by Mavis Cheek
'I've put you back in the little room,' she said. 'After all, you won't be needing a double on this trip, will you?'
I wondered if Oxford and I had transgressed in some way. There was a definite edge to her tone which made me feel uneasy. I too went to my room shortly afterwards. In the kitchen, while we cleared up the supper things, David asked me how I had found Jill.
'Hormonal,' I said. 'Or that's what she seems to think.'
He breathed a sigh and looked, I thought, relieved. 'Ah,' he said. 'Is that what it is?'
Somehow I felt I was letting my sex down. Hormones were so easy to impugn, but I really didn't know what else to say. David was clearly relieved by the suggestion, and maybe it was so. I couldn't think of anything else that would make my usually readable friend so upset over something like Sidney Burney.
As I lay in bed, 1 tried to read but could not stop my mind wandering. I wanted to talk to Oxford about it all, a foolish wish under the circumstances. Jill was the one I always talked to. I was sure it would be fine again in the morning. I snuggled down, pleased to be on my own again in my familiar little bed. It belonged to my real self, part of my private history, and was nothing to do with this temporary coupledom I had created.
I awoke to find my room bathed in bright sunlight - a cheering sensation in dark winter days - and I got up immediately to make tea and take it back to bed. I knew the ritual well enough. I would lie in bed sipping my tea and at some point Jill would appear in her old white towelling robe and squeeze in beside me with her coffee. She would say, 'Ugh! How can you drink that stuff?' and then we would put our worlds to rights - or somebody else's - talking in low voices until David called out that it was time for breakfast. The day would then unfold with nothing planned except, perhaps, a dinner party in the evening. With the children away the house was much more silent - something I had not noticed last time, I suppose, because Oxford and I filled up the space. Of course, Jill must be missing the old routine like crazy - the large teenagers sitting around in the kitchen, some new girlfriend on the telephone for Giles, the frantic 'Will you be in for supper tonight?' and 'Are you coming home?' All that change, and hormones too? Oh, come on, Margaret, I said to myself, it's no wonder she's feeling the strain.
So I waited. Eventually I heard someone padding down the stairs and into the kitchen. Soon I expected to smell the aroma of good coffee and to greet my morning visitor. I lay back, closed my eyes and let my mind drift pleasantly. I was glad, again, that I was up here on my own, glad that I had not turned myself into part of a couple permanently. Times such as this were infinitely precious. This is what you lose, I told myself, when you yield up to a partnership that engulfs.
I waited until my little yellow pot of tea was empty and cold. No Jill. Eventually I went down to the kitchen with my tray and found a note on the table to both David and me. 'Had to go out,' it said. 'Will be back at lunchtime. Business. See you one-ish. Jill.'
So much for the sisterly confessional.
David asked me politely if I would like to do anything in particular, but I could tell he hoped I would say that I was fine. So I did. I went for a walk but only a short one. The fields were depressingly empty and the air was too cold. Back indoors I relit the fire. As the kindling began to crackle and the small logs settled themselves into the blaze, I sat back on my haunches and felt pleased with myself. Building a good fire contains a primal satisfaction, I suppose. I watched to make sure it had caught properly and then stretched out on the settee and began to read Ovid. It was no hardship to me to be on my own for a while - it only becomes hard when you are lonely inside, and that I never would be. I was reading the Cures for Love - the vicious antidote he produced after the Amores.
Aim for a glut of passion: glutted hearts break off liaisons; When you feel you can do without it, still hold on. Till you are fed up to the back teeth, nil love chokes on abundance. Till you're sick at the very sight of her house ...
Poor Ovid. How very hurt he must also have been by that unsatisfactory four-lettered phenomenon. His words betrayed a bitterness that made me shiver as I reread it, despite the crackling warmth from the fire and the snuggle of cushions.
We hope to be loved, so postpone the final break off
Too long: while our self-conceit still holds
We're a credulous lot. Don't believe all they tell you (what's
more deceptive Than women's words?)
'Why not men's, perhaps?' I crowed, and shut the book firmly. Same old story. Ovid began so well with all that lovely stuff about seduction, fun, love, sex, affection, and ended in a welter of bitterness and pain and regret. 'I am right, I am right,' I found myself saying as I went into the kitchen to start making lunch.
There was bread, cheese and soup. I called up to David, who was in his study, that I would start without him if he preferred and he came thumping down the stairs looking embarrassed. 'Really,' I said, 'I don't mind at all if you've got work to do. I'm perfectly happy and content pottering.' He looked relieved. Never ask a chap to sit around the kitchen making idle conversation while you get on with something domesticated - it just makes them squirm. It didn't bother Oxford because we were just playing at domesticity, so it was fun. For real, it becomes too intimate an occupation for most.
Jill got back late - nearer two than one - and she looked pink-cheeked and sparkling-eyed again. Her old self plus another ten degrees. She hugged me. 'Have I been completely horrible to you?' she said. She hugged me some more. 'Sorry.' And she bit into a spring onion with a relishing crunch.
I asked if she had dealt with the problem of Sidney satisfactorily.
'What?' she said abstractedly. 'Oh, yes. It was nothing, really. I don't know why I let it get to me. I've just been over to see - ' She swallowed. 'Well, anyway, I've just sorted the whole thing out.'
'So he's staying?'
'Oh, no. He'll go. Charles really needs him.' She stopped, anxiously. 'You remember Charles?' I nodded.
'And there'll be another bus behind - like we used to say in the old days.'
That was about the sum total of old days' talk that weekend. Jill's mood went up and down several times and I couldn't get close. On Sunday morning I found her singing in the kitchen at about eight, already dressed and making a demented mess and noise with two mixers going. She said she was experimenting in making cheesecakes for the new organic shop and would take them over there later. They had apparently supplied her with the cheese and if it was successful she would produce them on a regular basis. David, who peevishly appeared shortly after me, told her in no uncertain terms what unsound business it was, and how foolish it was to take on new commitments when she had so much else to do. She tapped him playfully on the nose with a spoon - to his fury and my amused amazement - and said that he was only jealous because she was able to diversify. He went off shaking his head. I made my tea, took it back to bed, and afterwards had a long bath. When I returned to the kitchen the cheesecakes were all laid out on trays ready to be dispatched. They looked excellent and I congratulated her. 'I never even knew you could bake,' I said.
'You never know what you can do until you try,' she replied happily. 'And now I'm going to take them over there,They're open today.'
'I'll get my jacket,' I said.
She stopped on her way through the door and turned with an expression so strange that it was hard to fathom -somewhere between irritation and fear, I thought, before it shifted to a tight smile. 'Oh,' she said. 'You don't want to come. It'll be boring for you. I won't be long.'
'No . . . really ... I'd like the ride. And if they're open, I can take something fresh and countrified back for Verity.
Something healthy - she's drinking too much on account of the blessed Mark.'
Jill turned away from me. 'Get her some cider,' she said, 'if you really want to come.'
In the car Jill put on Delius quite loud. 'Do you mind?' she said before I had the chance to ask if we could turn it down and talk. 'I just love it at the moment.'
Truly, I decided, whatever Oxford and I had done, we had done seriously. Jill was now so brittle that if I had bent her arm it would have snapped. Ah well, I thought, what is friendship for but to suffer all these vagaries, and I settled back to listen to the music and enjoy the scenery. At one point I looked at Jill. Her eyes were on the road ahead, but also very far away. It was a similar look to one Oxford had begun to wear sometimes recently.
'Here we are. There it is,' she said suddenly, as excited as a child. A large barn came into view. A few cars were parked on the gravel outside.
We carried in the three large cheesecakes. They were decorated with flower petals and looked magnificent, I thought. I carried the one Jill had entrusted to me with extra care. I had a feeling that if I damaged it in any way Jill would never forgive me. Whatever the reason for this sudden rush of baking, it was bigger, infinitely, than the sum of its parts.
The shop was fairly full - the usual crowd of people picking over things - those who were bored on Sunday, those who were travelling and had just stopped by, those who wanted something to do with the children. It had a nice earthy smell, and whoever had organized the displays of vegetables and cheese and strange rustic drinks needed a medal.
Jill marched past the curious on-lookers to a small office at the back. 'Oh,' she said, 'it's empty.' She began looking around the shop, scanning with a desperate eye.
'Why, Jill,' said a woman's voice behind us, 'how nice to see you.'
I turned, so did Jill, and we stood there making quite an odd picture with our great rounds of cheesecake.
'What are these?' the woman said, smiling in puzzlement. She was small and plump with a bright face.
'Cheesecakes,' said Jill. 'I told Charles I would have a go with that Stainforth cream cheese. I think they are good. And I could make more - for you to sell here, I mean. I told Charles.' She spoke as if persuading someone that her life depended on it.
The woman frowned. 'Did you?' she said a little crossly. 'He said nothing to me about it. They look wonderful. What should I do with them?'
'Is Charles here?' Jill asked, scanning again.
'No. He's gone down south for a day or two - the new shop. Here, let me take one of those.'
I thought for a moment Jill would decline, for she pulled away a little, but the woman was insistent and took one into her sturdy brown hands.
She shook her head. 'I don't quite know what he had in mind - I mean, how do we keep them fresh? And what about portioning?' She looked up at Jill for an answer.
'That's not my problem,' Jill snapped, so that I was embarrassed. 'When exactly will he be back?'
'A couple of days - maybe three. My husband seems to be a law unto himself at the moment. Well, well. I suppose I could put them in the freezer, though I don't think the flowers' - she touched them lightly with her fingertip -'would survive well. Oh dear.'
Jill's eyes had begun to fill with tears. She looked like a disappointed child.
'Look,' I said, knowing someone had to rescue the situation, 'why don't you have them as freebies? Give people tasters and see what the response is over the next couple of days? Then, when Charles comes back, he can sort it all out.'
It was agreed and we left the three offending orphans with their somewhat harassed new owner. I wanted to look around and get something for Verity and Oxford, but Jill was already walking towards the great barn doors. Dammit, I thought. I called after her that I would be out in five minutes and began to rummage around. I bought elderflower cordial for Verity, and some cheese. The fruit looked wonderfully ecological with their strange specks and irregular shapes, so I bought apples too. For Oxford I bought a flagon of cider that looked as if someone had washed their socks in it. It had a warning skull-and-crossbones label which I thought would amuse him. Maybe in the Nicaraguan jungle he could use it to disinfect his gut.
Back in the car, Jill sat looking forlorn and puffy-eyed. She had clearly been weeping.
'Tell me what's up,' I asked.
She blew her nose. 'Nothing - except disappointment.' She smiled wanly. 'And hormones, I expect.' She turned on the engine and revved with angry vigour. She turned to me with a slight smile. 'And I've just realized that I forgot to put the meat in the Aga.'
'It's all right,' I said, feeling a heel, 'I did it.' I shrugged. 'Well, it was just sitting there in its baking tray, all ready, so I just popped it in.'
'Which oven?'
'Top.’
Jill laughed. 'Aunt Margaret to the rescue. Well, in that case' - she punched my knee lightly - 'we can take the scenic route home, and listen to lovely Delius all the way.'
'Bloody men!' she said as the music crescendoed. 'They always let you down, don't they?'
'Nice woman, the wife,' I said conversationally.
'Yes,' said Jill, almost spitting out the words, 'isn't she?'
I assumed she was still angry about Sidney.
For the rest of the afternoon I talked about general things. About Saskia and her father and my hopes that the exhibition over here would never happen. Neither David nor Jill understood this.
'Time marches on,' said David.
'Not for my sister,' I reminded them none too gently. 'She never had the chance to march on anywhere. Remember?' They both looked uncomfortable. So what? It wasn't their sister. 'Well, he'll get short shrift from me if he comes over here poking about in the ashes again.'
'Oh, I doubt he'll do that,' said Jill.
'No? I'm not so sure. It's what Sassy wants, more than anything. I can tell. She has a way of sending in a big gun when she wants something badly, and then letting it lie. But she's a tenacious little bugger - always was. I'd give her the moon - but I won't give her this.' A surprising anger rose in me.
'So love hasn't softened that inner bit, then,' said Jill.
'Love?'
'You and . .. that man .. . Simon. It's been too long for it just to be ships that pass in the night.'
That summed it up quite well, I thought, but I didn't have the urge to say so. 'It's not love,' I said. 'It's pleasant, friendly, sexy convenience. Never let them penetrate beyond that, then you won't get hurt.'
I waited for Jill to make her usual response to this - cries of 'Shame!' and 'How can you say that?' But she didn't. Surprisingly she nodded. 'I know what you mean,' she said, getting up to bring in the ice-cream.
I read the label. Everything sound, additive-free and organic. 'Did this come from the new place?'
Jill nodded as she doled it out.
'Everything we get comes from there nowadays,' said David. 'Costs us a fortune in petrol.'
He was smiling, but Jill banged down the spoon and glared at him. 'Oh, David,' she said angrily, 'you are such a mean bastard!'
He looked at me in embarrassment. I looked at him in wonder, and decided to leave immediately after lunch. Whatever was happening up here, there was nothing I could do about it for the time being. It disturbed me to feel so helpless.
On the drive home I considered asking the two of them down for Christmas, but realized that if I did, and they came, Amanda would never forgive either them or me. Funny, I thought, how once you have a family you are never truly free to think for yourself. Love being the other side of possession as well as a good many other things, I felt lucky to have come through with Saskia more or less unscathed. True, I was dreading some kind of confrontation over Dickie - Richard - but I could handle that. Indeed, as I drove back,' I began to think I could handle anything. That suggestion about the stupid sodding cheesecakes had been a mistress-stroke.
One should not congratulate oneself - I knew this - yet at the same time I could not refrain. For was I not, really and truly, remarkably happy? Looking around me, I had only to see that I was. And Simon - Oxford - was too, at least so far as we were concerned. Do self-congratulations go before a fall, I mumbled to myself as I arrived home, or what...?
Verity was delighted with the elderflower cordial and made us up a concoction with gin (of course), vermouth and a lacing of th
e rustic liquor. It was, 1 had to say, very good. Just as well, for she bent my ear for some two hours or more. It became obvious why women turn to drink: it's not the ones with the problems, but the ones who have to listen to them. No wonder so many doctors commit suicide. Imagine that kind of thing week in week out. It was on the tip of my tongue to give up and suggest she take some Valium when at last she decided to go. She wove her way precariously down my path. Her last words, said somewhat forlornly from the gate, were 'I'm so looking forward to Christmas.'
I began to wonder if I was.
I had given Oxford a leather travelling bag, which seemed about the most sensible thing to buy him. I put into it some lavender sachets because I thought that when he was far away somewhere so alien the smell would be peculiarly English. More than anything, smells seem to be evocative of association, drawing those involuntary responses that remind us what a mystery we humans are. Patchouli always brought my sister back to me, boiling cabbage was school, baby powder was Saskia, and, of course, the smell of face powder and Yardley Black Rose was my mother. I wondered if Oxford would leave behind an olfactory memento.. .. Time would tell.