OK. So I’m being a bit Machiavellian here. If I had to vote for Person Least Into Alternative Medicine, it would be Dan, by a million miles. His view on medicine is basically: take paracetamol and see your GP if you really must. He doesn’t take vitamins, he doesn’t meditate and he thinks homeopathy is a massive con-trick.
So what I’m hoping as we sit down to dinner is that as Mary talks about ‘mind–body flow’ and ‘clearing energy blockages’, Dan will adopt his usual cynical stance and the two will end up arguing. Or at least disagreeing. (Dream scenario: Mary stomping out of the house, shouting, ‘How dare you say reiki is all a load of bollocks!’)
But it doesn’t happen like that. As Dan doles out the lamb, Mary tells us about her healing in such an intelligent, compelling way that we all listen, riveted. She sounds like a Shakespearean actress. She even looks like one. I start to think maybe there is something in healing after all, and even Dan seems quite open-minded. Then she moves on to yoga and teaches us all a shoulder stretch at the table. And then she tells funny stories about going on a herbalism course and making some kind of beech-leaf liqueur and everyone getting totally drunk.
She’s not just angelic, she’s sassy. She exudes positive energy. Everyone is charmed. I’m charmed. I want her to be my friend.
As the evening progresses, I find myself relaxing. My fears seem to float away. There’s no special vibe between her and Dan that I can make out. Dan has relaxed too, and he seems just as interested in catching up with Jeremy and Adrian as he does in Mary. By the time we’re on to the Green & Black’s chocolates, I’m thinking: We must do this again, and: What nice new friends, and: I’ll ask Mary where she got those grey pumps.
I’m just pouring out fresh mint tea when I realize that a shrill voice is calling for me: ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ and excuse myself. I find Anna standing on the stairs, clutching the banisters, her face wet with tears, telling me, ‘It was coming after me, it was coming, it was coming.’
Poor Anna. She always takes ages to calm after a nightmare, and so I settle down to a good twenty minutes of sitting on her bed, soothing, patting, singing and talking in a low voice. She seems to drift off, then opens her eyes in panic and searches for me … then drifts off again … then opens her eyes again … and I just sit there, patiently, waiting. And at last she’s truly asleep, her breaths coming deeply, her fingers still clutching the edge of her duvet.
I feel tempted to climb in with her. I’m suddenly quite shattered. But after all, we still have guests and those Green & Black’s chocolates won’t hand themselves round. So at last I get to my feet and head out of her room … and freeze dead. From where I’m standing on the landing, I have a view into the mirror in the hall, and in that mirror I can see the sitting room reflected.
And in the sitting room are Dan and Mary. Just them.
They must have no idea I can see them; that anyone can see them. They’re alone and standing close together. Mary’s listening to Dan, her head tilted with an intent, understanding expression. He’s talking softly to her – so softly, I can’t hear his actual words. I can pick up on the vibe between them, though. It’s a vibe of closeness. Of familiarity. Of everything I was afraid of.
For a few moments I’m motionless, my thoughts lurching this way and that. I want to confront them. No, I can’t face confronting them. I might be wrong. Wrong about what, anyway? What do I imagine is happening? Might they not just be two old friends sharing a moment?
But why hide away from everyone?
A burst of male laughter from the kitchen brings me to, and automatically I start walking forward. I can’t stay upstairs forever. As I head downstairs, the stairs creak, and at once Dan appears at the sitting-room door.
‘Sylvie!’ he exclaims, too loudly. ‘I was just showing Mary …’ He trails off as though unable to think of a convincing story. Then Mary appears in the doorway – and the look she gives me makes me feel chilled. It’s unmistakable. It’s a look of pity.