Title: façades
Disclaimer: Characters still do not belong to me! Will re-evaluate this situation after Christmas, but it's not likely to change…
Summary: She arrived at the university that January, the mysterious reality of her past shrouded in rumour and fiction. R/H. Post 5.05
Notes: This is based in the same 'universe' as my last fic, "one", and it might help to read that first, but is not essential!
Many thanks for the feedback for that fic – I really do appreciate it. You're fast turning me into a feedback junkie!! That's really not a good thing.
Not entirely sure about this one, so feedback would be gratefully received.
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She arrived at the university that January, the mysterious reality of her past shrouded in rumour and fiction.
"She was jilted at the altar," they suggest. "Her husband ran off with another woman," they postulate. "I reckon she's just been let out of prison," someone comments with a wry grin.
Admittedly there is a three month gap in Alison Lewis' CV, but you pay no heed to rumour and hearsay.
You watch her with almost a maternal concern at first – you feel a responsibility to look out for all new members of the faculty – but there is something about her that causes you to pay particular attention to her.
Her outward demeanour is, at first glance, cheerful. Hardworking. Carefree. Quiet.
But you are more adept at reading people than you are given credit for and you see something else there: a deep melancholy that emanates from within. You empathise with this.
Having lost your husband three years ago, you can identify with the concept of masking internal pain.
And you sense that Alison Lewis is highly accomplished at hiding her feelings.
You work in the faculty's administrative team and this gives you the opportunity to connect with both students and staff. You use this position to watch over this new recruit with fascination and concern.
Alison starts out quietly, almost unsure, as if her previous experience in this career has not provided her with enough knowledge to fully function in a new role. You take pity on her – or maybe not pity, maybe it is that you see elements of yourself in her – and offer advice and support. She seems grateful, smiles in that nearly-sincere manner, and your almost-friendship develops from there.
You talk to her when you can, although your conversations consist more of work-related matters and "have a nice weekend" sentiments.
You don't talk to her about her past, although the rumours continue with decreasing imagination.
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Over the months she grows in self-confidence and appears to be more than capable at her job.
The students enjoy her lectures and seminars – you've overheard them talk positively about her more than once – and sign up voluntarily for elective modules. She can be passionate about her subject, you understand. But sometimes, as you observe her, you wonder if she can ever truly be passionate about anything else; and then you reconsider your thoughts – you are projecting, you decide.
She develops a rapport with staff members, she goes to the pub with them on the occasional Friday afternoon, accepts invitations to some out-of-hours events.
It is one of these that coincides with the anniversary of your husband's death but you accept anyway, taking the opportunity to attempt to distract yourself.
It appears that you fail.
It is the end of year party and you attempt to conceal your thoughts through celebration. You drink moderately, plaster a smile on your face, and pretend to be jovial.
By ten o'clock the façade is tiring. You exit briefly to the outside to get some fresh air, sitting on a bench.
Five minutes later Alison sits next to you in silence.
"Are you okay?" she asks eventually.
You laugh, a bitter sound that erupts unexpectedly from your throat. "My husband, Tom, he died four years ago today," you inform her.
She takes your hand, a surprising but welcomed reaction. "It's almost a year since…" Her voice falters, and she pauses, recalling some unknown memory. "Since my husband died," she continues.
"I'm sorry," you say.
She smiles sadly, and you understand her pain.
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The months move on, and a new semester begins with more new faces and a plethora of new students to induct and instruct.
Alison stands at the front desk, patiently waiting for photocopies for a seminar as you attend to student inquiries.
Having collected her readings, she gives you a brief smile and starts to exit the room at the same time as a student.
"Ruth," you call out, and you cannot ascertain the reason why Alison half-turns sharply and regards you with perplexed look of recognition. "Ruth," you repeat, and the student finally turns at the sound of her name. "You forgot your timetable."
Alison gives an almost-smile and exits.
For some reason the moment stays with you.
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As the weeks go by, her mood alters, although this goes seemingly unobserved by other members of staff.
You notice the small things; a smile that disappears for a moment when she thinks no one is watching, a fascination with a story involving government officers that appears on the front page of several newspapers, a quiet withdrawal into herself.
You remember the conversation at the party and make a connection.
On one day, she is particularly low, and you take her a cup of sweet tea to her office. "Cures all ailments," you inform her with a wry grin. She frowns briefly, and for a moment you are almost certain that her eyes begin to well up with tears, before her countenance changes, and she thanks you.
You smile, although concerned, and exit.
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A parcel arrives for her in December. It has no return address.
It is small, wrapped in brown paper, post-marked London.
"Good morning, Alison," you greet her as you do every morning. "This arrived for you."
She looks as intrigued as you feel.
She opens it hesitantly.
You notice with interest but bemusement that it contains a train ticket and a book – Vladimir Nabokov's "The Eye."
A note floats out from the pages of the book, and you glance at its cryptic message briefly before she picks it up.
"You will know the truth and the truth will set you free. 3pm. Love, H," it reads.
But what you notice more than anything is the smile on Alison's features. It is the first genuine smile you have seen from her.
And intrigue gives way to delight.
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Fin.