Monday 31 December 2012

Lunch with the Girls

 

LUNCH WITH THE GIRLS

(The Myth of Happily Ever After)


Louise was between husbands.

Jason, with his beautiful body, was at the beginning of his career with women.  He tried luring Louise back to bed, where he lay wearing only total confidence. His glorious vanity was fetching and she was tempted, wondering if there was a small future at least. A month, three? She considered it, then he said,
“Come back to bed! Lunch with the girls can’t compete. They’ll understand you prefer me.”
“But I don’t,” she said, and he saw it to be the truth.
“You’ll be gone soon, Trish and Penny will be my friends forever.”


                                                            -           -           -

Penny finished planting the Indian bean tree, specially imported from Italy. The three year old, partially grown ones were so hard to find. Mulched, watered. She stood back, peering up the top of the straight, bare stem to the unpromising clump at the top. It was April, yet by August, fabulously showy, huge leaves would adorn it, even in its first real season.

Since the tiny lump had been diagnosed malignant – was it only four days ago? – she’d had a passion to set the garden to rights. The house was the usual mess, but it was as though a spirit hand had smoothed through the skimmia, the rhododendrons and roses, arranging them into wild perfection. She tied back the thin, new strands of Boston ivy, straggling at right angles from the side of the shed, interweaving them amongst the heavier vines. They’d have to tell Anna, the eldest of the three girls, tonight. Sophie and Katherine, the twins, were 11 and would have to find out later.  It wasn’t going to be easy but Penny knew she could get through it with Mike’s help if she remained practical. She stood stock still as a thought, perfectly formed, dropped into her mind.
“None of the girls can use the pill, because statistically two of them are in line for it as well.”
She wondered, as she hauled the clippings to the compost heap, if her nursing training had ever been a blessing. The trouble was, you could never fool yourself.

She looked at her watch, cursed, then rushed for the shower. She’d be late.


                                                            -           -           -

Trish was arguing with Ross about dinner. His secretary had phoned askingTrish to stay
on the line – the countless times this had happened! She’d hung on ten minutes already by the time he got off the phone to Montreal and had stewed enough to hardly bother being civil to him.
“Why can’t you eat out? You know I’ve got lunch with Louise and Penny, we hardly ever see each other. I’m not cooking.”
Ross was adamant.
 “They’re Americans, they eat out the whole time, they love home cooking. Just get a salmon, the good Chablis out of the cellar. Do a Beef Wellington, say, with Beaujolais and some cheese. What could be simpler?”
Trish’s temper leapt skywards, she’d had enough.
“Simpler is taking them out. I’m not doing it, Ross. Six publishers, all men, talking shop? I’m not being the waitress at a boys’ night out. I’ve got a life as well and real friends.”
She hung up, hearing the warning sound “Patricia!” as the phone hit the receiver. Even then she was planning to stay out very late to avoid the consequences.


                                                            -           -           -

The restaurant was packed, exactly as they liked it.
“Champagne, the driest you’ve got,” Penny cornered the wine waiter, folding a crumpled tenner into his shirt pocket before they even sat down. In the flat, all those years ago, she’d taken over naturally. Louise in particular had resented it at first, but she and Trish had soon come to rely on Penny’s sense of timing, her foresight and subtle bossiness. She was the solid one who kept them in line, paid the bills, thought up the best lies for boyfriends and mothers, forced them into a rota for toilet cleaning and kitchen duty. Without her, they’d have lasted a month instead of a glorious three years.

Two glasses each of champagne had been downed, the food ordered, when Penny said
“Listen, before we start I’ve something to say.”
Two pairs of eyes swivelled towards her, alarmed at something in her tone. She had to raise her voice over the babble around them
“The cancer’s back, probably in the lymph nodes this time. I’m going for a lumpectomy next week, it’s serious.”
Louise applied all the pressure she could muster to Trish’s foot under the table. Trish’s eyes had filled up, she’d actually gasped, yet Louise knew if she cried, they’d all be lost.
“The thing is, I feel so well. The lump was a calcification and didn’t even show up on the mammogram. They said I was clear and now….” Her voice trailed off.

“More champagne please!”
 Louise caught the waiter’s eye and in doing so, broke the mood that was threatening to drown them. Trish rallied, as again Penny found her voice.
“I’ve got the same surgeon as last time. He tried to talk me into a radical mastectomy but I’m hanging on to the little I’ve got if it’s the last thing I do!”
Their nickname for her in the flat had been ‘’32A” in jokey reference to her small bust. The cruel irony of it…..
“I’ll come and keep the girls in order,” Louise said.
“I can’t ask you to, it’s too much, they’re older than they were last time, Mike will manage ok” Penny answered.
“I’m coming, no arguments.” Louise took Penny’s hand and squeezed it. They’d always had this push/pull thing between them but Louise was in the driving seat this time, and Penny was glad.
Trish, small stabs of needles circling her heart, asked
 “How’s Mike taking it, Pen?”
“Oh you know Mike, everything remains a possibility until it happens. He told me not to die or he’ll actually WILL me to come back and haunt him, we’ve still got so much to do.”    Penny suddenly flattened both hands on the table in a gesture of finalisation, a habit they knew so well.
“Now that’s over with, what are you lot up to? How’s Ross, Trish?”
Trish recounted their latest conversation, relishing it all over again. “I loved hanging up on him, think I’ll do it more often. Aren’t I the bitch?”
“Bloody men,” Louise was getting stirred by the champagne.
Linking little fingers, Penny and Trish chanted in unison
“Who’s been sleeping in YOUR bed, Louise?”  laughing the line out together. This was their ritual tease, which Louise hated as much as they loved to see her standing on her wobbly dignity.  From anyone else it would be unbearable. She’d had more men that both of them put together, yet they were still mad for every new detail.
“Well he’s 24….”
“Oedipus, schm-Oedipus” Penny smirked.
“….great body but his conversation’s the pits” finished Louise. As an afterthought, she added
“I’m getting old, I just want someone to bring me tea in the morning and massage my neck.”
“Not true,” Trish piped up. “You can’t sink into middle age the way we have! You’re the only one of us with hormones that can go where they want to. Don’t change, Louise.”

Lunch arrived, they ate and drank with gusto.
“Paul’s coming home from school on Friday, he’s been expelled for using marijuana,” Trish blurted out.
“Only marijuana?” Louise looked appalled.
“Yes, four of them were caught. All 6th formers. He admits they’ve been doing it for months but we’re begging them to keep him on. Exams start in a week…”.
“Surely they have to let them do the exams? ”Penny asked.
“They’re making an example of them, it’s looking bad. Ross has rallied the fathers and been pulling out all the stops, but it looks grim, I could really wring the kid’s neck.”
Trish’s voice rose over the babble, but her irritation with her son was not going to ruin this day. She relaxed, and shrugged her shoulders.
“Louise,how’s the art gallery doing with the credit crunch going on? Still selling impoverished students’ mastepieces for indecent prices?”
“I wish!,” sighed Louise,  slumping down in her chair. “ It’s bad, two months ago they cut my week from 5 days to 3, so financially it’s really tight.  I’d leave for more money, but it’s the same everywhere - luxury market.”
“You love it still,”Penny said “finding the art of the future.”
“Yes, I can’t imagine doing anything else but the house needs a new roof I think, every time it rains I’ve got buckets all over the place, I have to pick my way between them….  I’m too scared to even ask someone to come and give me a quote.”
Penny reached into her bag, bringing out a diagram.
“I’ve redesigned the garden. This is my summer project…”
“You’re joking, Pen!” Trish laughed, “there’s not a square inch of unused space in your garden!”
“No, I’m filling in the pond, sick to bloody death of it, and look at the plan I’ve made” They gaped, it was beautifully detailed, coloured, scaled to size.
“Where do you get the time and energy to do these things?” Louise gasped.
“Well, Mike will do the heavy stuff, I just need to shove a few plants in and there you go…”
Trish and Louise laughed out loud. When HADN’T Penny’s fetish and quest for fabulous gardens been the uppermost thing on her mind? The chat continued, as it always did, without reservation, expectation, condemnation, and goodly amounts of a nice Rioja.


They were the last to leave the restaurant, talked out, and almost as nicely dined as wined.
“When can we visit you in hospital, Pen?” Trish asked as they put on their coats.
“Ring Mike Friday, he’ll let you know when.”
“I’ll be there Thursday night,” Louise laid an arm on Penny’s shoulder and kissed her. They said goodbye with affection, a little more than usual if the truth be told.
-       -     -
Louise sat on a bench in Euston Station, unaware that tears were streaming down her face.
“Are you all right?” asked a balding, middle-aged man. His concern was genuine but she was shocked that someone had spoken to her, completely disoriented.
“I’ve had some bad news,,” she replied,  “it’s so hard to take in.”
He said nothing, just looked steadily into her face, so that she continued
 “….I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach.”
“Can I get you some tea?” he nodded in the direction of the restaurant but she stood, a little unsteadily, and jerkily checking her watch, said
“No, I’ll miss my train but thanks.” She offered her hand. He shook it and she felt strength in his grasp. They looked frankly at each other, then she was gone.

                                                            -           -           -

Louise sat on a garden stool on her tiny terrace. She lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and thought how  unfair life was.  Penny had never smoked in her life.
The cigarette helped though, she smoked it down to the butt, then ground it savagely into the ground with her heel. The night, which earlier had promised real spring, suddenly plummeted. She shivered, folding her arms round her shoulders. Tomorrow she would run into the man she’d met on the station. They would marry seven months from this day. He was her mate, the one she’d long since given up hoping for, and would bring the greatest happiness of her life.

But tonight…she rose and went in, not shutting the door behind her in her haste to phone Jason.
“I’m on my way!” He was thrilled to hear her. She was grateful that on this night above all others, she wouldn’t lie in a cold bed. She felt a rush of affection for Jason’s lack of guile, his clear cut intentions. He was alive and real. She must have warmth.

                                                            _          _          _

Mike held Penny’s hand. It had gone far easier than they’d hoped. Anna had asked with the brutal incomprehension of youth
“So, you could die, then? But you could also NOT die as well…”
The way she said it, they both laughed. Laughed! When death was more a certainty than a possibility. It was too much to absorb at once and Anna had gone off to do homework, chewing gum and looking only slightly solemn.

After the operation, two months of radiotherapy would begin, followed by six more of chemotherapy. Yet now, as Mike wandered out to fix an old radio he’d found, Penny picked up her French book again, keen to finish the homework before class tomorrow. A calm spread comfortably through the house. In the midst of her terrible prospects, all of them were genuinely carrying on as usual. Penny said out loud, to the house “Life goes on” and felt cheered. She’d built something which would survive her own self, if and when the crunch came.

                                                            -           -           -

Ross’ tyres screeched to an angry halt on the drive. The house was in darkness, though Trish’s car was parked in the usual place. He fumbled with his keys, swearing as he missed the keyhole and dropped them. He’d drunk too much but had felt obliged to push the boat out for the American team. He punched on the hall light, dumping his briefcase as he lurched towards the living room. He flicked the switch. There she was! His mouth opened as anger grabbed him again, but the sight of her – was she really that small? – sitting hunched in a corner of the sofa, sobs racking her body, stopped him in his tracks.
“Trish, what’s wrong?”. He sat down on the sofa, stretching a hand towards her, but she turned away.
“It doesn’t matter.” He was referring to their row this morning “It doesn’t matter.” He stroked her back, until a few minutes had gone by and words, strangled, fell out of her mouth.
“Penny. The cancer’s back.”
“Oh God!”  He remembered vividly the last time, how even then he’d thanked whoever was up there it wasn’t Trish. He looked at her, so small, and took her freezing hands in his. What would he do without her? He knew he asked too much from her but he was so proud of her . Of her competence, her ease with people, her calm. He was afraid she didn’t need him as he needed her. It flashed through his mind that he tried to keep her busy to stop her from being happy without him.
“Do you need a friend?”
 His voice was more tender than it had been for years, softened by the wine, the shock, the realization that they were careless with each other. Her eyes filled up again, she leaned into his chest, and the long unfamiliar feel sparked memories far past. His heartbeat began to melt the sheet of ice down the back of her spine. She could feel it shifting, then after a time slowly give up and slide away.

He was demanding and temperamental, yes; but they were a match.
“We’re lucky, you know”. He spoke her thought, she began to feel hope. They still had time, another chance to be kinder to each other.

                                                            -           -           -

Friday 30 November 2012

BEGINNINGS

BEGINNINGS


On the other side of the world down in the southern latitudes, August is the very dead of winter. Around a sleeping newborn’s hospital cot, three fairies are gathering. They’ve just been swept in by the icy southerly - Wellington’s prevailing, bitter wind. In most countries people are distinguished by their accents, but in New Zealand, Wellingtonians are instantly recognizable for their natural forward lean, the result of the constant battle to stay upright while the wind tries to floor them.
The fairies wear sou’westers and rubber boots, all dripping with rain. Their lacey wings miraculously remain identifiable, sprouting from their shoulders through the sodden coats. They make a circle round the baby, their faces alight with love, when Fairy 1’s sleeve splashes a few drops of water onto the baby’s face. They gasp, withdrawing from the cot, but the baby remains asleep.
“ Lynn Parker, born 7.20 pm,  2 May 1948, weight 6 lbs” reads Fairy 2.
They’ve come to sprinkle fairy dust and grant the baby some graces. These fairies adore their charges but their loving is firmly of the old fashioned kind, they’re professional to their wingtips. They fly regularly over desolate farmhouses, cow pats, volcanoes and endless vistas of perfect scenery, full of freezing sheep, but no people. Sometimes they fly for days, with nothing to do as the population is thin and scattered. Familiar with this hard landscape and its consequences, they are therefore not about to grant Lynn a sweet and passive disposition, Cinderella-clad feet, or a pumpkin which will become a golden coach.
Fairy 1, much bigger than the others, looks into the crib.
“She’s pretty, but look at that forehead, she’s got a brain.”
The tone of her voice makes it clear this may not be a good thing, and fairies DO know a thing or two. She produces her wand, sprinkling white stars over the crib in a wide arc – it’s beautiful.
“For you, dear, I wish independence. Your brother is 2, and I see you tying his shoelaces when you are 5 and he’s 7. After you will come four more sisters, so you are sandwiched between the adored son and the little girls. Your partying Irish mother will give you lots of responsibility, and though it will seem a burden in your youth, it will make your adult life smoother. You have a kind father but he is busy running after your mother. You will have to learn to work hard, be persistent, make and believe in your own decisions.”
The other fairies sigh loudly, and Fairy 1 swishes about angrily, knowing they are pushing her to give the baby a break.
 “And”, said Fairy 1 as she lifts the blankets from the baby’s toes and touches them with her wand,
“I will give you itchy feet so that when the day comes, you can travel as far and as wide as you want to, over the whole world.”
The two other fairies beam their approval, then Fairy 2 takes her turn.
“Little Lynn, we can only give you gifts that run through your genes. I remember your paternal grandmother……” she says turning to the other two.
 “Do you remember Ethel Mary all those years ago, from that farm in Taranaki, the one who had a governess who taught her French?” All the fairies double up laughing at the very idea of anyone speaking French on a New Zealand farm, let alone in the last years of the 19th century.
 “She was a good horsewoman, but an even better cook, and that is my wish for you – learn to cook. That way you will always have warmth, good company and good health.”
“What about the riding then?” asks Fairy 3.
“No, this one isn’t sporty, though she’s a walker……one of her daughters will get the talent for horses.”
Lynn stirs in her crib, opening her eyes. All the fairies fall silent and look at this wondrous new person, sending little waves of love, and she closes her eyes again.
“Now it’s my turn,” says Fairy 3.
“Oh, I haven’t finished yet” says Fairy 2.
“Get on with it!” says Fairy 1, “there’s another one just arriving in the delivery room”.
“Where were we…? Yes, on your mother’s side there is writing ability though it’s such a mess it’s hard to work out who it was. The wild stories you’ll grow up hearing are to be taken with a large pinch of salt, but you’re an observer, with a sharp and witty pen. So, write, dear girl.” Sprinkle, sprinkle went the wand – the room is full of glitter.
Fairy 3, impatient as hell by now, and known for it, takes over.
“Lynn, these two are stuck in the past, whereas I am a futuristic and forward looking fairy.” She’s bristling, and very physical for her kind.
The others raise their eyebrows and poke their tongues out behind Fairy 3, but she’s well into her rant already.
 “Let’s get down to it girl; you’ve got a brain but you’re not practical by nature. I can see you in a sewing class, lying to the teacher and handing her a note you’ve written yourself to say your uncle’s died and you’re upset– anything to avoid picking up a needle or some scissors. You might be good at quizzes, but you won’t be able to turn a radio on until you’re 8, you’re hopeless with machinery so I’d say you’re no good at technology.”
“Technology?” the other fairies echo. Fairy 3 ignores them and raises her voice.
“The future is different, Lynn. Communication is going to accelerate progress in the world. Machines will become more important than the people operating them. The whole world will be instantly available to anyone at the flick of a switch within your lifetime. Your brain and practical ability are wide apart. It sounds sexist in a country which was the first in the world to grant the vote to women, but there’s nothing for it but to make damn sure the men in your life are techies.”
“You can’t tell her how to choose a husband!” cries Fairy 2
“Well, there’s a limit to how pathetic you can be losing keys, getting stuck in lifts, not knowing how to operate a microwave or a mobile phone…..”
"Eh?” The other fairies have no idea what she’s talking about and Fairy 3 is exasperated.
“Look I can’t help it if I can see the future differently. You can’t protect her by waffling on about her virtues, she needs to know her weak spots to be able to work on them. You’re as bad as this baby when it comes to new concepts in the real world. I have to be hard on her. I see her on some sort of tractor, riding down Mount Whistler in Canada, she’s like a chicken without a head on, thrilled with herself, following the group leader because she’s the slowest - the only woman. Her husband and son are cringeing with embarrassment , they feel the fury of ten other men on their necks because they’re all going down the mountain like old ladies in wheelchairs….and look! She takes the corner badly and whoosh, she and the tractor are over the side of the mountain….”Fairy 3 covers her eyes with her hands.
 “It just can’t be. Listen Lynn: you’re not capable of living in the modern world unless a man is on hand to handle the basics. “
“You do go too far!” says Fairy 1
“But I’m right!” insists Fairy 3
Fairy 2 pipes up
 “Please, this child should not hear discord”.
Fairy 3 laughs, saying
 “What? With that mother? It’s the one constant of her childhood!”
The other two glare at her, she has to stop this. Fairy 3 shrugs, sighs deeply and goes up to the baby. For the next few minutes, she says nothing, but the others see her soften as she just strokes Lynn’s forehead tenderly.
“Well, pet” she says confidentially ”I’m going to give you a passion for astrology. Your paternal grandfather dabbled with it in his youth. It’s an old and venerable study, influential once again in the future. You’ll have to study, pass exams, know how the universe works, do logarithms from almanacs, and draw up a birth chart. For the rest, there’s nothing to be done but this way you’ll force yourself to learn necessary skills. Everyone else will think it odd, but you’ll seize it, understand it.” Her two colleagues roll their eyes.
“People don’t realise yet that what’s written in the stars is your personal manual for life. It shows your patterns, mental qualities, character and especially vocation. I see you doing this from a young age and becoming especially skilled in children’s birth charts. Excellent!” She turns to the others, well pleased with herself.
“She’s going to do our sort of work, most unusual...”
 There’s a loud, newborn scream in the adjoining room. Fairy 1 sighs and says
 “Damn, a screamer….its going to be a long night. Let’s go.