The Strange Year of Vanessa M

by Filipa Fonseca Silva

  Although her phone call had helped defuse the situation, Vanessa still felt embarrassed at the spectacle she’d made of herself. And her embarrassment was compounded by her sadness at the inevitability of her divorce. She’d even lost the will to ask for custody of her daughter. It would only make her husband hate her more and painfully draw out the divorce proceedings. She’d rather have a peaceful agreement that allowed her to have Mimi for more weekends than stipulated in the divorce settlement or collect her from school in the middle of the week. Her husband’s reply to her text message was clear, although Vanessa only read the first part of it: Lets sign fri when u come 2 get Mimi. She never got to the second part: if that’s really what u want.

  Rather than let her sadness overcome her, Vanessa reminded herself this was the first day of the rest of her life. It was Monday, and for the first time in years she didn't have to go to that depressing office. She had a shop, a business and a home to put together. What was done was done. No point in crying about it. She was the one who’d wanted a change of life, after all. She was the one who was bored to tears with married life. Now she had to face the consequences.

  She jumped out of bed and went to make a cup of tea. Her aunt and Frank were meditating in the living room. Naked, but with their backs turned, thankfully.

  “Vanessa, is that you?” her aunt asked, looking round.

  “Yes Auntie, sorry to disturb your session…” Vanessa replied, embarrassed, trying not to look at their bodies.

  “We were just finishing, don't worry,” said her aunt. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “I should be, only I got fired,” she smiled.

  Her aunt got to her feet, surprised by the news, and went into the kitchen to hear the details, but not before turning back to get a dressing gown when she noticed her niece’s reproachful look. Vanessa poured her heart out for over an hour, little by little relaxing as her aunt massaged her shoulders. That stool she was sitting on had been there for as long as Vanessa could remember. She’d sat there eating chocolate croissants (a delicacy which wasn't allowed in her mother’s house) while her aunt tried out new styles on her hair.

  “But are you sure he’s seeing this Sheila woman?”

  ‘”Of course he is. You just need to look at them.”

  “I don’t know... You want me to read your cards?”

  “Oh Auntie, for goodness’ sake. So you’re a fortune-teller too, now? You know I don't believe in that stuff.”

  “I’m no fortune-teller, but I know how to read cards. We share our knowledge in the Sunshine Centre,” said her aunt.

  “Don’t bother. I prefer to believe what my eyes tell me. Speaking of the Sunshine Centre, how’s business?”

  ‘”Vanessa, it isn't a business, it’s a vocation.”

  “I know, Auntie, but it’s your work. Have more people been attending?”

  “Not really. The holiday season is always better, but then it goes back to the same. It’s enough to survive on…”

  “You have to advertise. What you should really do is open an account on Facebook.”

  “Absolutely no way, Darling! I’ve got enough accounts as it is, I don't need any more expenses.”

  “No, Auntie, Facebook is a... Oh, forget it.” Vanessa remembered her aunt was old school when it came to technology and anything that used electricity except the most basic domestic appliances. “And now excuse me but I’ve lots of things to do, especially in the attic so I can leave you in peace.”

  “Don’t be silly. We adore having you around here.”

  “We? But I thought Frank was just a boyfriend?” asked Vanessa, with a knowing smile.

  “He was, but you know how it is, men are like pets; you try not to get too attached to them, but then you get used to them and after a while you can't live without them.”

  This made Vanessa laugh, and she went to get her laptop to start work. She was really going to miss the time she’d spent in this house. There had been stressful times, embarrassing moments, but her aunt was really like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day. It was impossible not to smile when you were around her. And it was with a smile that Vanessa set about the great challenge that lay in front of her.

  November

  1.

  With the cold of autumn the town was quieter now, and the visitors only came at weekends. The streets regained their characteristic sleepy and easy-going rhythms, but Vanessa couldn't complain about how things were going for her business. Even after the novelty had worn off, she’d managed to secure some faithful clients and the orders kept coming in. Her business was going from strength to strength.

  At night, in her attic suffused with the aroma of chocolate, Vanessa would sleep on the sofa, exhausted but fulfilled. She kept drawings of her new ideas and records of new flavour experiments in a Barbie notebook that Mimi had given her as a present. For Mimi, her weekends with her mother were a constant party. As Vanessa had to keep the shop open all day on Saturdays, Mimi stayed with her in the kitchen, playing with leftover pastry dough. With simple tasks like making baubles, mixing the cake, making letters with the stencils, a radiant Mimi was allowed to lend a hand with the ‘real cakes’, as she called them. Vanessa loved to see her so absorbed in what she was doing. She frowned exactly like her father did. Unfortunately, Vanessa could only have her daughter two weekends a month, and even though she often collected her from school she was beginning to miss her daughter more and more.

  On that weekend in November it was her father’s turn to look after Mimi, and Vanessa had finally agreed to going out for the evening with Diana. You can't spend all your time working, you have to enjoy yourself, Diana kept saying. Vanessa was always inventing excuses to get out making arrangements with Diana. Since she’d left home, every night out had ended badly. She’d rather go for dinner at her aunt’s house, or even her mother’s, than make a fool of herself again. But this time she let Diana have her way. She needed to feel people around her.

  Their company for the evening’s dinner was women, single and divorced, more precisely, a singleton and two divorcees or three, including Vanessa. Together they made a fine statistic of the state of marriage in the twenty-first century. What was wrong with people of her generation? Were three couples in every four really making a mistake when they married? Had everyone given up all of a sudden, instead of fighting? Had her generation grown so accustomed to everything being disposable that it saw a marriage as one more accessory that one-day would have to be replaced by something better? As they talked, Vanessa understood it was a little of all of these reasons.

  One of Diana’s friends had got divorced because she wasn't prepared to tolerate her husband’s infidelities, which had begun even before they’d married.

  “At first I thought it would be different with me, that I’d be able to change him,” she began. “Then I thought he’d become more responsible and dedicated if he had a child, so I got pregnant. On the day my son was born, he went out celebrating with a group of girlfriends while I was lying there in hospital.”

  The other divorcee had made the decision after her third child.

  “He never helped me with anything to do with the kids,” she confessed. “He would never get up in the middle of the night, never offer to prepare a bottle when I was up to my neck in things to do, never learned how to give the babies a bath. His children only existed for the good parts, for the fun and games and for showing off to his friends. And then he always put his work first. They might all have been burning up with fever; he still wouldn't come home early. Now that we’re divorced, when it’s his turn to have the kids he goes to his parents’ house so his mother can take care of everything. Nice work if you can get it.”

  “The important thing is to remind them we’re not always going to be there for them,” said Diana. “They have to feel that if they don't make dinner they don't eat, that if they go out, so do we, that if they go with other women we can go with other men. And if they like to go on outings and stuff with their children the
y also have to like changing their nappies, it’s a question of training them, like mothers, seriously, they love their mothers so we have to act like their mothers, nag them, make them tidy things up, ask them where they’ve been when they get home late, and of course after all that bitching, spoil them with fantastic sex. They want a mother and a lover, not a friend to talk to and watch soap operas with.”

  “That’s what you say, but you cheat on your husband when you feel like it,” Vanessa remarked.

  “But that’s human nature, we weren't made to have just one partner, there’s so many good-looking guys out there! Oh yes! When he’s on the road for two weeks, what do you think I’m going to do?”

  “That’s why I’m not getting married,” the singleton put in. “Anyway, at my age, all that’s left over is divorcees and nutcases. The divorced ones come with traumas, and children. The nutcases have more kinks than God knows what, and they don't want to commit, either. Might as well have a roll in the hay and go home in peace. You’re better off alone than badly accompanied…”

  “What about you Vanessa?” asked one of the women. “Why did you get divorced?”

  Vanessa tried to change the subject. How could she explain the reasons? She had a husband who was obliging, faithful, affectionate and looked after their daughter better than she did. It wasn't easy to explain without people looking at her funny. So she pretended her phone was ringing and stood up to answer it, and made for the bathroom of the bar they were in, and washed her face in cold water. What was she doing there, with a group of sex-starved women who were obviously out on the trawl so they wouldn't have to go home alone? Vanessa wasn't looking for a one-night stand. And she didn't want to spend her evenings badmouthing men. She wanted to fall in love again. To feel butterflies in her stomach and forget to take saucepans off the heat when she was dreaming with her eyes open. But to judge from what Diana’s friends were saying, all that was left was divorcees and nutcases. It was much easier for men to rebuild their lives. Like Diana said, all they want is good sex and someone to look after them. Women always want so much more. They want romance and adventure and surprises and flowers and even those blasted butterflies in their stomach.

  Diana appeared in the bathroom.

  “What’s the matter? Are you going to stay here the rest of the night or are you coming out to enjoy yourself? There’s this very interesting group of guys that’s just came in, I don't know if it’s a stag night or a business dinner but they’re all in party mode and they’re tasty. Come on!”

  “Diana, do you think he’s happy?”

  “He who?”

  “My ex…”

  “He isn’t exactly happy. You know he was crazy for you, and still is, if you want my opinion, and that doesn't pass from one day to the next, but I think he’s trying to put his life back together, what do you expect him to do? You’ve got a nerve, so you have... first you dump the guy, then you sign the divorce and two months later you start worrying whether he’s happy or not. What do you care?”

  “Yes, I know I’m stupid, I had a perfect life and threw it all away, no need to keep going on about it. Let’s go and have a drink,” she said, to prevent her friend from launching into one of her monologues.

  She let herself go with the flow. She pretended she was drinking, pretended she was enjoying herself, pretended she thought the engineer who’d just been introduced to her was interesting. She even managed to laugh at the right time, although she didn't even hear half of the conversation. And at the end of the night she pretended she’d adored every minute of it, pretended she’d be there the next time, and when she got home she pretended she didn’t feel alone.

  2.

  It was a rainy morning and Vanessa was busy with one of her creations when the bell above the door tinkled. She’d put a bell there because she spent most of her time in the kitchen and didn't always hear customers when they came in and also because she loved the sound. It reminded her of those gloomy, mysterious bric-à-brac shops with all kinds of treasures hidden away in remote corners. She wiped her sticky hands on a cloth and went to the counter, where a man in a grey raincoat was waiting, admiring the decoration of the shop.

  “Hello, can I help?” Vanessa asked with a smile.

  “Is this Vanessa’s Cake Shop?” the man asked, smiling back.

  It was the engineer she’d met on her night out with Diana. Vanessa was pleasantly surprised. She’d thought that hour of conversation in the bar had been in vain, and that when he’d realized Vanessa was in no mood for anything happening he’d continued putting up with her merely out of politeness. They’d talked about what they did, the latest music, about how difficult it is to find a nice bar where people can talk – small talk, in other words. When they were saying goodbye, he’d promised to come to her shop and buy a cake one day, and that had been all. And now here he was standing in front of her, with his hair damp from the rain and a charming smile on his face.

  “You got it,” answered Vanessa. “What were you looking for?”

  “Well, I’d like a chocolate cake covered with strawberries.”

  “I’m very sorry, but there are no strawberries in November.”

  “Not even imported ones?”

  “We only use seasonal produce here.”

  “Surprise me, then.”

  Vanessa went into the kitchen and started looking at the available ingredients.

  “When is it for, the cake?” she shouted back.

  “Today,” he answered, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen.

  “Today?” It’ll take two or three hours.”

  “That’s all right. I have the time.”

  Vanessa smiled again and offered him a stool to sit beside her. They spent the morning in culinary experiments and good conversation. Vanessa didn’t even notice the time passing and she was surprised when he invited her out to lunch.

  “Don’t you have a job to go to?” she asked.

  “Yes, but I took the day off.”

  “Because of a cake?”

  “No. Because of you.”

  Vanessa didn't want to plunge head first into yet another affair, so she played hard to get and turned down the engineer on their next two meetings. She learned that he was divorced, which reduced the probabilities of him being a nutcase according to the theories of Diana’s friends, that he had no children and had just spent three years working in Africa, from where he’d recently returned, which explained why he didn’t have a girlfriend. On their third meeting, Vanessa had dinner in his house. She took him a chocolate cake covered with strawberries – imported but organic, as she made a point of explaining, an exception for a special occasion. The evening went better than she’d expected. There was no lingerie catching fire on candles this time, or too much alcohol, or misunderstandings. There was no mad passion either, but Vanessa had got used to that. Maybe all that passion stuff was an adolescent thing. Grown-ups make do with a good fuck.

  The following weeks were pure romance. Suppers, cinema, flowers, and long conversations on the telephone; everything Vanessa hadn't experienced for who knew how many years. She even considered introducing him to her aunt, then her mother, and finally Mimi – the hardest step, but one, which had to be made. Mimi must have been more or less expecting it by now, as her father had a girlfriend and they even did family things together. If she felt jealous of anyone, it would be of her father, her favourite parent. Anyway, Vanessa didn't want to cause any more drastic changes in her daughter’s life. Mimi had suffered enough these last mad six months.

  It was only when she was thinking about introducing her boyfriend to her daughter that Vanessa realized it was getting serious. He was talking about introducing her to his parents, too. Like all parents, his didn't believe their children could be happy living alone, and what they wanted, more than a son- or daughter-in-law, was a grandchild while they still had the health to enjoy it. Now she thought about it, Vanessa could actually imagine going the distance with this guy. But for the moment she was ha
ppy for each of them to have their own lives. And afterwards she’d see how things turned out. Why make plans and create expectations? One day at a time. That was her new motto. And it was working, so far.

  3.

  It was only when she opened her agenda in the waiting room that Vanessa realized this was her last session with her analyst. It was incredible how time had passed, incredible how her mood had changed over that time. In the first few months, even the room and the walls of that place had annoyed her profoundly. She’d felt like a child waiting to speak to the headmaster after committing some terrible misdemeanour. She’d tap her foot nervously, fold her arms to leave no doubt that she was annoyed, and roll her eyes every time another patient came up to her looking for a chat. Later she’d become indifferent to it. And now, at the end, it had begun to feel quite cosy. She even spoke to the employees and the other people who came and went, offering them cupcakes and biscuits. Was this the end of her therapy, then? Or would her analyst suggest that she continue? She walked into his consulting room.

  “Good afternoon Vanessa, how are you?”

  “Nervous,” she admitted.

  “Why nervous?”

  “Because this is my last session, isn't it? And now you have to decide if I’m fit to live in society without clinical assistance.”

  Her analyst burst out laughing, like a hyena. Vanessa had never heard such a piercing laugh and she was surprised, especially since it came from a man who never lost his composure and had hardly even smiled these last few months.