According to YES

by Dawn French

  ‘Hmm,’ says Rosie. ‘I’d rather call you hopeful or even possibly deluded?’ He laughs easily at her teasing. She is well intentioned and he knows that it’s impossible to take offence at anything she says.

  Red is still wracking his brain, ‘Any chance of a kinda water gully log-flume?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Three pipes up, ‘or like, a huge fountain?’

  ‘I still say hot tub, y’know, for all our babes to sit in,’ Teddy tries again.

  ‘Babes, eh?’ Rosie asks. Teddy doesn’t open his eyes, but he grins and flicks his hair in mock confidence.

  Later on, Teddy wanders in to the kitchen, and while Iva is busying herself washing up, he drifts from fridge to larder to cupboard, taking out all the ingredients to make himself a super duper Scooby-Doo snack sandwich. He gets out pastrami and tomatoes and gherkins and Swiss cheese and rye bread and butter.

  As he is constructing his giant treat, Thomas ambles in. Neither speaks, they don’t need to. Thomas is humming ‘Fever’ in the style of Peggy Lee as he weighs up what Teddy is doing. He goes foraging in the cupboards and fridge himself, to see if he fancies anything. Quite a bit of time is spent with his hands in his pockets just eyeing up possible ingredients. Eventually, he commits to lettuce, cooked bacon slices, and some Monterey Jack cheese. He brings his armful of bounty over to the worktop where Teddy is building his sandwich, and slowly but surely, Thomas starts his own stacking, stealing some of Teddy’s booty and adding his own. Before too long, an unspoken sandwich war is subtly declared. Thomas is grinning, so Teddy says, ‘You seem happy,’ to which Thomas winks,

  ‘Life is looking up, kiddo.’

  Teddy finds himself suddenly and inexplicably jealous of his grandfather, and for some reason he knows he must make a bigger, better sandwich than Thomas. He revisits the larder and gradually starts slapping on the layers, pickles, white bread for stability, onions to chop into raw rings, and mustard. Thomas retaliates with crabsticks and mayo, Teddy adds a slice of meatloaf, Thomas smears peanut butter onto the underside of his last edge of bread to form the top of his sandwich. Teddy copies, then goes to the fridge and gets the ice-cream. He defiantly scoops two dollops on top of the meatloaf, adds the peanut-buttered outer slice, then gets a Morello cherry and skewers it into the very top with a toothpick. At which point Thomas respectfully shakes his grandson’s hand whilst simultaneously watching his own entire stack collapse and fall. Teddy lifts his up triumphantly, and takes a huge bite.

  ‘Awesome,’ concedes Thomas.

  ‘Make way for youth, ol’ timer. Mind you, I was taught by a Grand Master.’

  The Grand Master is picking at his fallen sandwich. True to form, after all the back-slapping, they both exit the kitchen and leave the mess for Iva to clear up.

  Glenn sits in her impressive drawing room with Betty. This room is Glenn’s favourite in the whole apartment, mainly because it is hardly ever used, so it remains in pristine condition at all times. Fifteen years ago Glenn used the services of an interior designer, the same woman who had done the refurb at The Colony Club. What Glenn really wanted was the club inside her own apartment and so, here it is, on a slightly smaller scale. The colour palette is peach and cream. There is one large peach-coloured velvet sofa and several armchairs and low Georgian chairs upholstered in paisley and tartans of peach and cream. Another Persian carpet adorns the floor and a huge glass coffee table impressively displays all the right art and travel books. As in the library, acres of expensive fabric drape and adorn the windows in huge swathes, reducing the rare and lovely light. There is a chandelier of clear glass and plenty of large side-lights on tables with cream shades. Over the never-used fireplace there is a massive ornate French mirror and plenty of tasteful, palatable art on the walls, mostly of landscapes and vases of flowers. Glenn rejected the designer’s attempt to ‘jazz up’ the colour scheme with the odd crazy maroon cushion or even the one astonishing attempt to introduce leopard skin. What the designer didn’t know about Glenn is that although, yes indeed, she is seventy-eight now, in all things domestic she prefers to be a hundred and twenty, thank you.

  So here she sits with Betty, whom she has known for fifty years or more. From the moment Betty arrived, it was clear that she was in no state of mind for a round of cards, which is what Glenn had hoped would happen. It’s easier to talk about difficult stuff when there’s a distraction. Instead, Betty wants comfort and warmth from her old friend. She wants to tell Glenn over and over again about what happened during Sharpe’s illness and subsequent demise. She wants to alleviate the unbearable grief she feels by doling out some of the heaviness. She wants to feel lighter. This is what she has been doing for weeks with her nearest and dearest, and in small ways, it is working. Each time she shares her story about the death of her beloved man, her life partner, the other half of her soul, she hears herself and accepts more, that he is truly gone. But simultaneously she feels connected to him in those moments too, which she relishes, so for lots of reasons, it’s important that Betty goes through this pain with those she trusts. Glenn is one of those people. Sadly for Betty, something she has never fully realized about Glenn is that really, Glenn herself, is already dead.

  Betty is weeping quietly into a handkerchief as she sits next to Glenn on the sofa.

  ‘My daughter gave me a copy of C. S Lewis’ essay, ‘A Grief Observed’, have you ever come across it? It’s remarkable Glennie, it begins with the words, ‘No-one ever told me that grief felt so like fear …’ and that’s the truth, I feel afraid … of what?’

  If only Glenn could answer, but Glenn realizes she has no reference point from which to empathize. She knows that there are customary hoops she ought to be jumping through right now, she should be hugging Betty or holding her hand or saying ‘There, there’ and ‘it will be alright’ or ‘he’s at peace now’ or anything consolatory like that. She knows the script, she knows the stage directions, but she is sitting next to Betty, paralysed with the creeping realization that she doesn’t genuinely feel anything.

  This is a common occurrence for Glenn, but it seems particularly stark right now, here, in her own drawing room where just the two of them are. Maybe if someone else was leading the charge of the solace brigade, she would be able to fall in behind, and sound authentic, but this one to one is unbearably awkward. If Glenn is honest with herself, and she is, what she genuinely thinks at this moment is that Betty is full of self-pity. Glenn knows enough about manners to realize that this would be the wrong thing to name, it would be insensitive and would only lead to trouble, but that’s her truth. For Glenn, self-pity isn’t an option. Not only would it be pathetic and weak in her opinion, but in order to pity yourself, you must surely have a self. That’s a problem for her. The only self Glenn has concerned her time with for sixty-odd years, is the one who must appear to be tippety top in every way. Little vexations like Kemble’s divorce are a possible threat to the status quo, but Glenn is adept enough to ride those storms whilst still maintaining a fixed veneer of calm and restraint.

  This Betty situation though, is a challenge. A woman physically leaking from the nose, shaking and sobbing, is the last thing Glenn wants. How very unseemly she finds all this emotion. She decides to recite some of the requisite script.

  ‘There, there dear,’ she says as she pats Betty’s hand.

  ‘I miss him, Glennie. I just miss him so much.’

  How sentimental, Glenn thinks, and wonders how long this is likely to last before she can justifiably put Betty in a town car home?

  Noguchi

  Rosie, Red, Three and Teddy stride up the steps onto the plaza outside the Chase Manhattan Bank. There’s not much to interest eight-year-olds in the Financial District, but Rosie has told them it’s important to see the garden here to help them with ideas for theirs. She bids them to stop still for a moment and asks them what they see.

  ‘Umm, high rise buildings,’ says Red.

  ‘Yeh, some old, some new, lots of glass. Ooo, and a huge totem pole! Wow. Is th
at what we came for?’ says Three.

  ‘No,’ she answers, ‘but I agree, it’s a thought. So this is a flat area, isn’t it? It’s called a plaza, and there are lots of places to sit, maybe people eat their lunch out here? Can they sit in the sunlight?’

  Red looks about, ‘Not much. The buildings are in the way.’

  ‘Right. So at different times of day, the sun will come into this plaza in different places, it’s mainly over there now because it’s afternoon. Would you call this a garden?’ She wants them to think.

  ‘No,’ they all agree, and even Teddy gets drawn in to the discussion, ‘I guess we think of a garden with grass and trees ’n’ stuff, or vegetables, this is all concrete. Central Park is better for gardens. It’s one giant garden.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie agrees, ‘but gardens can be many things …’

  Three interrupts, ‘Some gardens are, like, just flowers. Tons of flowers like, everywhere. That would be so cool.’

  Red can’t help his enthusiasm, ‘Yeh, with like giant bug-eating plants.’

  ‘Triffids,’ says Teddy.

  ‘Oh I love that book,’ Rosie agrees. ‘All of that is true, but I just want you to see something here. Look ahead, right? All you see is flat plaza and a few trees in raised beds, and huge paving slabs on the floor. But follow me …’

  She walks, and they fall in behind her, across the vast plaza towards a circular rail, where some other people are leaning and looking. As they draw closer they see that beneath the rail is a sunken circle, about thirty feet in diameter one floor down. It contains an undulating mosaic-style stone floor with occasional holes in it and about eight or nine rocks of various sizes scattered about untidily. Some of the holes have water spouting upwards, which eddies around on the stone, then filters away, playfully. The boys have never seen anything quite like it before and stare.

  ‘Look at the sunlight falling on just one stone over there,’ Rosie says, ‘and I bet it would be on that one or that one or that one, depending on what time we were looking. This is a garden designed by a very cool guy called Isamu Noguchi. He was a bit Japanese and a bit American, and if he used stones in his gardens, he brought them all the way from Japan. Lots of people thought there was something significant about the stones, but actually, he just wanted someone to pay for his holidays to Japan, which was very cheeky. He loved going there, because it reminded him of when he was a little boy and lived there. And it reminded him of his dad, who was a bit too busy most of the time to remember he had a son. Which was the dad’s loss. Because, what a son to have! Someone who can make such an interesting place, that lots of people come to, to enjoy. What do you think guys? Like it or not?’

  ‘This is so not what I thought was going to be here,’ Red tells her, ‘so a garden could just be stone, you mean?’

  ‘Well, it can be anything you want it to be, but the thing to remember is that it doesn’t have to be like any you’ve ever seen, or like anyone else’s, it just has to be what you like, that’s all.’

  ‘I like it. I really like it. It’s sort of, a boys’ garden. For boys,’ says Three.

  Rosie laughs, ‘Is it? Why?’

  ‘Coz you can climb on stuff, and there’s water spouts and everything.’

  Rosie moves towards the entrance to the building. ‘Let’s go have a look at it from inside,’ she pushes open the huge glass doors. The atrium is towering and bright. Rosie beckons the boys to join her on the escalators heading down to the floor below, which brings them directly into the actual bank, with all its bustling business going on as usual. In the centre of the bank is a wall of circular glass that looks out onto the secret garden from ground level, where it’s even better, and much easier to see up close. Red and Three push their faces onto the glass and then run around the circle, looking at the remark­able structure from all sides. Rosie hands each of the twins a pad and a pencil, ‘OK, I want sketches and ideas for how we might do something like this on the roof. Go.’ The twins find a table to sit at and draw, yabbering away happily to each other.

  Rosie sits down with Teddy near the glass, and looks at the garden. They are in the very last sliver of afternoon sunlight that is seeping in through the plaza, through the garden and through the glass onto their legs. Even through their trousers, they can feel the early spring warmth, and it’s lovely. They sit side by side quietly.

  ‘This is pretty cool. I didn’t even know this was here, and I’ve lived in the city all my life,’ he tells her.

  ‘Yes. It’s something. It’s sort of weird to be … in a bank … looking out at this. Surprising. I like that,’ she says.

  As they sit, a young dark-haired pretty woman walks by, and Rosie watches closely as Teddy can’t take his eyes off her, but pretends to be disinterested, ‘Hmm, gardening trip is looking up. Babelicious.’

  ‘He he he,’ Rosie chortles.

  ‘Maybe she could offer some horticultural advice?’

  ‘Well, go on then.’

  ‘What?! I’m not seriously going to speak to her, look at her, she’s a goddess, I was just kidding.’

  ‘For a start, she’s a mortal. A gorgeous one, I grant you that, but she is human y’know. And even if she was a goddess, you’d still be entitled to speak to her, you gurt ninny.’

  ‘She wouldn’t talk to me. Totally out of my league.’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Isn’t she? D’you think she would?’

  ‘Yeh.’

  ‘Really? No. Anyway, she’s busy,’ and he keeps quiet, all the time with one eye on the dusky beauty as she goes about her work.

  Rosie twiddles her feet, until Teddy wants to speak, ‘Do you think Dad has a chance?’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of getting custody of my brothers. You’ve noticed Mom and Dad are fighting about it?’

  ‘Can’t really miss it.’

  ‘But he knows that’s not what they want. They want to be with Mom. See him, of course, see him plenty, but stay with Mom. She’s … more … like a parent than him. And they don’t have to feel like they are disappointments all the time with her. Because you’re not, you’re her son with her, and she doesn’t really mind if you get it wrong occasionally. Her family are chilled. The French … just are. Y’know it’s OK, and they want you to be OK.’

  Rosie is instantly aware of just how heavily Teddy carries the weight of all the secret squabbling, and of how protective he is over his little brothers. In the absence of a step-up dad presently, Teddy has stepped up himself, to try and fill that space for them, and in the meantime, everyone involved seems to have forgotten that he’s only eighteen, and is of course wondering where he fits in all the fighting. But he’s proud, and being eighteen and proud means that it’s difficult to find a way to say that you want to matter as well.

  Rosie’s heart hurts for him. ‘Why don’t you talk to your grandfather, Teddy? I’m pretty sure he’s on your team.’

  ‘You know that for a fact?’

  ‘No. Just guessing.’

  ‘Listen, he’s a great guy an’ all that, but he has to be on team Granma, or he won’t have any balls left. Seriously. And she hates Mom, so … y’know, I don’t think he’s the guy to talk to.’

  ‘OK, but … it’s a thought … keep it in yer back pocket just in case,’ Rosie advises him. ‘Why don’t you say hello to that lovely girl …? Bust some loverman moves on her, guy.’

  ‘Yeh, sure. Not.’ He tentatively looks over to the girl, who is oblivious to him and, as so often is the case for the virginal Teddy Wilder-Bingham, even though he is six foot two he feels terribly terribly small.

  The twins return to where Rosie and Teddy are sitting. They have done a few drawings, but mainly they have spent their time filling in the paper cheques and paying-in slips from the bank consoles. They have awarded each other millions of dollars and are poised to withdraw their booty soon as, so Teddy and Rosie take this as an ideal opportunity to adjourn to a café for hot chocolate and to explain how banking works. Rosie does the hot chocolat
e part. Teddy takes care of the pecuniary matters, during which the twins nearly nod off. Before she loses their attention entirely, Rosie has another adventure up her sleeve …

  Trying

  On a side street in Brooklyn, Kemble is sitting on a bench looking up at the window of a red brick house opposite. This is where he should be, with his family, like it was a year ago. All of them together under one roof.

  Natalie has seen him from her bedroom window which used to be their bedroom window. She can’t decide what is best to do. If she lets him in, it will encourage him to come back, and they’ve gone through such a lot to reach this point she doesn’t want to retrace any of those painful steps, and lose ground.

  Natalie is only now beginning to define and understand herself as single. Slowly. She hasn’t been alone like this ever in her life. An attractive girl, half French, clever and sassy, she has had a lot of attention – firstly from boys, and then men – her entire life. She took it totally for granted that she would always be attended to, looked after, desired. Not for a second did Natalie imagine that she would eventually be parenting her three gorgeous boys on her own, with a failed marriage staring her in her pretty face. Neither had she considered for a second that her face might not remain quite as pretty, and how this would erode her confidence as she grew into her forties.

  Only now that she is a person in her own right, and not one half of a couple, does she realize that she has defined herself partly – or mostly, if she’s honest – by how she looks. It’s only in these last few months that she has let some of her anguish about her fading beauty and her chaotic relationship go. No way is she going to open the door and let all that trouble back in. She has just started to build back up the foundation stones of the self-esteem she once had, and this time, she is building on the solid ground of her independent self-knowledge and truth, not on the shifting sands of the reflected self-image that she had before. She must be strong now and stand firm. She must heed her instinct. No longer will she allow her prior, hidden sense of unworthiness, to halt her progress forward with her life.