The Time of Their Lives

by Maeve Haran

  As for Julia and Neil, Julia had to start engaging with her own life rather than fantasizing about another one with a stranger like Wenceslaus. A job might help too.

  Ella found herself thinking about Wenceslaus. She had really enjoyed having him live here. Her daughters might have been shocked that she’d taken in someone random and unconnected to her, but that was precisely his appeal. She didn’t have to feel responsible for Wenceslaus. And she could be straight with him without him going into a huff or accusing her of guilt-tripping. She wondered where he was living now. Maybe she’d pop into the café again and find out.

  She glanced around. It was another beautiful day. Spring had definitely arrived. The catkins were out in the garden and the birds were singing their spring symphonies. She would put on her boots and walk down to the canal. Viv and Angelo had come up with the idea of her taking over the allotment permanently, if unofficially. She didn’t think any of the others would shop her for circumventing the long waiting list. One of the aspects she most liked about the place was its easy camaraderie.

  And another thing, the allotments had given her life a shape and a purpose it had needed. She had learned to see the annual calendar as a farmer or plantsman would: the autumn was the true beginning of the year when seeds were sown and bulbs planted. The winter wasn’t dead but the time of hidden growth deep down in the cold soil. Spring brought the first gifts of fruition and also of promise. Summer was the high point, almost pagan in its light and abundance, the glory of sunshine and of shadow. Although, this being England, there hadn’t been too much sunshine lately. And then there was autumn again, with all its Keatsian ripeness and oozings.

  On top of that there was the joy of eating what you had grown yourself. Once she’d laughed at people for growing their own – why, she’d wondered, didn’t they just buy stuff in the supermarket like normal people? But that was before she felt an almost maternal pride at her first knobbly carrot. And now she couldn’t imagine life without the allotments. How had that happened?

  As she let herself in through the gates and surveyed the busy, productive strips of land, she found herself intoning a silent prayer: let Julia and Neil be happy and let her find something to make her as busy and peaceful as this place has made me.

  ‘Did you have the slightest inkling about this Douglas?’ Don demanded as soon as Gaby had disappeared upstairs with him to take him on a tour of the house.

  ‘None. Not a whisper. She’s never even mentioned him before.’

  ‘How long have they known each other?’

  ‘I don’t know that either; she’s being incredibly mysterious about the whole thing.’

  They looked at each other, struck by the same thought. Gaby had always been given to sudden starts and enthusiasms. Her endless string of jobs, not to mention short-term boyfriends, had left them wishing she would settle at something. Marriage hadn’t exactly been what they meant.

  ‘Do you think they’re really serious about this engagement?’

  Before Claudia had time to answer Gaby reappeared, holding her surprise fiancé by the hand. Claudia had to admit there was a glow about her that her mother had never seen before.

  Maybe it’s called Love and you’ve just forgotten what it looks like, Claudia mused. The sudden memory of Thierry and her heady days in Paris invaded her memory. But surely that had been mad infatuation, not love. Had she felt anything like that for her husband? He had been fierier in his youth, once he’d serenaded her with his own version of Dire Straits’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’, but over the years she’d got into the habit of seeing him as Dependable Don.

  Instead of stretching the planned supper to feed four, Don suggested they go and eat in the pub.

  It proved a jolly evening. Douglas was, it transpired, a trainee architect who had completed about three quarters of his professional qualifications.

  ‘We want to try and build our own house when we’re married,’ gushed Gaby. ‘It’d be so much cheaper than buying one. Your generation got all the cheap property. If we could just find a little bit of land we could get started.’

  ‘And when do you plan to get married? Or is that all a long way in the future?’ Claudia imagined with Douglas’s training taking another couple of years it would probably be a lengthy engagement which, given how short a time they had known each other, would surely be a good thing.

  ‘June,’ announced Gaby, standing back after she’d dropped the bombshell.

  ‘June?’ Both her parents echoed in unison. ‘What, this June?’

  ‘Exactly,’ confirmed Gaby. ‘And we’d like to get married here in Minsley. Douglas’s parents retired to Australia and that’s so far none of our friends would be able to come, so we thought Minsley would be perfect.’

  Claudia was still recovering from the shock.

  ‘Maybe we could nip down and look at the parish church tomorrow, Mum?’

  ‘But Dad and I don’t go to church.’

  ‘Neither do we. I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. I just feel marriages in church are more likely to last. You got married in church, presumably?’

  ‘Registry office, actually. We met in the Sixties, remember, or maybe it was the Seventies?’

  ‘Your brain is probably addled by all those drugs. I’d forgotten you were dangerous radicals. Didn’t Dad get arrested?’

  ‘For legitimate protest,’ Don insisted to Douglas.

  What a long time ago it all seemed.

  ‘You wouldn’t want us to do that, though, would you?’

  ‘What, get arrested?’

  ‘Get married in a registry office. If it were church, your friend Ella could do the flowers; she’s very into nature, as I recall.’

  ‘Mainly vegetables, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Maybe we could have a vegetable theme; that’d be quite a laugh, wouldn’t it, hon?’

  ‘Yes, it would,’ Douglas agreed, looking deeply dubious.

  ‘Look,’ Gaby offered generously, ‘we’d like a smallish wedding in church with the reception in the garden, then, in the evening, you could invite all your friends – the coven would have to come – we’ll have a huge party in the orchard full of all your oldie mates. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

  Claudia could see Don was calculating the cost.

  ‘That sounds lovely.’ Claudia had to admit this was a generous offer, even if they were paying for it. How many people these days let their parents invite their own friends?

  Claudia noticed someone waving from the corner by the bar. It was Betty. Claudia went over to her and invited her to join them.

  ‘Betty, this is Gaby, my daughter, and her fiancé Douglas. They’ve just announced their surprise engagement.’

  Claudia raised her eyebrow a millimetre and knew that Betty would instantly understand.

  ‘Wonderful, this calls for champagne!’

  ‘Betty, you mustn’t,’ Claudia began.

  ‘Nonsense, I won at bingo yesterday. Though heaven alone knows what the champagne will be like here.’

  ‘Betty knows a thing or two about champagne. She used to be a Bluebell Girl.’

  ‘What’s a Bluebell Girl?’ asked Gaby.

  ‘A chorus girl at the Paris Lido. All high-kicks and feathers. They were incredibly famous.’

  ‘Wow. Cool. Like Kylie Minogue on tour.’ The champagne arrived and they all toasted the engaged couple.

  Claudia suddenly noticed Daniel was in the pub as well. He was raising his glass in a silent toast.

  ‘Who’s the handsome old geezer at the bar?’ Gaby whispered. ‘Not your secret lover, I hope.’

  ‘No secrets in a village like this,’ Betty boomed. ‘Everyone knows who’s doing what to whom even before they do it. Now,’ to Claudia’s gratitude she changed the subject swiftly, ‘where did you two lovebirds meet?’

  There was a brief silence before Douglas answered for both of them.

  ‘On the Internet. It’s where everyone meets these days.’

  Claudia suppresse
d her shock. She’d always thought it was oddballs and losers who met that way. Sal had had various online romances and they had all been disastrous.

  ‘You don’t have to waste all that time meeting people in bars and then finding you don’t like them,’ Gaby enthused. ‘When you meet online you can hook up with someone you’re really suited to.’

  ‘Ah.’ Betty nodded. ‘The trouble was, I never fell for anyone I was remotely suited to.’

  ‘Who knows,’ Claudia pointed out, trying to put a positive spin on things, even though she was shocked, ‘our generation didn’t do so well, did we, with all that divorce? Maybe finding each other on the Internet will be a better bet.’

  ‘Yes,’ Betty persisted, ‘but what about eyes meeting across a crowded room and all that?’

  ‘There’s still Speed Dating, I suppose,’ consoled Gaby. ‘That’s face to face.’

  ‘I am very, very glad I’m too old for speed dating,’ announced Betty.

  The next morning, Gaby was as good as her word. Instead of staying in bed till noon, she was up by nine and sitting at the kitchen table with her iPad. ‘I thought we could nip down and have a look at the church this morning and then check out this place that does amazing marquee hire. It’s called the Flying Carpet Company. Look, Mum,’ she pointed out the exotic desert tent on her screen, ‘they can set up tents to seat a hundred, with bar and dance floor included, and it’s only four thousand seven hundred pounds!’

  Claudia caught Don’s eye across the cereal. They hadn’t even talked about who was going to pay for this surprise wedding, or how much it might cost.

  If they were shocked by that there were more surprises in store. They were stunned at the sight of their daughter Gaby transformed into Bridezilla, devoting her every waking moment to venues and guest lists, party favour websites and bridesmaids outfits.

  Claudia kept trying to find a chance to talk to Douglas and to get to know him a bit. ‘Fancy a stroll with me and Vito into the village, Douglas?’ she enquired hopefully.

  Douglas said he had a few emails to catch up with.

  ‘I’ll come!’ Gaby announced. ‘Isn’t he absolutely gorgeous?’ she demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.

  ‘He seems very nice, but how long have you actually known him?’

  ‘Long enough to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Look, Mum, this isn’t one of my endless enthusiasms. He’s fun, and serious, he cares about the same things I do, we talk endlessly, we both want children . . .’

  Claudia had to admit that did sound promising.

  ‘But why get married? Couldn’t you just live together?’

  ‘Get you; you really are an old hippie, aren’t you? Most parents would jump at the idea of marriage. Look at the statistics: people who’re married stay together longer than if they just live together.’ She stopped and stared at Claudia. ‘You’re just frightened we’ll get divorced, aren’t you, and that’ll be more hassle than if we just cohabit?’

  This was so true that Claudia was embarrassed to even admit it.

  ‘Well, we won’t, OK?’ And with that Gaby was able to turn her full attention to what really mattered: the search for The Dress.

  ‘Do you mind if we come down again next weekend, Mum?’ she asked gaily. ‘There’s a Wedding Fayre at Igden Manor I’d like to check out.’

  Claudia gave a thought to the phlegmatic fiancé and wondered how he was taking all of this. She just hoped he didn’t wait till the wedding day and then disappear off to an unknown destination. To be frank, she wouldn’t blame him. She’d quite like to herself.

  ‘How are we going to pay for all this?’ Don asked Claudia in bed that night. ‘There’s been no mention of his lot chipping in, I see. I’d have thought in this day and age they might come up with half.’

  ‘Traditionally, it’s the bride who pays, or sometimes, if they’re earning enough, the couple themselves, but that isn’t Gaby or Douglas.’

  ‘But we’re old retired people on a fixed income,’ Don moaned. ‘Besides, she’s only known him five minutes. How do we know the marriage is going to last?’

  ‘We don’t. We have to trust them. We’ll just have to find it from the downsizing money. If I was prepared to leave London, even though I didn’t want to, we should at least be prepared to pay for our daughter’s wedding.’

  ‘Well, I think she should pay for it herself.’

  ‘Oh, Don, for God’s sake, be realistic. Remember what they all tell us: we were the lucky ones who had cheap houses and lots of jobs.’

  ‘Well, I don’t feel lucky.’ Don turned his back and when Claudia tentatively put a hand on his back to make peace, he shook her off.

  Sal splashed cold water on her face, combed the wig and reapplied her make-up with extra care. One of her fellow patients had told her about eyebrow tattooing and she’d had her eyeliner done for good measure. It was expensive but so effective and morale-boosting it had to be worth it.

  When she had arrived at the office in Kensal Green, she headed through reception at New Grey and on towards her office.

  ‘Oh, Ms Grainger, Sal,’ the receptionist called to her, ‘there’s a young woman to see you.’

  ‘What’s her name?’ Sal wasn’t expecting anyone and she certainly wasn’t in the mood to chat with some hopeful who’d dropped in on the off chance of a job or a commission.

  The receptionist consulted her log. ‘Her name is Lara Olsen.’

  Sal shrugged. She didn’t know anyone of that name and she was much too busy; besides, she felt like the living dead. She also had an urgent meeting in less than half an hour. ‘Could you tell her I can’t see her? I’m very sorry, but I’m really pushed today. Ask her to make an appointment to come another time.’

  Sal glanced across at the very moment the unexpected visitor looked up and smiled.

  She was around forty, conservatively dressed, slim and neat, with blonde hair and startling pale blue-green eyes.

  Sal thought for a moment she might faint, and this time it was nothing to do with the cancer.

  They were eyes that she would never forget. Except that, back then, they had been on someone completely different.

  CHAPTER 22

  ‘Ms Olsen? Lara?’

  Keep calm, Sal told herself, her heart beating wildly, you could be imagining this. Yet some deep and unshakeable instinct told her that she wasn’t, that this was a moment she had been waiting for ever since she had left Oslo all those years ago.

  She could see that the meeting room at the end of the corridor was empty and suggested they go there.

  With quiet self-possession the young woman got up and followed her.

  Once inside, Sal closed the door.

  They stood for a moment in complete silence.

  Finally, it was Lara who spoke first. ‘I am so sorry to arrive like this out of the blue.’ Her English was flawless, almost unaccented, only something in the rhythm could have indicated she was foreign. ‘Only I wondered if I could ask you a couple of questions?’

  ‘What about?’ Sal felt panic rush towards her, knocking her from her feet, threatening to pull her under. It was too much! She wasn’t strong enough for this.

  ‘You will see. I am sorry to be so mysterious.’

  ‘Ask away.’ Sal’s throat was drying up with the tension.

  ‘Were you an au pair in Oslo in 1969?’

  Sal looked away. She was ill. Maybe seriously ill. She was holding her life together by a thread. She had no energy or emotion to spare. Every last drop was needed just for survival.

  ‘No.’ She could see the desperate hope in Lara’s eyes, yet couldn’t respond to it.

  ‘A language student, then?’

  ‘No.’ I’m sorry, Lara, I can’t do this!

  ‘You did not live with a family in Oslo named Bergsen?’

  Sal was beginning to feel dizzy and feared she might faint.

  The old cruel symptoms of nausea and hunger were back. Her hands and feet felt like ice.
>
  She shook her head.

  Lara’s eyes fixed on hers for what seemed an endless moment. Despite her self-possession, Sal could see the stark need, the lifelong desire for authentication and identity.

  Lara held out a hand. ‘I am sorry I have wasted your time. There must have been a misunderstanding.’ She picked up her shoulder bag and her coat. ‘Goodbye.’ She held Sal’s gaze for one final moment as if she might add something more. ‘And good luck.’

  As Lara walked quickly from the room, not looking back, Sal’s hand half lifted in a gesture of protest and appeal, then fell back again. She sat down heavily, held on to the table and wept, unaware of time passing.

  She wept for the fear she had tried so hard to keep at bay, for the loneliness of holding it inside and not sharing it even with Ella or Claudia or Laura, her closest friends, and lastly for the hole in her life where love and family might have been if things had been different.

  And here, today, she had been offered a chance to fill that chasm and she had been too frightened to take it.

  The insanity of her response suddenly overwhelmed her.

  I’ve had poison pumped into my veins, I’ve lost my hair, felt worse than I have in my whole life, and now I’ve been offered this incredible gift and I turned it down; am I completely nuts?

  She rushed out of the room to the reception desk at the front of the office.

  ‘My visitor! Is she still here?’

  The receptionist looked blank.

  ‘Youngish, short blonde hair . . .’

  ‘Ms Olsen? She left about five minutes ago. She asked for directions to the tube.’

  Sal ran out into the street as if Lara might still be visible but there was no sign of her. She had vanished into the crowds and Sal had no idea where she was staying or even where she lived.

  ‘Are you all right, Sally?’ asked Michael Williams, who was on his way out to a meeting. ‘You’re looking incredibly pale.’

  Sal willed herself not to faint. ‘Yes, thanks, Michael, I’m fine.’

  She walked back to her office, despair dogging her footsteps.

  It was too late.

  The rest of the morning passed in a blur of regret and misery, which she disguised, as she so often did, in intense activity.