‘Lovely design,’ she says eventually.
‘Yes, Eamon knew the printer.’
‘I’d love to come, Alice,’ she smiles, placing the invitation slowly on the table.
‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ I say. ‘Bring Malcolm with you.’
Laren looks at the floor. ‘Actually, Alice, Malcolm’s moved out. We’re getting divorced.’
‘Oh no, I’m so sorry!’ I exclaim.
‘There’s no need to be, Alice,’ Laren says softly. ‘We were driving each other up the wall. We should never have got married really. In fact, looking back I’m not quite sure why we did.’
‘I see you still have the terrapins,’ I say, feeling a sudden desperate urge to change the topic of conversation.
‘Yes, he’s going to collect them one of these days. Funnily enough, I’ve grown fonder of them since he’s left.’ She lights a Gauloise and inhales it thoughtfully.
‘Do you regret marrying him?’
She frowns. ‘I think it’s pretty pointless regretting things,’ she says slowly. ‘Maybe there are some things we need to do, even if it’s only to learn they’re not for us. And anyway, he helped me to see that there’s such a thing as a wise folly.’
‘What do you mean?’
She leans on an elbow and looks at me earnestly. ‘There are some things that can seem foolish and wise at the same time. The sensible, moderate part of you shrinks from them, and yet another part of you knows they are exactly what you need. It’s a risk. You don’t know how it will work out. But you know you’ll always regret it if you don’t try.’
I lift my mug of coffee and sip it cautiously.
‘I spent so much of my life trying to make things safe, Alice,’ she continues. ‘That’s why I married Malcolm really. We met in Edinburgh. He was in a band. He was very protective and I was grateful. I was terrified of the uncertainty of life. I wanted to find a little corner where I could hide.’
‘Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt,’ I smile.
‘In fact, I wrote songs about how I was feeling and Malcolm liked them. He persuaded me to join his band. So I had to come out in the big wide world and sing at concerts. It was rather perverse really. Doing the very thing I dreaded. You know how insecure I was at school.’
‘Oh, poor Laren,’ I say.
‘But it got easier,’ Laren continues. ‘Sometimes you have to practise being brave. After a while I began to create another persona, Laren Brassière. I called her that because I’d always wanted a bigger bust. She was everything I wasn’t. Her songs became more feisty. She really didn’t give a shit. Hiding behind her I didn’t care if people liked me or not. In fact I encouraged them to find me outrageous. It was strangely liberating, but now I’ve had to let that go too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it was beginning to become a trap. I was still hiding really. Not being myself. It’s so easy to slip into roles and then people, and eventually you yourself, believe they’re you.’
She plays with her lighter. ‘I used to think life was like a jigsaw, Alice. I thought you spent your time looking for the pieces to put together and when you had them all, things made sense. But the thing is, when you get to the sky bit – the real mysteries – the colours tend to look the same. You just have to keep exploring, I suppose. Experimenting. Because in the end it’s not about shapes or patterns but what fits in your heart.’ She looks at me earnestly. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ I nod sadly. ‘I think I’m just beginning to.’
‘And so now I’m going to have to become Laren MacDermott all over again,’ she sighs cheerfully. ‘Not the old Laren, of course, but the one that seems right for now. Do you think I can do it?’
‘Absolutely,’ I smile.
‘I’m going to give up singing for a while. People think that’s crazy. They seem to think if you’re good at something you’re kind of stuck with it forever – that you have to keep doing it. Being the person it demands. But I’ve other dreams I want to follow. A friend of mine has set up a hostel in Paris for battered women. I’m going to help her run it. That is my wise folly.’
‘What?’ This news certainly surprises me.
‘It’s not a new thing, Alice,’ she explains. ‘I’ve done a lot of benefit concerts for women’s hostels, both here and abroad. I have this wish to protect women somehow. Maybe it’s because I so often feel lost and bewildered myself.’
‘Do you?’ I look at her, surprised. ‘You seem so confident now, Laren. So assertive.’
‘Do I?’ she smiles. ‘It’s good to know I’m a good actress.’ She picks up my invitation from the table and starts to flick it in her hands. Part of the gold edging is coming off on her fingers. ‘I suppose I do feel those things sometimes, Alice,’ she says dreamily. ‘More often than when I was a schoolgirl anyway. But I still get that feeling sometimes.’
‘What feeling?’
‘You know, that everybody, simply everybody, has their lives worked out apart from me. It’s ridiculous, of course. I know they haven’t. But part of me still believes it.’
‘I know the feeling exactly,’ I sigh. ‘In fact, I was even rather scared of meeting you today because of it.’
‘Oh, Alice, we’re a pair, aren’t we?’ Laren giggles. ‘I don’t think we’ve changed as much as we might think. I wrote a song about us you know. About how we used to stare at neon tetras in my aquarium.’
‘I know you did. I heard it,’ I smile. ‘It was nice.’
‘Let’s have some wine,’ Laren announces suddenly.
‘Would you mind if I didn’t, Laren?’ I say slowly, putting a hand protectively on my stomach before I’ve realized I’m doing it. ‘I – I don’t feel like it just now.’ As I say this I decide not to mention that I might be pregnant. I can tell her in good time if it’s true.
‘OK, but I think I’ll have a glass myself,’ she says, padding barefooted into the kitchen. When she returns she sits on her cushion again. ‘I’ve something to tell you, Alice,’ she says, leaning forwards on her cushion conspiratorially. ‘One of the reasons I’m going to Paris is because of a man called Gustave.’
‘Mmmm – sounds intriguing,’ I reply.
‘Yes, and before you get envious I should mention he’s seventy and a retired professor. He’s got wrinkles and a beer belly and hardly any hair. He makes the most awful puns and doesn’t even speak English properly. But he’s my Wonderful Man, Alice. Isn’t that amazing!’
‘How did you meet?’ I ask, flabbergasted. Gustave sounds as unlike Leonard Whiting as a man could get.
‘It was in a bookshop in the Latin Quarter. I looked at him and he looked at me and that was it. Just like in the films. We had a coffee together and that’s how it started. Isn’t it funny, Alice – the things that are most important are often the hardest to articulate. In fact, sitting here I cannot tell you why I love him. But I do.’
‘Oh, Laren, how – how spendid!’ I say. Though I never dreamt Laren would fall in love with a man like Gustave, she has and I feel pleased for her. Genuinely delighted and relieved that one of us at least has stayed true to our earlier yearnings.
‘Oh, Alice, I hope you and Eamon will be very happy,’ she’s saying now, suddenly hugging me fiercely, protectively, as if somehow fearful.
‘We’re going to the Algarve on our honeymoon,’ I find myself mumbling. ‘The Algarve’s supposed to be nice, isn’t it? Have you ever been there?’
She doesn’t reply and after that we get on with the interview. I refer to the questions in my notebook and Laren answers them as best she can. Her answers are not the whole story, of course. Language is only what can be named. That’s one of the reasons life can seem so mysterious sometimes I suppose…all the things we haven’t words for.
‘Thanks so much, Laren,’ I say, as we finish the interview. ‘That was great. We’ll have to get a nice photo of you now. Would you mind if a photographer came round here?’
‘No, not at all,’ Laren rep
lies.
I start to collect my belongings. Then, as I get up to leave Laren looks at me strangely. ‘Alice, if you ever need a place to stay in Paris you could stay with me and Gustave,’ she says. ‘He has a beautiful house near the Champs-Élysées.’
‘I doubt if I’ll be needing a pied à terre in Paris for a while,’ I smile resignedly. ‘But if I do, I’d love to stay with you both.’
‘Isn’t there an art college in Paris you wanted to go to?’ Laren continues.
‘Yes, there is,’ I say. Remembering it now is like recalling a lost dream. One of quite a number I seem to have accumulated. As Laren and I say goodbye and promise to ring each other soon I suddenly feel desperately sad, but I mustn’t cry. If I started crying I’m not sure that I could stop, and I have no wish to flood her apartment.
On the way home I look for the kingfisher again and think of Cyril. Poor old Cyril, how he would have loved to fly beside the river, to test his wings. Perching on a branch of some tall tree would have seemed so wonderful after the confines of his cage. But that one time he did escape his cage he just flew back to it. He just didn’t have the courage to face his own freedom.
We seem to have even more in common than I’d thought.
Chapter 31
I have made a startling discovery. My mother did not throw out the romantic novel that so fascinated me when I was eight. The book she brought with her to the B&B with the bouncing bedsprings. The one called Moonlight with Tarquin Galbraith and Posy looking like they wanted to eat each other on the cover. I found it just now when I was packing. It was in a box of oddments from my parents’ house.
I pick it up with disbelief. When I open it I see my mother has written something on the inside page. ‘For Alice if she ever finds this, and I hope she does,’ it says. ‘For even at eight she knew that people need their dreams.’ In the middle of its pages is a picture of my mother and father that had been taken at some dance. They are grey-haired and old. My mother’s cheek is pressed against my father’s face. Her eyes are closed and there is a small smile of happiness on her lips. It seems to me, as I look at that photo, that there is much more love in it than in the picture of Posy and Tarquin. This is the love of long attainment. So different to the romantic notions I’d had when I was a girl that I hadn’t even seen it was there. But my parents had their first four passionate years too, and I won’t even have those with Eamon. How – how could I have thought I could be contented without them?
I sit in my bedroom, numb with yearning, the tears I couldn’t cry with Laren welling up in my eyes. I go into the kitchen. As soon as I get there I can’t remember why. So I sit down and throw myself despairingly at the table. Every so often I reach for the man-sized Kleenex. I may well have to swim out of here, but I don’t care. And then someone taps me on the shoulder. I look up. It’s Liam.
‘What is it, Alice?’ he asks, his face clouded with concern.
‘Nothing,’ I sniff abjectly. ‘How did you get in?’
‘You left the front door open.’
‘I couldn’t have.’
‘You did.’
‘Why are you here?’ I look at him cautiously.
‘I saw you crying from my window.’
‘I knew I should have put up those net curtains,’ I mumble.
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I sigh.
Liam sits down beside me. He puts his hand on mine. I do not pull away. His kindness is making me sob again. ‘Do tell me what it is, Alice,’ he says. ‘I can’t bear to see you this sad.’
‘I’m getting married.’ I try to say it calmly, but it comes out as something of a wail.
‘Yes, Elsie mentioned that,’ Liam says solemnly.
‘I’ve had a lot to adjust to lately. I suppose I’ve just got some pre-wedding nerves,’ I explain, rather unconvincingly.
Liam doesn’t reply.
‘How silly of me to leave the door open like that,’ I find myself adding. ‘Anyone could have walked in.’ He just smiles. He’s looking at me tenderly. There’s a kindness to Liam. An understanding. I knew that the first moment I saw him, though I pretended that I didn’t. There’s a shorthand between us. It’s always been there and it frightens me. He’s the kind of person you can’t hide from. The kind of person you could love…
No. No. What am I thinking? He’s just the man next door. He’s too young for me, and anyway he’s about to marry Elsie. But he is a good neighbour. I turn towards him gratefully.
‘Liam, thank you for trying to cheer me up,’ I say, dabbing my eyes in a businesslike manner. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Well, actually, I was going to suggest we go for a walk,’ he replies.
‘A walk?’ I frown. ‘A walk where?’
‘To the University Botanical Gardens – the place you wrote about in the local paper. I visited them yesterday to get a bit of advice about my philodendrons. I saw something I think would please you.’
‘Oh, have they got their rare plants on display?’ I ask, feeling slightly less desolate. ‘I was rather intrigued by some of the orchids the head gardener mentioned.’
‘You’ll just have to wait and see, Alice,’ Liam replies. ‘Do come with me. It would do you good to get out and about.’
‘Just for an hour then,’ I say, glancing at my watch. ‘I’ve piles of packing to do and I’ve got to practise my putting.’
‘Practise what?’ Liam asks, eyebrows raised.
‘My putting. Eamon and I are going to play golf on our honeymoon.’
Silence. ‘I didn’t know you played golf, Alice,’ Liam says eventually.
‘Well, I don’t really. I mean, I haven’t up until now. A lot of people seem to enjoy it.’
‘Yes, it’s a very nice hobby,’ Liam agrees. ‘I play a bit of it myself.’
‘Do you? Maybe you could join us sometime.’
Liam doesn’t reply.
At the Botanical Gardens we walk around the glasshouses admiring the orchids and the many other exotic plants. The succulent section has really grown since I saw it last. And there’s a new ‘passiflora’ – that is, passion flower, which is a most unusual colour. It’s nice strolling under palm trees and vines.
‘This walk was a good suggestion, Liam,’ I say. ‘Plants are so very uplifting.’
‘Bollocks,’ he replies with uncharacteristic vehemence.
I look at him sharply. ‘So you’ve found you don’t like gardening then. I suppose it’s not to everybody’s taste.’
‘Bollocks.’ This expletive fills the glasshouse, only Liam isn’t saying it. He’s holding my arm. He’s pointing to the top of a palm tree.
‘Look up there, Alice,’ he whispers excitedly. ‘See anything familiar?’
I look. All I see is the tree itself. The trunk, the branches, the huge green leaves. What seems like the beginnings of small fruit. And then – is it? Is that a small blue bird perching on the very top looking coyly down at us? ‘Bollocks!’ he’s screeching, louder than ever.
‘This can’t be true,’ I say. ‘This kind of thing doesn’t happen. Pinch me, Liam. I’m dreaming.’
‘No, you’re not, Alice. It’s true.’
‘Cyril!’ I exclaim, overjoyed. ‘It’s Cyril!’ I’m tugging at Liam’s jumper. ‘Look Liam, look – it’s Cyril.’
‘I know, that’s why I brought you here,’ he smiles.
Cyril is flying around the glasshouse now, showing off a bit. Dipping and diving, soaring and gliding. He recognizes us. I’m sure he does.
‘How did he get here? It seems so – so strange.’
‘Not really when you think about it,’ Liam says. ‘The gardens are only five minutes away from his previous residence, and there are bird feeders all over the place. What’s more, there’s a small aviary beside one of the glasshouses. Cyril probably hoped he’d make new friends.’
‘But – but I thought Tarquin had eaten him,’ I say, dumbfounded.
‘So did I,’ Liam says, grinning. ‘But if you reme
mber, Mrs Peabody only saw the feathers in Tarquin’s mouth. That’s the only evidence she had. Cyril must have escaped somehow. The gardener here said that when he arrived he looked as though he’d lost some feathers. They’ve obviously grown back.’
‘Oh, clever Cyril,’ I call out. ‘Good for you! You’re a hero.’
‘Yes, he’s certainly a clever budgie,’ Liam agrees. ‘He flies into the glasshouse through an air vent. They even leave out seed for him. He’s found one of the few places in Dublin where he can live in freedom. He’s found his version of the Australian outback after all.’
‘Goodness, who would have thought it,’ I say, gazing at Cyril in wonderment.
‘He does fly around outside as well. Some people think he’s a kingfisher when they see that flash of blue in the distance.’
‘Yes, that’s what Annie thought when she saw him,’ I say, leaning against Liam happily. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me here, Liam.’ I give him a grateful kiss on the cheek.
My joy is making me forget for a moment that he and I are just neighbours. Special moments like this demand intimacy – a sense of wonder shared. Liam must be feeling this too because he’s gently wrapping his arms around me. They feel so warm. So comforting. This is nice. I could do with a good hug. We’re pressed so close together. I can feel his breath in my hair. Goodness, I haven’t felt like this in ages. So at ease, so right with someone. I could stay here all day like this. It’s wonderful.
‘Oh, Alice,’ I hear him say, sadly, longingly, as I pull away from him. We’re looking into each other’s eyes. No one has ever looked at me the way Liam is looking at me now. For a moment I am not aware of anything else, just his deep dark, beautiful eyes staring into mine. And what he sees there must say ‘yes’ because he is now leaning towards me. His mouth is hungrily, yearningly, seeking out my own. We are kissing each other. Long, deep, passionate kisses that send tingles through every little bit of me. We’re melting together like pieces of each other’s jigsaw. We fit – we make sense. It’s like…
No. No…what can I be thinking of! I tear myself away from him. I wipe my mouth, desperate to remove his kiss.
Wise Follies Page 26