Serpentine
‘So – a super-volcano is defined as a volcano that produces a massive amount of what we call ejecta. Why is that funny, Ryan? Would you like to explain to everyone? Okay, where was I? So this magma builds under the crust, the pressure increasing until you get this super-eruption, sometimes more than one thousand cubic kilometres of ejecta … Will someone pat his back, please, before he chokes? Ryan, do you want to wait outside until you’ve calmed down? No? Right then, I give up, I’m not going to tell you any more, you can find out in the exhibition.
‘Now, that should take an hour and then you’ll have some spare time to do whatever it is you do. Please, I beg you, don’t just run to the shops. Hyde Park is to the north of us, so come out of the Museum and turn left and left. You know what to do. You can read maps. We are heading for the Royal. Albert. Memorial. Who knows who Albert was? … Yes, exactly, thank you, Amit. The Royal Albert Memorial at four p.m., no later. Careful crossing the roads. Ryan, can you breathe again? Good lad. Mrs Fraser and I will see you at four.’
They scattered. Cleo and Michael watched them go, then walked the aisles, half reading the labels, pressing buttons, their minds elsewhere. The London trip had been Michael’s initiative, surprising in its passion, this shift to urban geography. They’d see the Thames Barrier, explore the city’s hidden rivers, discuss transport policy, spending two nights in a Soviet-style budget hotel near Hanger Lane gyratory.
‘Missing the mountains, Mrs Fraser?’
‘I like the mountains,’ said Cleo, ‘but the shops are better. In fact, I’m off.’
‘But you have to see the exhibition!’
‘A million billion cubic metres, sixty trillion years. Is that the gist?’
‘I don’t know why you’re here if you’re going to be cynical.’
‘If I’m cynical about anything, it’s our reason for being here.’
‘Geography’s not just lakes and mountains, it’s cities too.’
‘And people.’ A giant cross-section of the earth, animated orange magma simmering beneath the mantle like an angry boil. ‘The movements of people.’ Pressing buttons forced the lava up through the earth’s core towards the danger zones. ‘I like this,’ said Cleo, jabbing buttons. ‘God-like power.’
‘You’re sure you don’t want to come? Say hi?’
She laughed. ‘Oh, no. You’re on your own for this one. There goes Yellowstone. Shouldn’t you be going?’
‘I’ve got a while yet. We’re meeting at two.’
‘Go now. In case you get lost. You look nice. It’s fancy dress and Michael’s come as autumn.’
‘Sounds depressing.’
‘Not at all.’ She checked quickly that no kids were watching, then embraced him. ‘Don’t fuck it up, Michael. See you at four.’
He set off, pausing in the gentlemen’s toilets to check his appearance. A jacket, corduroy but fitted, even a tie, knitted, bulky, practically a scarf. He’d shaved that morning in the tiny bathroom cubicle, brushed his teeth, clipped his nails and flossed and brushed his teeth again. Was this grooming? It was not how Marnie would remember him, but perhaps that was a good thing. New start, clean slate, all among the phrases he’d rehearsed. He brushed his fingers along the mark on his jaw – scar was such a melodramatic word – then headed out on to Exhibition Road.
He’d first made contact in early September, with a text.
Dear Marnie, It has been a while I know, and feel free to ignore this but it turns out I have to come to London with school in early October. Do you want to go for a walk? It is fine if not, but I would love to see you. Michael
It was a functional message that seemed to have gone through many drafts, retaining a slightly formal air – no contractions, proper punctuation, that ‘dear’ – so that it was like a request to call in an Edith Wharton novel. Why no ‘yours sincerely’? No ‘x’ either and ‘love’ was there only to express enthusiasm, as in ‘I’d love a biscuit.’ Still wary, still bruised, Marnie spent some time drafting an appropriately insouciant response, something she might toss over her shoulder while walking away, indifferent. After some thought, she came up with le mot juste –
Sure.
– her masterpiece. Several more coded exchanges followed, days, even weeks apart, each as contained and considered as a haiku.
Let us meet at two
On the south side of the bridge
Look forward to it
She’d had her hair cut a week before so that it could settle a little and considerable thought had gone into her outfit too. A long black coat, long black pleated A-line skirt, black tights, black jumper in budget cashmere, the look was ‘wronged woman in modern-dress Chekhov production’. Ideally she’d have come without a bag but there was now a package to give to Michael, or to take away again, depending on how things went.
For a change, Nature had decided to play along and it was the most exquisite autumn day, honey-coloured and cool, one last flourish before the evenings closed in. Maybe they could talk about it a little, what the leaves were up to and all that. They had two hours and she was not yet sure if this would be too much time or not nearly enough.
She saw him coming some way off, striding alongside the traffic on West Carriage Drive, raising one hand. She hadn’t wanted him to jump out on her but these slow approaches were always awkward – he must have been a quarter of a mile away – and was she meant to look at him, look at the trees? Go and get a coffee and come back? She had adopted a wry smile, but unless he’d brought his binoculars the wryness would not register and so she looked at her phone, up and down again, until he arrived.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello, there.’
He put his hands on her upper arms and they touched cheeks. Why is she in mourning? he wondered. It didn’t bode well.
‘It’s so strange to see you without your …’
‘Beard?’
‘Rucksack.’
‘Thank you.’ Don’t say thank you, it’s not a compliment. ‘And you.’ Don’t say and you.
‘Beard or rucksack?’
‘No, I meant, you look very nice.’
‘And you look very different.’
‘Oh. Well. Thank you.’ Again, not a compliment.
‘How is London?’
‘You were right. It’s so big!’
‘But you found this all right?’
‘Well. I’m here.’
‘You are. You are.’ It was not going well, and they both felt that this was their own fault. ‘Shall we get off this main road? Go and see the lake?’ she said, as if the lake might provide the answer. ‘We can walk around it and it won’t take nine days. You’re meeting at …?’
‘Four, by the Albert Memorial.’
‘I’ll get you there in good time.’ Now she was the guide as they crossed the road and followed the southern edge – shore was not the right word – alongside the joggers and tourists.
‘Maybe we could both go for a swim!’
She knew what he was doing. He was being nostalgic, but it was too early for that. ‘You can swim here, actually. That’s the Lido coming up. I’m talking about it like it’s something I’ve done, swim in the Serpentine. I’ve always meant to do it. I know that’s not the same thing.’ At one point, when she’d first thought she was in love, she had imagined him in this exact place, walking arm in arm, exchanging fond looks and laughter as if in a flashback, everything settled and understood. In the present tense, it was all so much harder.
For his part, he was appalled at his unnatural demeanour, galumphing and tongue-tied, a teenager without the alibi of youth. Doggedly, they worked through questions and answers – where are you staying? How far away is your flat? How is the hotel? Are the kids wild? What are you editing? – and it was fine and fond enough but it felt like clearing the furniture from a room to make space, either for a dance or a fight, and half an hour passed before he found a chance to say, ‘Obviously, I wanted to apologise.’
‘Why “obviously”?’
‘What?’
‘Why “obviously”? What do you think you did wrong?’
‘What did I …? Well, clearly I should have told you I was meeting Nat.’
‘She’s your wife. You don’t have to tell me everything.’
‘I was a bit abrupt, saying goodbye.’
‘You had a lot on your mind, you were nervous—’
‘And maybe I wasn’t very open or clear with you about what I was thinking.’
‘You told me, the night before, she was probably the love of your life. If anything, it was a little too clear.’
‘So, you’re fine?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m just not sure it’s that big a deal.’
They walked a little further, and after a while, he said, ‘You see, you say that, Marnie, but ever since I arrived you’re just giving off this tremendous sense of rage.’
And here she laughed. ‘I thought we had something, Michael!’
‘And so did I!’
‘I thought something was happening!’
‘I thought so too!’
‘Yes, but something different. You thought you were going to have, I don’t know, a little holiday fling or something—’
‘That’s not what I thought—’
‘—and I thought I was falling in love with you.’
‘Did you?’
‘“Holiday fling”! It wasn’t even a proper holiday.’
‘But is that what you thought? That you were—’
‘Yes! Yes, and it was extremely rare and extremely new to me and quite alarming actually, because that hasn’t gone well in the past, and what’s worse is you knew all that, I’d told you, for hours and hours, why I was wary and it was, well, it was humiliating, frankly.’
‘So you do think I should apologise.’
‘Oh, I should think so, yes.’
‘And that’s why I’m here!’
‘Now, you’re here because of … super-volcanoes or whatever.’
‘That was just a ruse.’
‘Oh, a ruse, an ingenious ruse …’
‘I’m here to see you. I wanted to see you because I felt the same.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t think you did.’
‘But I was getting there. I was thinking the same things, asking the same questions. I was just a little bit … scared, I suppose.’
‘Scared! Men always say that, like it’s a reason, but you’re not using the word properly. What are you scared of? You’re a grown-up! I mean, if I had a taste for human flesh or something, that’d be a cause for fear but even then—’
‘You said yourself, it’s a big deal at our age—’
‘Hey! Four years younger—’
‘—even at your age, to fall for someone—’
‘—especially if they’re in love with someone else.’
‘I am not in love with anyone, Marnie, except you.’
She went to speak, hesitated, held her breath and then exhaled.
‘Why don’t you believe me?’ he said.
‘Why would I? You don’t stop loving someone because you can’t have them. People have written books about it.’
‘I did love her. Very much, some years ago, and it didn’t work out, and I won’t forget that. But I think I can … I think I’m ready to start something new. And I do feel happier with you, happier than I’ve been for ages, years, more than I thought I could be. Even arguing with you like this I’m happier. I can talk, I can say things I couldn’t say before, and coming here today, I was so … excited. You’re like, I don’t know … a view. I just want to look and look. I’m not making sense but the point is I want to be with you, Marnie, more often and as more than friends. I don’t know how it’s going to work but I want to be with you as much as possible from now on.’
They stood silent for a moment. She was not unmoved by this and for a while she didn’t know what to say. ‘I think … I think we need some time.’
He held up a finger. ‘And with that in mind …’ He reached into his pocket, and then another pocket, then a third until finally he produced an object which he held out in his hand as if it were a ring box rather than a dull grey stone with a white stripe.
‘My god,’ she said, ‘You’re obsessed.’
‘D’you remember?’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere.’
‘I was meant to take it all the way across, but I didn’t make it. Did Cleo tell you?’
‘She did. She said you’d chickened out. We laughed about it.’
‘I thought you might. But I had this idea that I might go back, autumn half-term, walk the last two days, and I thought you might come with me.’
‘I think I’m walked out, Michael.’
‘No, but listen, you come up early Friday, I meet you in Scarborough in a cab, we go to the Moors where I left off, then walk the last two days to Robin Hood’s Bay. It’s all downhill, not all but most of it, it has to be, sea-level, the last of the Moors, then cliff-tops, beautiful in autumn, and we stay in a nice hotel, spend the day by the sea, and then head back to York.’ He felt silly about the stone now, something he’d hoped might be charming. Should he throw it into the lake? ‘It feels wrong not to finish it together. I mean you won’t have done all of it, obviously, only seventy per cent.’ Here she gave him a dangerous look. ‘You caught a bus!’
‘Only for half a mile!’
‘But the principle of it …’
‘Two hundred yards. It was an emergency!’
He smiled. ‘Fine, we’ll say you’ve done it all. And it’s not far.’
‘I’ve heard that before …’
‘Really, it’s not, and it’ll be fun, and we can talk about everything, where we are now, where we want to be—’
‘And the hotels—’
‘Yes.’
‘—the same room?’
‘That’s what I want. I mean I really do, if you want it too. Do you?’
She paused and thought for a moment. ‘Well, it would save money.’
‘Very much a cost-cutting exercise,’ he said, and here she laughed and kissed him, standing at the south-east corner of the Serpentine, pausing only to step politely to the side to let the tourists pass, then continuing until she suddenly pulled away as if remembering something.
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘Go on?’
‘And then what? What happens the day after that?’
‘Well. We’ll take it one step at a time, I suppose.’
‘Sounds a bit vague.’
He opened his eyes wide. ‘I know!’ he said, and they kissed again. ‘So will you come?’
‘I will give it serious thought. I will think about it. Okay?’
He’d hoped for something more definite but this, he felt, was enough for now and so they talked of other things and walked the north side of the Serpentine, which, as Michael pointed out, doesn’t really deserve its name, given that it barely bends. Marnie smiled.
‘What?’ he said.
‘I was just thinking. Look who’s back.’
They sat and watched and rated the roller skaters on Serpentine Road, then headed west into Kensington Gardens, wary of getting too close to the Memorial for fear of bumping into the class, and in a quiet spot under the trees, they held on to each other, storing up the sensation, committing it to memory before saying goodbye.
‘Oh, by the way,’ said Marnie, reaching into her bag, ‘this is for you. Don’t open it until I’ve gone.’
It was a parcel wrapped in brown paper, tied with her green gardening string, the size of a hardback book but soft.
‘Thank you. I should have got you something from the Museum gift shop …’
‘Plastic dinosaur. No, I’m all right. The Memorial’s over there, the Victorian space rocket.’ One last kiss and then she was walking away across the park and once again there was the problem of distance. She knew he would be watching so she put her hands deep into her pockets, swishing the coat just a little, as if it were propelling her, seeking out piles of dry leaves for the full effect.
He watched her for some time, then found a bench, sat with the parcel on his lap and tugged the string. There was no note, just a new shirt, white, large-collared and French-cuffed, in some heavy material, soft and expensive. It was, he thought, the most beautiful item of clothing he’d ever seen.
He rewrapped the parcel carefully, tied the string again, waited until he’d pulled himself together, then went off to meet the kids.