Love in a Mist

by Sarah Harrison

  ‘It doesn’t sound as though you know what sort of relationship you have.’

  She was right. ‘I suppose I thought we were friends.’

  ‘You suppose you thought …’ She smiled ruefully. ‘You’re in a bugger’s muddle, Flo.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He obviously likes you, and you’re invaluable to him—’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’

  ‘Careful!’

  ‘Sorry.’ I had torn one sugar envelope to shreds and now started on another. Elsa poured more tea.

  ‘Describe the symptoms.’

  ‘I think about him all the time, I picture him, I obsess about what he’s doing – and with who.’

  ‘This Rachel person.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That must be awful. But you absolutely mustn’t torture yourself.’

  ‘I can’t seem to stop.’

  Elsa took a sip, lowered her cup carefully as if coming to a decision. ‘May I say something?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Jealousy is hideous.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘No, I mean it’s unattractive. Ugly. A turn-off.’

  This stopped me in my tracks. I felt shocked and, if I was honest, insulted. ‘I see.’

  ‘Look, Flo, don’t be offended—’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Oh God.’ She raised her hands in a gesture of weary desperation. ‘Obviously it’s ages since I experienced anything like what you’re going through. Mark and I moved out of that phase yonks ago. I kind of envy you.’ I snorted. ‘I do. But you’re not doing yourself any favours. For a start you’ve got too much invested in this chap you hardly know – you have – and you need to get a bit of perspective. I don’t know, take a holiday or something, don’t look at me like that.’

  ‘I can hardly take a holiday when he’s only just got back, and anyway I haven’t even seen him for over three weeks.’

  ‘That may be part of the trouble, you’ve been imagining him and thinking about him without any boring old reality to tarnish the fantasy.’

  ‘It’s not a fantasy.’

  ‘OK, I agree, that wasn’t fair. You know what you feel. For heaven’s sake I can see what you’re going through. But the first thing you really must do is get over this Rachel person. For one thing the green eye may be completely groundless, and for another, even if it is justified, you’re not going to win him back by being all bitter and twisted.’ I started to protest, but she shook her head and cut me off. ‘Because that’s what it looks like at the moment. You’re better than that, Flo – you’re something special, so get your bloody chin off the ground and start acting the part. I’ve said enough. Want a slice of carrot cake?’

  Even the best advice is hard to follow, especially when it concerns emotions over which you have little control. I knew that Elsa was right, and just as importantly that everything she said came out of the sort of doughty, trustworthy friendship which was beyond price. That didn’t stop me smarting, but I did take her words to heart. Oh, my poor frantic, confused heart.

  She’d conceded she was wrong about ‘boring old reality’, and I knew just how wrong when Edwin opened the door next day (I thought I should resume old habits). His smile was as wide as all outdoors.

  ‘Flora, I can’t tell you how … Come in, come in, and here …’ He pushed my key away. ‘No, no. Now that we have no secrets you should keep it. You ought to have one anyway, and it will ease my mind knowing there’s someone not too far away who could get in if there were an emergency.’

  As I entered I felt the light touch of his hand on my shoulder, leaving a hot spot.

  ‘Shall we …?’ He led the way to the kitchen and I watched as he made coffee, the reversal of our usual roles. He’d had a haircut which made him look younger, and had also put on a little weight and caught the sun. He radiated warmth and wellbeing.

  ‘I tell you one thing,’ he said, ‘there’s too much food in the States and I have too little willpower.’

  ‘You did all that hiking,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Ah yes, but followed by a week with the most hospitable people on earth.’

  I wanted to tell him he looked handsome but made do with, ‘You look really well.’

  ‘Do I?’ He patted his midriff doubtfully. ‘Good. Thank you. There you go.’

  I took my mug and turned to go to my office, but he said, ‘It’s absolutely glorious out there this morning – do you want to come and sit in the garden for a few minutes?’

  We went out and sat on the slatted bench, which in spite of its hardness was like sitting on a sofa – we were a squeak too close together. Unlike Rachel he didn’t turn sideways, studying me, but sat with his legs loosely apart, mug cradled in his hands, face lifted to the sun, perfectly relaxed.

  ‘Soon be autumn,’ he murmured, ‘with all that that entails …’

  ‘How was yesterday?’ I asked. ‘The television people?’

  He sighed. ‘Very wasteful, but from all I hear there’s going to be a lot of that.’

  ‘What did they want you for?’

  ‘Honestly?’ he chuckled. ‘Not much. They told me “where they were at” and bought me lunch. I think they just wanted to reassure me I was wanted.’

  Oh, if only he knew. ‘It’s better than the alternative, surely.’

  ‘Of course, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I told them I’m quite happy to let them get on with it. They’re the experts now, and I want to write another book.’

  ‘How’s publication going?’

  ‘Chugging along. They’ve cast the bones and read the runes and the auguries are good. The planets are in alignment.’ He flashed me a humorous glance. ‘They always say that.’

  ‘They seem always to be right.’

  He didn’t answer this but seemed to have dropped back into a reverie. His eyes were closed. I admired his thin arms where they emerged from turned-back shirtsleeves. And his hands … he had good hands, long-fingered but strong-looking. Eyes still shut, he began to say something, or – no, to sing under his breath.

  ‘It’s very nice to go travelling, but it’s so much nicer, oh it’s so much nicer to come home … True words. Know that one?’

  I shook my head, then realized he couldn’t see me and said, ‘No.’

  ‘No. A question of years. Nothing marks out generations like the songs of our youth.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  He laughed and looked at me. ‘Why?’

  ‘My youth. All ra-ra skirts and mullets.’

  ‘What’s a mullet?’

  ‘QED.’ I used an expression I’d heard him use, which I understood from the context and not because I knew what the letters stood for. I remembered something.

  ‘I like musicals.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I do. The stories. On the whole I prefer opera, but a friend introduced me to West Side Story and I was dazzled. Actually that was Fergal’s mother, Rachel – I think you met her?’

  Everything seemed suddenly to turn to stone. ‘Yes.’

  ‘She was enormously taken with you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Her exact words were that I’d be mad to let you go.’

  Of course, Rachel knew a ‘treasure’ when she saw one. I didn’t answer.

  A butterfly, brown and orange with dark markings, alighted on his knee, the faded knee of his chino. We both looked at it, watching as it slowly fanned its wings and posed with them open, soaking up the sun. The butterfly provided a simple shared focus. When it fluttered off I stood up.

  ‘I’d better get on. Anything in particular?’

  I was holding out my hand for his mug, but he didn’t give it to me. It was nice out here in the sun and he was resisting going in to work.

  ‘There are some researches that need starting on … Oh for goodness sake, isn’t it delightful out here?’

  ‘It really is.’ I stood awkwardly, waiting to go.

  ‘We – I mean all of us,
this generation – are extremely lucky.’

  Bruised and wrong-footed, I wasn’t prepared for the conversation to take this philosophical turn, but he didn’t need prompting to continue.

  ‘At the risk of sounding Pollyanna-ish, we really ought to count our blessings. That we’re alive in a time without global war, of unparalleled prosperity and scientific advance, with every expectation of a long and healthy life.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  I might have argued – disease, pollution, overcrowding, conflict, terrorism – but the energy was sucked out of me. And besides I didn’t want to tarnish his mood. What we had was an exact reversal of age stereotypes – he with his shiny, appreciative optimism, I with my grim cynicism.

  He stood up, laughing. ‘Not exactly a ringing endorsement!’

  I pretended to laugh too, and walked ahead of him into the house.

  That evening my father rang.

  ‘We wondered if you were thinking of coming down any time?’

  It was typical of them not to extend a direct invitation. Visits had always to be my decision and on my initiative. Perhaps, I thought, it would be a good idea. If I stayed here I was going to torture myself.

  I asked, ‘Are you there this Saturday?’

  ‘We shall be.’

  ‘See you then.’

  ‘OK. And Floss …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing. We’ll look forward to it.’

  FIFTEEN

  Retirement didn’t suit Zinny. She wasn’t seeing any more of Nico, who would remain at work for the foreseeable future, and she wasn’t someone disposed to throw herself into local causes and become a pillar of the community. She looked as beautiful and soignée as ever, but I wondered how much of the impeccable toilette was now down to having too much time on her hands. She was not a woman with hobbies; her home-making skills were predicated on a good eye and a list of Little Men. Cooking was a matter of judicious shopping and applying heat, so afternoons of therapeutic baking were not on the agenda. Also, though they had their circle of social acquaintances, she was essentially a loner with no close friends. I lacked the first but at least, in Elsa, I had the second – someone non-judgemental in whom I could confide, something my mother had never bothered, nor wanted, to cultivate.

  I sensed my father was worried about her, and that may have been what had prompted his call. I couldn’t summon too much sympathy, but when she and I were alone on Saturday afternoon (Nico had gone to meet a fellow rep) it seemed only right to ask how she was finding things.

  ‘Let’s put it this way,’ she said. ‘I shall adjust.’ Adding crisply, ‘Everyone seems to.’

  ‘Do you have any plans?’

  As soon as it was out of my mouth I knew that this question was likely to annoy her, but it was too late.

  She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Plans?’

  ‘I don’t know … Things you’ve always wanted to do. You’ve worked so hard for so long.’

  ‘What else do people do? Actually, please don’t answer that. Honestly, I never realized there were so many hours in the day.’

  ‘And now they’re all yours to do what you like with.’

  ‘My God, don’t remind me!’

  We were sitting on the verandah. There was an autumnal feel to the air and Zinny had her coat on, a camel coat with a big faux-fur collar that she had turned up so that it framed her face like an Elizabethan ruff.

  Her face did look a little drawn and I said more gently, ‘It’s early days, you probably need to take things easy for a while, get used to it. You’ll find a different rhythm in due course.’

  She put her hands up and tweaked the collar so that it curved round more – defensively, it seemed to me. ‘What do you think I should do?’

  This was completely unprecedented. I couldn’t recall her ever having asked for my advice before, and I was a little shocked.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. If you were me, what would you do?’

  ‘I can’t imagine—’

  ‘Exactly.’ She pulled a chilly grin. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘all right. Why don’t you go back?’

  She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t, it was my choice. They could do with someone younger … that’s not an option.’

  ‘Somewhere else then? There must be dozens of things you could do, and I bet you’d be snapped up.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. You have to get out there and look.’

  ‘Study the cards in the newsagent’s.’

  ‘No – yes. Anything. Ask around, see what’s out there. Think what you’d like …’

  ‘What I’d like,’ she said, ‘is to spend more time with Nico.’

  I knew she was telling the truth because her voice sounded completely different. There wasn’t much I could say to this, so I waited.

  ‘All we ever wanted to do was to be together.’ She had been looking out to sea but now she looked straight at me. ‘Really. We never made a plan, we just upped and left. We never needed anyone else.’

  Two things in this little speech struck me as strange. One was the ‘upped and left’. Where had they left? The words seemed to imply flight, but from what? And then of course, there it was again, the familiar refrain which didn’t need repeating:

  We never needed anyone else.

  ‘You had me,’ I reminded her. My voice was as small as a child’s.

  ‘Oh, of course we did, of course! And you’re part of us!’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘You know you are.’ She leaned across to touch me, but I clenched into myself just enough to avoid her hand. She withdrew it at once – you’d wait a long time to be cajoled by Zinny – and went on as if this little exchange hadn’t happened.

  ‘I do want us to have more time together, before, I don’t know, before we’re past it.’

  She meant her, because she was so much older than him.

  ‘Could he give up work? Or maybe arrange things so he didn’t have to take the long trips.’

  ‘I’m sure he could, but he enjoys those. As you know.’

  ‘You could go with him.’

  This suggestion met with the look of sardonic disbelief that it deserved.

  ‘Well,’ I said, a little impatient with her self-pity (I believe I thought I had a prior claim on that). ‘You should talk to him.’

  ‘I have, actually.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I don’t like to whine.’

  I thought: Isn’t that what couples do? Discuss things? Work things out?

  The lights of my father’s car appeared on the rim of the hill and began winding down towards us, appearing and disappearing with the steep bends.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, suddenly brisk. ‘None of this is your problem.’

  No, I thought. It never is.

  That evening we went into Exeter to see Saving Private Ryan and then had a curry. A modest enough outing, but (once we’d got over the impact of the film) my parents were sparkling company, and we were like three friends on the town. I think they both, for their separate reasons, wanted to lift the mood, theirs and mine. I felt ashamed of my mean-spirited response to Zinny earlier. Hers was a familiar situation – the ageing beauty who knows that time is not on her side, the more so in her case because my father was so much younger. I had seen how he was with other women – or more accurately how they were with him – and I was sure she had nothing to fear. He worshipped her. In hindsight I believe that any reciprocal flirtatiousness on his part was only a way of keeping his end up, of reminding himself that he could if he wanted to.

  Of course they asked about Edwin, ‘the Prof’ as they called him.

  ‘I wish there was someone like that around here,’ said Zinny. ‘I reckon I’d make an excellent PA.’

  I was not, not, going to be offended. ‘Maybe there is.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said my father. ‘I don’t want you closeted with some lecherous genius all day long
; I wouldn’t have an easy minute.’

  ‘Would you not?’ Zinny was enchanted. She turned to me. ‘Is yours lecherous?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘He looks quite attractive on his covers.’

  ‘They’re good photographs.’ I couldn’t bring myself to say that he was attractive, that I found him so, and that mere photographs could never capture what I loved about him.

  On the way home in the car, they began to sing. As a child I’d found this embarrassing, but tonight I didn’t mind. After the conversation with my mother that afternoon I was pleased they were happy. I felt like the adult, sitting quietly in the back seat as they gave their rendition of ‘Everyday it’s a-gettin’ closer’ and the Beatles’ ‘Yesterday’. Zinny knew all the words; my father had to la quite a lot but he had a nice voice with a bit of a dance-hall warble.

  When we got to the top of our hill my father pulled over. ‘Look at that.’

  The moon was there to greet us, sitting over the bay with its long gleaming net cast over the water from horizon to beach. Zinny flung open the door and got out.

  ‘Let’s walk!’

  Nico laughed. ‘That’s the sauvignon speaking.’

  ‘No, I’d like to walk.’

  ‘What, in heels? Leave the car here?’

  ‘Why not? We can collect it tomorrow.’

  ‘You mean I can collect it tomorrow. I can’t see you trudging all the way back up here on a Sunday morning!’

  ‘I shall walk then!’ She was in a strange mood, capricious and wilful, not like her usual self.

  ‘Zinny!’ My father got out. ‘You’re not walking on your own, it’s pitch dark.’

  ‘No it’s not, it’s a moonlit night.’

  ‘Why don’t you walk down together?’ I said, opening the door. ‘I’ll take the car.’

  They both looked at me as I got out.

  ‘There you are!’ Zinny put her arm through my father’s. ‘Offer accepted.’

  He was still frowning. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. Take care and don’t loiter.’

  Zinny began towing him away. She was laughing. ‘Oh, we can’t promise that …’

  I sat behind the wheel and started the engine. They were laughing as I drove past them, and when I looked in my rear-view mirror I just caught a glimpse of their heads coming together in a kiss.