Mushroom Risotto

Hannah and Alice had arranged a date. Given the grief-stricken context of a pandemic, the setting was a computer screen. They mimed clinking their glasses and smiled “cheers”

“Ah Merlot,” Hannah said. “That will pair nicely with your mushroom risotto.”

They laughed at the old line, the in-joke of over thirty years. But it struck Hannah, as she settled in to discussions of work place politics, children’s schooling and their declining mental health that the joke was more than tired. The word she would use in her research to describe the origin of the joke would be ‘toxic’. Her serious, sensible job, which was causing her to silently implode had also given her the language of ‘grooming’, ‘red-flags’, ‘harassment’, but they seemed over blown. It was just a date, a teenaged secret.

Hannah sipped on her red wine, smiled at her friend and tried to ignore the itch in her brain. It was an attractive drink. It looked good on the screen. The ring light flattened out her wrinkles and highlighted the ruby tones of her glass. Here they were, two high-functioning, highly-strung mothers having their first proper conversation in months, smoothly guided by the black fruit notes of a glass of wine. Both of an age when they knew the perfect date was a fantasy, but knowing that this had not always been they way they thought.

Whilst Alice discussed the latest office feud, Hannah gathered the pieces of memory behind that in-joke.

Vodka races and sneaky cigarettes. Pretentious discussions about Victorian literature and the Russian revolution. Weeping at old black and white movies. That was how Hannah would have described her friendship with Alice. Mid-life was going to be dull, and teenagers understood that. Especially clever teenage girls, who passed exams, won attendance awards and behaved just well enough that no-one would suspect them of the evaporating vodka, or the joints around a park swing at night.

Hannah would admit to all those misdemeanours now. She would relish the details of the wafting of a door dispelling smoke before a teacher walks into the girls toilets, the made up excuses written into the late book, the avoidance of cross-country running by hiding out at a friend’s house. Her and Alice could still recount which girls they despised and why. But they never returned to the origin of the joke about Merlot.

Mr Duggan was married when he first kissed Alice. He had been her teacher just a few weeks prior. He was twenty years older than the girls, not old, but through incompetence was already jaded. He was not a good teacher – scholarly but without interest in communicating his subject. He had a blasé attitude to the welfare of his students and was open with his favouritism.

Alice was young and, therefore, didn’t know she was beautiful. Hannah and Alice had spent many afternoons attempting to tame Alice’s unruly hair and covering the blemishes of teenaged skin.

Mr Duggan was not a handsome man. Hannah would have described him as chest-thuddingly dull to look at, with an unkempt beard she suspected of harbouring unpleasantness. He had asked Alice to dinner. He said he wanted to celebrate her grades and have a serious conversation away from school. Hannah was honoured as the only person Alice told. They both knew it was a secret. Mr Duggan also trusted that the girls knew it was a secret.

The friends worked hard to get their stories together. The deal was, that Hannah was the alibi and in return Alice would tell her everything. Giggling, they chose her outfit together. Black – simple, sophisticated, grown up. Hannah lent Alice her beaded earrings, which by the way, she was certain had never been returned.

Alice told Hannah about the menu, the candle light, the attentive waiter, about her fear of splashing pasta sauce, so choosing risotto (despite not being sure what it was). It was the first time Alice had shared a bottle of wine with one other person in a restaurant. A Merlot – suggested by Mr Duggan to pair nicely with the mushroom risotto. There was also a brandy. Hannah was suitably impressed by the elegance of the evening and the amount of alcohol. Back in front of the screen, Hannah was aware that Alice not only won the youthful down-in-one vodka races with parental vodka, but could still outdrink her.

The way Alice had talked about that night, it had been romantic and sophisticated.

Alice had confided that Mr Duggan found his wife boorish and smug. He used the word bourgeoise. His eyes had teared up as he railed against his wasted life and they twinkled when he talked about Alice and the possibilities of her future. Alice’s face had been rapt at this point of the story. He had also told her she was beautiful. For Alice, being found beautiful mattered. Hannah remembers she made the point that he had chosen Alice and not Hannah for this date. Boys always chose Hannah, according to Alice. Competition alongside clingy companionship characterised their relationship.

From the suburban Italian restaurant in an unfamiliar part of the city, Mr Duggan walked Alice part way to her bus stop, via a small alley between semi-detached houses. And there he stopped. He tilted Alice’s head upwards and kissed her. It wasn’t just a peck. It lingered. It was playful and practiced. One arm around her waist, pulling Alice towards him and the other hand on her cheek. When it was over, he said sorry. He walked Alice back into the streetlights and checked she got onto the bus.

Hannah has held this secret for thirty-seven years. She has forgotten why it was a secret and who she was protecting. It still sits there between them. And as Hannah glances up at the screen at her brilliant, funny, inventive and let’s not forget, slightly screwed-up best friend, she wonders what the secret was really about. As teenagers it was a delicious tale of secret, forbidden love. Then something shifted in Hannah’s mind and it became a grubby misuse of power. She struggled with that knowledge. Was he still teaching? Could she report it? Should she let someone know? She fantasied about challenging him face to face, but knew she never would. And then the dilemma disappeared, only returning at the mention of Merlot.

They clinked glasses again after Hannah poured her second glass. Alice had nearly completed a bottle. A pretentious discussion about a Netflix series followed.

Now, Hannah thought, I see that whole episode as a pathetic, unnecessary sordid detail in my friend’s glorious, unconventional life.

Hannah has never told a soul. That’s what best friends do – even when they are miles apart and rarely see each other. She would no more spill the secret than this delicious glass of Merlot. Back in the present, she planned to make risotto.