Authors: Maggie O'farrell
Tags: #Contemporary, #Sagas, #Fiction, #Romance
'Why? Because you're in the office?'
'No, it's not that. It would just take too long to explain. Alice, please, just give me one more chance. Just one - that's all I ask, and if I fuck up again I swear I'll never darken your phone line again. I'm so sorry about last night. Just give me a chance to explain myself. Please.'
Her mind is whirring through possibilities - it's not his girlfriend, he can't talk about it in the office, it takes a long time to explain. What can it be? If it's not another woman, then . . . no . . . surely not.
'John?'
'Yes?'
'This problem of yours
'Alice, I told you. I can't explain now. I need to see you and then I'll tell you everything. I promise.'
'It's not . . You're not . . . ?' 'What?'
'Are you . . . ill?'
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'Ill?' he repeats.
She sighs with exasperation. 'Are you HIV positive? Because if it's that, then you might as well just tell me now.'
He gives a short laugh. 'God, no, nothing like that. No, I'm in perfect physical health, though I'm not sure about mental right at this moment.'
'Oh.'
There is a long and strained silence. She scribbles furious, spiky doodles on the notepad in front of her in black biro.
'Look,' John says, 'we can't talk about this over the phone.
Have you got a pen there?' 'Uh-huh.'
'OK. Write this down: Helm Crag Hotel. That's two words, H-E-L-M and crag, C-'
'I know how to spell "crag", but why-' 'Just write it. Have you got it?'
'Yes, but what-'
'OK, that's Easedale Road, Grasmere. Now, there's a train leaving Euston at five-fifteen. Write that down too. You'll need to change at Oxenholme and get a train to Windermere. From there you can get a taxi to the hotel, which is just outside Grasmere in a valley called Easedale. The reservation's under my name.'
'John, if you think I'm just going to-'
'Now. I've got to review a play in Manchester tonight so I'll be getting there a bit later on.
It
could be nearer two or three in the morning. '
'What the hell-'
'I know. I'm sorry about that, but it can't be avoided. I'll be driving, you see, all the way from Manchester. But you can have dinner and go for a walk-'
'John! Listen to me!' 'What?'
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'I never want . . .' Alice begins the first words of a long speech she rehearsed in the bath the night before, but immediately forgets the rest.
'Anyway,' he continues, as if she hadn't spoken, 'we can spend all of Saturday and Sunday together. I doubt I'm going to be able to take Monday off, otherwise-'
'What are you talking about? There's no way, absolutely no way, I'm coming to some hotel in the Lake District with you. Ican tell you that right now.'
'Why not?'
'Why not? What do you mean, "why not?" I hardly know you , apart from anything else. You must be mad if you think I'm just going to drop everything and jump on a train for a dirty weekend with you.'
'Who said it's going to be dirty?'
'There's no point in even discussing it. I've got plans for the weekend anyway.'
'Cancel them.'
'No way. The whole thing's completely out of the ques tion. '
'You must come. Please. We need to talk about things and I think we should both get out of London. It's all arranged. It's the most beautiful hotel ever. You'll love it. It's completely vegetarian.'
'How did you know I'm vegetarian?'
'You told me in the canteen when we did the interview.' 'Did I? I don't remember that.'
'Well, I do. Alice, please come. What do I have to do to convince you? Tell me and I'll do i't.'
'You are the most arrogant person I have ever met. Give me one reason, one good reason, why I should cancel all my plans this weekend to spend a weekend, where it will most probably rain, with a man with a . . . a . . . dubious secret.'
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'Because,' he says softly, 'I don't know how I'm going to bear it if you don't. '
Molly, the girl on duty that night, woke up at the sound .. of a car crunching on the gravel outside. She sat up, still dressed in the flowered uniform of the hotel, and groped for her watch. It was 2.24 a.m. She stumbled out of bed, tripping on her shoes that she'd kicked off earlier and pulled on a jumper.
Standing in the hallway was a dark-haired man. Youngish. Good-looking. They didn't get many young guests. They tended to be older people here for the view, or bearded hill-walking types here for the mountains. He was holding a black grip-bag and a portable computer. He smiled when he saw her tiptoeing down the stairs.
'Hi. I'm so sorry to wake you this late,' he whispered. 'That's OK. Mr Friedmann, is it?'
'That's right.'
'Have you had a long drive from somewhere?'
'Well, London. this afternoon, but I had to spend the evening in Manchester.'
'Oh, right. On business?'
'Yeah. You could call it that. I had to sit through one of the worst and most excruciating pieces of theatre I have ever seen in my life.'
Molly laughed. 'Why?'
'It's my job. Somebody's got to do it.'
'Are you some sort of a critic or something?' He nodded.
'Would you like anything to eat?'
'Is that a real pain for you? I don 't need anything hot. Just a sandwich would be great.'
'Sure. If you could just sign here,' Molly passed over the registration book, 'and here's your key. '
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He recoiled as if she'd handed him some dog shit on a plate. 'Key?'
'Yeah. The key to your room. You could take your bags up while I make your sandwich.'
'You mean this is the key to my room and it's still down here at the desk?' He was gabbling like an idiot now.
'Well, that's where we keep them.' There was something decidedly strange about this guy. He looked like he'd just received the worst news of his life, like she'd just told him his mother had died or something.
'Oh.'
'Is there a problem with that, Mr Friedmann?'
'A problem?' He stared at her for so long she began to feel self-conscious. She began working out how loudly she'd have to shout to get the other girls to hear her. This guy was weird. 'No. No problem,' he said soulfully, and reached down to pick up his bag. 'I'll take this up to my room.'
'Well, you'd better be quiet about it. Your wife went to bed hours ago.'
'My what?' he snapped.
'Your wife.' Did he not understand her accent or some thing?
'My wife!' he cried, suddenly jubilant. 'She's here? I mean, she's come?'
'Yes. She checked in earlier, had dinner then went straight upstairs.'
' Did she? That's great!' He leapt to his feet, beaming like a madman, seized his bag and started up the stairs, two at a time.
'Do you still want the sandwich, Mr Friedmann?' she hissed after him.
'No, don't worry about that. Thanks for your help.
Goodnight. '
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a
f t
e r y o u· d g o n e
Molly began thumbing through the bookings file. How long would he be here for?
When John closed the door behind him it was completely dark and he couldn't see a thing after the luminous light of the corridor. He stood motionless, still clutching his bag anq computer, waiting for his eyes to get accustomed to the dark. Somewhere in the room he could hear Alice breathing. He was suddenly seized with an urgent and inappropriate desire to break into hysterical giggles and had to put his bag down and clamp his hand over his mouth. The urge subsided, which was lucky. She probably wouldn't take kindly to being woken in the middle of the night by a cackle of mad laughter. He was then struck by the thought that he couldn't remember the name of the mad woman in
Jane Eyre.
Something beginning with B. Alice would know, but he felt that might be an even worse reason to wake her. Beryl, was it? Beryl Rochester didn't sound right somehow. Beryl . . . Beattie . . . Beatrice . . . Bridget? No. Shit, what the hell was her name? This was going to annoy him all night unless he could remember. His brain carried on helpfully supplying him with women's names beginning with B. Biddy . . . Beth . . . Bridie . . . Shut up, brain. Brain, sit. Lie down. Stay.
He could now discern a glow from behind the cur tains. He could make out the white of the bed sheets and
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stripped down to his shorts -well, it wouldn't do to appear too presumptuous, would it, he didn't want to frighten the living daylights out of the girl. What was she wearing? He leant over the bed cautiously. It was hard to tell. Her hair was covering her shoulders. Maybe she was naked. The thought made him ant to leap straight into the bed there and then. But, hang Jn, if she was naked and he got into bed with his shorts on, she might think he was a bit of a sad git. Or, worse, a virgin. But if she wasn't and he got into bed beside her completely in the buff, she could get the fright of her life and think he was pulling a fast one. Which he was anyway. He looked helplessly round the room for clues. Her clothes were strewn on the chair beside her side of the bed. He was struck with another thought. Where had he put those condoms he bought in Manchester? He was just about to start rummaging through his luggage when he envisaged a horrible scenario: Alice waking up and turning on the light to see him looming beside the bed dressed only in a pair of jockey shorts, brandishing a large box of condoms.
He pulled back the covers and eased himself into bed. Please wake up now. Go on. It would be perfect. She would wake up slowly and sense him there. Then they could cuddle and maybe - no, for heaven's sake, not yet.
'Alice?' he whispered. He couldn't help himself.
He edged over the bed towards her. She was wearing a nightdress. Thank the Lord. It was some kind of thin, pale, filmy material.
'Alice?' he murmured again. Please wake up, Alice.
]
ohn realised in complete and utter horror that he was getting a huge and urgent erection. Shit, shit, shit. For fuck's sake, what a way to wake her up - thrusting a large wanger between her thighs. Hi, darling. Missed me, did you? He broke out in a panicked sweat and moved away from her as fast as he could without bouncing the mattress too much. Oh, Christ, she
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was stirring and turning over. What the hell was he going to do if she woke up now? Lie on his front and not move? She'd think he was retarded or at least decidedly odd. Hi, Alice. Yeah, I'm fine. Just have to lie here for a few minutes and not move. How was the journey up by the way? She was waking up, John was now convinced of it. Her breathing was distinctly shallower and his erection showed no sign of going down. What the fuck was he going to do? Think of other things, quick . . . er . . . cold showers . . . what else, what else . . . medical examinations at school . . . er . . . times tables. Times tables! One eight is eight, two eights are sixteen, three eights are . . .
He sneaked a look over at Alice. Was she really still asleep or had she woken and was lying there, horrified into silence by the sex fiend in bed beside her? No, she was lying on her back, still fast asleep. John carried on looking. The sheet had slipped to her waist and through the thin material of her nightdress he could see the curve of her breasts and - shit, shit, he was back to the beginning. He was never going to get any sleep tonight and would be a blithering, sleep-deprived idiot in the morning. Great company for Alice, who must have had a good five hours already.
Ann pushes through a side door into a garden, swearing as she catches the jutting bone of her wrist on the steel handle. The air feels close; a screen of grey cloud, hanging just above the glistening chimneys of the hospital, seems to press down on the city, trapping in the fumes and stale air.