Mushroom.Man

  Strong smell of apricots. Tender flesh.

  Woodlands. Especially under deciduous trees in moss. Summer to Autumn.

  Edible and excellent. A gourmet’s delight.

  twelve

  I had, by this stage, come to accept what I received from the mushroom.man as autobiographical. There seemed to be a good fit between what personal history he had told me and the philosophy that underpinned his way of dealing with the world. The two linked so nicely that it was easier to assume truth than artifice.

  Even though the summer holidays were here, I remained living on the campus. A few summer courses were taking place, but it was largely empty. Even if I’d wanted to discuss my ideas about the mushroom.man with someone, there really was no one who I could talk to. The university was full of temporary staff and pupils; the few remaining regular staff were not the sort that I would have shared my research with, even had they had an interest.

  What the long, warm summer gave me was the opportunity to organize my thoughts regarding the mushroom.man and my paper. What I most wanted to clarify were the two relationships that seemed to predominate in his life. On the surface his descriptions made those relationships seem essentially normal, but I wondered if further information might prove them to be dysfunctional, which would help my thesis. I felt sufficiently secure in my role as confidante that I felt I could ask a personal question directly.

  I sent this short e-mail:

  Attn. mushroom.man.

  Subject: more questions.

  11 September.

  I know I keep pestering you for information about you and your life, but it intrigues me. Two elements occur regularly: you relationship with Greg and your relationship with Jane. Both of these are in the past. I would agree that history shapes our present, but as an observer I would say that you appear overly preoccupied with events in the past. Do you think that’s fair? Let me know.

  I got my reply soon after.

  Attn. mushroom.seeker.

  Subject: more history.

  15 September.

  Not long ago I got a postcard of Tower Bridge, an enhanced colour tourist job. It was from Jane. Just a short note saying she’d be over for a week or two and that she wanted to see me. No address, no dates. Some days later a phone call. She’d hired a car and was coming that afternoon. Just like that; very efficient, almost formal. I didn’t know what to expect. Nine years can be a long time.

  I heard the car in the lane and went out to greet her. She stepped out and stood still, looking at me and the cottage. I saw the woman I remembered, but with short, bobbed hair, a tailored suit and high heels. She picked her way across the muddy yard carefully, staring at the ground. She reached me and looked up.

  ‘I’d forgotten how much mud there is here. You’re looking well.’

  ‘So are you.’

  ‘Can we go in?’

  ‘Of course, yes, sorry.’

  We went in and she casually draped her jacket over the back of the sofa, label exposed. I think she expected the label to mean something to me, but it didn’t. She looked around.

  ‘Hasn’t changed much.’

  ‘Suppose not.’

  ‘Same furniture.’

  ‘Yes.’ We’d bought it at a house auction. The sofa was the first and only that I’d ever bought. It wasn’t in great condition then – now I saw it with her eyes. It had a definite touch of tat to it.

  ‘Are you here for long?’

  ‘Just a fortnight. I got the urge to look up old friends. See how everyone was doing.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So how are you?’

  ‘Fine. Well enough. You know. It’s not a whole lot different than when you, um, than when you went away.’

  ‘I can see that.’ She smiled what seemed a genuinely affectionate smile. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’

  ‘Of course, sorry, I should have thought of that. I’ll make some.’

  She followed me into the kitchen and watched while I got the tea ready. Funny; I remembered a young woman, a woman with a young girl’s personality, and here was a mature Jane, confident, poised and elegant. That’s it, I thought, she’s elegant. That’s the difference. The years had treated her well, she looked better now than she ever had while living with me. Perhaps that was the problem – she couldn’t thrive with me. She looked great. I turned to her.

  ‘You look really well.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She looked around the kitchen. ‘I see you’re still growing mushrooms.’

  ‘Oh, them. Yes, occasionally.’

  We sat down and were silent for a moment. The clinks of the cups and saucers seemed loud. It began to rain, the wind spattering the drops against the windows. She looked out.

  ‘Quite like old times.’

  ‘Yeah, still raining.’

  I was trying not to voice the question that hung in the air. What are you here for? Why do you want to see me? I thought it better to wait and let her tell me in her own time. Assuming she would.

  ‘So have you seen many of the old gang?’

  ‘A few, yes. Nothing much changes here, does it? I mean everyone just seems to go on as they always did. Funny.’

  ‘You have kids now, don’t you?’

  ‘Two, yes. Toby is seven and Ophelia is four.’

  ‘Are they with you?’

  ‘No, they’re staying with their father. While I’m here.’

  Staying with their father. Has a ring of divorce to it, or separation. Not ‘they’re at home’, no; staying with their father. Not with Bob or Bill or whatever his name is. Their father. Puts a bit of distance between them.

  ‘So what are your plans? Can you stay for supper?’

  ‘I’d love to, yes. No plans in particular. Just taking each day as it comes.’

  ‘Great. Fancy a walk?’

  ‘In this rain?’

  ‘I’ll lend you a coat and wellies. It’s not heavy rain, it’ll do us good to get out a bit.’

  ‘OK, I’ll come, but I’m not enthusiastic.’

  It wasn’t as bad outside as it seemed from inside. There was a bit of rain, but it was more like a fine mist. Gentle. We took one of our old walks, up through the forest to the top of the hill. There’s a big granite erratic sitting there, with a ledge on one side like a bench. We sat there and took in the view. Jane dried her face with a handkerchief. For a moment I thought she’d been crying. We talked of trees, seasons and birds. A bit like a nature walk – we touched on nothing personal. On the way back we stopped at the bridge and played Pooh sticks, just like years ago. We were laughing and giggling like children, running from one side of the bridge to the other, shouting, squealing, playing. I felt great, comfortable with her, even happy.

  We went home slowly, chatting of nothing in particular, both of us avoiding any topic that might hurt. I still had no idea of why she was here, but I was sure she’d tell me when the time was right. I thought of telling her about the stone circle, but didn’t. When we got home I lit a fire and left her to warm up. I went into the kitchen to see if I could make good my offer of supper. Rabbit, that was about it. Well, rabbit or nothing actually. I shouted out: ‘Rabbit OK with you?’

  She walked in. ‘Done how?’

  ‘I dunno. Mustard sauce?’

  ‘Lovely. Want some help?’

  ‘Sure. Glad of the company.’

  I’ve never been good at dealing with old lovers. Maybe I’m not civilized enough. But I felt happy that evening being with Jane. Time buries the hurt. We were like old friends, comfortable in each other’s company, playing no silly games. I had a couple of bottles of wine and we drank them both over the course of the meal. Quite like old times, I thought. Two things were on my mind; I still wanted to know what had prompted this visit, and I wanted her to stay the night – I wanted to see her the next day.

  ‘So, are you enjoying your visit?’

  ‘It’s great to be back. I’d forgotten how much fun it is here. It’s a different world in London.’

  ‘Yeah
?’

  ‘It’s more intense there, I think. There doesn’t seem to be as much time for play. I mean when I went there I thought ‘I’m moving to the big city; lots of people’, but you end up living in your own little village inside it. I probably know fewer people by name than I did here.’

  ‘Worlds within worlds.’

  ‘Exactly. It turned out to be quite a small world in the end. There’s work and home – I work in a shop selling terracotta and ceramics, all hand-made – and then home. The usual, you know, cooking, cleaning, getting the kids to school. You never met Theo, but he’s very self-obsessed. For him work and life are one and the same thing.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He runs his own ad agency now. Very well thought of. Berry and Hartley. It takes up all his time.’

  ‘Presumably well rewarded.’

  ‘Oh yes. Very. It’s just that, well, oh I don’t know. I don’t want to bore you with all that.’

  ‘It’s not boring. I want to hear it.’

  She studied the table, then she looked up at me.

  ‘I don’t really believe that money is all that matters.’

  ‘Who the fuck does?’

  ‘Theo does. It’s all he ever thinks about. He’s very good to us, gives me plenty of money, but it’s almost as though he’s just buying a family, do you know what I mean?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Instead of time and effort he puts in money. I shouldn’t complain, I’m luckier than most.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, I have two great kids, I’m healthy, they’re healthy, we live in a nice house. It’s what a lot of people dream of. Anyway, enough of me. What about you? What are you doing?’

  ‘Much the same, really. I feel like I’ve been walking down this untrodden path for years now and it still hasn’t led me anywhere. But I just go on believing that it will. That there’s a destination at the end waiting to be discovered. All the things I do day to day are just to let me go on exploring. I don’t suppose that makes much sense.’

  ‘Oh, it does. You’re still chasing those worlds in your head. The same ones you never let me be a part of.’

  ‘Ah, Jane. Is that what you thought? What a crazy world this is. I always thought you weren’t interested.’

  Maybe that’s why I always end up alone. Two minds, two parallel worlds. You never know what anyone else really thinks or wants. How do you communicate an internal vision? What words can you use when there are none to describe it? Jane’s world and mine were no longer even parallel; they’d become divergent. A world of schools, children and responsibilities; different from mine. Yet there must be points of common reference. Whatever she hadn’t shared with me, there was a lot that she had. We knew each other well. I wanted her to stay, at least for another day.

  We sat over coffee, talking about the people we had known, what they were doing with their lives. She was, she said, curious as to how their lives had turned out. I suspected that she wanted a scale against which to measure hers. Eventually I asked.

  ‘So, does Theo know that you’re here?’

  ‘Yes, of course. He knows about you; I’ve talked to him about life here. I think he’s rather pleased to get rid of me for a bit.’

  ‘What about your kids?’

  ‘I imagine he’ll just let the nanny do everything. He won’t get involved. I don’t know, maybe a break will do us both good.’

  ‘Would you like to stay here tonight? I mean not with me – I’ll sleep on the sofa. Just so you don’t have to go back in the dark.’

  ‘I don’t know if I should.’

  ‘No pressure. It would be nice to spend some more time with you. I’ve really enjoyed seeing you again. We could go out riding tomorrow, if you’d like.’

  ‘God, I haven’t been riding for years. You know, I think I’d like that.’

  ‘Great. It’ll be fun.’

  It was a relief to know I’d have the next day to talk to her. I wanted to know more about her life, and above all what had made her come to visit. I also wanted to tell her about the stones and my strange vision of Greg and her. I’d spoken to no one about it, and I wanted to. I remember desperately trying to clear up my bedroom while Jane went into the bathroom. Stuffing clothes into drawers, picking up socks, tidying as best I could. She walked in just as I realized the sheets hadn’t been changed for ages. I pulled them off and rolled them up before she could see them too well. Between us we laid clean sheets. It occurred to me that since I wasn’t going to wash the old ones right away, they’d do to make the sofa comfortable.

  I lay on the sofa watching the dying flames in the hearth. I fantasized briefly of Jane in my bed, and then went to sleep.

  Next morning she wakened me with a cup of coffee and pulled back the curtains. Nice that she felt she could make herself at home. I sat up swaddled in bedding.

  ‘Funny to be back in this house. Hasn’t changed much.’

  ‘No. Good to see you, Jane.’

  ‘You too.’

  We sat quietly, sipping our coffees. I was waking up little by little, taking in the morning light. It was an odd feeling, seeing Jane sitting there. It was almost as though the last nine years had never happened. I began thinking about friendship. I’d never had a woman friend who wasn’t a lover. Or if I had, it was because I was hoping for more. Never had the sort of friendship I’d had with Greg. I was wondering whether this was a shortcoming in me or the natural state of things when Jane spoke.

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘About the past – about us.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I was just thinking that, you know, we never really had a chance to talk about what happened. To us, I mean.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I was thinking that maybe I owe you an explanation.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I just feel a lot went unsaid.’

  ‘Just about everything.’

  ‘I think we wanted different things from life. I really wanted children.’

  ‘You never said.’

  ‘I just felt that it was something you weren’t prepared for. You were very much a child yourself, I could never see you as a father.’

  ‘I see. And Theo fits the bill, does he?’

  ‘Don’t be cross. I’m just trying to explain.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I really thought he did, yes. The classic provider. Someone who could give my children a good start. I’m not sure here is the best place for children to grow up. God, that doesn’t sound right, but you know what I mean. I’m not explaining this very well.’

  ‘Biological imperative.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I understand. You wanted kids and you wanted the best nest that you could find. Whatever else, I’ve learnt about my own shortcomings over the years. You know, I don’t think I can even count the number of women who’ve left me in the last nine years. It’s got to the stage that I expect it.’

  ‘That sounds awful.’

  ‘It’s not supposed to. Just a statement of fact.’

  ‘Maybe there’s no room for anyone else where you’re going.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  While I got dressed Jane went out for a walk. Truth is strange; it’s liberating and at the same time depressing. Depressing because once exposed, all the comforting fantasies that were there in its place have to go. Cold reality is left. The sort of reality that says a leaking roof and mould is not for my children. That’s a judgement based on cool appraisal. She was right. In many ways I’ve lived like a child, never planning for the future; not so much avoiding responsibility as simply never assuming it. I had never thought of myself as poor, but suddenly I saw my house, my way of life, in a new light. Maybe it really was seedy and run down. Maybe it mattered. Oh wad some power the giftie gie us to see oursels as others see us!

  I got a sudden urge to tidy the house. It was disheartening; the more I starte
d to clean and tidy the more I could see that needed doing. I became more manically thorough than I’d ever been. I took rugs outside and shook them, puffed up cushions, made tidy piles of things on surfaces. It was beginning to look presentable when I looked up at the ceiling. A whole world of cobwebs and dust trembled lightly in the air. By the time I’d removed as much as the brush could reach every surface was covered in black specks of stuff and needed another going over. Paint, that was the answer. I’d have to get some. The more I looked, the more tatty the view. I got it into my head that I had to be finished before Jane came back. God knows why. When she came back the air was thick with disturbed dust.

  ‘You’ve been busy.’

  ‘I know. I just thought it was about time.’

  ‘Too right.’

  She looked impressed, probably not at the results, but at the unaccustomed attempts at housework. There I go again, I thought, doing things just to make an impression on a woman. Maybe that’s the only reason men ever do anything.

  Keen to continue to be viewed in a favourable light I offered Jane an early lunch of omelette. There were four eggs in the hen house when I went out for them. Enough. I thought Jane was a little fidgety over lunch, but I didn’t mention it. Eventually she took a deep breath and began.

  ‘I suppose I might as well tell you, you’ve probably guessed anyway. Things aren’t really good between me and Theo.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Haven’t been for a while. I never see him, he’s always working. I never wanted to bring up my kids all alone, I didn’t want to be a single mother.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you? The truth is I don’t have any real friends. Just people I meet through work, or some of the people that Theo brings home. Sometimes I feel really lonely.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m just being self-indulgent. It’s not all that bad really. I just wanted to tell someone, that’s all. Funny isn’t it, how we go back to our past when things get hard.’

  ‘What’ll you do?’

  ‘Do? Nothing, I suppose. I mean, when you think about it, doing something is such an upheaval for everyone that’s it’s easier to do nothing, isn’t it?’