Growing Up for Beginners

by Claire Calman

  ‘So…’ This was the bit he hated, where you had to ask someone for their number. But the tree! Hurrah for the tree. ‘We forgot to talk about the tree in the end. Should I email you perhaps about the pruning? Or if you want to give me your number…?’ He took out his phone.

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll remember which branches we decided should go. I think I can make Ma see that it’s fair enough. I can organise it.’

  ‘I can contribute to the cost of—’

  ‘No, it’s OK, thanks.’

  ‘Oh. Well, this was nice.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled at him, but she looked suddenly rather sad. ‘It was.’

  ‘Er, look, I’m not much good at this, but would you like to come out again with me? I mean properly – for – for – supper or something?’

  ‘Hmm. Well…’

  What on earth did that mean? Still, it wasn’t a straight no. He quickly paid the bill and came out onto the street with her. She stood there, slowly winding her scarf around her neck and fiddling with her coat buttons.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said, as if asking for her opinion on a technical matter.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like you.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I know – don’t tell me – you’ve just started seeing someone so it’s bad timing, I get it.’

  ‘No.’ She looked straight at him, frowning. ‘That’s not it at all. I thought you were seeing someone else, actually.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to sound at all heavy when I’ve only just met you, but the last man I was with cheated on me and I don’t want to waste time with someone who’s going to be like that.’

  ‘But I’m so not like that. What on earth makes you think that?’

  ‘When I asked about your lunch, you were kind of evasive…’ She looked embarrassed now. ‘I presumed you must be meeting a girlfriend. You looked so guilty. It’s none of my business, I know, because I barely know you, but if you are seeing someone, it would be better if you could just tell me straight. It’s fine.’

  ‘I am not seeing anyone else, I absolutely swear it. I was living with someone, but she – we – we decided to call it a day, and I’m moving on with my life. The lunch thing – I can see I must have sounded suspicious. Look, no big deal. It was just that my mum’s expecting me for lunch and I thought… I thought it sounded a bit pathetic and uncool, having lunch with my parents rather than doing what you’re doing – heading out somewhere trendy with your mates. I was embarrassed, that’s all.’

  She smiled then, and the smile radiated across her whole face.

  ‘Not pathetic at all. My sister and I go to our mum’s for brunch most Sundays. It’s a nice thing to do.’

  ‘So it’s OK then?’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘And I can call you?’

  ‘Please do.’ She reached into her bag. ‘Here’s my card then.’ It said Olivia Herbert, Private Tutor, with a small drawing of an acorn with an oak leaf. And, more to the point, her landline, mobile, and email details.

  ‘Nice drawing. You said your mother is an artist – did she do it?’

  ‘No, I did that one. It’s just a scribble really.’

  ‘It’s very good. Anyway…’ Andrew held the card up as if it were a winning raffle ticket, ‘thank you. And I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘You will.’ She smiled once more, then turned and walked away. He watched her for a minute, until she half-turned and waved, and he waved back and managed not to walk into any trees as he headed towards home.

  23

  Being Normal

  ‘Mmm, that was so good.’ Cecilia pushed away her plate and scrunched up her paper napkin. ‘I’ve no idea how you’ve managed to turn yourself into such a good cook, Olivia. You certainly don’t get it from me. It’s lovely to be cooked for.’

  The girls had come over for a midweek supper.

  ‘It’s only practice – there’s no magic secret. Talking of which, may I take some of your cooking apples? I want to make a crumble.’

  ‘Take, take – of course. Please take lots. There might be a few still on the tree if you can reach them, or there are plenty stored in boxes up in the spare room. Help yourself.’

  Olivia went upstairs and returned with an armful of apples, individually wrapped in newspaper for storage.

  ‘Ursula made an… interesting salad using some of them with linseed and alfalfa sprouts… but it wasn’t quite…’

  ‘God preserve us from the Ursuline salads, especially the “interesting” ones,’ Madeleine said.

  The girls had long been in the habit of turning the names of their mother’s friends into adjectives: Ursuline for any dish that contained too many seeds or sprouting ingredients, Thalian for basketry and woven horrors, Lillianic for items of clothing that might be inventive but more suitable for fancy dress than for popping out to the shops.

  ‘Well, not perhaps her finest hour in the kitchen.’ Cecilia filled the kettle to make some coffee and turned to speak over her shoulder. ‘So, are you making crumble for a young man?’ She did her camped-up Lady Bracknell voice so that Olivia would know that she was only joking and not actually being nosy about her daughter’s love life.

  ‘Oh, Ma.’

  ‘I was only asking. Many daughters might be pleased that their mothers show an interest in their love lives.’

  Olivia sighed and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Liv only doesn’t like it because if she tells you about her boyfriend—’

  ‘Mads!’

  ‘—then she knows you’d be bound to ask her if he’s any good in bed,’ Madeleine continued.

  ‘Oh God, spare me, please. He’s not my boyfriend, anyway.’

  ‘I can’t understand why you’re such a prude, Olivia.’ Cecilia scraped out the old coffee grounds into the compost bucket and reached for the coffee jar. ‘I tried to raise you to be completely relaxed and open about sex. What could be more natural, after all?’

  ‘At least I’m not uptight about it,’ Maddy said.

  ‘I’m not uptight. And I’m not a prude, Ma. You’re deliberately missing the point. As usual. Just because I don’t particularly want to talk about that stuff—’

  ‘That stuff! You’re resorting to euphemisms! Surely you can at least utter the word “sex”?’

  ‘Good grief. Sex, sex, SEX! – OK? But just because I don’t want to talk about sex with my mother does not make me a prude. It’s called having boundaries and it’s completely normal in other families, I assure you.’

  Cecilia rolled her eyes.

  ‘Oh, normal. Thank goodness for that. God forbid you should ever depart from convention.’

  ‘That’s so unfair. Just because I don’t feel the need to show off my eccentricity like a bizarre badge of honour, you dismiss me as conventional. And, anyway, what if I like being normal? Maybe I want to have a normal life and get married to a normal, straight man and have two children by the same father and have a normal sofa with proper cushions instead of this stupid chaise longue, which is all saggy in the middle, and this bloody throw that’s always falling onto the bloody floor!’ Olivia crossed the room and picked up the throw and dumped it on the chaise in a heap instead of spreading it out neatly as she usually would.

  ‘I really like the chaise longue,’ Madeleine said.

  ‘Bigger picture, Mads.’

  Cecilia was silent for a few moments, then said, ‘I didn’t realise you girls minded so much.’

  ‘What?’ Olivia had inevitably picked up the throw again and was carefully arranging it over the chaise to hide the rather worn upholstery.

  ‘About having different fathers.’

  ‘I don’t think about it really.’ Madeleine shrugged. ‘We’ve never met them so at least we’re in the same boat.’

  Olivia came and sat back down at the kitchen table.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mads. You know I think of you as my sister not my half-sister. That bit doesn’t make any
difference to me. And Dad is Dad. I’m not saying I would ever wish he were someone else, it’s not that…’ Olivia fiddled with an abandoned toast crust on her side plate. ‘Sometimes it’s hard, wondering if he might be out there somewhere, that’s all. He must be quite old by now and I hate the thought that he might be ill – or dying – and that I wouldn’t even know. I don’t even know what he looks like. At least Mads has that photo of her dad.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You know I don’t have a photo.’ Cecilia pushed the coffee pot towards Olivia, as if to compensate somehow.

  ‘I do know. It’s just that it’s difficult to imagine someone when you’ve never even seen them. It’s all so abstract – just this idea of a man you once had a bit of a fling with.’

  Cecilia stood up to forage in the cupboards for some chocolate.

  ‘Maybe neither of your actual fathers would have been very good as fathers – did you ever consider that?’

  ‘Of course.’ Olivia nodded. ‘I accept that. And it’s not as if I’m fretting over it day and night. I love Dad to bits, anyway; you know I do. I’m better off than some of my friends who do see their actual fathers but find them really hard to talk to. That’s kind of sad.’

  All three sat in silence for a few moments, then Madeleine turned to her sister and asked, ‘Anyway, so is thingybob good in bed, or not?’

  ‘Oh, Mads, for goodness’ sake. I’ve just met the man.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Cecilia perked up. ‘Is who good in bed?’

  ‘Now look what you’ve done.’ Olivia glared at her sister and stood up to clear some things from the table. ‘Not helpful.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry! I won’t say another word, I promise.’ Cecilia drained her coffee and sat back. ‘Boundaries, boundaries. I accept that it’s your prerogative if you prefer to be secretive.’

  ‘Not secretive, Mother – private. Not the same thing.’

  Cecilia waved the assertion away.

  ‘Of course it’s the same thing.’

  ‘No, it really isn’t. I’ve just met someone recently and I reserve the right not to offer the poor man up to be picked over by you two prurient vultures.’

  ‘I’m not prurient.’ Maddy swung round to face Olivia at the sink. ‘I just want to know if he’s a good fuck.’

  Olivia snorted with laughter and briefly covered her face with her hands. ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘Now, Madeleine, you must allow Olivia to keep her secrets if she chooses to. Not everyone is equally comfortable with the unrestrained, animalistic side of sexual intercourse—’

  ‘Aaaaargggh!’ Madeleine covered her ears. ‘I hate the word “intercourse”. You couldn’t come up with a less sexy word if you tried. Horrors.’

  ‘For crying out loud, Mother, I’m perfectly comfortable with myself sexually, thank you very much. I just don’t want to talk about my sex life with my mother and sister, OK?’

  ‘And to be fair, you’ve hardly had a sex life for ages, have you?’ Maddy chipped in. ‘Not since Jeremy with the awful earring, really?’

  ‘Not everyone feels the need to leap into bed with every man who crosses their path.’

  ‘Ouch. Bit harsh, Olivia. Be kind, girls.’

  ‘You know what I mean. There’s nothing wrong in waiting a bit.’

  ‘But if they’re good in bed, better to crack on with it so you get the benefit. Or, if they’re crapola, you might as well know it sooner rather than later so you can jump ship and move on.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t quite put it that way…’ Cecilia began.

  ‘So you haven’t even slept with whatsisface yet?’

  ‘Andrew. No, strangely enough – because we have only had coffee together once and talked on the phone. We haven’t even had our first date yet, though obviously I will call you both to consult with you beforehand about where we should go, what we should talk about, and which pants I should wear because, clearly, these things all fall within your joint jurisdiction.’

  Cecilia laughed.

  ‘Lord, that reminds me of the time I went to meet this chap without any knickers on and I—’

  ‘Ma, I’m sorry to have to interrupt you but I really have to make a move now. I’ve got some work to prepare.’

  ‘Of course, dear. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’

  Olivia sighed and went and put on her coat.

  ‘Why don’t you bring him here for tea or brunch or something? I promise to try to be as “normal” as possible. He’s very welcome. We can have cake. Bought, from a proper shop – not homemade – so no need to panic.’

  ‘And I’ll come too. I can be normal, I promise.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. I don’t want to frighten him off.’

  ‘Ooh – Liv’s in love!’

  ‘No, I’m not. There’s no rush, that’s all.’

  ‘Livvy’s in luuuuuurrrvve.’

  ‘Oh, grow up.’

  ‘Madeleine, don’t tease her about this sort of thing. You know your sister likes to keep her love life under wraps.’

  ‘I give up.’

  24

  Elope with a Dwarf

  Every few weeks or so, Roger had to fly over to Jersey to pay court to some of his most important, i.e., wealthiest, clients. He often travelled much further afield for business – to Dubai, Moscow, Beijing – but it was his Jersey trips that he seemed to relish the most, and he rarely resisted an opportunity to regale Eleanor with the many pleasures on offer there: the yachts, the clay-pigeon shooting, the piled-high platters of fruits de mer, the vintage Krug Champagne.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I think there’s anything terribly wrong with this house, darling,’ Roger said, half-reclining on the bed while his wife packed his suitcase, although she had not commented much beyond the occasional ‘Gosh!’ or ‘Really!’ ‘It’s perfectly adequate for our needs, after all, but really you should see Robert’s spread over there. Or Alec’s: eight guest suites – eight! Robert has two pools, indoor and outdoor, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Grass tennis court. Just think of the maintenance costs alone!’

  ‘Awful.’

  Roger rattled on in this vein for some time and Eleanor let her thoughts drift elsewhere while she checked that there was enough deodorant and shaving foam in his sponge bag, and neatly folded his clothes. She was wondering about going away herself for a few days, perhaps even a whole week, to have time to draw and work on her wood engravings. Back to Suffolk maybe, or to North Yorkshire, where they had once had a family holiday some years ago but never returned. Roger was voluble on the shortcomings of holidaying in the UK, and he snorted when Eleanor enthused about dry-stone walls or the silhouette of an ancient oak. She supposed it was a little ridiculous; it wasn’t as if she were a proper artist, after all, just pootling about with it when she had time. She would love to do more but what was the point? As Roger always said, it wasn’t as if you could earn a decent living from it, so why bother?

  She glanced over to see her husband staring at her, unsmiling.

  ‘You’ve gone off into one of your daydreams again,’ he sighed. ‘You know how irritating I find it when you don’t listen to me properly.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I was listening really. You were telling me about Robert’s house and his two pools and his grass tennis court.’

  ‘And what did I say after that?’

  Bollocks. I’ve no fucking idea, darling, because I was losing the will to live…

  Eleanor hesitated. Who knew? Leather floors? Kitchen with crystal worktops? Brand-shiny-new trophy wife?

  ‘Um… I know… it was about his—’

  ‘I knew you weren’t listening!’ Roger suddenly sat up straight.

  ‘I’m very sorry. It was only for a moment or two. I was concentrating on the packing. I know you like it done properly.’

  He sniffed and went and stood looking out at the garden.

  ‘We could afford a larger house ourselves, you know. With a pool, at least. Or we could exc
avate a basement here and put one down there – and a gym – maybe a cinema room too.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  For a moment or two, Eleanor thought she had simply voiced the words silently in her head as she so often did when talking with her husband. It was only Roger’s reaction that made her realise she must have spoken aloud.

  ‘There’s no need to be so bloody-minded about it, Eleanor. It’s incredibly ungrateful. Most women would jump at the chance to live somewhere grander and enjoy a better lifestyle.’

  She tried not to wince at the word ‘lifestyle’, one of her pet hates.

  ‘I only meant we have more than enough space as it is,’ she said softly, gesturing at their sizeable bedroom. ‘And with the children away now, we don’t need—’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with need. It’s a reflection of who you are, your status and so on. I work extremely hard and earn a damn good living. Why on earth shouldn’t I enjoy the fruits of it?’

  ‘I’m not saying that at all. Of course I want you to reap the benefits and be comfortable and—’

  ‘And you love swimming! I was only thinking of you.’

  ‘Well, thank you, that’s very thoughtful. But…’ She paused for a moment.

  Roger sighed. ‘There always has to be a “but” with you, darling. I can’t imagine there’s another wife in the world who wouldn’t be thrilled to bits at the thought of having their very own pool. I just don’t understand you sometimes.’

  ‘I was going to explain.’ She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself snapping at him. ‘It’s just that when I go swimming, I often see the same two or three women at the pool and we chat in the changing room and sometimes have a quick cup of tea afterwards. It’s sociable.’

  ‘You could have friends over to swim, then have coffee right here.’ He shook his head and looked back out to the garden again. ‘Go on, then – what would be your dream house? If we didn’t live here. Money no object.’

  It was rare for Roger to ask her view on something then pause long enough for her to answer, so she was caught unawares for a few moments. ‘No, let me guess. I know: a draughty old ruined castle with ridiculous turrets and crumbling stone staircases – romantic and completely impractical, with open fires and no central heating!’ He laughed.