Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels (14 page)

Second question:  ‘How long do you spend getting ready in the mornings?’  Alex hit the ‘More than 30 minutes’ reply.  Again, a woman’s answer, she thought.

Third question:  ‘Pick a Pixar character.’  Alex decided to try and blind-side the quiz and chose Woody from ‘Toy Story.’  Purely because she liked Tom Hanks.  That could make her a male, a child, anything, who knew.

Fourth question:  ‘Bitchy girl, mean girl or neither?’  Eh?  What sort of question was that, for goodness sake?  Did they mean, would you like to be one, have one as a friend, watch one on TV?  How could that possibly determine her gender, age and marital status?  What a load of old bull, she should pull out now and get on with supper.  But she didn’t, she carried on through with the remainder of the questions, and hit the final button where all would be revealed.  Wayhay, congratulations Alex Hopper you are no longer a forty-something mother of four, now you are a fifty-two-year-old man, single, no kids, who likes game shows and football.  Of course she was, she always knew she had that kind of alter ego lurking inside her, trying its hardest to get out.

Alex went to hit the ‘Share’ button so that more of her Facebook friends could see this ludicrous quiz and waste some time, just like she had.  ‘Share your Facebook details with this website?’ the button asked.  Rosie burst into the kitchen, hot and sweaty, with Mabel close on her heels.  Alex hit ‘Yes’.

‘Please can I have a drink, mummy?’ Rosie asked.

‘Of course, lovely.  What would you like?’ said Alex.

‘Milk, please Mummy.’

‘What have you and Mabel been up to out there?’

‘Well, I’ve been teaching her how to skip with me on my skipping rope.  She’s nearly got it, but I think she’s just got too many legs to ever be really good at it, like me.’

Alex smiled as she poured the milk.  Rosie and the dog were inseparable.  Mabel seemed to have adopted Rosie as her human, not the other way round.  Rosie drank up and the pair of them scooted from the kitchen.  More skipping, no doubt.

Alex returned to her iPad.  ‘Cadmus would like to meet you,’ read the pop-up message.  Who the hell was Cadmus?  ‘Yuri shares the same interests as you, contact him now.’  ‘Ocnus lives nearby.  Make contact now.’  ‘Meet like-minded individuals for friendship or love today.’  Messages popped up, one on top of another.

What the…?  Alex looked in bewilderment at the gadget.  Whatever had she done?  What was this, some kind of dating website?  And why did all these people who supposedly wanted to meet her sound Greek?  She thought she had shared her quiz results with her small group of Facebook friends, but no, it seemed she had shared ALL her details with the whole wide world of internet dating and was now out there, on the market, looking for a Greek man to date. How was she going to get herself out of this one?

‘Mark?  Archie?  Anyone there?  Think I need some help.’  That was an understatement.  The boys were going to have a field day with this one.  Archie was always mocking her for being technically incompetent.  She thought she was pretty good at all this online stuff, even though her son could run rings round her.  She could do enough to get by, internet banking, online shopping, browsing, all the usual, it was all she needed.  But no one else in the family had ever got themselves signed up on a Greek dating website, had they?

‘Mark, darling,’ she began tentatively, as her husband came into the kitchen.  ‘You know I love you, don’t you, so don’t be worried about what I’m about to show you, OK?’ 

Once he saw the messages, Mark couldn’t keep a straight face.  ‘What exactly have you been up to, my lovely?  Is being married to me really so bad, that you feel the need to go off and get yourself a Greek boyfriend?’  He sat down beside her and put his arm around her. 

‘You could stop taking the mickey out of me and help me,’ she said dejectedly.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you sorted out.  I think we need Archie, don’t you?’  Alex agreed. 

‘If you’re looking for Archie, he’s watching the Facup,’ Bertie said, barging into the kitchen.

Alex and Mark looked at one other in horror.  How on earth had their youngest son picked up such atrocious language?  Surely Archie would never have taught his innocent little brother words like that?

‘Sorry darling?’ Alex needed to make sure she hadn’t been hearing things, but hoped the same words wouldn’t come from his little mouth a second time. 

‘The Facup.  You know, the football.  On TV.’

‘Oh, the FA Cup.  Of course, silly me.’  Alex giggled with relief, mouthing ‘phew’ to Mark.  ‘Could you go and ask him to come in for a minute, darling.’

‘Honestly, he had me worried there for a moment,’ Mark said.

‘If you ask me, he’s right,’ Alex said.  ‘The way some of them play is a complete Facup.’

They were still laughing when Archie appeared.

‘OK, Mum, what have you got yourself into this time?’

‘Your mother’s signed herself up for Greek internet dating,’ Mark replied. 

Her son would dine out on this story for weeks to come.  Oh, the shame of it.

Bruce hadn’t been keen to go for therapy.  Margaret thought it was an age thing.  And a man thing, too.  Men weren’t good at sharing, older ones even less so than Mark’s generation.  Bruce really did belong to the Stiff Upper Lip era.  She supposed she did, too, to a certain extent, although her stay at Mark and Alex’s house had done a lot to make her open up to her emotions more than she used to.  A few years ago she would probably have turned her nose up at seeking help, just like Bruce was doing now.

‘Why do we need someone else poking around in our lives?  We’re back together, aren’t we, and everything is fine, now, isn’t it?’ he’d said.

‘Yes, everything is ‘fine’, as you put it,’ Margaret said, ‘but for me, personally, I think it would help me come to terms with what happened to us this summer.  I need some closure on it all.’

‘We know what happened.  I was an idiot.  I will tell you that every day for the rest of my life, if I have to, but I don’t want to go and tell it all to some mumbo-jumbo psyched-up head doctor.  I don’t see the point.  It’s private, it’s between you and me.’

Margaret smiled at his description of the therapist.  She thought he probably imagined they still wore white coats and were ready to lock you into a straight-jacket and cart you off to the asylum at the first sign of weakness.

‘Look, let’s go to the first session, and I promise you, if it doesn’t help, we won’t go back,’ she said.  ‘But at least we will have tried.  I know we’re both making an effort and things are good again between us, probably better than they have been in a while, but we need to get to the root of why this happened, don’t we?’ said Margaret.

‘It happened because I thought I was twenty years younger and I fell for flattery.  She drew me in and I didn’t have the strength to say no,’ said Bruce.  ‘I know what happened, and what’s more important, I know I’ll never do it again.  I’ve learnt my lesson, Margaret.  But I’ll come with you, because I want you to be happy, and have no regrets about taking me back.  So we’ll do this.’

The therapist was probably no older than twenty-eight, thirty at a push.  Bruce wondered how on earth she could be expected to understand the problems of a couple who had known each other for almost twice as long as she’d even been on the planet.  He sat down in the chair with a harrumph of disdain, resigned to the fact that this would be a complete waste of his and Margaret’s time.  He folded his arms like a barricade across his chest and started to examine the books on the shelves.  ‘Games People Play’, ‘Better Relationships’, ‘Understanding The One You Love’, ‘Addiction And The Modern World’.
For goodness sake
, he thought. 

‘Pah,’ he said, to no one in particular.  Margaret glared at him, her expression saying
Try, please?  For me?

‘Pah,’ he said again.

The therapist’s name was Lucinda.  She had the most soporific voice Margaret had ever heard.  It was like being drizzled in melted chocolate. Margaret supposed it had to help, having a voice like that in a job like hers.  You had to be able to make people listen to you, to
want
to listen to you.  She could have been an actor, Margaret thought, with that voice and the long, dark hair and slim figure.  There were a lot of similarities between actors and therapists, weren’t there?  The ability to draw in your audience, hold their attention, say the right things at the right time. 

Lucinda welcomed them warmly, and from the moment she started to explain the proceedings, Margaret was amazed at the transformation in Bruce.  She’d like to think he wasn’t shallow enough to be taken in by her looks and that caramel voice – but then wasn’t that the reason they were here today in the first place? 

‘I’d like to see today – our first meeting – more as a celebration of your marriage and the fact that you have managed to reconcile your differences,’ Lucinda said, ‘rather than an examination of the reasons behind the problems you have had this summer.  We’ll start by talking about how you met.  Margaret, would you like to tell us about the first time you saw Bruce?’

Margaret had expected to have to talk about how she felt when she found out Bruce had cheated on her, and in the days leading up to the appointment had given some thought as to how she would answer such questions.  She hadn’t been prepared for this.

‘Oh, gosh,’ Margaret began.  ‘Well, it was at a Law Society dinner.  One of my university tutors had been nominated for an award, and I had been invited along, with a couple of other undergraduates from my year.  We were about to go into our final year, so they thought we might make some good contacts, you see.’  Margaret knew she was giving unnecessary information, but she was nervous.

‘And Bruce was one of the waiters.  He’d already graduated, and was in that gap between university and his first real job – he was going to work at the Stock Exchange in the autumn.  But he’d got an empty summer ahead of him and was filling in with some work as a waiter, to earn a bit of money.’

‘So how did your paths cross exactly?’ Lucinda asked, hoping to bring Margaret back on track.

‘Well, he was serving our table.  I spotted him across a crowded room, it was as corny as that.  I hoped he’d be our waiter, and he was.  When he came over with the starter, we got chatting.  I think I nearly lost him his job!’

‘It’s not corny at all.  Across a crowded room is how most people meet,’ Lucinda said, smiling.  ‘Or at least, it used to be, until internet dating came along.’

‘Oh, is it?’ said Margaret.  ‘I never knew that.  But then, why would I, I suppose?  So there he was, all dressed up in his dicky bow tie and looking very smart.  He was a striking young man.  Not handsome, really,’ she glanced at Bruce, who seemed surprised to hear himself being described like that.  ‘What I mean is, not handsome in the traditional way that actors and TV personalities are.  But he caught my eye.  There was something about him.  A presence.’  Margaret was surprised at how easy this woman was to talk to.  They’d only met a few minutes ago, and here she was, telling her all these personal, revealing things.  She couldn’t remember ever really commenting on her husband’s looks before, to him or to anyone else, other than to tell him he looked smart, if he was dressed up for a special occasion.

‘And how did you feel when you saw this striking man across a crowded room?’ Lucinda asked.  Margaret thought that this question, from anyone else, would sound contrived and invasive, but from Lucinda, it seemed perfectly natural and she was keen to answer it.

‘When he looked across and caught my eye, I knew we were going to go home together that evening, and that was exactly what we did.  I’d never been with a man in that way before, but I knew, with him, it was the right thing, and he wouldn’t judge me for giving myself to him, when we’d only just met.’

‘So you made love?’ said Lucinda.  Margaret expected Bruce to jump from his seat in shock and indignation, but he seemed to be captivated by what his wife was saying, and sat quietly, waiting for her answer.

‘Yes.  We did.  My first time, although not his.  Everyone always says the first time is a disappointment, but for me, it was the most wonderful thing.’  She took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

‘Bruce, was it the same for you?’  Bruce hadn’t expected to be asked such an intimate question, not at this early stage, at least.  He cleared his throat and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.

‘Yes.  Yes, it was,’ he said, his voice cracking.  ‘I knew she was the woman I wanted to spend my life with.  I knew at that very moment that nothing would stop us.  We would have the world at our feet.  It was like one of those nineteen-fifties films, where the cameras zoom in on the courting couple, and the rest of the world fades away.  But of course, you’re far too young to remember those.’

‘I know exactly what you mean, Bruce,’ said Lucinda.  ‘You’ve conveyed that very well.’  And then addressing them both:

‘I have a feeling it’s been a long time since you two have reminisced about your past?’

‘Yes, too long,’ said Bruce.  ‘For a moment, there, I almost forgot how I’d felt about Margaret then.  I still feel like that now, you know.  When I think about what I stood to lose…  I’m so sorry, Margaret.  You are the love of my life.  Always have been, always will be.’

‘So, I think we’ll be going back for session two, don’t you?’ Margaret asked Bruce as they drove home.

‘Oh, yes.  She was wonderful.  I don’t know how she does it, but she seems to have this knack of making you talk, doesn’t she?  And it felt good to look back at days gone by.  We should do it more often.  Let’s get our wedding album out tonight, shall we?’

Margaret smiled with relief.  She’d had a suspicion that Bruce’s reservations about therapy would diminish as time went on, but she hadn’t expected such a quick result.  She felt uplifted, and more hopeful for the future than she had ever been.

He took his hand from the gear stick and reached across to hold hers.

We’re going to be fine,
Margaret smiled to herself.