There's No Accounting For Love

Chapter Thirty Nine

Lately, Angie was finding Alan's attitude extremely annoying. She knew that Clare was still struggling with her bereavement and one day in the office, when Clare was out sick with stomach pains, she tackled Alan about it. She was standing next to his desk with a file in her hands and he was sitting, working at his computer.

"I know it's none of my business," said Angie "but I've noticed how, whenever Clare suggests a get together you say "Oh, I'm sorry Clare, I can't make it that day, I'm meeting my friends at the pub." which you're not; or "Sorry, Clare, I'm playing golf on Sunday with Patrick and he always asks me back to his house afterwards for the evening. Sabrina likes to chat." And you've mentioned golf so often she's convinced you play every Sunday. You've only played golf four times in the whole of your life, you told me and you don't even like it."

Alan pulled a face. "You're right, Angie. It is none of your business." he said.

Angie bristled and the rudeness of his comment only made her more determined to have her say, especially as she'd given him so much support.

"You're mean, Alan. Why do you do it?" she said angrily. Alan blushed. He swiveled round on his chair to face her, but stared down at the desk fiddling with a pen.

"I can't help it. I have to have some control over the situation...that's all. I don't deliberately lie...it's just...the ball needs to be in my court sometimes." Angie could tell he was finding it hard to explain himself.

"I have to wait and see," said Alan, "wait and see...and waiting and seeing is driving me mad!" He lifted his head, looking Angie in the eyes. "If I say I can't go out with her, then I feel I'm in control of some small part of the situation, instead of her. Don't you understand?"

"But she doesn't know you've got a 'thing' about her does she?"

"I know, but I can't help it." said Alan, looking despondent.

"Well," said Angie softly. "Please don't do it again. The next time Clare suggests an outing, just go with it."

Angie said no more and went back into her office. Sitting down on her chair she thought, poor Alan. Where would it all end? Clare was lovely and he was lovely. They were a perfect match; but what did Clare think? Who could tell? She liked him as a friend, but Alan wanted more. And he was right, it was just a case of wait and see, Angie had said so herself, often enough.

'Poor Alan!' she thought. She sighed and spreading her papers on the desk, began to type.

                                                                             * * * * * * *

The next event left Alan reeling. It was now mid October with Christmas fast approaching.

One Saturday afternoon not long after lunch, he was watching football on the television when the door-bell rang. He opened the door and there stood Marie, smiling confidently and looking, as always, like one and a half million dollars. In a state of catatonic shock, he stood speechless.

"Hello, Alan." she said in a sugary, seductive voice. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

"What the hell are you doing here." he shouted "How did you...?"

Not waiting to be let in she pushed roughly past him. That was her style, he remembered. She'd always pushed her way in somewhere. She walked into the lounge and looked around.

"Well, this is smart." she said.

"I've nothing to say to you...please leave." Alan pointed to the door.