“Marianne?” His whole body tensed with the effort of keeping his voice soft, but making it carry down to the water. “Anne, are you there?” Was that patch of water a different shade of dark than the rest? He squinted more, and wiggled his shoulders to try to shift the binding around his chest into a more comfortable position. He could hear the almost imperceptible shift of water, and down in the ocean a face peered up at him with big blue eyes. Her pale face was luminescent in the light of the half-moon, and although Arthur could not see her face, he bet she was smirking—she often was. He raised a hand to her, and she raised herself up further, so he could see her whole face.

               “Alice!” she chirped.

               “Sh!” The curt, clipped noise from the captain was scolding; he had spoken to her about this before! “Arthur,” he insisted. “Anne, you know that!” Marianne did not look impressed—Arthur knew Marianne disapproved of his lie, but not because it was a lie—because Marianne thought it was a waste for Alice to pretend to be a man. But how else was she to have her own ship? Marianne thrashed her tail and Arthur frowned at her. “Don’t argue, it has to be this way.”

               Marianne slouched in the water, and then moved closer, putting a little white hand against the slimy, slippery wood of Arthur’s ship.

               “Come down,” she said.

               “I can’t.” This was another discussion they had frequently, and as much as Arthur wearied of it, it pained him more than it annoyed him, because he wanted to comply.

               “I would save you,” Marianne promised, flashing a sharp-toothed grin. Arthur could tell she was using glamor, because he could hear her voice too clearly. Marianne could speak English, but without the glamor, it was very clear her vocal chords were not shaped to speak any human tongue. Her voice was hoarse and rough, and she couldn’t speak very long without her throat becoming sore. But Arthur didn’t have a crab’s chance in a French kitchen of mimicking the sounds of Marianne’s birth tongue. “Again.”

               “I’d rather not.” Arthur’s tone was dry, but his expression didn’t stay so long. He slumped down against the railing, watching Marianne’s tail give little flutters to keep up with the slow-moving ship. She didn’t speak either, but read his face as Arthur did the many books in his cabin. Her hands pressed uselessly against the wood of the ship, and he could see plainly the distress on her face. “Don’t be upset, love,” he whispered. “I’ll take a vacation soon.” He promised this with growing frequency, promising to return to the island that had been Marianne’s territory before she left it behind to follow his ships around the western hemisphere.

               “After you go home?” Arthur’s ship was bound for England now, having delivered the cargo to Virginia as directed. Arthur shook his head.

               “I only have two months,” he said. “I’m staying in England.” Marianne’s hands dropped from the ship.

               “I won’t see you,” she said. It wasn’t a question, it was a reality. Arthur pressed his thumbnail into the pad of his index finger anxiously.

               “I had an idea,” he blurted out before he could lose nerve or talk himself out of it (It was a stupid idea, it wouldn’t work, Marianne wouldn’t want to, someone might catch them…) But the mermaid perked up at once, turning her face up to him again. “I could take you with me.”

               “England is cold,” Marianne said, shuddering. She preferred the warm waters of southern France, where they had first met. “And there are many ships. Too many people.” Her infatuation with Arthur had not remedied her natural wariness and dislike of humans.

               “Not if I take you to my home,” Arthur said.

               “Home?” Marianne cocked her head to the side, bobbing in the water. “On land?” Arthur nodded.

               “I’ve thought about it, and we could manage,” he said. “Not without  a bit of planning, but we could manage. I’ve a tub big enough for you. Just until I have to sail out again.”

               “Two months.” Time meant little to Marianne; she had no concept of months, weeks or years. She couldn’t even tell Arthur how old she was. She might’ve been four, or four hundred; it was impossible to say.

               “Yes, two months. Sixty days,” he said. “Sixty nights. If we move you at night, it’d be easier. But if you don’t want to, just forget about it.” He had explained it all so perfectly in his head, the past few days that he’d been thinking about it, but somehow he was jumbling it all up now. This was precisely why he preferred books and boats to people. But Marianne smiled wide, showing her wickedly sharp teeth.

               “Yes! Let me see Alice home!”

               “Sh!” Arthur turned back to see if anyone was near, and saw his first mate coming down the steps from the bow.      

               “Trouble, sir?” Fernando asked.

               “Splinter,” Arthur grunted. “Everything’s quiet.”

               “Aye, it’s a good night for sailing,” Fernando agreed. “Y’ought to get some sleep, sir. I’ve got things up here.” Arthur nodded.

               “Aye, I’ll go down for a bit,” he allowed, raising his voice slightly for Marianne’s benefit, if she was still surfaced. “Wake me at next watch.”

***

               When the ship docked in Alice’s home bay, she was unsure whether or not Marianne had followed. With hope in her heart, she skulked down to the pier where her ship was moored that night. Docking was always a busy day, most of all for Alice because it involved shifting back to her female persona, a shift that could be jarring going either way. It also meant she had to keep her head covered constantly—with hats, scarves or bonnets—to be sure no one saw her close-cropped men’s haircut. She could’ve worn it long to more easily switch from Arthur to Alice, but she wanted Arthur to be truly convincing.

               With her, she carried a net and a long cloak for purposes of transportation. She stooped to grab a handful of stones from the road before walking out onto the pier. When she reached the end, she threw two stones in quick succession. A few more followed, and then Marianne surfaced.  

               “Ah, good, you came.” Alice crouched down. “Can you get onto the pier?” She tapped the wet wood. Marianne scoffed, and the glamor faded. Without it, her breasts shrank to almost nothing, and the same sort of purple-blue scaling that characterized her tale broke out around her body, gathering at the boniest parts of her—elbows, shoulders, cheekbones, etc. Her ears were smaller, with webbing fanning out around the shell, holding them flat to the sides of her head. Her nose flattened as well, and when she lunged up for the dock, Alice could see the webbing on her fingers. She could also see the muscles flexing and bulging in Marianne’s upper arms as she hauled herself out of the water, dragging her tail up with her, water glistening and pooling in the dips between her muscles. Alice reached out to help, but there was nothing she could grab onto, and she knew firsthand how strong mermaids were.

               Once Marianne was on the pier, Alice began to wrap her up in the net. She felt Marianne tense.

               “Just for a bit,” she promised. “I’ve got to be able to carry you.” Looking suspicious, but without protesting, Marianne allowed it. “Here.” Alice passed Marianne the clasps of the cloak. “When I got you on my back, I need you to put this on me. Cover yourself up.” Grasping the four corners of the net in her hands, Alice lifted Marianne up. It was like carrying a bag of stones, but Alice was strong from her work on the ship—lean, wiry muscle roped her frame, binding her scrawny figure together.

               As she took the first few wobbly steps, she felt Marianne’s cold arms reaching around her neck, fumbling with the closing of the cloak. Once she managed, she wriggled around trying to spread it out until it sufficiently hid her from view. Then it was the walk back to Alice’s tiny home.

               By the time she dropped Marianne somewhat unceremoniously on the floor, she was sure her back was going to ache the next day. The mermaid gurgled unhappily as she hit the ground, and rolled onto her back.

               “Not nice!”

               “You have no idea how heavy you are,” Alice grumbled back. She dropped the net and tossed the cloak over the back of her dining chair. The room was just so—one room, into which Alice fit her bed, table, washtub and all the belongings she didn’t store on The Bawdy Englishman.

               Furthermore, her dress was soaked all down the back from having Marianne pressed against it. But she quickly forgot about that when she saw Marianne crawling over to her chest of clothes, reaching out with great interest to rub her fingers against the brass corners and leather straps.

               “Alice’s treasure?” Living at the bottom of the sea, Marianne was accustomed to dredging up things that had been lost in shipwrecks, and she knew valuables were often stored in such trunks.

               “Hardly,” Alice replied. “It’s just clothes—hey!” Marianne apparently took the denial to mean she was free to open it up and start rummaging around. Alice quickly strode over, shooed the mermaid’s hands out and shut the trunk, nearly catching Marianne’s fingers. There wasn’t anything particularly private in there, she just…didn’t like people going through her things.

               “I want to see,” Marianne whined. Alice look at her for a moment, her face twisted up with indecision, then flung the trunk open again.

               “As you will, have a look.” Marianne pawed through Alice’s dresses, stockings and brassieres, laughing and holding things up. She grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around her head, then grinned up at Alice, whose lips twitched despite herself.

               “Do you wear these every day?” Marianne asked, pulling at a blue dress sleeve.

               “On land, aye,” Alice said. “I’ve got to.”

               “Why?”

               “It’s…it’s proper,” she said. “Folks would ask questions if I didn’t.”

               “But Alice doesn’t like being on land.” It was more a statement than a question, something Marianne already knew, somehow without Alice telling her. Her seemingly preternatural ability to know what Alice was thinking often irritated the Englishwoman, but Marianne had promised her that mind-reading or telepathy were not powers mermaids had. Which meant Alice was just that easily readable, at the least for Marianne.

               “No, I don’t.”

               “So odd,” Marianne said, pulling the scarf off and putting it away. “What if a mermaid didn’t like the ocean?”

               “I suppose she’d be bang out of luck, eh?” Alice smiled and reached a hand out. Marianne took it and pressed it against her cheek.

               “It’s so dry here,” Marianne protested softly. Alice could tell from the warmth of Marianne’s cheek that she was overheated, and her skin was drying out.

               “Fuck, right, the tub. Hold on.” Alice went over and pulled the blanket cover off the tub. She had filled it earlier that day, with a great deal of hauling water, in preparation for Marianne’s arrival. With Alice’s help, Marianne tumbled in, sloshing water all over the edges of the tub. She sank in, her head, shoulders and the fan of her tail still above water. If she arranged herself right, with the majority of her tail flopping over the side, she could submerge her head, which she did for several minutes, sucking oxygen in through her gills. She had lungs, and could breathe like a human, but she preferred this, and her gills were so delicate, it wouldn’t do for them to dry out. Alice folded the blanket under her to stay dry, and sat down by the tub. “Better?” she asked when Marianne’s head surfaced. She nodded.

               “No room for Alice,” Marianne said mournfully, reaching out to the blonde.

               “Well it’s not meant for two,” Alice said. “But maybe…” Marianne gave her a devious smile, and blew bubbles in the water, fluttering her fingers against the surface. She had explained to Alice that mermaids reproduced by and large like fish—that is, the female laid eggs and the male came by later to fertilize. But Marianne had discovered the truth about land mammals, and took advantage of Alice’s various weaknesses with those slender, webbed fingers of hers.

               Alice would like to have said that she was far above the temptations of wicked sirens, and that she would never be so weak as to fall for a sea creature’s machinations, but that was not only untrue now, it had been since her first meeting with Marianne. She stripped down to her skivvies and stepped into the tub. They found she could squeeze in beside Marianne with her knees against her less-than-mountainous chest, or kneels over Marianne’s lap. Marianne encouraged her to settle for the latter.

               “Mm, Alice is warm,” Marianne sighed, sitting up and laying her head against Alice’s breast. In point of fact, Alice was rather chilly after the walk, but her usual body temperature was too warm for Marianne to find cozy. She ran her fingers through the tangle of Marianne’s dark hair, silky soft under her fingertips.

               Marianne pressed a kiss to Alice’s skin, nuzzling her. She reached up and slipped the strap-like sleeves of Alice’s undershirt off her shoulders, and pulled the neckline down to expose Alice’s chest. Her lips brushed between Alice’s breasts and Alice felt her sharp teeth graze her skin, making her shiver. Instinctively, she pressed her weight down heavier on Marianne’s lap.

               “I missed you,” Marianne told her, reaching up to drag her fingers over Alice’s left breast. It had been a long time since they had been able to touch—not since Alice had been rescued by a passing Moroccan trade ship after two months marooned on Marianne’s island.

               “I missed you too,” she confessed lowly, tracing her nails down Marianne’s back. She leaned in and Marianne met her with a kiss, and did Alice the courtesy of taking advantage of some more of her weaknesses, her fingers slipping and creeping lower across Alice’s flat stomach, exploring down into the nest of blonde curls between her legs. Marianne was very good with her fingers.  

               When they were done, Alice tucked herself up into a space beside Marianne, and leaned against her in peaceable silence. Alice was not a talkative person (outside the bottle), so her mermaid of few words was perfect for her. Eventually Alice felt that her innards had dipped to far too low a temperature, and reluctantly parted the tub.

               “Bedtime,” she said. Since she had soaked her clothes in the tub with Marianne, she slept with nothing, and woke freezing in the night. The absence of splashes from the tub suggested Marianne was sleeping though, which was good. Anxiety was still kneading its claws in her gut, but it was good that the mermaid could at least get some rest.

               When she woke in the morning, Marianne was draped over the edge of the tub, submerging her tail.

               “Eat? Alice, time to eat?” Alice groaned and ran a hand through her thin blonde hair.

               “Yeah, yeah…give me a minute to get up.” She couldn’t have breakfast ready for Marianne, because she was carnivorous—it had to be meat, and it had to be seafood. She’d never eaten anything like chicken or mutton before, and Alice didn’t want to find out what happened when she tried it the first time.

               So she dressed and went out to the market. She found a nice big fish, and a loaf of bread for herself, and returned to find Marianne curled into a most unnatural position following the curve of the tub, so her tail was in her face. She tossed the fish into the water and her room was again doused in water as Marianne jerked upright to catch it.

               Alice spent the day with Marianne and went shopping again in the evening for dinner. They began to establish a routine this way, but by the end of the first week, Alice could already see Marianne was restless. She could hear the mermaid splashing at night, and she began to respond less to Alice’s talk during the day.

               “Feeling alright, love?” she asked when she went over to the tub to give Marianne her fish. Marianne took it and began peeling strips of flesh off. There was a small pile of bones beside the tub that Alice still needed to clean up.

               “Yes, fine.” She nodded and flicked a scale at Alice, but the gesture lacked something. Alice wanted to let it go, move on, say nothing if Marianne was going to say nothing, but guilt prickled her gut. She had brought Marianne here, and it was irresponsible of her not to press when Marianne was clearly not settling in well.

               “Sleeping alright?” Marianne shrugged a scaly shoulder and nibbled at the fish, burying her face in it to avoid having to answer. “Is the…is the tub big enough?”

               “No.” Alice found herself half-irritated, wishing Marianne would just lie because obviously there was nothing Alice could do. Any decent person would lie instead of honestly sharing their unhappiness!

               “Well it’s for a few weeks more, hm?” She stroked Marianne’s hair, but Marianne, who disliked being touched while she was eating, shrugged away.

               With a sigh, Alice got to her feet. Her fantasies about life with Marianne were evaporating like steam from her tea kettle, and it rent her heart. It had been a long time since she had felt so conflicted—not since she’d made the decision to create Arthur and live at least a part of her life on her own terms. But unlike her love of the sea, her love for Marianne was not so easily bent into a shape to fit into her life. She couldn’t create a persona for Marianne that would allow her to live on land.

               Perhaps a tank of some sort? she thought. It was conceivable…returning to the stove, she stirred her morning oats and considered the engineering and capital required to attempt such a thing.

               But then…could she condemn Marianne to life in a cage? A gilded cage was still a cage—something Alice had said to her mother, before she’d left home. And that’s what any sort of tank would be—a cage, to keep Marianne in Alice’s life. How selfish.

               By the end of another week, Marianne was showing signs of physical deterioration from her captivity. She slumped in the tub, and picked at her food. Her skin looked sallower, Alice thought, and she had grown quieter. Marianne was not talkative, because of how difficult human speech was for her, but she was always alert, and she responded to Alice, if without words. But that was happening less and less. It was as though she were withdrawing in on herself—as if she were genuinely ill.

               “This isn’t working, is it?” Alice said quietly late one night, sitting with her back against Marianne’s tub. The mermaid gave her a pained smile and touched the top of her head, caressing Alice’s short hair.

               “No,” she replied.

               “I have to take you back, don’t I?” It was something Alice had known for days, but she didn’t want to admit it. It wasn’t just the end of their time together here, now—it was the end of a dream.

               “Yes.” Marianne’s fingers moved down to Alice’s cheek. Her own rested uncomfortably against the edge of the tub. “I’m sorry.”

               “Don’t be,” Alice said brusquely, getting up and shaking Marianne’s hand off. “It is what it is.”

               “Alice!” The Englishwoman was ready to move away, but Marianne lurched forward, grabbing for her again. “Don’t be angry,” she pleaded, the shimmer of glamor wavering over her, turning her eyes to those big blue orbs that would suck in any land-dwelling man.

               “Stop that, you don’t have the strength,” Alice scolded. Marianne’s face returned to normal. She jerked, making to continue her flight, but the flash of Marianne’s “human” eyes haunted the backs of her eyelids and she couldn’t go. “I’m not angry,” she said, unconvincingly, though she truly wasn’t. “I’ll take you tomorrow night, okay?”

               “I will miss you,” Marianne rasped, grabbing at Alice’s skirt. Alice grunted some sort of assent, and looked down at the sad fish in the tub.

               Christ, she thought. I did this to you. I took a perfectly healthy thing and ruined it, for myself.

               Marianne pressed the back of Alice’s hand against her scaly cheek. Her temperature was too warm.

               “Alice will still be with me,” Marianne told her, moving Alice’s hand to her chest. Her heart wasn’t in the same place, but she had been delighted when she found she could listen to Alice’s heartbeat, so she used the gesture with humans in mind.

               “Not near enough,” Alice muttered under her breath. She took her hand back and patted Marianne’s head. “Right. Of course, pet. I’ll see you when I sail.” And on land, I’ll grow into an old maid, until my hands are too weak to climb the rigging, my back to stiff to sleep in a berth, until I am too old to sail, and I never see you again, and the only thing I have left to comfort myself is some vague notion of sentimentality.

               But she knew she had to do the right thing—she had to return Marianne to her home, before the poor thing wasted away in Alice’s bathtub.

               She could feel how much weight Marianne had lost as she hoisted the mermaid in the net onto her back once more. They arranged the cloak before she stepped out, and then began the long walk back to the docks. On the pier, she lowered Marianne down as gently as she could, remembering how she’d dropped her on the floor the first time. She still hit the wood heavily, whining quietly.

               “Can Alice take me out more?” she croaked. “Water here is so shallow…”

               It’s the least I can do…Alice thought. “Let me get a dingy from The Englishman.” She went to her own ship nearby, and lowered the dinghy down herself, paddling it over to the pier where she’d left her wayward mermaid. It was a trick getting her into the boat, but Alice was fortunately supported by years of maintaining her balance on rocking ships.

               A waning half-moon was in the sky as Alice stroked them across the inky waters. She supposed she took Marianne out further than necessary, but it was the last time, she suspected, they’d be so close. In the end, was their relationship anything more than a figment of imagination? She could’ve rowed all night, she had the strength for it, but she stopped before the shore got too small, and pulled up the oars.

               “How’s this, love?” Marianne, trailing her fingers happily in the water, nodded and smiled.

               “Perfect!” Another of her favorite words. Alice had hoped to find her a bit more morose at the idea of their parting, but Marianne seemed utterly unaffected. Perhaps that’s the best, Alice thought wearily. Fooling myself into this…what a twat I’ve made of myself.

               She reached out to help Marianne over the side, but with a might thrash, Marianne flipped over, sending Alice’s boat dancing wildly in the water. She leaned over for a last close look at Marianne’s blue and purple tail disappearing, and that was when the hands seized her collar. There was barely time to gasp before she was toppling into the frigid water, feeling it rush into her mouth and up her nose.

               Marianne!

               The damnable mermaid!

               As Alice choked, she remembered Marianne’s priceless stash of stolen goods, piled up and falling over each other, glinting and sparkling in the dim light of her cavern—she remembered the boots and silk shirts, the necklaces and rings, the finger bones picked clean in the shallows, the skull that had once washed up on the island after a storm. Mermaids were greedy creatures, possessive, violent and primitive—she had known this! Alice was no fool—she had known! And she knew Marianne—she knew how she hated to lose, how she jealously guarded what was hers, how strong she was! What in the world had made her believe that if Marianne couldn’t have her, she would let her go?

               Underwater, Marianne’s wiry fingers dug more securely into Alice’s dress, hands creeping up her back. Alice’s precious seconds of strength had been wasted on her surprise, and now she was losing air and power fast. Marianne’s muscular tail rippled, sending them sailing yards into the darkness with each smooth flick.

               Alice opened her mouth to scream at the traitor, but she knew she couldn’t waste her air. She punched and kicked, but Marianne’s arms were steel around her, and she didn’t seem to be bothered by Alice’s fighting at all.

               Above them, the moon grew smaller, its light weaker, and Alice’s aching throat told her this would be the last sight she would see. Marianne’s arms wrapped around her in a deadly embrace, and the mermaid leaned in, sinking her teeth into Alice’s neck. The Englishwoman wasn’t sure whether to be angry that she was being treated so poorly, or relieved that Marianne intended to give her a quick death, not just drown her.

               Heat—initially a relief from the freezing water—swept up her until it burned. Her eyes were dimming, white gauze stretching over her vision. She heard nothing, and her brain could no longer form a coherent thought.

               Marianne, she thought with varying emotions. Marianne, Marianne…cursed siren!

               Marianne held her tightly, close against her, and nuzzled her face into the crook of Alice’s neck, not taking them deeper, nor returning the body to the surface.

               And Alice took a breath.

               Oxygen rushed back into her with such force that a sob caught in her throat. Her eyes were on fire, and her whole body throbbed and shrieked with pains. She shoved Marianne off, and looked about. A hand flew up to her neck—she could feel rips in the flesh, probably from where she’d been bitten…but they felt so smooth?

               Down—sticking out from her dress, rather than her pallid, skinny legs, was a tail. Green and gold scales, dark in the depths of the ocean, made a gradient across it. She gasped, and rather than choking on the water, she felt more precious oxygen restoring life to her brain and heart. Her gaze snapped to Marianne, watching her expectantly, excitedly.

               What did you do?

               I fixed you! The mermaid chirped. Since I cannot live on land, now Alice can live with me!

               You can do that?

               Marianne just smiled and took Alice’s hand.

       Of course, she’d vomit up nails before admitting anything like that, and Amelia was too obtuse to pick up on it. She’d invited Alice to visit several times, but there was something truly terrifying about the idea of being at the mercy of her cousin’s hospitality for any extended period of time, so Alice always found a polite excuse, and if none were forthcoming, simply ignored the invite.

       The day was Sunday, and Alice had dearly hoped she’d be past this little emotional seizure by the time she went back to work on Monday, but the odds were not looking as good now that she was awake and not feeling any more in control of the situation. Sometimes the unease was surpassed by her irritation about it, which grew with every passing hour, but like a determined tortoise, the unease always won out. Maybe she’d work from home on Monday—or maybe getting back into her work schedule would clear her mind (although if Friday’s experience was the model, that was unlikely).

       As she dropped down into a kitchen chair with her toast and tea, she woke her phone, and almost against her own will, navigated back to her messages.

       The first thing on her mind when she woke up that morning had been the last thing on it when she went to bed the night before—and the night before that, and the night before that, and the night before that.

       Happy birthday darling.

       Darling! As if it hadn’t been two years since she had been in England!

       “The right bitch,” Alice growled. She shut the phone off before her jumpy brain could start scrolling back up through the messages. There weren’t many there, truthfully—their communication just about cut off after Marianne’s last text from the airport in Rabat, with only a few sporadic texts between them since, usually commemorating holidays. It wasn’t unusual that Marianne had wished Alice a happy birthday, only that Alice had deliberately not responded to her “Happy New Year” text for several days. She had not decided if she was sending Marianne a happy birthday text—she had several more months to think about it, but generally made these decisions on impulse, and often regretted it. She wished she had not waited so long to respond to the New Year’s text.

       Of course they had promised to stay in contact, and they had both lied. That was the way things went. Their relationship had been ill-defined from the start, and Marianne’s coolness in the waning months of her assignment had assured Alice that whatever it was, it would not survive the Frenchwoman’s flight out of Heathrow. So far, she’d been right. Alice loved being right, even when it left her with an upset stomach.

       Still, they had each other’s numbers, so in some farcical attempt at keeping to their promise, and neither quite wanting to be the abominable ass who left the last text hanging eternally, they had exchanged these pathetic holiday wishes and one or two pictures of funny moments or interesting news clips. Alice had not meant to respond to Marianne’s New Year’s text at all—the vague emotion that swelled up in her when she saw it felt most akin to anger. How long would this go on before they let it die?

       Swallowing hard, and rising abruptly, Alice threw out the remains of her toast, tossed her phone into the recesses of her room, and suited up to garden. She would not spend the last day of her weekend obsessing about an innocuous text from a woman wholly engaged in another part of the world, and she certainly would not be kept from trimming her flower bushes by a bit of rain. Gildenstern clearly did not feel the same, and she spotted him in the living room window, cleaning his paws and wondering what lunacy had befallen his owner that she would let herself be out in the wet. Alice gave him a wave, and went back to weeding.

       By the time she went back inside, the rain was little more than a mist, and after her shower, it was over entirely. Snuggled into dry clothes, she settled herself in the corner of a couch and tried to focus on her reading. For an agonizing hour she kept at it, although she had barely made it three or four pages.

       “I need to get out of the house,” she announced to Gildenstern, who was asleep in a nearby armchair. He flicked an ear in response, and Alice ruffled the fur on his head on her way by, making him lift his head with a feline scowl, nipping at her fingers as she withdrew her hand. There were  few errands she needed to run—a vest she needed to return, and the car needed gas, but with that done, she still dragged her feet about returning to the house. Instead, she went to the park—I might as well, she reasoned. It wasn’t exactly a short drive from the house, and it was nice weather for walking. It was usually something that calmed her, and she thought it was working well, until her phone rang.

       “What?” she snapped, realizing just after picking it up that she should’ve let it go to voicemail.

       “Some greeting,” Marianne said, but the belligerent drawl of her voice was far subdued from what Alice remembered.

       “I’m busy,” Alice said, delighted and appalled at her response. What was wrong with her?

       “Well I’ll keep it short then,” Marianne said. Alice could practically feel her retreating. “I only called to wish you a happy birthday.”

       “You didn’t call last year,” Alice said, exhaling a silent sigh of relief she hadn’t said I got your text.

       “No, I didn’t. Neither did you.”

       “Was I supposed to?” Alice took a seat on a nearby bench, cringing when she realized it was still quite wet from the morning’s rain. She perched on the edge of the seat.

       “Just an observation, dear.” Alice said nothing, and after a protracted silence, Marianne sighed quietly into the receiver and said, “Well that was it. Hope you’re celebrating well. Talk—”

       “Oh, don’t do that.”

       “Do what?”

       “Just hang up.”

       “I thought you were busy.”

       “Alright, I’m not that busy.”  Alice huffed and shoved her free hand between her legs, bouncing nervously on the bench.

       “So what are you doing? Or I suppose, what did you do?” Marianne’s voice relaxed some, and Alice let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

       “…you know. The usual?”

       “You got wasted at a bar and punched someone over football?”  Even with the fuzzy connection, Alice could hear that infuriating tone in Marianne’s voice.

       “Oh, piss off. I went to the theater,” she said. “Not that I need to defend myself against your damn libel.”

       “Libel requires a lack of truth,” Marianne said. “I seem to recall peeling you off at least three bar-room floors.”

       “Two!” Alice balked in a futile attempt to fish her dignity out of a well. “Two!”

       “What did you see at the theater?” Alice shifted around on the bench and shuffled her feet.

       “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” she said.

       “Oh!” The enthusiasm in Marianne’s voice was genuine, and Alice sometimes forgot she had done theater in college. “Fantastic, you have some taste after all! How was it?”

       “It was…” Alice tried to find an insult that could excoriate the piece for its cultural origin, while not offending the significant part of her that had loved the performance. “It was brilliant,” she admitted at last. “The guy playing Frollo was bloody terrifying.”

       “Fantastique!” There was a brief pause, which almost immediately became intolerable to Alice, and she quickly interjected.

       “And you! What—er—what have you been up to?” Marianne let out a gusty sigh, and Alice could nearly see the put-upon flutter of her eyelashes.

       “Work, mostly,” she said. “Oh, and eating—the food here is wonderful, but I’m probably desperate after four years in Britain.” Alice made a harsh noise of disapproval.

       “You’re worse than a spoiled child. You are a spoiled child.”

       “Oh sweet bunny, you’ve used that one before,” Marianne chided. “Surely you’ve come up with something better by now?”

       “Fuck off, I have better things to do than sit around thinking up appropriate insults for you.”

       “Do you really?”

       “Don’t be too jealous.”

       “Hmm, I’ll try.”  Alice wondered, from her tone, if Marianne was touching her mouth, which she did sometimes. There was usually a particular look in her eyes too and—Alice hunched over, cradling the phone against her ear, biting her lip.

       “Hey, so…” She wasn’t sure what she thought would happen—that Marianne might take over if she let the sentence trail on long enough, but she didn’t, the wretch, so Alice was eventually forced to keep speaking just to end the interminable silence. “What, eh, what’s it like, there? Do you…like it?”

       “A bit late to wonder about that, isn’t it?” While Alice debated whether or not that had been a jab at her lack of communication, Marianne went on. “It’s nice. Weather’s a bit warm, but not bad, and like I said, the food is delicious. There are lots of interesting things to do, and I enjoy the fashion.”

       “Oh…yeah?”

       “Yeah.”

       More silence. Alice bit harder on her lips, tearing at the chapped skin. She squeezed her knees together. Clouds were darkening over the city again, making it look later than it really was.

       “I always say there’s something different to enjoy about each of these positions, but…”

       “But?”  Marianne took in a breath, and Alice refused to exhale.

       “I do miss you.”

       “Then why the bloody hell is this the first time you’ve called in practically two years?” It burst out before Alice could temper herself, or even consider her reply. There it was—hadn’t people always said Alice was off-putting? She could remember at least two times her grade school teachers had pulled her mum aside to discuss Alice’s dismal social life, and expression concern that she “didn’t get along well” with the other kids. Pedantic twats, she thought. There was, though, a truth that even Alice couldn’t deny that sometimes, her speaking her mind ended with the absolute worst result possible

       “You haven’t exactly been blowing up my voicemail either, darling,” Marianne replied, with a response that most certainly could have been worse. Maybe Marianne was feeling patient today.

       “Well, I--!”

       “Wanted me to do the work?”

       “Fuck off! Just fucking seems to me that if you really—missed me—you would have fucking called.”

       “Was ignoring my text messages your way of telling me to do that?” Alice breathed in sharply and squeezed her cellphone tightly. She had left the long pauses as some way of punishing Marianne, or pushing her away, but some part of her had still hoped Marianne wouldn’t think of it that way, and would simply assume Alice had been too busy to respond.

       “I can’t do this.”

       “Do what?”

       “This…whatever this rubbish is. We’re not together but we’re not apart, and it’s just—rotten, all of it. That’s why I’ve been ignoring your text messages. It’s dead, Marianne.”

       “Oh. Is that it?” Her voice was soft, pulling away again, but making no effort to shield herself from Alice. It was inconceivable to Alice, how frequently Marianne opened herself up to this kind of pain, and how she was not utterly abashed that Alice might know how she was hurting her.

       “Yes.”

       “That’s a pity. I did miss you.” Alice held her breath again, girding herself to break into the dolorous pause, when Marianne spoke again. “Have you found someone else, at least? Are you happy?”

       “Happy! Bloody happy! How could I be happy with you a whole continent away! Bloody Africa!” Alice exploded, jumping to her feet. “Fuck!” She hadn’t meant to say that—she hadn’t even been thinking it, really! “Someone else! Why does it always have to be about someone else? Maybe I’m just tired of—being miserable!”

       Marianne was quiet for a moment, but not long enough to allow Alice to continue ranting and saying regrettable things.

       “I’m sorry.”

       “Huh?”

       “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry. You’re right, this is…not good.” Alice wanted to throw up. Maybe she would throw up. No—she wasn’t that pathetic. The only way she’d heave over a Frenchwoman was if Marianne tried to serve her escargot again.

       “Well. Good. Then. We agree.” People always said there was no such thing as an amicable break-up, but what the hell did other people know?

       “Have you ever been to Morocco?”

       “What?”

       “Morocco. Have you been before?” Alice crumpled down to the bench again, never mind the wetness or pools of rainwater, and collapsed against the back of it, flopping her head over the back.

       “No. Why would I have ever gone to fucking Morocco? And why would I go now?”

       “Because you miss me.”

       “Excuse you! I never said!”

       “Okay, then you don’t.” Marianne sighed heavily, with much less of the configured drama of before. “You’re right, Alice. This is bad for both of us. It hurts. I miss you. But I understand if you just want to…stop. I don’t think I can keep playing this game either.” Alice was certain that was a load of bull—she’d never met anyone as masochistic as Marianne, especially when it came to affairs of the heart. Alice lifted her head and rubbed between her eyes, trying to force her brain and lungs to keep working.

       “Why are you saying that like it’s not the only choice we have?”

       “There’s always more than one choice, Alice.” Alice groaned loudly. Nothing was ever simple with Marianne, was it? Even a break-up couldn’t be cut and dry.

       “Well I haven’t exactly planned my vacation time to go jetting off to bloody Morocco.”

       “Then let me come see you.”

       “What, in England?”

       “Did you move somewhere else recently and not mention it?” Alice bristled at the dryness in Marianne’s voice, but quickly let it go.

       “Well I…the guest room is…”

       “Your storage room? I told you you needed a separate room for all your books. How often do you have guests spending the night anyway?”

       “Oh, sod off. Take a hotel room, then.”

       “Mm, I seem to recall your bed being comfortable enough.”

       “Hey, now!” Marianne giggled, and Alice sucked in a deep breath, her chest loosening at the influx of oxygen after the lightheaded conversation.

       “Tell me when, sweetheart. I’ll be there.”

       Alice almost did not want to make plans. If she made plans, there was a chance something would go wrong—and she would be disappointed. And Alice hated to be disappointed, most especially by other people, and she did not think she could stand to be disappointed by Marianne again. But Marianne’s claim that Alice wanted her to do all the emotional heavy-lifting, so that when things didn’t work out Alice could just point at Marianne, rang about in her head. Marianne wasn’t wrong. The more distance Alice kept, the more she could shield herself from hurt, and look where that had gotten her—no less in love with a woman half a world away, but unable to bring her nearer despite all the daydreaming in the world. But Alice E. Kirkland—lover of Arthurian tales and Shakespearian battles and English military history—was no coward! Certainly not a woman to be galled by a Frenchwoman! So she got the dates from work that she’d be able to take off, and hesitantly texted them to Marianne.

       And somehow, miraculously, Marianne turned up on her doorstep when she said she would. Alice had offered (grudgingly) to come pick her up at the airport, but they both know that the drive to and from Heathrow was a nightmare. It was also a very expensive cab ride, but Marianne waved it off, and Alice had more fodder for accusing her of fiscal irresponsibility.

       She was sitting on her couch with a cold cup of tea, pretending to be watching re-runs of Downton Abbey when the knock at the door came, and she almost flung her teacup across the room. Marianne’s dig at Alice being high-strung bit back, but Alice brushed this aside and took deep breaths. She had deliberately dressed just the same as she always did around the house, stripping away the stress of choosing the “right outfit” for seeing Marianne again. The latter, of course, did not follow this line of thinking.

       Marianne could’ve stepped right off the 1940s movie reels, her glossy brown hair pulled back in a bun that had either survived the flight, or been fixed between landing and arrival, her face done-up, wearing a dress—a bloody dress!—and some chic boots. Even her slightly winged eyeliner seemed untouched by the hours of travel between Morocco and England. Alice almost choked on her tongue. It didn’t help that Marianne’s face split into a smile as soon as their eyes met—and that was not a reaction Alice was used to getting from people. Tended to be the other way—people scowled when they saw her coming. Especially at work.

       “Hello Alice dear,” she said, her voice all soft and throaty and French. There was no doubt her terrible English accept was deliberate, as she spoke not only fluent English, but Arabic, Turkish, and Russian as well, beside her native French. She had admitted as much to Alice during one of their many conversations about the merits and failures of the French and English. She stepped in to give Alice bisous, and Alice could smell the perfume wafting off Marianne’s neck. Her cheeks were warm against Alice’s, and Alice had to fight the urge to grab the front of Marianne’s dress to stop her from pulling away. She swallowed hard, looking at Marianne, and then drew in her breath and leaned in to kiss her, just a bit, just for a moment. Marianne’s smile, which had been faltering slightly, returned, and she patted Alice’s cheek. “Good to see you too, sweet girl.”

       Alice’s face flushed deeply, and she quickly got out of the way to let Marianne and her valise in.

       “Here I was thinking it might take me a few days to get that,” Marianne hummed as she unwound her infinity scarf and draped it on Alice’s old coat rack.

       “Oh, hush! It’s not too late for me to throw you out!”

       She didn’t though—she put on a fresh kettle for tea, and fingered nervously at the packaging of the chai spice she had bought because she knew it was the only kind Marianne would drink, before dropping the bag into Marianne’s teacup. They sat at Alice’s kitchen table, and the sky seemed to promise rain.

       “How long until you leave Rabat?” Alice asked at last. How do you plan to make this work when you never stay more than five years in one place?

       “Oh, another year, at least,” she said. “You might like it there. They’re very fond of tea in Morocco.”

       “Must be rotten for you.”

       “Oh no, their coffee is quite good as well.”

       “And where will you go after?”

       “They’re thinking of sending me to Qatar, but I’d rather go back to Ankara, if I can. Just a train ride away from Istanbul!”

       “Oh. You’re just trying to get to all the warm places!” Marianne laughed.

       “If you’re asking whether or not I’ll be back in London soon, I’m afraid the answer is no,” she said. “At least for now, but these things change.”

       “On the daily, it seems,” Alice muttered. She stared down into her tea, seeking to divine something from its watery surface.

       “My family is covered for travel, though,” Marianne said pointedly, immediately afterwards taking a sip of tea.

       “Why would your family want to go?” Alice asked, bemused.

       “Not my parents, Alice, my partner. And any children.”  Alice colored again, and berated herself for the same failing she so often called out in Amelia. Thick-headed!

       “Well whoever they are, I’m sure they’ll be lucky. Who wouldn’t be? Flying all around the world like that.” Alice was too much of a homebody for that. She needed her garden, her office, her cat.

       “You could come with.” She knew that’s what Marianne had been getting at.

       “I can’t. I have a job. I have a house. I can’t just…uproot like you can.”

       “Not even to try?” Marianne pressed. “For an adventure?”

       How dared she appeal to Allice’s inner adventurer, hitherto confined to novels and particularly engaging TV shows!

       “My job, Marianne.”

       “You can work remotely! Or get some contract work as a writer! I’ve seen your writing, you could manage. You have a real talent.”

       “This is insane.”

       “Try this,” Marianne said, getting that gleam in her eye where Alice knew she would not easily be dissuaded from this idea, “come stay in Morocco for a month. Just a month! You can even bring the cat. He’ll love the weather! I’ve got a little yard and he can sun himself on the patio—it’s a cat’s dream.”

       “Marianne…”

       “Just try,” Marianne urged, reaching across the table to take Alice’s hand. “Come on, Alice. You were right before—we can’t keep going the way we have been. But does that mean we have to give up entirely?” She rubbed Alice’s fingers.

       “I…”

       “I want to try,” Marianne said, her voice just like a feather. “I want to try for you.”  Goddamit—what was she supposed to say to that? With Marianne looking at her all sweetness and belief in love and whatever other bullcrap she ascribed to? How did Marianne manage to tap into so many of Alice’s girlhood fantasies?

       Her eyes traced the shape of Marianne’s full lips, the lock of hair that curled at her ear, too short to be pulled into the bun, the way her eyelashes fanned around her deep blue eyes.

       “Alright, alright! I’ll check with work about doing remote for a month…” The smile broke out again, the one that did not carry any of Marianne’s pretentious facades, and she lifted Alice’s hand to gently kiss her fingers over the table.