Meeting Lydia Read online

  “I’m too soft,” he said when they sat drinking wine before supper on the first evening. “I always was soft. Too easy-going. Never noticed that things were going arse-over until it was too late. When the rows started, there was no going back.” He had shaved off his beard since the reunion. He looked younger.

  After supper, Marianne suggested Johnny take him down to the local so they could catch up on some male bonding. They stayed out until half past eleven and had clearly had a good time. Marianne heard them trying to stifle laughter downstairs and she smiled to herself and waited for Johnny to tell her the news.

  Johnny said that it had been like old times in the pub. They had reminisced, reverted to their old form of childish humour, rediscovered that you could say almost anything to old friends and know that it wouldn’t be taken wrongly; wouldn’t cause a rift.

  Sam said he hadn’t been to London since 1978 and he wanted to make up for lost time. On Tuesday Johnny and he went ice skating in the morning, to Borough Market in the afternoon and then in the evening, the three of them went to see Queen’s We Will Rock You.

  When they walked out of the theatre and into the evening bustle of London’s West End, with all its lights and glamour and people going somewhere, they had big smiles on their faces and felt truly alive.

  And on the third evening, Wednesday, Sasha came for supper.

  Johnny hadn’t been too sure about the arrangement. Said it smacked of match-making; of interference. Marianne said if it hadn’t been for Sasha, then she and Johnny would never have got together in the first place. Had he regretted that? (A comment which she wished she hadn’t made as soon as she said it, but he let it pass.) In any case, Sam and Sasha both knew the score and they wanted to meet up for old time’s sake. No strings; no need to feel awkward. And not much chance of anything more when one considered how their lives had diverged.

  Marianne called upon all her Delia skills for this meal, dimmed the lighting, found the candles and even did some fancy origami with some cream paper napkins. She cooked three courses from her specially adapted repertoire for guests. They started with a Rick Stein inspired spicy concoction of smashed crab claws with soy sauce, ginger, garlic and chilli, which required the hands-on approach and lots of finger licking and trails of hot sauce around the mouth. It broke the ice, relaxed the atmosphere.

  Marianne looked at each of them as they sat round the table. It was over twenty years since they’d all been in the same room at the Castle Inn, Bassenthwaite, when she and Johnny were married – and never had the four of them sat like this, two couples across a table. Sasha and Sam had long since finished when Johnny and Marianne had got together at her party. Now Sasha sat as composed as always, hair still long and straight but now a golden corn colour with fashionable ash blonde streaks. She was wearing a simple long black dress with short sleeves and a plunging neckline, and she exuded an effortless sexuality, her subtle gestures full of a grace that melted hearts.

  Sam watched her every move and listened intently while she spoke. Once they had been a couple from the A-list of Derwentbridge; fashionable in a Bohemian seventies way. Beautiful people invited to any party that was worth going to and wooed by young men and women alike; popular, charismatic; a couple to know. Johnny too had been part of that crowd along with his girlfriend Cassie. Cassie who had legs to die for, wore her school uniform skirts so short it was a miracle you couldn’t see her knickers, and bore a distinct resemblance to the young Jackie Bouvier-Kennedy-Onassis. The two-years-younger Marianne knew she was in the relegation zone by comparison and she had looked on in awe and resigned herself to being B-list; being second best along with most of her friends.

  Sasha, on her own now for the first time in decades, seemed vulnerable. “I was attracted by what Graham stood for,” she said in response to a question from Sam, before sucking crab meat from a piece of shell and licking her teeth. “He knew people. Helped with my career. Call it mercenary if you like. It’s what women do to get the best for their kids. If you just happen to like the guy too, then it’s a bonus.”

  Sam looked worried. “I hope that’s not why you went out with me.”

  Sasha shook her head. “When you’re young, it’s all about experimentation and testing the water. Getting the best looking guy you can …”

  Sam’s blue eyes twinkled as he appreciated the compliment, and he laughed the same laugh from grammar school days.

  “Women often choose a different type of man to settle down with,” said Marianne, remembering her conversation with Taryn. “They want him to stick around so they opt for something that looks more reliable than the Playboy.”

  “D’you think that’s what happened to me with Gayle? Was I targeted because by that time I’d given up playing the field and had a stable career and good prospects?”

  “Very likely,” said Sasha.

  “Surely not in this day and age,” said Johnny. “Not consciously,” added Sasha. “But the old programming is there.”

  “So Mari, did you select me on those grounds?” asked Johnny, looking hurt.

  “Course not … in any case I always fancied you. But then having kids wasn’t my prime motivation at the time.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “No. I’ve never been the maternal type.”

  “What?”

  “Sasha will tell you. Couldn’t abide babies when we were growing up.” Marianne sipped her white wine thoughtfully. It was time for Johnny to know exactly who he had married.

  “It’s true,” acknowledged Sasha.

  “But you never told me.”

  “It was never relevant. I knew if I met the right man, I would want to have his child eventually.”

  Johnny seemed satisfied with this and the conversation moved on through the main course, to talk of the stresses of teaching and of alternative careers that might be pursued before the job took a significant toll on physical health. Sam told Johnny about his wrought iron gates which were becoming so popular he was considering teaching part-time the following year.

  “I don’t think there’s anything I could do apart from teach,” said Johnny.

  “There’s always Marianne’s book,” said Sam.

  “What book?” asked Johnny.

  “Just a rumour at the reunion,” said Sam.

  Johnny looked at Marianne and she blushed.

  “Oh, you know, I’ve always wanted to write, but there’s no guarantee it can be turned into a retirement option.”

  After the pudding of blackcurrant pie, raspberry sauce and ice cream, Sasha went through to the kitchen with Marianne, carrying plates. “That was delish. A long way from the packet soup, the MSG, and the tins of mince. But I can’t believe you haven’t got a dishwasher.”

  “Never seemed to need one with only the three of us … So tell me, how do you find Sam?”

  “As sweet as ever!”

  “And?”

  “Shaggable still …”

  “D’you want to stay the night? Drive home tomorrow?” said Marianne.

  “Thanks, but I have work tomorrow. And even if I stayed, it wouldn’t be for that. We’ve moved on. I wouldn’t want to hurt him by playing games.”

  “Poor Sam …” Marianne put the kettle on and reached for the teapot.

  Sasha opened and shut the kitchen cupboard doors in an absent kind of way while they waited for the kettle to boil. “So this Edward whose name you have been dropping …”

  “God! Is that what it sounds like?”

  “Just a tad! Who is he? I don’t remember a you and Edward.”

  “There never was a ‘me and Edward’. Not in that sense. Edward Harvey and I were at Brocklebank Hall together. Before I knew you. Did I never mention him? He was the only one of the boys who I am sure was never, ever, horrible to me. And he had an interesting brain. He went to Waterside. Sam knew him there. Don’t you remember me trying to find him when we were on that science course?”

  Sasha shook her head and her blonde streaked hair gleamed under th
e strip lighting. “I can’t even remember the course, never mind an Edward!”

  “We’ve been mailing for a while, that’s all.”

  “And he’s a famous archaeologist?”

  “Not exactly ‘famous’, but increasingly known in his field.”

  “Don’t you think you might be making a bit much of this e-relationship?”

  Marianne reddened and went hot. “Course not.”

  “You sure you’re not trying to get your own back after Charmaine?”

  “It isn’t that kind of relationship. In any case, what if I was?”

  “It rattles Johnny obviously. Haven’t you noticed his eyes when you mention his name? And two wrongs don’t make a right. You do go on about him.”

  “Do I?”

  “How many times have you said ‘Edward said …’? How many times have you written about him to me in emails? … Not that I had a clue who you were talking about then. I mean in the scheme of things, he’s worth piss-all.”

  Marianne shuddered. “I hope – I hoped we’d meet … be friends. Though that looks increasingly unlikely as I haven’t heard from him since early December.”

  “But does it matter if he never writes to you again? What matters is this.” She made a wide sweep with her arm. “This is real. Johnny is real. Johnny isn’t some fantasy from way back. Well, actually he is, if you remember.”

  “Of course I remember.”

  “This guy won’t be a bit like you imagine.”

  “I know that.”

  “He won’t be Mr Perfect. And whatever he is, he’ll be past his prime. You won’t think ‘phwoar’ when you do meet.”

  “I never thought I would. And he won’t either. Hey what is this?”

  “I’m just telling it like it is. Trying to keep your feet on the ground before you do something crazy.”

  When Johnny and Sam adjourned for a quick drink at the pub, Marianne decided to tell Sasha some truths; to justify her relationship with Edward.

  “When we were young, I never had any confidence.”

  “I knew that … Always told you it was ridiculous.”

  “But did you ever wonder why? What lay behind it? Why it didn’t matter what you or anyone said, I always felt like second best. Remember Nick and Phil? How surprised Lana was that I had landed the best looking one?

  “When I was at Brocklebank, I felt like a second class citizen; like I’d always be worthless in the eyes of men. When Sam came to the grammar school and I started fancying him again, I knew I would never have a chance with him. Most of us wouldn’t … When he started making overtures towards you, my best friend, can you imagine what it felt like? I didn’t want to spoil things for you, so I tried to hide the hurt. It was horrible. And even when I moved my affections to Johnny, I still knew nothing could come of it because I wasn’t beautiful enough for their crowd.”

  “It was more because you were young,” said Sasha. “They had the pick of girls their own age.”

  “Maybe so … but I really liked Johnny and when we used to meet occasionally by accident and walk home from school together, we got on well. It didn’t seem fair …”

  “If you’d had more confidence, it could’ve happened for you then. You didn’t believe you had a chance, so you shrank into the background.”

  “I started to shrink again when Charmaine came onto the scene. But revisiting the past with Edward has changed all that. For the first time in my life, I feel like I should always have felt. Like you thought I should feel … Like you probably felt. That means much more than ‘piss-all’.”

  “Sorry … I shouldn’t have said that. It just makes me mad to see you risking messing up like I did. You and Johnny are good together. Still are. Don’t throw it all away on some midlife daydream.”

  Later, in bed, Johnny said, “I never knew you had any reservations about children, Mari.”

  “I didn’t, once we got round to it.”

  “These past few months you’ve kept coming out with all kinds of things I didn’t know. Like this book … I thought I knew you so well …”

  Marianne was silent. She could hear him waiting for her to say you do, but she didn’t.

  “Will you let me get to know you again? Properly.”

  “You might not like what you see.”

  “Don’t be daft, woman!” He laughed. “Nothing you could tell me would make me feel any different about you.” He reached over the duvet and hugged her body through the padding.

  Marianne allowed herself to be drawn towards him and they lay close, a healing warmth between them.

  Sam wanted to go on the London Eye, like every other visitor since the millennium. After breakfast next morning, Marianne and Johnny took him into town. From the highest point of the wheel, the city was shrouded in mist, but in the distance tower blocks loomed as if floating on water, and nearby the dome of St Paul’s rose in architectural splendour. Marianne was reminded of the last time, when they had been there with Dylan, and how when they were circling on their way back down, he had stood at her shoulder and said, “That was really cool what you said to that blonde woman on the pier.” He had said it loud enough for Johnny to hear, as if he was aware that the incident had put further strain on their relationship. Poor Dylan, she thought, momentarily sad.

  Sam had been much perkier since the previous evening and Marianne wondered if Sasha had set his heart racing again. She wouldn’t be surprised.

  “It was good to see Sasha again,” he volunteered. “Made me realise that we would never have suited each other. She’s far too political for me. Too sharp, too much of a feminist. We wouldn’t have lasted five minutes once we grew up … To think I’ve been chasing her shadow all these years; nobody ever quite measuring up. Now I know I was looking for all the wrong things. Should’ve been content with someone sensible, normal and averagely bright. Like Gayle, in fact.”

  “So is Gayle with anyone now?”

  “No. There was someone for a while, but it didn’t last. Said he didn’t like having someone else’s kids to look after. Shame!”

  “So what about you and her then? Any hope of a reconciliation?”

  “Nooo,” he paused. “I know it sounds terrible, but I’m not far off fifty and so’s she. If I did settle down again, I had in mind someone of about thirty-five.”

  “Sam!” Marianne was cross.

  “Yeah, I know …”

  Johnny interrupted. “Do you want more youngsters then?”

  “God, no!”

  “Chances are she’ll either have two or three in tow from some failed relationship, or she’ll want to start a family with you.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “And,” continued Johnny, “there are distinct advantages in growing old with someone. Facing the same age-challenges at the same time.”

  Marianne raised an eyebrow, pleasantly reassured.

  Before Sam left, he found a moment to speak with Marianne alone. “I have had a great break,” he said. We shouldn’t’ve left it this long. But before I go – and this is not meant as criticism – Johnny’s worried about you. About you both. Says he doesn’t want you going the same way as Sasha and Graham … or for him to end up like me … You didn’t tell me things were rocky at the reunion.”

  “I felt it was up to Johnny to tell you.”

  “Well he has.”

  “I don’t suppose he told you about Charmaine?”

  “Yes, he did. All the gory details. But he also said that nothing happened between them, that he was a fool and that she’s gone.”

  “Did he tell you I’m a madwoman … hormones up the creek?”

  “No … he’s just worried.”

  “Then he should say sorry … like he means it and not trying to put the blame on me. It all went wrong from the moment she appeared.”

  “He did mention Edward. I presume that’s Edward Harvey?”

  “So?”

  “He thinks you tell him stuff … personal stuff.”

  “Not
really. Edward has been my salvation. If it wasn’t for Edward, I’d still be feeling the negative pull of the past. Johnny should thank Edward, not denigrate him.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “Look, Sam. When Johnny brought that woman home, I was just on the threshold of my midlife crisis. You know, when you look in the mirror and realise that things have moved on without you noticing. Even when he knew how bad she’d made me feel; even when I told him how it raked up all kinds of ghosts from the past, he never said sorry. Not properly. Not like he meant it. Not like I’d know it wouldn’t happen again. You know what he said to me one night when we were sniping at each other? He said: ‘Mari, mentally you’re the perfect woman for me.’ He said if I’d had long blonde hair and boobs out here, then I’d be perfect. What woman wants to hear that when she’s going menopausal and feeling over the hill? And I hear those words over and over. Whenever it’s just him and me, I hear him say I’m not perfect.”

  “But he thinks you’re wonderful? What about all the times he tells you you’re great?”

  “It’s the bad things you remember. Even a thousand compliments don’t make up for being told you’re not perfect.”

  “Johnny doesn’t like blonde and boobs. We never went for the same kind of women. You know that. You know you’re his type. He probably only said it ’cos he was hurt.”

  “Then he needs to unsay it along with all the other stuff that’s been wearing us down.”

  Sam sighed and shook his head. “You have to get this sorted before it festers. I’ll have another word with John before I go. You need to talk to each other. Tell each other how you really feel. Get to the bottom of it – not snatched moments when one of you gets mad.”

  “Have you thought of marriage guidance – as an alternative career, Sam?” asked Marianne, teasingly.

  “Plenty of practice, but so far poor results! You two could change all that!”

  I wish, thought Marianne …

  44

  Farewell