Aunt Margaret's Lover (8 page)

Verity had been going out with, or - to use the more mature term - had been the lover of, Mark for about eighteen months. During the course of the relationship she had blossomed, related to everyone over and over again that this was the real thing and we should
all
try it, and since she had never been short of a male or two in her life, I assumed it was. Not only that, but I assumed that, as she was a woman of the world in these matters and I was but a woman of the insubstantial, she would be the right source of guidance on how to find a lover. Since her recommended advice was now somewhere between a world thrust towards gelding and suggesting that the only sensible bedfellow was a hot-water bottle, I realized I had judged wrong. It confirmed one thing, though. A year was the right term to go for.

'It's the first time I have
ever
let something like this get to me,' Verity sobbed. 'Usually I see the signs and I'm off' She gave a long sigh and paused.

Lord, I thought, this could take weeks.

'We were absolutely fine for the first year,' she said, lacing her tea with cooking three-star, 'and then he began to forget the niceties and I began to tell him he had forgotten them.'

She waited pointedly for my response. 'Only reasonable,' I said.

'And then he said I was being clinging, demanding' - she fluttered her hands - 'but I was in love, you know
..
.'

I nodded helpfully, but in truth I was glad to say that I did
not
know, or had forgotten.

'And the more I tried, the more he failed, and then he didn't say I looked nice any more and he started' - a new tissue was drawn into the drama -
flirting
with other women.'

'At least it wasn't other men.'

'Listen, Margaret,' she said, straightening her back and giving me a correspondingly straight look, 'this is no joke.'

'I wasn't joking,' I said. 'Joan of the hair had one who did that.'

'Really?' said Verity. 'Really.'

She looked interested. It seemed to me that since I could offer no advice or practical help, a little reminder that there are others worse off than oneself,
always,
was no bad thing. Worse off, as I said to her, for one is, at least, equal to battling it out with another woman. But one would not know where to begin the campaign with another man, short of praying for a penis.

Anyway, Verity draws her fictions from life, and by the time I had brought her right up to date with Greasy Joan she was considerably calmer, her eyes a-gleam with the tale's potential - and, alas, quite ready now to tell me about her sufferings in detail. I looked at the clock. Two minutes past midnight.
Definitely
no chance of ringing Roger now. Tomorrow, then. I wasn't looking forward to it at all.

The house certainly did feel empty. The actions I took for granted with another human being living in the same space now seemed empty also. A glass of wine before supper wasn't the same without Sassy sitting there with a Diet Coke, and supper itself had lost its interest too. In place of her prattle, sometimes amusing, sometimes as irritating as a mosquito, was now only me talking to myself. I suppose in my heart I had rather looked forward to this, but the reality wasn't quite as simple as I had supposed. I had no trouble going out but returning to the quiet stillness - no bass beat from her bedroom - was deadening. The pleasure of an early morning of silence and singularity soon gave way to mournful loneliness. I had suspected it might, hoped it wouldn't.

A space within me seemed to yearn for a little friendly Polyfilla. Or more. Despite Verity's tears, a romance with a man seemed the solution. In between her sorrowful outpourings I had managed to slip in the question 'Where did you meet him?' without, I hoped, appearing opportunist. She said, 'The post office', which was not very helpful. The thought of hanging around in a queue for stamps with a seductive smile and a frilly skirt held no charm - a certain surrealistic style, but definitely no charm at all.

Roger had been away overseeing an Easter school skiing trip. He came back looking bright-eyed and healthy with his normally pale face a good deal improved by the snow tan. He came to the house bearing gifts - a bottle of schnapps and an embroidered belt, neither of which I li
ked. He pecked my cheek and settl
ed himself in an armchair and looked like part of the furniture, which I found intensely irritating.

'She got off
OK, then?' he said.

There was a gap between the end of his trouser leg and the beginning of his woolly green sock. This was also intensely irritating.

I sat down opposite him. 'Yes,' I said. 'She seems to be enjoying herself.' 'That's good.'

He had what I can only describe as a companionable smile on his lips as he stared at the fire and began to recount tales of the piste.

'Well, that all sounds very jolly,' I said eventually.

'Pity you couldn't come, really. Maybe next year.'

'Maybe,' I said cautiously.

'I'm going fishing for the May half-term. You could come, too.'

I knew this was extraordinary generosity. Fishing was silent and manful and not at all a social event.

‘
Oh no,' I said. 'But thank you.'

The flames flickered on.

'So how are you finding it?' he asked.

'Finding what?'

'Being here without Saskia.'

'A bit quiet. Not too bad.'

'I suppose I should move in. Keep you company.'

I suddenly saw us sitting at an eternal fireside together, him dreaming of stench, or whatever those fishes are called, and me dreaming of the one that got away.

'No should about it,' I said briskly.

'We could try it. We get on well.'

'Roger,' I said, 'I get on well with the postman. I just think there should be something more.'

'Bed, you mean?' he said gloomily. 'I suppose we are a bit quiet in that department. But we could improve.'

'I think the rut is too deep.'

'Keep it as it is, then?'

'Well, no,' I said. 'Not exa
ctly
...' And I took a really deep preparatory breath before saying the rest.

I rang Jill but she seemed dejected - the flu bug's finale -so we talked only briefly. She wanted me to come up on an extended visit, but maybe because of her lowness of spirit or maybe because I had plans afoot, I made an excuse. I was a little more fragile than I cared to admit and wanted to be jolly. Jill was in one of her introspective moods and I couldn't rally to the cause. 'I'm a poor friend,' I said, 'but I've got quite a lot to deal with down here.' Jill thought I meant the business and accepted it, and we finally
settle
d on the end of May. By then, I felt sure, something new would have happened.

'You can bring Roger up too if you like, at least for part of the time.'

'No I can't,' I said, 'I've finished with him.' She perked up. 'Why?'

'Boredom factor. Fresh start factor. Zen Moment of Right-ness . ..'

'Permanent?' 'Absolutely.'

'Oh, thank God for that,' she said. 'I know he was nice but he was so dull. That's the first cheering thing I've heard all week. Is there anyone else?'

'You'd be the first to know if there were.'

'There will be,' she said, and sighed. 'You are so lucky just to be able to do that.'

'What?'

'Put an end to the boredom.' 'I feel the cold draught of loneliness all the same.' 'Better than the warm fug of interdependence.' 'You are fed up.'

'I'll be all right by the time you get here. Composting does wonders for the psyche - all that leaping about in shit.'

I laughed. It was clearly not the moment to tell Jill about my plans.

The shop was reorganized fairly smoothly. Mr Spiteri said that he wanted his son to learn the business and it was a good time to throw him in at the deep end. His son was a spoilt, lecherous, flashing-eyed twenty-five-year-old who should have been gainfully employed years ago. I did not think he would be over-zealous and I did not think that my position was seriously threatened. Besides, I would be keeping a watchful eye. Joan flicked rather a lot, and Reg swivelled, but on the whole they were for it. Shake hands and come out fighting, I felt like saying, as the two avoided each other's eyes (not surprisingly, I suppose) at our meeting.

Joan and Reg and I went to the pub on my last official day. It was a bright afternoon and we chose the Dove at Hammersmith, where we sat out in the warmish sun. In its glow I began to feel as those old primitives felt about Helios, Apollo, Shamash - that here was a new beginning, something to celebrate, something nourishing coming out of the mystery of it all.
Extremely
fanciful, but there was the river rolling by, sunlight on water, greenery in trees and a new atmosphere of buoyancy after the fag end of winter. That this fresh, bright sunlight would illuminate what I fondly called my laughter lines, was chastening, but, nevertheless, here I was: I had changed course, dammed the river of my life and channelled it towards the brave unknown. And there was always candlelight. I wondered what on earth my companions would say if they could hear my thoughts. After all, I was only leaving my job and taking a lover - not re-creating the universe. All the same, I felt like Woman Reborn and a very good feeling it was too. I raised my glass to the two of them and wished them good luck.

'After all,' I said, 'I shall only be down the road. You can ring any time.'

'We'll need to,' said Joan wryly, 'with Son of Spiteri in charge.'

'You are both more than capable. He knows that, really. It's a token something and you'll just have to bear it. Unite in your adversity!'

Joan smiled and Reg blushed.

'Wartime spirit,' he said. 'My Granny told me all about that.' He was wearing sunglasses, which helped me considerably. Why
I
had such difficulty with him was to my great shame. I suppose that, as they say, eyes are the windows of the soul and I found it disconcerting not knowing which window was open. Joan was still flicking her hair, but somehow it no longer bothered me. There was no doubt that taking this time out for myself was A Good Thing. Who could it harm? And they had two good eyes between them, didn't they?

Taking a lover, I mused on the way home. What a grand, old-fashioned ring the phrase has. But from whence? For such an undertaking is a great deal easier said than done when you have been living in a fairly small world of well-worn friends. The emotional part of me said that I could not dictate such a receptive state at will. The rational in me

thought it was a good idea. The rational won and I was suddenly gratified, though somewhat embarrassed, to find myself growing antennae. This is rather an unnerving state for a woman. It may be an unnerving state for a man, too, though I suspect they are brought up to be the hunters and find the role natural. Indeed, if you have ever observed a man being hunted or stalked by a woman you can see plainly that the mode is not conducive - yet - to the feminine. Never mind. I would have to be
subtle.
I pondered how to be subtly predatory, and gave up. It was too puzzling. Instinct would assert itself, I decided. I felt rather tacky about the whole business, and feeling tacky made me choose to keep the whole business to myself until the effort was satisfactorily concluded. Not to Saskia, nor Jill, nor Colin nor Verity would I confess any more than I had already. From now on I would act alone. 'Strangers in the Night,' I sang as I let myself into my empty house.

The telephone was ringing. I picked it up and, still in Sinatra country, attempted a velvety, expectant voice. But it was only Sassy giving me an update on how her first week with her father had gone. Very well, seemed to be the consensus. I thought about
my
news, the news I was going to keep to myself, and felt distinctly better, and managed to sound as if I didn't mind at all that they were getting on so well. He apparently had a demoiselle, half French and beautiful, Sassy said, and only a few years older than her. Typical, I thought. I remembered Roger - half-baked and monotonous - and said through my teeth that I was glad to hear it.

'Maybe you should get a toy boy as Mrs Mortimer suggested,' she giggled.

'Ha bloody ha,' I said when the receiver was safely back in its cradle.

Chapter Ten

He mentioned my mother for the first time when we went to Niagara. I could hardly hear what he said in the rush of the water, but I know that he was meaning to say he was sorry. Th
ere were tears on his face and I
know you will say it was the spray, but it wasn't. The Falls seemed the natural place to say such things and it was OK. We haven't talked about it again. I wished you had been there with us.