Title: Alibi 2003 - The Sequel
Disclaimer: 'Alibi,' the story and characters were created by Paul Abbott. I have no rights to his creation, and have only extended his ideas to continue the story into an imagined 'sequel.' No infringement is intended.
Feedback: Yes please!
A/N: First posted on the Nothing Fancy Forum, under MK - Other Roles FanFic, on March 16, 2006.
I've written this in a style following Quietly Enigmatic Forum member 'Lynndean's' wonderfully detailed summaries of the episodes as shown on British television, and posted on the Nothing Fancy - Michael Kitchen site back in 2003, so I hope you can imagine the scenes visually.
It's not exactly a film script, nor are the characters' inner thoughts as fully described as in a short story, so I guess it's something between the two.
(Posting this by request, for Jewell.)
PART 1
To set the scene:
Follows a few days after the end of the original story.
Marcia has agreed to meet Greg at a neutral outdoor location where they can walk and talk privately. They both looked forward to meeting, in theory, but the reality of being face to face again, with no immediate crisis to sort out, has them both a little out of their depth.
Marcey's mood is curious, interested, but she has no expectations that Greg will come round to any sort of decision about her. Greg is, as usual, a bit keyed up, but for a different reason now. Despite his best intentions he soon falls back on the subject that first brought them together.
The location is an embankment along a river.
They walk slowly side-by-side.
"Well, umh, how are you holding up?"
Greg gives a little shrug of his shoulder.
"I dunno – I'm stunned; dazed. The house is empty – I'm roaming from room to room. Linda's gone down to Devon with her 'would've-been' father-in-law. That's some comfort to her, I suppose."
"Yeah. I suppose it would be."
"The thing I don't get is …"
As he launches into the old topic, he doesn't see Marcia's long-suffering roll of the eyes.
"If she really didn't know about the hundred and twenty grand, can't she at least now see that this whole past year – all the bloody stress, all the money trouble we thought we had – it was all crap; it was all his bloody doing? There was nothing wrong with the business. There was nothing wrong with the house. And I was not the total –."
"Greg, she opened that account with Martin last June."
He drops his head a little, resigned to the truth.
"Yeah. Yeah, she did. Doesn't matter, does it? Water under the bloody bridge."
Greg shoves his hands deep in his trouser pockets, dejected. Marcia hopes to bring him round to some sort of closure on the whole experience.
"Why do you think Martin did it?"
Greg stares at her,wide-eyed.
"Other than the fact that he was a rotten, thieving, lying bastard? Gee, I dunno."
"Well, think about it, Greg – where were you at… two years ago? – Just to pick a timeline. And where was he at two years ago?"
"Two years ago? I'd just bought the house; moved the business to new premises; big contracts coming in. Martin? He'd split up with Carole. Sold his place. What's that got to do with me? I never shagged his wife."
"Don't you think he was jealous? I mean, from what you've told me, he was the sort who always had everything under perfect control, but his life was falling apart. Whereas you – you were coming into your stride, right? You were busy; everything you were doing was a success. Perhaps Martin couldn't accept seeing you that way – as a very successful person, more successful than him. The one chink in your armour – and I'm only speculating – your one weakness was Linda – your relationship with Linda."
Greg looks up and stares off across the river. He struggles with the possibility of revealing something crucial, but after walking several minutes in silence, settles on,
"She never really liked the house."
Marcey sees his inner conflict, but doesn't challenge him.
"So … Martin's getting sympathy from Linda because of his marriage break-up; Linda makes no secret that she's not entirely happy; I mean, you knew that, right?"
"Yeah. I thought it was just a rough patch."
"Probably was, but Martin took advantage of it. Forced the issue."
"Christ. I just …let her stew in her own juice for a bit."
"Hmm. Why did you buy the house?"
"I liked it. I loved the look of it. I wanted it. I thought it would give us a better life, away from the city. And! – I could claim the whole new wing as a business expense, because of the show room. Martin told me that; he was the clever one with money and tax. And … well, I thought she'd love it when it was finished."
He makes a dismissive sound, but then blurts out,
"Do you like the house, Marcey?"
She reacts with wide-eyed disbelief and immediately starts walking away fast along the embankment. He curses himself and trots along after her.
"Sorry, sorry, that was stupid. Forget I said it."
He catches up and falls into step beside her.
"Bugger the house. I'll sell it and fit out a flat over the shop."
"You don't have to do that. Finish it. You've got plenty of money."
He looks at her oddly, not sure if he is hearing an edge of hostility in her voice. She continues walking quickly, but says reasonably,
"Look, I don't really know why we've met today, Greg. You got your verdict; you've got your money; you're in the clear with Linda. You don't need –."
She stops herself from finishing.
Greg looks at her sideways, slightly panicked at the thought of having to come round to the point.
"Well, it's only been the most terrifying experience of my life, and I'd never have got through it without you."
"It's over now."
"Well, yeah, the terrifying part, but, but – Post Traumatic Shock?"
"I'm not a licensed therapist, if that's what you need."
"No! Look, Marcey, in your flat... I said, 'we can't just walk away.' But what I meant, what I really meant to say was, 'do we have to walk away…?'"
She continues walking without answering – obviously she can, if he won't give her a reason not to. He continues to walk quickly beside her.
"Marcey, you know more about me than anyone in my life, and – and I know a bit about you – not a lot, it's been a bit one-sided - yeah, totally one-sided, I admit. But I know your character. I know what sort of person you are, and it's just that we – we've been incredibly honest with each other –."
Marcia's sceptical look switches him onto a different track.
"Right, that's absolute bollocks. But we trust each other, don't we? I – I know I trust you, Marcey, and we were at least working together on the same lie, which is a hell of a lot more than I've had with Linda, isn't it? I mean, you and me, we were actually working together on the same side, which I always thought was what a couple were meant to do, and I realized Linda wasn't– the truth is, Linda hasn't been on my side for a long time, not just this year, but for bloody ages –."
"A couple?"
She has stopped abruptly and he has to turn back to face her.
"Hmm?"
Greg shifts nervously, knowing she's landed on the most dangerous word.
"What do mean, 'a couple'?"
"Well, two …people …together."
"What are you driving at, Greg? Cause so far… you haven't said anything to me about it."
"Well, I thought –. I mean, I just thought –. You're here, aren't you, Marcey? You phoned me– No, no, I asked you to phone; I know. And you did, which was lovely, and – and I said, 'why don't we meet and, and go for a walk,' and you said, 'all right.' And you're here –."
"You said that. I think we've established that I am here."
"Right. Umm..."
He trails off, swallows, unable to say what he wants.
"Yeah, right. Look, Greg. You don't know a lot about me but let me tell you this, at least: I'm the sort of person who likes to have things pretty clear. I don't like to have to guess, so maybe –."
Greg is disheartened and says dully,
"Well, me neither… And Christ knows, I'm not any bloody good at it."
"– Maybe you could let me know what it is you're thinking, or hoping or –."
The word 'hoping' seems to take the last of his confidence away; he sits on the low stone wall, looking defeated. Marcia sees his reaction and feels sympathy for him; putting aside her own frustration, she makes a decision and sits down beside him.
"Cause… maybe we're on the same track, I dunno. How can I know if you don't –?"
"Talk."
He makes a rueful face because this is Linda's old complaint.
"No. You are talking; but you've skipped over the part where you tell me. Try seeing it from my view. It's not like there's been anyone to take me aside and let me know you've been pointing me out to your mates saying, 'see that bird? I fancy her.' I mean, as far as I know you're just very grateful – 'Thanks, Marcey; you've been brilliant.'" She gives a little wave of her hand. 'Now piss off back to Failstone.'"
At the word 'fancy' Greg comes back to life, looks at her, and even smiles at her little performance. He turns and faces her directly, and puts his hand on her arm in the same way he had at her flat, only now he has the confidence to look her in the eyes. He shakes his head slowly,
"Don't … piss off back to Failstone, Marcia."
He moves both his hands to her shoulders, and sees that she has become suddenly shy, not able to look him in the face, and it surprises him. He finds it rather appealing, not knowing what lies behind the shyness.
Very slowly he moves in close, rests his forehead on hers and waits for her response.
Tentatively they move towards a kiss that begins hesitantly but ends with full commitment on both sides. Greg holds her in his arms, calm and at peace, all of his manic energy now dissipated.
Marcia is both blissful and worried, smiling now, but with brows drawn down; she has a secret.
Greg says quietly,
"That was a move, just now."
"Yeah, I thought it might be."
Greg sits back, just holding her hand in both of his.
"Marcey, you will tell me about Stevenage, won't you? I do want to know."
Her face shows a mix of pleasure that he has asked, and pain at the thought of talking about it. She wrinkles her nose and confesses,
"I'd have to have a lot of drink first."
"We might … just start with the schnauzer, then."
She laughs and kisses him.
"Have dinner with me tonight? Pick a restaurant."
"Oh, I've a catering job. I can't let the others down."
"What time will you finish?"
"Late. Two-ish."
"Tomorrow, then?"
"I've an earlier job; I should be home by ten."
"You'll be tired. You'll want to go straight to b– t-to sleep."
She smiles to herself as he stumbles over the words.
"No, I always need to unwind for an hour or so after catering. You could pop round. We could talk about schnauzers, and why you don't have a Labrador."
tbc...