Meeting Lydia Read online

  To: Marianne Hayward

  From: Sasha Clement

  Date: 12th September 2002, 17.51 Subject: Happenings at Home

  Marianne,

  Just a note to let you know that Graham and I are splitting up. Been on the cards for some time. Didn’t say anything before ’cos thought we might sort it out. He’s been seeing someone else. A floosy of thirty-five called Debbi. Hardly young, I know, but relative to us … She’s a completely dense Bimbo – typical trophy girlfriend – and now, wouldyoubelieveit, she’s pregnant! This has escalated the inevitable. I’m fine now, so don’t worry. Didn’t want to stay in Bath where I might bump into them. New job in the City so moving back to London soon. Girls cross with Graham and on my side. Ring me when you have time.

  Hugs,

  Sasha

  xxx

  Marianne’s first thought was of a Charmaine-style woman dangling on Graham’s arm and lapping up his pontificating and intellectualising that most other people seemed to find tedious. Then she remembered Sam Rycroft at the reunion, gazing thoughtfully into his beer at the mention of Sasha’s name. Sam with his sad blue eyes … A plan began to unfold in her mind.

  “Johnny, Sam seems a bit out of sorts. Do you feel like inviting him down for a weekend after Holly’s gone back?”

  Then she wrote to Edward about the reunion while the memory was fresh. Edward was still in Scilly and she knew when he returned he would have a monumental mail-bag to deal with. He wouldn’t respond for at least a couple of weeks. Once again, as when he went to Australia, his emails began to feel like a distant memory.

  She remembered what Barnaby Sproat had said.

  ‘Always was a shade exotic.’

  An interesting choice of words, but she’d known it too; that underneath Edward’s quietly charming exterior, there lay a heart with a fanciful rhythm of its own and a mind that buzzed like a hot summer hive.

  She wondered if the breezy normality of his emails was just a veneer. Did mysterious forces lurk within? Did the shadows of his past chase each other as hers once had?

  Dear Edward,

  A hundred conversations are stacking up in my head. Conversations that we could’ve had when we were ten and conversations that we could have now that are just too difficult by email. And then there are all the ones from the years in between. I’m scared I’ll forget what they are when we meet. I’m scared there may never be time for them all. I want to ask you more about your work and what you plan to do. Those are the easy ones. But I’d like to know who you really are – the man behind the writing in my mailbox – and that could take a thousand years.

  Later that night she stood by her bedroom window looking at the moon shining through the trees. She smiled: another transformation had most definitely occurred. Since the reunion, the sands had shifted again and her tormentors were figments of the past now ground into dust.

  It seemed she had forgiven at last.

  38

  Gastrobabble

  In fact it was October before Edward Harvey’s now-familiar name graced her inbox once again, by which time Marianne had secured the Acting Head of Psychology job with effect from January. But she still hadn’t told Johnny.

  To: Marianne Hayward

  From: Edward Harvey

  Date: 2nd October 2002, 21.52

  Subject: Re: Reunion

  Dear Marianne,

  Apologies for taking so long to write but since Scilly I have been busier than ever. Quieter now, but not for long!

  Intrigued by your story of the reunion. In some ways I wish I could’ve been there … But not sure if I would like to be under such merciless, microscopic scrutiny! Is this what Psychologists do all the time?

  Am in doghouse with Felicity as have just invited two visiting Japanese archaeologists from Okayama University for impromptu supper tomorrow. Brought home a salmon, but forgot she has evening class!!

  Best wishes,

  Edward

  To: Edward Harvey

  From: Marianne Hayward

  Date: 2nd October 2002, 22.13

  Subject: Food for Thought

  Dear Edward,

  Psychologists only notice the odd and strange. Normality passes them by!

  I am sure Felicity is a much more accomplished caterer than I am, but perhaps you might like to offer this recipe as a quick way of making salmon interesting (and escaping doghouse!).

  It is a simplified version of one of Catherine Waldegrave’s.

  Peel and slice tomatoes into a pan (remove seeds too if you can be bothered). Add salt, black pepper and sugar (more if sour tomatoes) and simmer the pulp until reduced and thickened. Put each salmon fillet or steak in own foil parcel, with tomato mixture to cover and torn basil leaves over the top. Bake for about 15 mins (depending on thickness of salmon) at 190°C. Serve still in foil, but unwrap and sprinkle sliced spring onions on top. Good with new potatoes and a couple of green vegetables. The tomato sauce can be made the day before and the whole meal takes half an hour to cook so is excellent if short of time.

  Holly has just gone back to Uni. She is coping admirably now; showing amazing resilience, as you suggested she might.

  How was Scilly?

  Best wishes,

  Marianne

  To: Marianne Hayward

  From: Edward Harvey

  Date: 4th October 2002, 23.21

  Subject: Re: Food for Thought

  Dear Delia,

  Glad to hear Holly is back on track.

  Who is Catherine Waldegrave? Should I know her?! I was very surprised you suggested that I give the recipe to Felicity (in view of your thoughts about Metrosexual Man!) In fact I cooked the meal myself and Felicity and the Japanese were suitably impressed – though I did wonder afterwards if they would have preferred it raw!

  Thank you!

  Edward

  To: Edward Harvey

  From: Marianne Hayward

  Date: 5th October 2002, 20.06

  Subject: Re: Food for Thought

  Dear Edward,

  Johnny calls me Delia sometimes too, but it is not merited at all. I just tinker with other people’s recipes and rarely create anything original. Have limited repertoire!

  It was you who implied that you didn’t fit the MM mould, so I just assumed. It is reassuring to know that you are domesticated in addition to all your other talents. Felicity must be pleased!

  You still haven’t told me about Scilly.

  Delia

  To: Marianne Hayward

  From: Edward Harvey

  Date: 7th October 2002, 21.45

  Subject: Re: Food for Thought

  Dear Marianne,

  Felicity says to tell you that I am more Metrosexual than I think – whatever that means – and she is pleased! Scilly was marvellous. Long story … Article in next month’s Antiquity magazine will tell all!!

  Edward

  Two weeks later in a local restaurant, Johnny, Marianne and Holly sat munching through starters of spicy pork spare ribs, chicken satay and crispy duck. Holly had come home for the weekend to celebrate her twentieth birthday, preferring to keep her celebrations low key as a mark of respect for Dylan. Marianne would have chosen to go somewhere more exclusive, but Chinese was Holly’s favourite so they had walked down the road to The Lotus Blossom.

  “You know it was on my birthday last year when me and Dylan got together for the first time,” said Holly. She was simply dressed in a long black skirt and vest-style black beaded top. Round her neck she wore a Y-shaped necklace of various coloured gemstones that Dylan had given her at Easter. “Course we’d spoken before at lectures. He used to borrow paper from me! Told me later it was just an excuse to get to know me better. He had stacks of A4 in his room.” She paused to gnaw a spare rib. “On my birthday a few of us went to the union bar and he and his mates joined us. We got talking properly. He was so, sooo, cool.”

  I wonder what Edward was like at twenty, thought Marianne. Studious and energetic, or young-man wild?

  �
�He asked me my star sign and when I said I was a Libran, he said we were compatible. He’s Aquarius. Was … But he said that the Sun signs weren’t as important as Moon signs in relationships, and for that, he’d have to consult his ephemeris.”

  “More original than the etchings trick,” said Johnny.

  “He knew what he was talking about,” said Holly. “His mother taught him how to do charts. He said incompatible Sun signs were less of an obstacle to happiness than incompatible moons. I can’t remember exactly why.”

  Marianne swallowed a piece of chicken and cleared her throat. “It’s because the Sun represents the external person, so any differences are clear and can often be sorted out. Moon signs rule the emotions and because these are often hidden, any differences are difficult to deal with. Compatible moons mean people are in tune emotionally.”

  Holly looked impressed. “I didn’t know you knew so much about astrology, Mum.”

  “I can draw up charts,” said Marianne. “At least I could when I was at college. It was a popular pastime every time one of us found a new man.”

  “You never did mine,” said Johnny.

  “You were never interested. You don’t believe in it.”

  “I’m open minded.”

  “Since when?” Marianne remembered overhearing the phone conversation with Charmaine.

  “Dylan said only if we had compatible moons, would he ask me out! He was serious too. So we went to his room and looked up the details, found we had harmonious moons in fire signs and that was that. I’d secretly fancied him anyway, but didn’t have the guts to tell anyone.”

  I wonder if Edward and I have compatible moons?

  Marianne scanned the room, dimly aware of the wooden pagoda carvings in the panelling on the walls, the sculpted metallic Buddhas, the tank of koi carp at the end of the room and the gentle trickling sound from the open-mouthed fish fountain in its centre.

  Compatible moons are important for friendships too. “How did you and Dad meet?” asked Holly. “We were at the same school,” said Marianne, clicking back into the moment.

  “Yeah, I know, but when did the romance happen? Who made the first move?”

  Marianne shifted in her seat and helped herself to some more duck.

  “I first spoke to your mother on her own when she was walking home from school one sunny day in summer, and I caught up with her on the hill. For some reason our usual friends weren’t with us. We carried on walking together and talking about Pink Floyd and I thought she was really sweet.”

  “You remembered that?” said Marianne.

  “Of course … Don’t you?”

  Marianne nodded and adjusted the straps of her dip-dyed reunion dress.

  “Later that evening I taped an album of theirs for her – Obscured by Clouds … Some of the discs had been badly produced and she didn’t want to buy it, just in case she got a dodgy one. I had one of the good ones … She came up to my room to show me how her tape recorder worked, and when she leaned close I could smell her perfume … I wondered if she’d put it on ’specially for me.”

  “Houbigant’s Musk Oil, probably.” said Marianne, blushing.

  “Probably Houbigant’s Musk, or probably put on for me?” said Johnny, taking a sip of wine and looking at her over the rim of the glass.

  “Probably both!”

  “Her one-liners made me laugh even then, and I loved the way she didn’t know how pretty she was becoming. I was very tempted to kiss her,” said Johnny. “But I didn’t, even though I knew she fancied me.”

  “Too much information, Dad!” said Holly.

  “Well you did ask!”

  A young Chinese waitress whisked around their table clearing plates, followed by a second older girl who may have been her sister, delivering the main courses to the centre of the table. Dishes of fried rice, chicken chop suey, prawns and tomatoes, lamb and cashew nuts; each to share, each in white rectangular dishes.

  “So what happened then?” continued Holly.

  “Nothing much,” said Marianne. “Dad was going steady with the gorgeous Cassie. I was just a kid in the fourth form.”

  “You were never just a kid to me,” said Johnny.

  Marianne was aware he was trying to catch her eye, and for a brief moment, she allowed it to be caught.

  “But I wouldn’t have admitted it to Sam and the others.”

  “Dad!” Holly waved a spoon reproachfully at him and helped herself to some rice.

  “We used to say hello when we passed each other at school and because her mate Sasha was going out with my mate Sam, we were often in the same places. Sometimes we’d chat at parties. She made me sick once when I had too much to drink!”

  Holly made a face.

  “But I was too young … and Cassie was stunning …” said Marianne.

  “Cassie was nice, but she didn’t have your mother’s wit.”

  “What happened to her?” asked Holly.

  Marianne looked at Johnny.

  “We split up when we went to different colleges. She met some sophisticated bloke with money. A couple of years later I met your mum again in London at a party at Sasha’s. She was a grown up woman by then and I thought she was lovely. We got talking and everything fell into place. I moved jobs down to London, we got married, and the rest, you know.”

  Marianne felt a hot flush rising from her knees and she took off her cardigan.

  “What were you like when you were twenty, Dad?”

  “Masses of long hair and incredibly sexy,” said Marianne.

  “I mean as a person,” said Holly.

  Marianne realised she didn’t know the answer.

  “A bit purposeless after Cassie. Didn’t have a steady girlfriend. Drank too much – much more than now. A lost soul. Used to see Mum sometimes in the holidays in Derwentbridge, but I was never there for long and we rarely spoke.”

  “I still fancied you, though,” said Marianne. “You made me laugh and every time you smiled at me, I melted. My friends thought I was crazy … Unrequited love.”

  “Had I known, darling, we might have got together much sooner.”

  Holly grinned. “Mum – what were you like when you were twenty?”

  “Full of romantic nonsense that nobody lived up to. Kept meeting the wrong guys, and being let down. They didn’t understand me.”

  Marianne began to wonder if Holly was deliberately trying to make them remember the good times. If she was, it was working. She was feeling benevolent towards Johnny and wondering what the rest of the night might have in store.

  The conversation shifted to Holly’s month back at college; to the merits and otherwise of self-catering and to her criminal law lecturer who looked like a conservative version of David Bowie. Then three portions of pineapple fritters later, they left the restaurant in buoyant mood.

  It was raining and the three of them tried to huddle under one umbrella. It was impossible so Johnny stood to the side and pulled up the collar of his jacket. He jumped with both feet in a puddle as a child might do and swung round a lamp post with one arm.

  Holly grabbed his free arm and pulled him forward. “Get a grip Dad! What if someone sees? You’re so embarrassing!”

  Marianne laughed and the three of them made unsteady progress towards Beechview Close. “Did you know that Pam Shriver is marrying George Lazenby,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Johnny. “But they’re already married. In summer, I think.”

  “Who’s George Lazenby?” said Holly.

  “The Bond between Connery and Moore.” Johnny jumped in another puddle. “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

  “Hey, you’re splashing my tights!” said Marianne. “Did you ask Harry Potter if he looks like Pierce Brosnan?”

  “As if,” said Marianne, mimicking Holly.

  “Who’s Harry Potter?” asked Johnny.

  “A young wizard,” said Holly, hurriedly. “Surely you know that?

  Still laughing, they rounded the corner that led to the house a
nd Marianne stopped in her tracks. There, sitting on the low wall by the doorstep, looking wet and bedraggled, her long hair in darkened ropes down her back, was Charmaine.

  Marianne hurried forward and was first to speak. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Holly’s face collapsed. “Mum …”

  Charmaine turned to Johnny, her cheeks streaked with mascara tears. “I need to talk to you. I’ve got a problem. I don’t know who else—”

  “You’ve got a nerve coming here again,” said Marianne. “Which part of ‘fuck off ’ don’t you understand?”

  “Mum!”

  Johnny put his key in the lock and opened the front door, ushering Holly and Marianne inside in front of him.

  “Go upstairs with your mother,” he said to Holly, rather too sharply.

  Marianne thought about protesting, but it seemed like a good idea. Johnny clearly didn’t trust her not to make a scene after the Greenwich outburst. She would speak her mind to him in due course. At the top of the stairs, she and Holly each went into their own rooms. How quickly the mood of optimism disintegrated.

  Trollop!

  Her eyes began to sting and she paced around the bedroom.

  She’s got a problem, she says … And what might that be? Why does she need to see Johnny? … Maybe she’s pregnant like Sasha’s Graham’s Debbi! They have had an affair! It’s his baby! Arghh!

  Two and two make seventeen …

  She went to Holly’s room. “Go downstairs and make sure they’re not getting up to any funny business.”

  Holly was lounging on the bed with a book. “Dad wouldn’t …”

  “Please.”

  Holly padded off reluctantly. Marianne listened to her progress downstairs and into the living room. Through the opened door, she heard Johnny mumble something and Holly returned.

  “He asked me to leave them alone.”

  “Were those his exact words?”

  “He said: ‘Leave it, Holly. Can’t you see she’s upset? Vamoose’.”

  “Was he touching her?”

  Holly hesitated. “N-no.”

  “You mean ‘yes’?”

  “Sort of.”

  “How ‘sort of ’?”