Authors: Isabel Wolff
‘I don’t.’
At least, not any more
.
‘I knew I couldn’t move forward with that hanging over me. So I just needed to come and say…what I’ve said.’
‘It’s okay,’ I murmured, my throat aching. ‘It’s all forgotten now. And in a funny sort of
way
,’ I went on, ‘maybe good things have come out of it.’ I thought of David and my own search for forgiveness.
‘What sort of things?’
‘I can’t…really say. But maybe, one day, I’ll tell you.’
Even as I said it, I knew that I never would.
He sighed, then stood up again. ‘Well, I’d better get going, I guess. I haven’t finished packing.’
‘What’s happening to your flat?’
‘It’s being let.’
‘Thanks for coming, Alexander. I’m so glad you did. Will you let me know how it goes?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course I will. If I land anything big, I’ll e-mail you. I’d like to do that.’
I handed him my card. ‘I hope it all works out…really well.’
‘Thanks. You too. I’m so glad I’ve seen you.’ His deep blue eyes were shimmering again, then he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
‘Can I just ask you something?’ I added, as he reached for the door handle.
‘Of course.’
‘Which charity did you give the money to?’ He paused for a moment, and I saw his face flush.
‘The… Samaritans. I think they’re very worthwhile.’
After Alexander had gone, I sat on the couch, staring at the floor, mentally replaying the scene, frame by frame. Then I put Herman on the lead, and we skirted Primrose Hill in the gathering dusk, then entered Regent’s Park. We crossed over to the Inner Circle, and passed the theatre. There was no performance tonight. It was quiet. And now, as the residual pink of the sky turned to mauve, then cobalt, I sat on a bench, in the rose garden, the memories of my first glimpse of Alexander flooding back.
—I do beseech you—chiefly that I might set it in my prayers—what is your name?
—I’ll be your patient log-man…
—Admired Miranda! Indeed the top of admiration!
I stood up, and began to walk back.
—The rarer action is in virtue, than in vengeance…
That was so,
so
true. I’d felt vengeful towards Alexander; I’d wanted to punish him—but he’d clearly been in pain, all the time. And it had been easy to forgive him—so
easy
—when I’d thought it would be impossibly hard.
As you from crimes would pardoned be
,
Let your indulgence set me free!
When I got back to the house, I saw the answerphone flashing and realized I still hadn’t listened to my messages. I’d been so knocked out by Alexander’s visit that I’d forgotten
to play them. The first message was from him, tentatively asking me to return his call. The second was from Daisy. She sounded upset. I phoned her straight back but her mobile was switched off. Maybe she was out with Nigel, or at one of her parties. I was longing to tell her about Alexander, and I wanted to know what was happening with her. What was it she’d said yesterday? She’d mentioned something that
I’d
said, when we were sitting in her garden a few weeks ago—but I couldn’t for the life of me think what.
At ten I left another message for her, telling her to call me any time—day or night. But she didn’t. And I didn’t hear from her all the next day—or the next. She wasn’t at work, and the woman on reception said they weren’t sure when she was coming in—no one seemed to know where she was. I was worried by now, and was about to call Nigel or her mother when, at last, on Friday, I heard. The phone went at seven a.m. It was her.
‘Miranda.’ Her voice was cracking. ‘It’s me. I’ve been awake all night. Can I come over for breakfast?’
‘Of
course
. I’ll go and get some chocolate croissants.’
She arrived an hour later, looking pale and strained.
‘I just wanted to see you. The last three days have been hell.’
I glanced at her left hand, and she saw me looking. ‘I’ve given it back.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not marrying him, Miranda. I decided on Tuesday.’
‘Christ,’ I said quietly. ‘Why? Because of the way he proposed?’
‘Yes,’ she sighed ‘in part. It was just so
awful
. I felt…humiliated. He couldn’t have made it less romantic if he’d tried. But also because I discovered that what Mary said was true. I pressed him about it on Monday night and, under duress, he virtually admitted it. But the
main
reason I’m not marrying
Nigel is because it’s just plain…
wrong
—and I’ve known that for a very long time.’
‘Then why on earth…?’
She threw up her hands. ‘Because I’ve been such a
wimp
! Clinging to Nigel because I thought he was my best bet—and because I was afraid of starting again with someone else. I’d just got in the habit of being with him, that’s all—and he seemed so suitable and safe. But what have Nige and I got in common, Miranda?
Zero!
’ she went on before I could answer. ‘
Less
than zero actually, and you see, the point is…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘The point
is
…’ There were tears in her eyes now, and her chin trembled with distress. And, as I reached for the box of tissues, I suddenly remembered what it was I’d said to her a few weeks earlier, as we’d sat in her garden.
If it doesn’t work out with Nigel, maybe it’s because it’s actually your destiny to meet someone else
.
‘The point
is
…’ she tried again, then sank onto a chair. ‘That I’ve…’
‘Met someone else… You have, haven’t you? This is what this is really about.’ She nodded, then her head collapsed onto her chest. ‘Oh Daisy.’
‘I thought you might have guessed before,’ she wept. ‘It’s been pretty bloody
obvious
—but you’ve been so wrapped up in yourself.’
‘I know I have,’ I said as I handed her a tissue. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been so distracted by my own problems. But do you think it might…work out…with this guy?’
‘No! No—it
won’t
work out,’ she wailed.
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’s
with
someone—but that’s not the
point
. The point
is
that I’ve only known him just over a month, but in that time I’ve had
ten times
more fun with him than I’ve had in nearly
six years
with Nigel. And that made me finally face
up to the fact that it would be
wrong
to marry Nige. Until that happened to me, I’d been happy to go along with the illusion that Nige was okay. That he’d “do” for me—but he
won’t
; because he took too long to make a commitment, and then did it for the wrong reasons—and that’s just not
good enough
, Miranda—I want
more
!’
‘It’s the guy you go microlighting with, isn’t it?’
She swallowed her tears. ‘Yes, it is. I did think you might have twigged before.’
‘Not really, because you’ve been doing these things for
years
, Daisy, with all sorts of people, so I didn’t attach any extra significance to him—especially as you’d just got engaged. But can’t you tell him how you feel?’
‘
No!
’ she wept. ‘It’s too
embarrassing
. He’s
with
someone. I’ve
told
you.’
‘For how long?’
‘About three months. But he’s totally besotted with her—that’s clear. But just the simple fact of meeting someone I’ve had such a strong feeling about, made me realize that I simply
couldn’t
marry Nigel.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve returned the wedding dress, by the way. They gave me back my money—minus ten per cent for the inconvenience.’
‘That was decent of them.’
‘I know. They obviously felt sorry for me. But that’s why I haven’t been at work. I’ve had things like that to do—collecting the ring, and returning it to Nigel. Taking back the dress. Seeing a few people… Plus I had to get my stuff from Nigel’s house—and that’s another thing—there was so
little
of mine there.’
‘I know. I’d always noticed that.’
‘Do you know what there was? My nightdress, my wash-bag, my tennis kit, and a few recipe books. After five and a half years, that’s
all
. He didn’t really
want
to share his life
with me—until he thought it would be useful to do so. But he must have known how I felt.’
‘I’m sure he did. But you never pushed him into making a commitment to you.’
‘I know I didn’t—and what a fool! I let him get away with murder! But I was too…’ she sighed, ‘…too scared to have it out, in case it ended. But meeting this other guy made me feel brave. So, no. I’m not going to settle for Nigel. And as for children—that can wait. I’m only thirty-three—there’s still time. All I do know is I’m not going to marry someone who hasn’t made me feel that I’m…’ she paused, ‘…
essential
to his happiness. That he’d really
miss
me if I wasn’t there—and I don’t actually think Nigel
would
—or at least not for long. But this other guy… Oh, I’ve had such
fun
with him, Miranda. We’ve got so much in common—and he’s so full of
life
.’
I suddenly noticed the short white hairs on her jumper again. And now, I realized with a jolt that they were Twiglet’s. How could I have been so blind? ‘It’s Marcus,’ I said quietly.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Well done, Sherlock.’
‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t…think. I’ve been in a sort of tunnel lately—and to be fair, Daisy, you didn’t
say
.’
‘That’s because I felt such an
idiot
. There I was, having hankered after Nigel for
so
long, and I finally get engaged to him—and
what
happens? I instantly get a massive crush on someone
else
—someone who isn’t even
free
! I know we’re best friends, Miranda, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you what was going on because I felt such a
fool
! And I was in a real quandary, because I did feel, for a while, that Marcus liked me—when I was doing the self-defence classes.’
‘So that’s why you sounded so enthusiastic about them.’
‘Well, yes, it was such a lot of fun. And because you never
came, I had to work with him, as all the others were in pairs. And I did feel then, that he…liked me. But then, to my amazement—Nigel proposed. He proposed—just when I didn’t actually
want
him to. It was all such a mess. But now, well, it doesn’t matter. But, if you ever see Marcus again, you won’t say a thing, will you?’ She put her head in her hands. ‘It makes me feel utterly…
absurd
.’
‘No. Of course I won’t. But what has he said about his girlfriend?’
Daisy sighed. ‘Not very much. I only know her name, and that she makes jewellery, and that she’s successful and very beautiful. Other than that he’s hardly discussed her.’
‘So he’s never said anything negative about her, then?’
‘Gosh,
no
.’ Daisy looked shocked.
‘What a
nice
man he is. He’s very loyal. I wouldn’t worry about Natalie, Daisy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that.
Forget
about her, and carry on seeing Marcus.’
‘But that’s the problem,’ she sobbed. ‘I
can’t
. Because the self-defence classes are over now, and he suddenly said that he didn’t have time to take me microlighting any more.’
I suddenly remembered Marcus’s odd reaction to Daisy’s engagement. He’d
liked
her. Of course. He’d been in a quandary himself. ‘I think that if you tell him you’re no longer engaged—he
will
.’ She looked at me curiously. ‘That’s all I’m going to say, Daisy. Just…forget about Natalie. Make friends with Marcus, as you’ve been doing. After all, you’re free to do whatever you like now—
with
whoever you like.’
‘Yes,’ she said, with a relieved sigh. ‘I
am
.’
On Saturday I spent the morning dealing with my e-mails. There was one from Lily thanking me for the flowers, accompanied by a ‘formal pawtrait’ of Jennifer and Gwyneth;
then there was another one from the man with the budgie, saying that the provision of a companion had greatly improved Tweetie’s mood. There was also one from the Greens, the owners of the Red setter I’d seen in late June. ‘
This is to let you know that a fortnight ago we had Sinead mated with a nice Irish setter called Fergus—and she’s now a very happy mum-to-be
.’ I smiled. ‘
And so
,’ I read on, ‘
am I! When we came to see you, I had no idea that I was actually four weeks pregnant, naturally as it happens, and I’ve just had my three month scan
.’ I e-mailed back to say how thrilled I was for them. Things often work out in quite oblique ways, I thought, as I worked through the rest of my mail.
‘
Every time I try to kiss my girlfriend, her dog attacks me—please help!
’ ‘
Do you think my Peke is a pervert? It keeps trying to make love to the cat
.’ There was another e-mail from the man whose rabbit wouldn’t breed.
‘She’s a very pretty little Angora—and we’ve had her introduced to three bucks now, all of them eminently suitable in our view—but absolutely nothing’s happened. Do you think she’s too fussy—or are we doing something wrong?’
I messaged him back, advising patience.
‘Rabbits are individuals…’
I typed. And I was just going to go into some detail about the sexual psychology of the receptive doe, when the phone went. It was my mother—on her mobile.
‘Darling, you’ve
got
to watch the early evening news. We’re on!’
‘Mum, I can’t believe the opening of a golf club is a national news story.’
‘Just
watch
it, Miranda—they’ve been interviewing us all morning—and, oh, sorry, can’t chat—the man from
London Tonight
is waving at me.’