Betrothal by the Clock
Alice was hunched over a desk scattered with papersledgers, receipts, invoicesher mind submerged in calculations. She shuffled the heaps into folders, matched numbers, and jotted notes in a little red notepad. Only a dust-like quiet hung in the office, broken once in a while by muffled talk from the next room, or the gentle tap of keys through the wall. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, laying measured stripes across her work like a page from an old English ledger.
A sharp trill from her phone cut the air. She jumped, startled from her paperwork trance. Mum flashed on her screen. That mere sight made Alice freeze, an odd knot tugging her brow together. Her mother never called at three on an ordinary Thursdayshe only called in the quiet after teatime, when her own shift was done. What trouble could be creeping through the afternoon?
She pressed the call, phone pressed to her ear.
Alice, darling, can you get here straight away? Her mothers voice trembled, taut and wired with a strain Alice didnt recognise. Its very important. Please.
Something inside Alice gathered itself into a tight ball. She sat ramrod straight, shovelled her files away as though their thicket was suddenly a nuisance.
Whats happened? she asked as calmly as she managed, but worry fringed her voice. Are you ill?
No, no, Im quite all right, her mother rushed to say, brushing the notion away like a midsummer wasp. But we have to talk. Quickly.
Uncertainty gnawed at Alice as she glanced at her desk: the unfinished workload, the ticking office clock. But her mothers tone left no crevice for argument.
Ill be there in an hour, she promised, stealing a look at the silver-faced clock on the wall.
Sooner if you can, her mother murmured, voice slipping suddenly into a hush that felt conspiratorial, There are people waiting.
Those wordspeople waitinghung in the air like the prelude to an old fable, full of oddness and foreboding. Alice frowned, trying to untangle the possibilities: some work mishap? A blow-up with Aunt Lily? Bad news from family fields in the North? But pressing her mother for answers was pointlessthe urgency pulsed like a refrain in each word. No time to waste.
She crammed her notes into her satchel, fetched her purse and shrugged on a jacket. She dashed to her managers office, muttered her explanation. He was an understanding sort; with a knowing nod, he waved her off. Hurrying out, Alice thumbed the taxi app, punched in her mother’s address, confirmed, and paced the pavement. She rang her mother again: Do you need anything? Only a clipped Just come came back.
Wind swept her as she darted outsideshe realised, absurdly, that shed begun to hurry, her mind tumbling through questions she deliberately shoved away. The taxi rolled up in no time. She climbed in, rattled off the address, and watched the minutes shudder by in uncertain silence.
Forty minutes it tookexactly as she checked her mobile, eyes flicking from the whir of Londons terraces and flashing shop windows, to the calm of park greens and old brick estates. She barely noticed the shifting scenery; her mind was a carousel of nervous guesses.
Was Mother in trouble at workwas this about demotion, redundancy? Or was Aunt Lilyalways quick with gossipembroiled in some new mess? Or had trouble found another cousin, lost to the wilds of Yorkshire? None of it fitted. Nothing did.
When the cab drew up at the familiar block of flats, Alice paid out the pounds, hurried up the stairwell, key at the ready. But before she could prise the lock, the door flew back.
At last! Her mother tugged her inside by the hand, all urgency and bustle. Quickly, come in, come in.
The hallway was already thick with the scent of warm, vanilla-dusted bunsher mothers little trick for high days and holidays, for birthdays, for news both good and grave. Usually, sweetness meant something to celebrate. Yet today, the tension in the air clashed with the soft promise of pastry.
Cautiously, Alice slipped off her shoes, half-expecting a gathering of robed magistrates or a sudden sweep of tragic guests. Instead, as she reached the sitting room, she froze.
There, at a round table swaddled in a glaring white cloth, sat Simonthe very Simon, son of her mothers oldest friend, the lolloping, clumsy boy Alice had known since the age of six. Secretly, she named him Bumbler. Always too slow, too shy, too awkward. Now he sat there with a half-smile, awkwardly nudging at his shirt collar as if trying out a new identity for the first time.
Beside him, Aunt Lily nearly sparkled, her cheeks radiant as if shed wandered into a surprise wedding. Her delight was palpable, a beam that might threaten to dissolve the whole scene into something too bright, too earnest.
Hello, Alice, Simon stood, working up courage for an embrace he didnt finish. Long time, no see.
Quite, Alice shot back, arms defensively folded. Could’ve left it a while longer, too. She stared at her mother, not hiding her confusion. Whats so urgent?
Mother worked her hands over the tablecloth, the napkin; she busied herself with the smallest details, not looking at Alice.
Darling, we were just thinkingwith Lily, you seeyou and Simon have known each other since you were tiny. Youre both grown, independent
And? Alice cut across her, voice sharp. What has this to do with me? I left work, skipped out on people who were counting on mefor this?
Aunt Lily chimed in now, voice sugary: Simons done so well! Good job, his own flateverything proper, all shipshape.
We just thought you might get to know each other better, her mother finally ventured, eyes darting to a spot just above Alice’s head.
Alice could feel the pressure building behind her temples. Again, this parade of suitable boysas though picking a future were just inventory from a shop shelf. She forced calm, though her voice wavered in spite of herself.
Mum, she drew a breath, steeling herself. I know you care about my love life. But honestlywho I talk to, thats my own choice.
Simon flushed the colour of raspberry jam, shuffled on the chair, and stumbled through an apology.
Alicelook, maybe you dont have to be so sharp. We havent spoken in ages. Why not just give it a chance? We always got on all right before. Youre lovely; Im not so bad
Whats there to talk about? Alice shot him a pointed look. You never appealed to me. Nothings changed. Im not about to pretend wed make anything other than fairweather friends.
He looked down, hand at his collar, as if it was suddenly too tight for comfort.
Butmaybe we couldjust try he muttered, barely audible.
Alice closed her eyes for a heartbeat. She didnt want to be cruel, but she wouldnt lie.
Simon, youre a good man. Honestly. Kind, reliable, plenty going for you. But you cant manufacture feelings just to make everything seem right.
Gradually, the tension began to seep away. Alice felt herself quietly uncoil. Well, this was farcical.
Id better go. Sorry, Mum, if Ive rained on your little schemebut its better said than played out. Im not interested. She caught up her bag.
Alice, please, her mother reached for her, hand outstretched, Lets talk this through. We only wanted the best for you.
But Alice stayed her with a gentle, resolute gesture. Lets talk later, when you want a real conversation, not a charade. I have to get back. And pleaseno more surprises? You worried me half to death.
She slipped out, leaving the soft click of the door behind her. Outside, the rain-washed air was crisp and bracing. Alice breathed deep, each mouthful of cold prickling her lungs, making her lighter.
Why couldnt her mother just let matters be? Why this endless matchmaking, as if happiness were stitched together by friends and neighbours? Alice had always known her own mindshe didnt want some keen, uncertain someone, propped up by his mums wishes. It wasnt the job, or the flat, or future prospectsa man should be sure of himself, not waiting for others to nudge him toward life.
Grumbling softly, Alice cut through the old parka shortcut shed known forever. All was as it should be: children running, mothers with prams trading the latest village chatter, elderly couples soaking up the gentle sunlight. Alice picked her path around puddles, letting the worlds ordinary bustle mend her spirit drop by drop.
Her phone vibrated. Mum again. Alice hesitated, then slid her finger across the screen.
Alice, why did you walk out? Her mother sounded wounded, not angry: edged with the hurt of an unfinished conversation.
Mum, I cant marry your friends son just because youve had tea together for twenty years, Alice murmured, striding on. This isnt a parish raffle prize.
No ones saying you must marry! her mothers voice climbed. Justtalk to him, that’s all. Hes decent, well-educated, has a proper job, doesnt drinkhes a good sort.
He probably is. But that doesnt mean hes right for me.
And who is, then? There was weariness in her mothers words, the echo of a conversation played out too many times. Youve been alone for three years. No dates, no friends. What are you waiting for?
Im not waiting, Alice said, pausing to sit on a wooden bench slick with rain. But I wont just pick someone because I ‘should.’ Introductions are fineif theyre my own. Not yours and Aunt Lilys project.
Your idea of a choice is working late and eating supper in front of the television? her mothers voice wobbled, tinged with bitterness. I want you to be happy.
I am happy, Alice insisted, watching a boy send a paper boat adrift in a puddle. My happiness might not look like yours. I love my job and the shape of my days. I dont need a man chosen for me.
Silence tumbled down the line; just the distant hush, as if her mother had let the phone fall to her lap and exhaled a great sigh. Then, quietly, almost a whisper
All right. Im sorry for forcing the issue. Its justI worry, you know. When were gone, I dont want you left alone.
I understand. And I love you for it. But no more elaborate schemes, all right? Do you know what my mind conjured up on the way here?
I promise, her mother sounded as though shed managed a small smile. Justif you ever meet someone you truly care about, dont keep it from me. Tell me first, promise?
Of course. I promise. Alice stood and brushed off her coat. Now I must dash. Love you.
Love you, treasure. Take care.
Alice pocketed her phone, tilting her face up. The heavy clouds, dark as old velvet, began to part, letting through great swathes of blue. Sunlight slipped through, burnishing the rooftops and scattering golden flakes over the citys old bricks. Laughter trickled from a distant streetyoung women chirping with bright shopping bags in hand. A man jogged past, ginger dog straining at the leash.
Alice breathed in the new daylight. The world around her bustledchildren tumbling over the playground, friends dawdling in cafés, traffic thrumming through the veins of the city. Life continued, mundane and marvellous, unfussed by anyones plans. The old saying came to mindhorses for courses and all thatand she smiled, certain that shoehorning her fate into someone elses mould was as pointless as counting pebbles on Brighton beach.
The next few days, Alice made a point to keep her mind away from her mothers little drama. Work claimed her attention; her office was a hive just then, gearing up for a huge campaign, committed to each minute of planning. Every morning she was first in, last out, drinking strong English tea and scarfing down hasty sandwiches. By nightfall, she would tumble home, barely making it to bed before sleep crushed her.
But at night, in her silent flat, thoughts crept backher mothers anxious face, Simons embarrassment, Aunt Lilys bright-eyed hope. Alice had no regretshe was sure shed spoken rightbut still, a trace of sadness lingered. A pity, perhaps, that her mother hadnt truly listened until Alice forced her hand.
On Friday night, as she sorted through a pile of emails, Alice spotted one from a colleaguean invitation to his birthday. Should be a laugh, he wrote. Meet some new people. Promised good music and better company! Alice hovered, torn between exhaustion and the comfort of her lonely sofabut loneliness had been nipping at her heels lately.
Oh, why not? she thought, and typed, Count me in.
The do the was in a snug café on the city fringebrick walls, wooden tables, a scattering of squishy armchairs by the window. By the time Alice prized open the door, the place buzzed with music, half-whispered jokes, the scent of baking and perfume and strong espresso. People drifted and mingled, laughter roosting in every nook.
She spotted the birthday boy, flamboyant as ever, cracking stories by the bar. The moment he saw Alice, he bounded over, arms wide.
You made it! he grinned, giving her a fast hug. Knew you couldnt resist.
I fancied a change of scene, Alice grinned back. And happy birthday, by the way.
He steered her toward a window spot. Sit with that crowdyoull like them. Ill pop back in a tick.
Alice took a glass of elderflower from a passing waiter and made her way to the table. Conversation was in full spin, the sort born from too much cake and not enough inhibition. She squeezed in with a polite hello and let the crowds warmth unspool the last coils of work-stiffness from her shoulders.
Hello, someone said beside her. She turned: a young man was smiling, open, easygoing. Alice, right? Im Patrick, from Finance.
She noddedNice to meet you.
I saw you in the boardroom the other weekGlobalCom project?
Alice half-laughed. Thats right. Didnt think anyone outside marketing paid attention.
I was roped in for numbersrisk analysis and such.
Their chat turned out to be effortless. Patrick was not only switched on with work, but charming in that old English way: wry, funny, quick to listen, never pushing; genuinely interested. He was the only person Alice could remember making her laugh so unintentionally, so often, in ages.
The noise in the café swelleda neighbouring table set off in raucous laughter. Patrick nodded towards the door.
Shall we step out for a bit? Hard to talk with the cackling chorus.
Outside, the street was hushed, stars peeping shyly between shifting clouds. They leant on the iron railing, watching Londons night-tide roll past.
What about youwhat do you do for fun? Patrick asked, chin on his hands.
Read, long walks, the odd trip to the cinema when something comes along that isnt dreadful. You?
Travel, mainly. Last year I hopped a train across Walesrain, mountains, fresh bread in tiny pubs. The sort of stuff that stays with you.
Oh, tell me more! Alice leaned in, genuinely swept up by his gentle enthusiasm.
Patrick described slippery green valleys and steepled villages, the taste of bread-and-butter in little tearooms, the shy generosity of strangers. Alice could almost hear the sheep on the hillside, the clack of train tracks.
And where do you escape to? Patrick asked in turn.
The sea, Alice smiled. Just listening to the waves, feeling salt on the wind. Havent managed it lately. Work, you know
Well need to amend that, then. Patrick winked, perfectly easy; not a hint of pressure. Maybe next summerif you fancy company?
Alice went still for a moment, surprised. Then she laughed, and above them the clouds rolled back a little further.
Unexpected, she grinned.
Honest, though. Id really like to know you better, he replied, eyes on hersstraight, sincere.
She watched him for a long beatno calculation, no neediness, just warmth and interest. It felt new, andgood.
Lets give it a go. But slowly. No galloping off, Alice said at last.
Of course. Shall we try coffee tomorrow? No pressure. Just a natter.
Coffee sounds perfect, Alice said, feeling a gentle glow inside.
Back home, just as Alice kicked off her shoes, her phone chirped againMum. This time, she picked up at once.
Alice, lovehow are you? Her mother spoke with a care as delicate as walking atop morning frost.
Im wonderful. Went to a party, met someonerather promising, Alice said, half-laughing into the cushions.
Really? Her mothers voice danced with curiosity tinged with wariness. Go on, whats he like?
Bright. Funny. Not one to go crying to his mother every time the toast burns, if you know what I mean.
Mum laughedher first true, relaxed laugh since that silly tea party.
Im glad. So there was nothing to worry about after all?
Alice paused, wanting the moment to land just right.
You worry because you careand that matters. But you can stop sitting up at night about it now. Truly.
All right, her mother breathed, and Alice heard the gentle smile stretch between her words. Love you.
And I you.
She set the phone aside, peered out at the citys glowing grid. Lights braided themselves across rooftops, blinking yellow, orange, white. In the distance, sirens and laughter and the faintest echo of song. Ordinary, extraordinary London.
Alice exhaled gently, sensing peace uncoiling in her chest. The eveningthe talk with her mother, meeting Patrickhad left her with the pleasant sense that life made its own plans, gently brushing aside the old, letting the new unfurl at its own pace.
The city twinkled outside. Alice sat quietly, knowing things were playing out just as they ought to, and that was more than enough.
