeringly. She even slightly bit his bottom lip at the end.
My insides churned.
I was too late.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, pushing past them.