The Woman Who Wanted More

by Vicky Zimmerman

  Kate leaves her copy in pride of place on her desk when she pops to her meeting with Dave, the head of production, and when she returns, Kavita is engrossed.

  ‘This is great,’ says Kavita, turning a page. ‘It’s like cookbook meets self-help with jokes thrown in.’

  ‘Which bit are you on?’ says Kate, delighted her friend is enjoying it.

  ‘I love this’ – she flicks back through the book – ‘Impromptu Supper After Cocktail Party – Setting: Depends how you left your home when you went out. Either pick up your discarded underwear off the floor with a gay laugh, or ignore any mess in a high-handed manner and offer your guests Alka-Seltzer while you repair to the kitchen to curse and see what can be done. And this quote, before “Dinner to Celebrate Thirty Years of Marriage”: Does the road wind uphill all the way? Yes, to the very end – that made me laugh. That’s clearly someone who’s been married forever.’

  ‘Did you notice she makes that same anniversary lamb dish for each of the five anniversary dinners in the book, right up to their fiftieth – but changes it slightly each time? And for that final supper they have small portions, it’s so sweet because they’re growing old together.’

  ‘The stuff in the kids’ birthday party chapter – that was my Saturday afternoon Aim: to ensure your child is included on the party lists of other desirable parents in your area. All such parties tend to finish in tears and fighting. You must accept this risk and be prepared to dispense rough justice and clean handkerchiefs. Bloody tiger mothers of Ealing . . . Where did you find this gem?’

  ‘One of the old ladies at the home has a huge library. It was buried in there.’

  ‘Someone should do a modern version . . . “Dinner for When You’ve Forgotten Your Own Wedding Anniversary and Your Husband Wants You to Cook a Romantic Meal Because He’s Bought You the Steam-Iron You Wanted, But All You have Energy or Desire for is Watching The Good Wife”.’

  ‘Oh, poor Dom – what did you make him?’

  ‘Made him order a curry,’ says Kavita as she mimes ‘ba-dum’ on an invisible cymbal and drum.

  ‘That is a terrible joke,’ says Kate, laughing.

  Kavita shrugs. ‘Meanwhile, has that douchebag Devron updated you on what’s happening?’

  ‘Oh please don’t,’ says Kate, burying her head in her hands. ‘I thought work was the one stable thing in my life, but the timing couldn’t be worse, with Nick and everything. Devron hasn’t said a thing, but I’m just waiting for more bad news.’

  ‘What is the latest with Nick?’

  Kate brightens slightly. ‘Well, actually it’s okay, I think. We’re back to speaking every day. It’s really nice. He keeps asking to see me but I’m not quite ready yet.’

  ‘Can’t you just write off France as a blip?’

  ‘Bit of a painful blip,’ says Kate, shaking her head. ‘The good thing is he’s started therapy.’

  ‘Nick?’ Kavita’s eyes widen. ‘He doesn’t seem the type.’

  Kate shrugs. ‘I told him he should sort himself out and I guess he paid attention. He says he loves it, he says it’s the first time he’s ever been able to talk to someone about his mum’s death. I pointed out that my dad died when I was at college too, and he could speak to me, but he says it’s not the same. Anyway, at least he’s opening up to someone – oh, and he’s asked if he can take me somewhere nice for dinner on my fortieth.’

  ‘You said yes?’

  Kate shakes her head. ‘I’m trying to pretend this particular birthday isn’t happening.’

  ‘You have to celebrate.’

  ‘Not if I’m jobless, homeless and single,’ she says, shuddering. ‘Everything’s so up in the air, I’m hoping that if I just close my eyes, it will all work itself out.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Kavita, laughing. ‘That’s definitely the way life works.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  KATE HADN’T PICKED UP on it on her first reading, but now she’s read Thought for Food twice cover-to-cover, she realises that Cecily has been quoting this book at her, and her random ramblings start to make sense. The heckle during the gooseberry fool session was from ‘Dinner for Son’s Fiancée’; Cecily was quoting Coleridge, ‘She is not fair to outward view’ – presumably because there’s a gooseberry fool on the menu. And Kate’s second session, the quote that had bothered her, ‘Now I wake, exceeding comfortless and worn and old’, was from a Christina Rossetti poem, and the menu – ‘Breakfast With a Hangover’ – did feature a toastie, and some sound advice: The most urgent need will be coffee. Weaker spirits, if able to sit, should be offered bacon. So true. This book has taken up permanent residence in Kate’s handbag; it’s her new bible.

  For her next visit, Kate’s decided to make Cecily a recipe from the book, biscuits from ‘Tea for a Crotchety Aunt’ – Aim: if she is an aunt you love, to make her feel cherished. Kate is nowhere near the love stage, but she’d like to brighten Cecily’s day, and the biscuits sound delicious – cherry and almond shortbreads – a Bakewell flavour with a light, crumbly texture. If Cecily won’t eat them, Kate will polish them off. After weeks of food tasting like ash on her tongue, this book’s started to make her hungry again.

  *

  If Cecily wasn’t wearing a different silk blouse and a new cameo brooch, Kate would swear she hasn’t moved since last Sunday. Mrs Gaffney says Cecily barely leaves her room. She’s lost her confidence as well as her appetite, she never sits in the garden and only occasionally comes to an event, presumably so she can walk out halfway through. She certainly hasn’t stood to open a window – the radiators in here feel like they’re on full blast, though Cecily looks cool and elegant, her hair once again an immaculate white swirl.

  ‘How’s your week been, Mrs Finn?’

  ‘I’m still alive, aren’t I?’ says Cecily, frowning. ‘Order the tea and biscuits, would you?’

  ‘No need,’ says Kate, taking the Tupperware from her bag and proudly displaying the shortbreads. ‘Cherry and almond—’

  ‘From my book?’ says Cecily, with a look Kate could almost mistake for impressed.

  ‘Yes! I loved this book,’ says Kate, taking it from her bag and handing it back to Cecily. ‘I’ve never read one like it.’

  ‘Keep it.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ve ordered copies online.’

  ‘You can buy copies of this book online?’

  ‘Mrs Finn, you can buy nuclear weapons online.’

  ‘Keep that copy until the others arrive. I insist.’

  ‘OK. Thank you.’ Kate tucks the book safely back in her bag. ‘I wanted to ask, your mother was obviously a great cook, you grew up in a sweet shop, so when did—’

  ‘Oh, I was never allowed in the shop, it was a forbidden paradise, which only made it more alluring. I once sneaked in to eat the toffee creams, ate rather too many. I was terrified Papa would notice, so I replaced the sweets in the wrappers with stones.’

  ‘Sounds like a recipe for disaster.’

  ‘Mrs Milton broke a tooth! I can still feel the impact of Papa’s fingers stinging my face,’ she says, gently touching her cheek. ‘Still, worth it for those toffees,’ she chuckles. ‘Get the door?’

  Kate helps the carer with the tray, serves the tea, then watches nervously as Cecily reaches for a biscuit. Cecily slowly chews, her eyes narrow, then she gives an almost imperceptible nod. Success, at last: Cecily’s finally eating something Kate’s cooked and she hasn’t spat it out.

  ‘Is your mother a good cook?’ says Cecily, blotting the crumbs that have gathered on her bottom lip.

  ‘A terrible cook, she doesn’t care about food.’

  ‘I wouldn’t care much for her, then,’ says Cecily, taking two more rapid bites and immediately inching her fingers towards another biscuit. ‘Did your father cook?’

  ‘Dad? The most he’d do was arrange a Ploughman’s for lunch.’

  ‘So who taught you?’

  ‘I taught myself, not altogether successfully. When I was eight, my paren
ts took me to Chinatown for my birthday. We ate delicious egg fried rice, and the week after I begged Mum to make it for dinner. She told me to make it myself. I already knew how to cook an omelette, so I didn’t think it would be that hard. I fried the rice, added the peas and egg, but Mum hadn’t told me I needed to boil the rice first.’

  Cecily giggles and her whole body shakes. This part of Kate’s anecdote doesn’t sting, and Kate secretly congratulates herself on making the old woman laugh so hard.

  ‘Mum joked that I’d inherited Dad’s looks but not his brains,’ continues Kate. ‘At that moment I vowed I’d learn to feed myself properly, and I also vowed that even if I couldn’t be beautiful like her, I’d never be cruel like her either.’ Kate has told this story several times over the years, and every time she does she marvels at how mean her mother was. Rita strenuously denies her role in this story, claiming Kate has false memory syndrome, but Kate knows it happened because it had cut her straight to the core.

  Cecily pauses and turns her gaze to the window. ‘I never came close to what my father wanted me to be. The one thing we can’t forgive our parents for is their disappointment in us.’ She turns back to Kate with a helpless smile.

  ‘Do you feel like telling me about your husband the spy?’

  ‘Not today,’ says Cecily. Her eyes narrow and she points to Kate for more tea. ‘Tell me more about this man of yours.’

  ‘I don’t really want to,’ says Kate, staring at her hands.

  ‘I suspect you do. And even if you don’t, I’m in the mood for a story, especially one that goes horribly wrong.’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ says Kate, straightening up in indignation. ‘I’m trying to keep my mind off it.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ says Cecily, gleefully. ‘What’s this chap called, and is he handsome?’

  ‘He’s called Nick, and I’ll show you,’ says Kate, coming to crouch by Cecily’s side. Kate flicks through her photos. ‘Hmm, here’s the most recent one . . .’ It’s the one taken on their second day in France, a selfie of them with sunburnt noses, lying on their loungers. Their faces are pure happiness, yet seven hours later . . . Looking at this photo still feels like pressing on an open wound. She flicks back further. ‘Ah, here’s a good one.’ Back in May, Kate had insisted Nick leave the sofa and crossword and take a day trip to Brighton. ‘We went down to the coast, but it turned cold the minute we got there. We ended up buying a pizza and eating it on the beach in a hefty gale. I was using the pizza box to protect me from the wind but it had bacon stuck to the lid and I didn’t realise the bacon bits were getting caught in my hair, so this was taken just after Nick’s eaten the pork from my hair,’ says Kate, laughing at how unsophisticated they sound. In the photo Kate turns to Nick with a half-smile, her face tipped up towards his. He has his arm firmly round her shoulder and is beaming – his green eyes filled with laughter.

  Cecily squints at the screen impatiently. ‘I can’t see him clearly.’

  Kate zooms in until her entire screen is Nick’s smiling face.

  Cecily paws at the picture. ‘The temples are grey yet the mind looks childish.’

  ‘How on earth can you tell what his mind looks like from an iPhone photo?’

  ‘Because I can. What’s the situation?’

  ‘To cut a long story short, he’s not good with emotions.’

  Cecily shrugs. ‘Men often aren’t.’

  ‘Exactly, thank you! So we’ve been together eighteen months, we get on brilliantly, we have loads in common. He’d just asked me to move in with him but then we went to France for a few days and out of nowhere he says he has an urge to withdraw.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Well exactly. He said he didn’t want to live with me at the moment. It was incredibly confusing.’

  ‘And then what?’ Cecily leans forward as if something revelatory is about to be delivered. ‘Did he do something spectacular to make up for it?’

  ‘Oh, Nick’s not a romantic at all. He’s analytical, scientific, possibly mildly autistic. He’s been single most of his life.’

  ‘These are his selling points?’

  ‘He’s completely rational, not emotional – but that’s fine, I do the feelings for both of us. Look, Mrs Finn, I don’t believe in fairy stories, I don’t need him to turn up on a white horse. He’s agreed to have therapy—’

  ‘Oh no. No, no, no. Give that man short shrift.’

  ‘Therapy, which is a huge deal for a bloke like him, and in the meantime we’ve agreed to just be friends. We talk every day, but I’m not going to see him till he’s sure of what he wants.’

  Cecily waves Kate’s comment away. ‘Ludicrous – friends help, not harm, each other. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it; you’re not the first person in history to have their heart broken. If this chap is too emotionally stunted to love you, let’s find a man who can.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s more than one man on earth who’ll eat pizza from your hair.’

  ‘Mrs Finn, do you have any idea how hard it is to meet a man nowadays? Don’t ask me to explain Tinder to you because you’ll find it appalling but, basically, the Internet has ruined human relationships. Things aren’t normal out there. Every forty-something, pot-bellied male in London thinks he’s entitled to date a hotter, younger woman. Men reject perfectly lovely women because they’re holding out for unrealistic perfection and they’re delusional about their “infinite” choices; women try to cling to these substandard men because they’re so beaten down by years of terrible dating.’

  Cecily points in confusion at Kate.

  ‘No, that is not my situation at all,’ says Kate. ‘I’m lucky to have Nick – he’s incredibly clever, a great cook, he’s kind . . .’

  ‘Kind? To jilt a girl on holiday?’

  ‘I was not jilted. Day-to-day he’s a gentle soul, there’s an absence of malice to him.’

  ‘And an absence of other key qualities too.’

  ‘He expressed a modicum of doubt about our future. That’s not unreasonable,’ says Kate, feeling her cheeks colour.

  ‘I find it unreasonable. The only reason you’d countenance a man doubting you is if you doubt yourself.’

  Kate is silent as she tries to think of a reason to convince herself, and then Cecily, that this is not the case.

  Cecily stares at her, then softens slightly. ‘In my day you were over the hill at twenty. Papa was frantic, in his eyes I was an “old maid”, a disgrace. But I found my soulmate in the end. He was worth the wait. Papa had made me become a teacher—’

  ‘You were a teacher?’

  ‘In one of my many lives. Papa forced me into it. He said at least I’d have a pension as no one would marry me because I was so plain.’

  Kate shifts uncomfortably in her chair but Cecily is unfazed. ‘Every time I went to a tea dance, he’d say, “If anyone better-looking than a toad asks to marry you, say yes”.’

  ‘But you did marry in the end,’ says Kate defensively.

  ‘And I married a prince, not a toad.’

  ‘Not an actual prince?’ says Kate, wondering if Cecily’s about to claim royalty.

  ‘Better than a prince – a man who was always by my side.’ She pauses to look at Kate more closely. ‘Do something for me, Kate. Find another chap to take you out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hoping and waiting make fools of us. This amoeba chap—’

  ‘Amoeba?’

  ‘Was that not his name?’

  ‘It’s Nick,’ says Kate, spilling tea into her saucer as she places it back on the table.

  ‘He’s clearly inadequate. He doesn’t realise how lucky he is. Find a better man.’

  ‘I can’t do that. We’re on a break while he works through his issues. He doesn’t want to hurt me again and obviously I don’t want that either. We’re being responsible. I think he loves me – why else would he waste his time?’

  ‘His time is not my concern. Yours is.’ Cecily points a
warning finger at her. ‘Has he made any firm commitment?’

  ‘He wants to take me for dinner for my fortieth in December . . .’

  Cecily shakes her head impatiently. ‘Good Lord, when the stomach’s empty so is the brain. Listen to me – you need to explore other options.’

  ‘Even if I say yes, you can’t meet a man in real life in London – people only date via phone apps.’

  ‘More nonsense. Technology may have changed but people haven’t. Next weekend do something, anything, you’re interested in. Do the things you love and everything else will fall into place. Go to a museum or for a walk in Hyde Park. Next Sunday, I want to hear that you’ve at least spoken to a new man. That really isn’t a huge demand and, frankly, I haven’t mentioned it, but I’ve been having palpitations. I don’t think I’ll make it past October. You could do this one last thing for me.’ Cecily rests her hand on her chest and makes a low, unconvincing moan. ‘I can feel it now, beating too fast. Time for you to go.’

  ‘Mrs Finn, you are OK, aren’t you?’

  ‘I will be, but only if you come back with progress next week.’

  ‘You’re totally faking it.’

  ‘You couldn’t live with the guilt if I’m not,’ says Cecily as Kate heads for the door. ‘Opportunities are everywhere. Take it from one who knows.’

  On Kate’s way out a man sitting in reception looks up from his phone as she walks by. He’s a few years older than Kate, with dark blue eyes, sandy hair and a long, narrow nose. He smiles warmly at her.

  Kate has been getting quite a lot of random male attention recently. She reasons it must be down to the fact that she’s lost eight pounds since France, and now has a flat and empty stomach. Or because she’s walking around looking vulnerable, a damsel in distress, which is a look some men lap up – sad men who need women to be fragile in order to feel strong. It hasn’t occurred to her that men are looking at her because she’s an attractive girl wearing pretty dresses in the summer and they might just, well, fancy her.