The Frances Garrood Collection

by Frances Garrood

  ‘We know very little about each other, Cass.’ He turned and smiled at me, and for a moment it was as though that smile held everything I’d ever wanted.

  I smiled back at him.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Anything. Everything.’ He laughed. ‘Where do we start?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never — done it like this before.’

  ‘Neither have I.’ He took a draught of his beer and wiped his mouth on his handkerchief. ‘Maybe we’ll just have to make up the rules as we go along.’

  ‘So long as that’s all we make up,’ I said.

  ‘So long as that’s all we make up,’ he agreed, and at last he reached for my hand. ‘You have beautiful hands,’ he said, turning mine over in his and examining the palm, then replacing it gently on the table in front of me like some small, precious object. ‘Artist’s hands.’

  ‘And nurse’s hands.’ My skin still tingled where his hand had touched mine, and I was almost afraid to move my hand, as though I might break the spell created by that first moment of physical contact.

  ‘Really? You’re a nurse as well?’

  So I told him all about my failed academic career, my years as a nurse and my subsequent breakdown. I told him about Mum and Lucas, about our eccentric domestic set-up and about the life and death of Octavia. I talked until the sun began to set behind the hills and the midges hovered in clouds over the water, and the tiny forms of bats streaked to and fro across the darkening skyline. And all the time, Edward listened. It was years since anyone had really listened to me like that, and it was almost like a drug. Only with difficulty did I finally manage to stop.

  ‘Goodness. I don’t usually talk like that,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m interested.’ Edward smiled. ‘Poor Cass. You haven’t had it easy, have you?’

  ‘Haven’t I?’ I’d never thought of my life as so very different from other people’s, and certainly no worse.

  ‘Well, you seem to have been through the mill. One way and another.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I fingered the stem of my glass. ‘But I’ve been lucky, too. I have a wonderful family and some good friends, and I enjoy my job. Many people would envy me.’ I drank the last of my wine. ‘But what about you? Tell me about you.’

  ‘Me.’ Edward paused, gazing into his empty glass as though he might find in it the answer to my question. ‘It should be easy, shouldn’t it, but I’ve always felt happier listening than talking, especially when it comes to talking about myself.’ He pushed the glass away and put his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. ‘I guess I’m a pretty ordinary sort of bloke; a middle-of-the-road artist, although I love what I do; not particularly well off, but then I’ve never minded much about money; with a banger of a car, a dilapidated cottage and a cat. No kids, though. I would have liked children.’ He seemed about to say something else, then hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘And — and too old for someone as young as you.’

  ‘Can I ask —?’

  ‘Forty-five. Well, forty-five next week. And you are, what, twenty-five?’

  ‘Twenty-eight.’

  ‘That’s still pretty young.’

  ‘Not too young, though.’

  ‘Don’t you think so?’

  ‘No. It’s such a cliché, but really age isn’t that important.’

  Edward gazed out once more towards the river.

  ‘You know, I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve never done anything like this before. I never expected it, and I certainly wasn’t looking for it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you. It’s different for you. You must have been looking for — hoping for someone to come into your life, Cass.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Why ever not? You’re young and beautiful. You must have had lots of boyfriends in the past. You must sometimes think about marriage and children. Don’t all girls?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I admitted. ‘But then you see, my life’s a bit — well, complicated, too.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘Not now. Not tonight. It’s — well, it’s too soon.’

  Edward nodded.

  ‘There are no-go areas in my life, as you know, and you’re entitled to yours. Never think you have to tell me everything, Cass. Just so long as we’re honest with each other. I think that’s all that matters.’

  But of course I knew that if we were to have a relationship — an affair, even (how I hate that word, along with all its sordid connotations) — sooner or later Edward would have to know the secret which had darkened my life for so long, and I had no idea how I was going to go about telling him.

  But just for the moment, just for the duration of that magic summer evening, with the last of the daylight staining the sky crimson and Edward once again reaching across the table for my hand, I would allow myself to be happy.

  Forty

  Our courtship — if an adulterous affair can be said to have such a thing — was slow and measured and tender. We behaved as though we had all the time in the world, pacing ourselves, basking in our developing love, and for the time being, asking little more than simply to be in each other’s company.

  Of course affairs, by their very nature, have their problems, the greatest of these being when and where to meet. I have never found subterfuge easy, and have always thought of myself as being a pretty straightforward and honest person, so it was hard having to take unnecessary bus rides so that Edward could pick me up in the next village, or smuggle him up to my studio when no one else was around (I had talkative neighbours).

  And then there was Mum.

  ‘What are you up to these days, Cass?’ she asked me, after our third meeting. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

  I hesitated. I had never lied to Mum, and yet I didn’t want to tell anyone about Edward. Not yet, anyway. It was too soon, and I was still finding my way and getting used to the idea of him myself. Having to cope with Mum getting used to him as well was more than I could deal with, especially as she was bound to want to know every detail of our relationship. I would tell her one day, I decided, but not yet.

  ‘I’m not up to anything,’ I told her, ‘or at least, nothing you need to know about at the moment.’

  ‘Ah!’ Mum’s tone was triumphant, her radar as accurate as ever. ‘A man! I knew it. How exciting! Tell me all about him. Where did you meet him? What does he —’

  ‘Mum, please. Just don’t ask. Not yet. I need — time. If you let the subject drop, I promise I’ll tell you everything when I’m ready. If there’s anything to tell,’ I added, remembering that even the best affairs tend to have a sell-by date.

  ‘If you insist.’ Mum looked disappointed. Her own love life had recently run into problems (in the form of an avenging ex-wife), Greta was away, and Lucas and Gracie were preoccupied with their new baby daughter (Mum’s take on grandmotherhood was ambivalent). She had evidently been hoping for a diversion in the form of my new romance, and now this was not to be. ‘It’s so boring of you, Cass,’ she sighed. ‘It’s ages since you had a man, and now you won’t even tell me who he is.’

  ‘No, I won’t. But I shan’t tell anyone else, either —’ Mum could be jealous where my confidences were concerned — ‘and if anything exciting happens, you’ll be the first to know.’ And she had to be content with that.

  Only two things clouded my happiness. The first, obviously, was the fact that Edward was married. I had never considered myself to be the kind of person to have an affair with someone else’s husband, and while Edward had made it clear that our relationship wouldn’t interfere with his marriage, I still felt uncomfortable with the idea that somewhere out there was a woman whose happiness or stability might be compromised for the sake of my own.

  And then there was the knowledge that sooner or later Edward was going to want more than just holding hands or a hug, and I had no idea how I was going to deal
with this eventuality. I was twenty-eight years old, and had never even been kissed properly; how would he react when he found out? And what was I going to do? I gave much thought to the idea of sex with Edward, and a part of me longed for that closeness, that intimacy, that oneness which I had yet to experience with another human being. I found him physically very attractive; his smile and the touch of his hand had an effect I’d never experienced before; but my over-riding fear was greater than my desire, and the second he showed signs of taking things any further, something within me seemed to freeze.

  For a while, Edward showed no sign that he was aware of any problem, and we had been seeing each other for some weeks when he finally brought the subject up.

  ‘I think it’s time we talked about this — this difficulty of yours, Cass.’ We were lying companionably on the bed in my studio, sharing a bottle of wine.

  ‘Yes.’

  I could have asked what he meant; I could have prevaricated; there were lots of things I could have done to give myself more time. But Edward had been patient, and I owed him some kind of explanation.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’ He stroked my hair off my face and smiled down at me.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘But it’s hard to talk about?’

  ‘Very hard.’ I brushed away a tear. ‘I — I don’t know where to start. And it’s all so silly. You’ll think me such a fool.’

  ‘I won’t. If something has caused you this much distress, how can you imagine I would ever think you a fool?’

  ‘I know, I know. I’m not being fair.’ I put down my glass and sat up on the bed, drawing my knees up to my chin, gazing out of the window at a sky stippled with tiny clouds. ‘I suppose just finding the words is difficult. I’ve never told anyone before. Mum knows about it, but we don’t talk about it any more. I suppose she feels guilty, and in any case, there’s nothing she can do.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s something I can do.’

  I laughed. ‘That’s the problem.’

  ‘I thought it might be.’ Edward sat up and pulled me to him. ‘Try me, Cass. Just try me. What have you got to lose?’

  ‘You,’ I whispered into his chest.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll lose me, however hard you try.’

  ‘OK. I’ll tell you. But do you mind if I don’t look at you while I’m doing so? I think I’d find it easier.’

  ‘You do what’s best for you.’

  I climbed off the bed and curled up in a small armchair facing the window, with my back to Edward. I fixed my gaze on the clouds, the blue of the sky, the vapour trail of a distant aircraft, and I began to speak.

  ‘I was fourteen,’ I said, and paused. I had never had to put my experience into words before, and even finding those words was difficult.

  ‘Go on,’ Edward said. ‘Just tell it as it happened. Try to forget I’m here.’

  ‘We had this — cousin of Mum’s living with us.’ I swallowed. A chattering flock of starlings flew past the window and somewhere a door slammed. I heard the faint sound of Edward shifting his position behind me, and the louder sound of my own heart thumping in my chest. ‘We called him Uncle Rupert. I never liked him very much.’

  As I talked, the words seemed to flow more freely, as though they were gradually becoming disentangled from that part of my brain where they had been stored for all those years, and I found myself reliving the events of that dreadful afternoon. I did what Edward had suggested and imagined I was on my own, telling my story as though I were telling it to myself, omitting nothing, wondering at how every detail was still imprinted on my mind. Smells and sights and sounds which had remained hidden for years emerged as though I had experienced them only yesterday, and when I finally finished my story, I found that I was sobbing.

  For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and I wondered what Edward was thinking. Would he think I was making a fuss about nothing? Or worse, would he think I was exaggerating or even inventing my story as some kind of excuse? I dared not turn round and look at him for fear of what I might read in his expression.

  Then I heard the bed creak as Edward stood up and I felt the wool of his sweater against my cheek as he folded me into his arms.

  ‘Oh, Cass.’ His voice was muffled by my hair. ‘You poor darling.’ He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped my streaming eyes. ‘I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’

  I shook my head, taking the handkerchief from him and blowing my nose.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. What’s there to say? It happened, it was a long time ago, and I should have got over it. In fact, until he died, I thought I had.’ I looked round my bright little room; at the books and pictures, the easel set up in the corner, the simple furniture. ‘He — he gave me all this. I should be grateful. But something stops me. Something was left behind, and I can’t get rid of it. Something was — spoiled.’

  ‘Cass, you do know I love you, don’t you?’ Edward said, after a moment.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ He’d never actually said it before, but I suppose I’d known from the beginning that he loved me.

  ‘Well, in that case, you have to trust me. Somehow — somehow — we’ll sort this thing out together.’

  ‘Do you think we can?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know for sure. Of course I don’t. But I do believe that if you love me half as much as I love you, we’ll get through this somehow.’

  ‘How?’ I asked fearfully.

  ‘We’ll take things very very slowly,’ Edward said, kissing the top of my head. ‘And you must trust me.’

  ‘I do. Of course I trust you.’

  ‘That’s a start.’ He took my hand and helped me to my feet. ‘But let’s leave it for now. I think you’ve had quite enough emotion for one day. Now, what did we do with that bottle of wine?’

  Forty-one

  Very gradually, with infinite patience and great tenderness, Edward began to lead me along the path to physical love. He refused to call it sex. Sex, he said, was for kids; kids who knew no better, who referred to ‘having sex’ as though they were having a cigarette or a drink and who looked upon it as just another form of recreation, like going out for a meal or to the cinema. Sex between loving adults was something quite different; something special. Edward had no time for the loveless couplings of the bike shed or the parked car, and while he admitted that he hadn’t always been this idealistic — and confessed that few experiences were more disconcerting than waking up to find the wrong head on the pillow beside you — I gathered that for him such adventures had happened many years ago in his youth, and while not necessarily regretted, were certainly never to be repeated.

  I thought of Mum, whose sexual activities, I knew for a fact, had taken place in all manner of venues, frequently with little or no love, and rarely with any regret. What would Edward have to say if he knew about her adventurous modus vivendi? And what would he think of her if they were ever to meet? In the end, I decided that it didn’t much matter. What mattered was that Mum had found her way, and I was finding mine. I would never — could never — behave as Mum did, but neither could I judge her.

  ‘Of course, in a way, our lovemaking has already started,’ Edward told me some days later, as we walked hand-in-hand along our favourite river bank. ‘It’s about talking and listening as well as the physical part, and you’re already so good at that, Cass. The rest will come naturally, I’m sure.’ He turned to face me, taking both my hands in his. ‘I will never do anything you don’t want me to; anything to frighten or alarm you. All you have to do is trust me.’

  A few days later, Edward kissed me. At first my body froze, and my ready response with it, but as he caressed my neck and shoulders and his lips gently traced my throat and cheek and forehead, I found myself relaxing in his arms. When the kiss finally came, I was more than ready for it, and I melted into it as though it was something I had been waiting for all my life.

  ‘There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
he said.

  I shook my head, too happy and relieved to say anything.

  Edward laughed at my expression.

  ‘In that case, perhaps we ought to do it again.’

  And this time I didn’t hesitate.

  After that first kiss, Edward encouraged me to lead while he followed, taking his cues from me, picking up on the small shy hints I gave as to what I wanted him to do. Sometimes, he almost seemed to be making me wait, as though he wanted to be absolutely sure that he had read my signals correctly, and when one hot night in August we finally did make love, I felt that if I had had to wait another second, I would have been unable to bear it.

  ‘We did it! We did it!’ I exulted, wrapping a sheet round my naked body and dancing round the room.

  ‘Very romantic, I’m sure,’ Edward remarked wryly, observing me from the bed.

  ‘But can’t you see what this means?’ I sank down beside him. ‘I’m OK. I’m normal. Everything’s going to be all right.’

  ‘I told you so.’

  ‘Mr Smug!’

  ‘Mr Smug seems to have made you pretty happy, and that can’t be bad.’

  ‘Oh, Edward! I still can’t believe it. There’s nothing — nothing — wrong with me. I’m a proper, whole woman.’

  ‘I never doubted it for a minute.’

  ‘Don’t tease.’ I lay back on the pillows. ‘It’s something people take for granted, isn’t it? Like eating or breathing. I’ve looked at my body so many times and thought, if I can’t use it — use it properly — give it to someone I love — then what’s it all for?’

  ‘Well, now you know.’ Edward propped himself on his elbow and smiled down at me. ‘And may I say, for a beginner, you were pretty amazing.’

  ‘Do you think we ought to do it again? Just to make sure?’

  ‘I think that’s an excellent idea. We’ve got a lot of time to make up.’