Marnie

It was a grey day in Yorkshire, and, wonderful though Yorkshire is, it knows how to do grey days. Marnie woke in her grey room in her grey house in the grey light, had porridge and weak tea for breakfast, trudged through the fog to the local supermarket to sell grey food in grey packaging to her grey neighbours, and then went home to a meal of meatballs and potatoes. As she came into her dark hallway, she noticed that her reflection looked tired and grey; even her clothes looked like a pile of dishcloths. She couldn’t face looking at the credit card statement on the doormat; she knew that situation was rapidly spinning out of control. There was a message of her Answerphone, purporting to be from a distant solicitor’s office, and she was invited to call them back if she was Marnie Smith, niece of Annie Brown, now deceased. Marnie hadn’t often thought about Auntie Annie since the Big Row Annie had had with her mother, but she made a mental note to ring the solicitors the next day.

Sure enough, poor old Auntie Annie had met her demise and, despite the Big Row, had left £14,000 to Marnie. She allowed herself to dream. Perhaps she could have a Caribbean cruise, a good-sized conservatory, some colourful clothes, and a small car. She could socialise more, perhaps even meet a wonderful man who would sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a more exciting (or at least more colourful) life. She could add the sum to her pension and feel just a little bit more secure. She knew, really, that the best use of it was to pay off her credit card, but it seemed a very dull, grey thing to do.

The next day as she searched in her (inevitably grey) filing cabinet for the documentation needed by the solicitor, her little black notebook fell out onto the floor, and opened at the page for Stuart Stockton. She would like a personal reference for the solicitor, and Stuart had known her all those years ago. Perhaps she could give him a ring. She had nothing to lose. How she had admired him! But he had broken her heart, going off on some adventure, vowing to leave Yorkshire’s cold and grey qualities behind for good. And in any case, what chance had she stood? She had always been the quiet, plain, mousy one at the back of the classroom, useful when her classmates hadn’t done their homework, but never one of the popular crowd. She had never had any illusions that she could interest the attractive, capable and ambitious Stuart. The chance of him answering her call at his parents’ house was pretty remote.

To her amazement, Stuart’s parents answered her call and Stuart rang her back as soon as he received her number. He sounded delighted to hear from her. It was a very different Stuart; he was more settled, somehow, as though he had got the restlessness out of his system. He’d love to give her a letter confirming who she was, and perhaps he could deliver it the next day and take her out for dinner at the same time. His adventure abroad had been fun for a while, but he missed his home county with its seasons and its quirks, the Dales and the Moors and the lovely seaside towns. Most of all he missed Marnie, that quiet, utterly reliable character, the honey-coloured hair, the beautiful blue eyes, the infectious, bubbling laugh and the way she made him feel so comfortable just by being there. He imagined that she was married and settled now, and had never had the courage to ring her from his little black book.

Stuart had done well when he went to America. He was capable, shrewd and hard-working, and he enjoyed the life there for a few years, visiting as many of the tourist attractions as he could. One morning he had woken up feeling lost and homesick, and over the next few months he decided that it was time to return home, and found work and accommodation close to the town where he had grown up. It was very strange to be back, and he had underestimated the sadness he would feel that his friends had moved on, but he had no desire to work abroad again. The call from Marnie was like the answer to a prayer. He hardly dared to believe that she was still single, and that she would like to see him again.

He approached the first meal out with great trepidation, not knowing what to expect, but she was the same kind, sweet Marnie he had always admired, and after a catch-up they seemed to pick up from where they had left off without any difficulty. Indeed the meeting was so good that Stuart forgot to give Marnie the letter, or so he maintained afterwards. It meant he had to see her again the next day. And the day after that and the day after that. It felt so natural to be back together that within weeks they were meeting every evening. Soon they were walking in the Dales every weekend, striding out across the glorious fells as the years of separation seemed to roll away from them.

Marnie received her legacy, paid off her credit card and bought a very modest second-hand car and some more cheerful clothes. She felt freedom, optimism and happiness as she had never felt them before. The log-jam in her life had been broken, and she was determined that she would never go back to the dark days. Her new confident approach earned her a long-deserved and long-awaited promotion, and her work immediately became much more interesting and varied. She began to look forward to each day and approach work with a spring in her step. She joined the local Choir, and found a deep joy both in the singing and in the companionship which she would not have thought possible. She had had no idea that so many wonderful people lived in her town or that their friendship could mean so much to her. Her confidence and happiness increased enormously.

Marnie and Stuart spent a wonderful, sun-soaked day at Whitby, strolling along the clifftops with fish and chips and ice cream, and exploring the shops in the quaint old town. Stuart took Marnie along the pier and up the steps to the old Abbey, steeped in history, where they sat and watched the sea. Suddenly the time was right: he took her in his arms and asked her to marry him. She accepted joyfully, and all was well and bright with the world again.