A Necessary End

by J M Gregson

  A second reference to the past. Enid didn’t like that. But she hoped Frank’s widow might feel some of the embarrassment she was enduring herself at this moment. You tended to search for common ground when you were fumbling for things to say. She determined to remain in the present. ‘So, the book club. Do you still think it’s a good idea? I was speaking rather off the cuff when I suggested it to you. I shan’t be at all offended if you tell me to go away and forget it.’

  She’s not talking about the idea of a book club itself, thought Sharon coolly. She means do I think it’s a good idea for us to run one together. And she’s right: it’s a bizarre notion for two people with our history even to think of any sort of social exchange. But she’s put me through the mangle in the past and if she’s uncomfortable now I find that quite satisfactory. ‘Oh no! Rather the reverse. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think it an excellent idea. We’re both retired and we both like books. It’s quite a logical development really for us to try to give that a more formal framework.’

  No, not for us, thought Enid. Not for two women who’ve slept with the same man and competed for him and agonized over him. What would Frank think of this if he could see the two of us now? Would he be appalled or would he be amused? Bemused, more likely. I’m pretty bemused myself, and it was I who suggested the preposterous idea. But I’m not going to give best to this woman. ‘I’m glad you still think it’s a good idea. I’ve got a couple of people I thought we might ask to join us. Would you like me to run them by you?’

  This wasn’t a woman to underestimate, Sharon thought. But she’d known that for many years, hadn’t she? She’d found out the hard way. She took a deep breath and said breezily, ‘That would be splendid. I’ve got a name or two as well. I thought we should start by establishing one or two principles for the group. Perhaps we should do that before we even discuss names.’

  ‘All right. You’ve obviously given this matter much more thought than I have.’

  Sharon doubted whether that was true. Enid Frott had done very little without giving it careful forethought, in the past. But the past was a different country. They did things differently there, someone had said. L.P. Hartley, she thought. This was the here and now and she must banish the past. Otherwise, why get involved with the woman at all?

  They were two intelligent women in their sixties pursuing a common interest, or they wouldn’t be here talking abut forming a book club. No one had forced either of them into this. She poured more coffee, noting with approval the steadiness of her hand. Enid watched her without a word. Then she picked up her cup as carefully as if she were responding to a move she’d anticipated in a game of chess. Sharon Burgess was dictating the terms of this strange game. She was sitting in her own house and controlling the evolution of their joint enterprise.

  Yet the woman seemed suddenly diffident, when she had previously been assertive. Sharon said unconvincingly, ‘I haven’t given it a great deal of thought. And this was your idea in the first place, so you don’t have to accept any of this unless you agree with it.’ She paused for interruption or dissent, but her visitor studied her refilled coffee cup and gave her nothing save the slightest of nods. Her hostess plunged in. ‘I didn’t want our group to be all female. Most of the clubs I’ve heard about seem to be either exclusively or predominantly female. I’d like ours to be different.’

  ‘I agree. I envisaged us as a mixed group. We don’t want to insist upon an exact balance; that would be silly. But I think we should certainly have men there. If we can recruit suitable ones, of course.’

  ‘Of course. That goes without saying. And that would apply to females as well as males. I’m sure neither of us intends to bring people along just because they’re friends. They must be interested in books and interested in discussing what they read.’

  They were pussyfooting around each other, Sharon thought. Stating principles and watching for reactions. But that was surely natural enough. Even women who were bosom pals would have been treading carefully as they moved into a new enterprise. And she was certainly not a bosom pal of Enid Frott’s. Rather the opposite, whatever that might be. ‘Good. We’re agreed upon that, then. The other thing I thought was that we should go for a mixture of ages in the group. It might be much easier if we simply invited a group of women of around our own age to join us, but in my view it would be much better for us to have both sexes and a variety of ages.’

  ‘You have been thinking about this, haven’t you?’ Enid’s smile was almost mischievous. ‘I’d say we need to remember that we’re doing this for pleasure. We need to suit ourselves and have some enjoyable evenings, not bog ourselves down with ethics and principles.’

  ‘Unless they’re principles we both agree with, of course. I just think we’ll have better discussions and more thought-provoking evenings if we have young and old together.’

  ‘With us as the oldies, I suppose.’

  ‘With us as the experienced and wiser older heads who can give a sense of perspective to the exchanges.’

  Enid smiled. ‘I like that. And I don’t object to a couple of youngsters. Let’s show them that they can’t shock us, whatever they produce. And I think we should have one or two in-betweenies, to complete the set.’

  Sharon tried not to sound surprised as she said, ‘We seem to be more or less agreed on the composition of the group. It will be easier once we have a nucleus. Once we are functioning, we can put any new suggestions to the group. Any new members then would have to be sanctioned by the existing club.’

  ‘And no doubt you now have one or two suggestions to be founder members.’

  Sharon said tartly, ‘I’m hoping we both have. It’s the only way to get things going. And it should be simple to agree, shouldn’t it? There are only two of us and we each have the power of veto.’

  Enid wondered suddenly what part the efficient Mrs Burgess was taking in the running of Frank’s old company. Frank had been retired for years before he died and all that was behind her, but she had worked on at the company and been in charge of the office for years after Frank had gone. Enid was suddenly jealous of this woman’s power at Burgess Electronics, a world which she had left abruptly and unwillingly only six months ago.

  It wasn’t an easy combination for her to secure, but Enid tried to sound bright and neutral at the same time. She put her empty coffee cup back on the tray and said, ‘Let’s have your suggestions. I can’t really think I’m going to black-ball any of them.’

  ‘I’ve only got two. One is a youngster, in our terms. I suppose the second one is what you just called an in-betweeny.’

  ‘This is quite exciting, Sharon. It’s like interviewing people for a job, without having their tiresome presence to inhibit us and make us polite.’

  Her hostess smiled conspiratorially. ‘I’m glad they can’t hear us. I’ll do the younger one first. She’s a young woman called Jane Preston. I’m attending a WEA course on the nineteenth-century novel and she’s my tutor. She’s very knowledgeable but very approachable.’

  ‘You don’t think she would inhibit us? I’m feeling reticent already at the thought of an expert. I suppose people who know me might think that was a good thing.’

  ‘Jane’s very unassuming and I’m sure she wouldn’t hog the discussion. She certainly knows a lot about the nineteenth-century greats, but she probably knows no more than the rest of us about contemporary writers. It could be quite a coup for us to get her.’

  And thus give you the edge over me, thought Enid. I didn’t think this was going to be a contest over who could produce the most impressive recruits. But we’ve got a history: perhaps I should have expected it. Or perhaps I’m a lonely, bored, retired woman who’s in danger of seeing sinister motives where no offence is intended. ‘I’m sure your Jane Preston will be a valuable member of our group. Who else are you proposing?’

  She remembered Jane’s name, where I would instantly have forgotten it, thought Sharon. But then Enid had been Frank’s PA, so you’d expect
that – amongst other things. ‘My other candidate is quite different. I haven’t even asked him yet – I thought I should have your approval first.’

  Which implies you’ve already invited La Preston, I suppose. But let’s not be too sensitive about your appropriation of what was once my idea. ‘This is a male, then. Hence your remarks about including the young and the male: you’re providing us with one of each.’

  ‘Only if you approve, Enid.’ She’d forced herself to use the name for a second time, but it felt very unnatural. ‘And it’s a shot in the dark, really. But I think you’ll find him an interesting man. You may already know the name: Dick Fosdyke. He’s a cartoonist who appears regularly in the morning papers. He works as a freelance and spends a lot of time in the library.’

  ‘I do know of him. I’ve seen some of his work. Have you known him for a long time?’

  Enid was suddenly quite tense, Sharon thought. ‘Not long, no. I met him in the library on one of my voluntary stints there. He comes in most days and does a lot of his work there. I don’t know a lot about art, but I’d say he’s very talented. He has a sharp wit and a sharp mind. If he’ll join us, I fancy he might be an asset in the group.’

  ‘I agree. Let’s have him.’ Enid didn’t trust herself to say more. Several seconds passed before she said, ‘My one suggestion is also male.’

  He would be, thought Sharon bitchily. ‘Do I know him?’

  ‘Yes. I think you do. And you can veto him, if you choose to.’

  ‘And why should I wish to do that?’

  ‘Probably you won’t. I might, but you’d be far too fair-minded to do that.’ Enid contrived to make that sound like an insult. ‘I think he’d get discussions going for us. But you might choose to reject him in view of what’s happened in the past. That would be fair enough and I would instantly accept it. His name is Alfred Norbury. I think we both know that he’s an intelligent man and a stimulating man. But he’s also a dangerous man, in some respects. He’s possibly bisexual or possibly gay, but he isn’t dangerous to women like us. I don’t think he’d be a predator within the group, and as a contributor to our debates, he’d be an asset. He’d certainly hold his own with your Jane Preston. He knows a hell of a lot about poetry: he’s written some himself and he lectures about it when called upon to do so. Alfred is better read than anyone else I’ve met. And I know he’s prepared to join us. He’s the only one I’ve already approached.’

  ‘What does he do for a living nowadays?’ Sharon didn’t much care about that: she wanted time to think.

  ‘That’s not as straightforward a question as you’d imagine it to be. He has private funds, which means he doesn’t take on anything except what appeals to him. He lectures for the Open University, but I’m not sure how much work he does for them.’

  ‘I’m sure we’re lucky to get him.’ Sharon Burgess spoke so evenly that it was impossible to be certain how much acid she intended. ‘Is it in order to ask how long you’ve now known Mr Norbury?’

  ‘Of course it is. I’ve known him for over thirty years.’

  Sharon waited for a while, but Ms Frott offered no more details. ‘I didn’t know him until about a dozen years ago.’

  Both of them knew the heavy implications of that simple statement, but neither of them wished to investigate it at this moment. Sharon took a deep breath and said, ‘We should arrange a date and an agenda for our first meeting. Do you want it to be here?’

  ‘No. We can manage in my flat. There’ll only be five or six of us. I can handle that easily enough. We don’t need any formal agenda: we need to introduce ourselves to each other and agree on the first book we’re going to tackle together. I think it will be easier to do that in a more intimate setting. It might even help if we’re crowded together a little.’

  She’s asserting her right to be in charge of this, thought Sharon. Well, fair enough: Enid was the moving spirit behind the whole idea in the first place, and she’s accepted my suggestions about age and gender and membership. Why then am I still so wary about her? Why are we treating each other with such suspicion?

  We have history and we can’t get away from that, however much we try to live in the present. Things might become easier as time passes. She said brightly, ‘We’ve made good progress, I think. Don’t be afraid to give me a ring if anything crops up. We seem to be in agreement about most things.’

  ‘So when shall we have our first meeting? I suggest next Monday night at seven thirty.’ Enid was back in her PA mode, efficient and impersonal. Sharon accepted the suggestion immediately.

  Enid Frott was glad of the walk back down the drive in the cool winter air. When she was outside the gates, she looked back at the big house, with the sun now a little higher and the sky bluer than ever. She was glad to have her book club enterprise up and running. Too many bright ideas seemed to remain just that, when you were retired. It had helped that she’d had Sharon Burgess to push her forward and come up with ideas of her own. They seemed to have similar ideas, even if previous events meant that they could never be kindred spirits.

  As she climbed into her car and started the engine, she still couldn’t believe that she and Frank’s widow were working together on this.

  SIX

  Dick Fosdyke decided that he was pleased with his morning’s work. It was vicious but fair, he decided.

  The British troops were being withdrawn from Afghanistan at last and he wanted to point out how futile he thought the whole exercise had been. Thousands dead, women constantly abused and downtrodden, drugs rampant, victims being stoned. And now we were moving out and leaving all that behind. You couldn’t put all that into a drawing: he needed words as well, but as few as possible. And he knew that he drew a good image of David Cameron by now. He set him moon-faced in the middle of his drawing, looking absurdly pleased with himself beneath a ‘Mission Accomplished’ sign.

  He was so engrossed in the smooth rounding of the Prime Minister’s cheeks that he wasn’t conscious of the woman in front of him until she said, ‘Got time for a coffee?’

  He looked up and saw a smiling Sharon Burgess. ‘I haven’t, really. I want to get a final version of this finished and off to an editor before midday. It’s a competitive market and I’d like to get there first.’ He glanced up at her. ‘You can look at it if you like. Offer any comment you like, as long as it’s grossly flattering.’

  She moved round behind him, knowing that it was a great privilege he was offering in even showing her his work, let alone inviting her to comment. She gasped at what she saw, then wondered if he had heard her. ‘It’s pretty brutal.’

  He nodded contentedly. ‘Vicious, isn’t it? That’s what I intended. The cartoonist has to be extreme. It’s the nature of his calling. And in this case I think it’s justified. There’s been carnage on both sides out there, and what has it all achieved?’

  Sharon gazed at the drawing and said woodenly, ‘I voted for David Cameron in the last election.’

  ‘I admire your conviction.’ She supposed he was being ironic, but she couldn’t be certain of it. ‘I didn’t vote for anyone, myself. You tend to become cynical, when you’re making almost daily comments on the political scene.’

  ‘This particular comment’s justified, I suppose. You’ve made your point pretty effectively.’

  ‘He’s just the fall guy. I fancy it could have been whoever was the prime minister at the time. It’s my view that they’d all have followed the Americans in there.’

  ‘I’d say that you’ve made your point more trenchantly than most people would have done with a lot of words.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s what we try to do. You have to keep your lines simple and your comments very direct. A cartoon gets thirty seconds at most to make its point. Much less, with some people. The quickest ones are usually the most telling.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to get on with it. I’m glad I’m not a politician.’

  He said as she moved away, ‘I could do lunch. I’ll be finished by then.’

/>   They’d never had more than coffee together. It was surely quite a compliment to be invited to eat with this man, who preserved his privacy so carefully. ‘All right. I don’t finish my stint on the counter until one, though.’

  He was waiting for her when she finished. He took her to a small pub in a back street, where the people behind the bar clearly knew him. She’d never been in here before. The staff were obviously trying to work out her relationship with Dick. Mother, perhaps? Or aunt? That’s what their ages would have suggested to casual observers. But Dick treated her cheerfully as an equal, a person who might have views on what was happening in society which would interest him, whether he agreed with them or not.

  The food was unpretentious but good. She said in a tone which made it clear she was sending herself up, ‘Do you come here often?’

  ‘Oftener than I used to, since I was divorced. It’s a bit down-market, for someone like you. But the woman who does all the cooking buys her vegetables from the market and her meat from the local butcher. And the regulars have given up trying to engage me in casual conversations. I can read my newspaper or my book and enjoy my food without interruptions, like the miserable bugger I am.’

  ‘I wanted to have a word with you about books, actually.’

  ‘I gave a lot of my old ones to the library last year. You mean to re-read the best ones, but you never do.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s not that. A couple of us are starting a book club. I’d like you to be one of the founder members.’

  He looked at her in surprise, then shook his head firmly. ‘Not my scene, I’m afraid. I enjoy books, but I like to choose my own. And I’m too opinionated to talk to other people about them. I’d get excited and give offence.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. We need people to get excited. The last thing I’d want is bland agreement on the merits and de-merits of a book. I’ll encourage you to state your views as trenchantly as you like, so long as you give others their turn and don’t shout them down.’