Women’s fiction and chic lit

‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 18

Walking out of the front entrance, the light of the evening startled me. I breathed sharp, cool air deeply. Not stopping to lean on a wall, sag down onto my haunches, I finally found a taxi rank and queued, keeping my face blank. I watched others, some tottering with zimmer frames, some in pyjamas, arguing with their nearest and dearest or snatching a puff before shuffling painfully back inside. A pain stuck in the middle of my chest as I heaved myself into an empty cab.

As the taxi turned the corner and climbed the hill of our street, I was on the lookout for lights at the windows. A comforting glow reassured me that Elaine was home, watching television. Through the front door, I sank down on the bottom step of the stairs as she threw her arms around my neck and asked, “Is everything all right? You said we might have pizza tonight, so I looked in the freezer, but there’s only a very small one. Can we get a take away?”

“Yes, whatever you like, love.”

“Great! I’ll have extra ham and pineapple.”

“That’s fine.” Fetching my bank card, I telephoned Giuseppe’s. They were busy, but eventually, I placed the order, feeling as if I had climbed Mount Everest backwards, heavy, exhausted and with a headache from being up a mountain where the air was cold and thin. Shock. Waiting on the bottom stair for the front door bell, I lay my head over my crossed arms. The pizza would be here soon.

Elaine was looking at me, her head tilted sideways as if she was watching a small bird.

A surge of painful adrenalin hit me in the solar plexus and my hands shook wildly. I felt so angry. My hands started mechanically hitting, pummelling my knees before turning to the bannister, striking repeatedly, the staves of wood slapping pain into my palms. Elaine was looking to see what she could do to help. The sight of her worried face forced out the words I needed to explain. Each syllable rose over the ache in my throat. “Sorry, love, I’ve just come from the hospital. Been with Arthur, you know?” She nodded.

“Is he all right, Mum?”

“Yes, well, he – he had a heart attack.”

She’d walked away, but only to fetch a glass of water and bring it like a holy offering. I drank deeply. With exaggerated care, I placed the empty plastic cup to one side before starting to howl noisily, like an animal, relieved to be in my own house, not a flimsy flat with bad sound proofing. I wept and swore blindly, while Elaine watched and waited. When I caught a bit of breath, she threw her arms around me in another warm hug, bringing on a fresh bout of weeping. What a lovely child. I rested with my head in my arms.

A plate appeared beside me with two slices of pizza on it. Elaine must have put them there, so, crying and whimpering into spicy tomato sauce and bits of ham, I did my best with it. If I could have tasted it, I would have thought it a rare treat. Elaine’s thoughtfulness brought fresh tears to my eyes, so I rose and crept to the kitchen to put things into some kind of order. Order, the placing of objects and expectations, can be the start of something less painful, calm found in a pile of pieces. Elaine was reading a book, quietly eating, as I came up behind her and held her tightly.

“It’s been a strange day” I mumbled.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I’ve no idea, not a clue,” I answered with an attempt at lightness.

“I’m going skiing with Clare tomorrow, remember?”

Clutching the beginnings of normality, I asked, “Have you enough cash? Do you need some more?”

“No, I should be fine. I’ve got some saved up.”

“Okay, just ask if you need extra. Um, I’ll probably be at the hospital most of the day, but I can drop you off at Clare’s in the morning, if you like.”

“Yeah, that would be good. About nine o’clock?” she added, filling her mug with water from the tap.

We spent the rest of the evening watching television. Occasionally my eyes would swim with tears. Elaine watched me as much as the TV. Now and then, we would hug. After she had taken herself to bed, I rang the hospital. There a quiet voice calmly informed me that Mr. Thompson was doing as well as could be expected but they would be monitoring his condition closely overnight. I sat up late in bed, reading a book. Wilting on my pillows, I waited out the small hours. I must have dozed off, because when I woke, it was after eight and the room was light.

Had Elaine put the light off? The lamp was lying on the floor. I leapt out of bed. The bulb had smashed and there were shards of glass lying underneath the dented lampshade. Careful in my bare feet, I unplugged the flex, fetched a brush and pan from the kitchen, swept up and then vacuumed the carpet.

The sight of Elaine wearing her salopettes reminded me to hurry, a small line of normality which I clasped with manic enthusiasm. Desperate to feel normal, I threw a large jumper over yesterday’s clothes, which smelled of hospital…

Then oh, yes, Arthur. A fresh bout of tears filled my tired eyes. Propped up at the kitchen sink, I snatched a drink of water and a banana, gagging slightly on the taste, and checked that Elaine had her mobile phone, her gloves and money for a snack. We fussed a bit in the hall over details, while I stroked Elaine’s head fondly before she pulled apart. Grabbing keys, we ran up the path together and ten minutes later we arrived at Clare’s house, where she was waiting outside, twirling her skiing gloves.

“We should be back about lunchtime,” called Alison as the car revved up. I returned to a very quiet house, determined to eat breakfast, listen to the radio and forget, just for a minute or two. I managed to cram two slices of toast with peanut butter and swallow a scalding cup of tea. Then, almost running in my desperation, I sank gratefully into the hot shower as yesterday’s sorrow and my aching head started to clear. Showering off painful memories, I was suddenly aware that I was also washing away the last time Arthur had hugged me and kissed my lips, only yesterday. That made me weep some more, but at least I could rinse the ache of longing softly away with soap. He might never hold me again. Then something jolted me. Come on, girl, weeping may not be needed, after all. Pray! You prayed yesterday, didn’t you?

Prayer..? Seemed a tall order, as I stood naked with the water pelting down over my shoulders and my eyes tightly shut, pleading. But at last, from the idea that someone might be listening, a germ of calm grew, a breath, a moment of stillness.

“Dear God” said I, a lapsed atheist, “Please, help Arthur to get well. Not for my sake, but so that he may find peace and love. Please clothe Arthur in bright healing and fill him with joy. Amen.” It felt like a pretty good prayer, in the circumstances.

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 17

As Arthur was pulled away through the wide doors of A & E, the dark clamour within the huge hall made me dizzy. Disorientated by the smells, I sank onto the nearest bench. Thankfully, in the wide, formal space, as well as rows of seats there was a café, a bookshop and a flower-stand selling hopeful blossoms. Just as others did, I found I could accustom myself to waiting. What were we waiting for? If it had not been for tall figures in hospital whites and green-suited technicians dashing about, the place could have been mistaken for an airport concourse.

I Approached the reception desk and asked, “Which ward for acute cardiac admissions?”

A young and overworked receptionist glanced up, answering automatically, “Ward 15B, along that way, through that door, along to the end, and then take the lifts to the first floor,” adding, “Ask at the front desk for new arrivals…” She made it sound so matter-of-fact that I was calmed. Hospitals do that, I suppose. They numb everyone, even the visitors.

Shock made me slow. If I had thought about it, I would have crumpled into a small heap and howled. Somehow I made myself walk calmly, wait while the elevator pinged open, then shut, then carried me silently up the height of a single flight of stairs and opened to let me out beside a large expanse of glass.

“I just came in with Arthur….” I lobbed the words at the first nurse I found, who seemed used to enquiries from traumatized visitors.

“Yes?” she replied pleasantly, “Arthur who?” and I could not remember…

“Arthur…” His name hung painfully alone until thankfully, she supplied the gap.

“There is an Arthur Thompson just being admitted in bay 12. He’s a bit poorly, I’m afraid. If you come with me, I’ll see if they can let you…” She walked ahead of me, her fair head bobbing slightly in time with her stride marked with rhythmic squeaks on the polished floor. She thoughtfully indicated that I might like to take a seat.

After about half an hour, she came back and said, “You can see him for a minute, but I’m afraid, well…” Debating how much she could tell me, she finally dug out a bit of hospital protocol.

“Are you a relative?”

“I’m Arthur’s neighbour. I’ve known him for…” how long had it been? “I’ve known him a while,” I decided. “He and I…” I left it at that, because my eyes were filling with tears.

“You can see him, but please, don’t stay long.”

As quietly as I could, I walked over to the bay she indicated, carefully lifted aside the curtain and let it drop behind me. I was standing at the foot of an enormous bed, on the wrong side, so felt my way gingerly around and then finally dared to look up. Arthur’s face had disappeared beneath a mask which was making rhythmic pulling noises, softly blowing air around his head. His neck and chest looked as I remembered them, but so still.

Under a loosely thrown sheet, I found his fingers, the back of his hand already fitted with nodules and lines for monitoring vital signs… that hand. I swayed, held my breath, desperate not to topple onto delicate contraptions, not to lean and puncture some life-support web.

“Arthur…” I whispered, already dreading the summons to leave. I remembered my courage and spoke with quiet urgency.

“Arthur, hello darling.”  I waited, hoping he could hear, or at least know something.

“I really love you, you know…” I whispered. More loudly I repeated, “I love you so much. I’m sorry I was cross with you. So sorry,” I smiled, because that is what we do when we apologise, isn’t it? I waited, just in case something of him might be watching, weighing whether to drift up through the ceiling and home to his wife.

Glancing at my watch, I saw with alarm that it was nearly six. I retrieved my phone to check for a signal. I had to phone Elaine. “Arthur, I have to go now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Gently I leaned over and kissed him, cheek and forehead, though they wouldn’t have approved, likely. A sick man needs more love than a well one, I thought defiantly.

I stopped at the desk on my way out. “Can I visit Mr. Thompson again? Visiting hours?”

A harassed nurse said, “Well, weekends are a bit more flexible, really, so long as there aren’t too many visitors. Are there likely to be, do you think?”

“No” I mumbled sadly.

“I’m sure that’ll be fine.” She offered a sympathetic smile before turning away.

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 16

“Vivienne lied to me,” he said.

His voice was just the same, carried away from me by the upstart breeze as we stood in the garden. Maybe a bit less certain, a bit stumbling, but just as I remembered it, even so. I was listening intently, but would not meet his eyes and pulled my face aside as he spoke. Wanting to be up and doing, I was clumsily unfolding and hanging the laundry as he stood beside me, talking. Almost, I was thinking, Well, if he leaves me now, at least I will have hung up these clothes to dry on the first clear morning in months… He steadied me a couple of times as I rocked with the wind, with the weight of wet tops, with the whip of the line.

“Can’t we go and have a cup of tea, just …?”

Silence.

“I’ve been driving since six this morning… Vivienne lied to me, said she was dying. Cancer, she said, and looked thin enough for it. How could I know she wasn’t being truthful? I only found out because I went to the surgery myself for some routine check-ups, and was commiserating with the doctor about her illness… He was surprised – I remember exactly what he said – ‘For a woman her age, she’s in rude health, though she could knock off the booze a bit.’ Turns out she has a ‘drink problem’ and was just using me to pay for her habit. Keeping secrets…lies.”

There was a long pause. High above us the wind kept blowing.

“Please look at me, Marian.”

I couldn’t, not until he came and put his arms around me again, said, “Please,” and lifted my chin. When I looked, I saw only a tired, sad, truthful man.

“Okay,” I said, slowly. I dropped the damp clothes I had been shouldering and held out my arms. I didn’t want to let go as we kissed, at first carefully, gently, and then with more fullness. In full view of the birds, the neighbours and the hydrangea bushes, we kissed, remembering. As shirts flapped lazily and the light flitted, I thought my heart would burst with longing, for love of this man; this man, of all the men who could keep me company. Only his hands would do, only his gentleness.

At length we broke away, both tired, saddened and at peace. “Leave that lot, and come in” I said, staggering slightly as I pushed open the kitchen door. “Elaine is at school, she might be home soon. Half day Friday.”

I went to put the kettle on, when the phone rang again. “Busy, all of a sudden,” I muttered quizzically.

“Hello, Mum?” It was Elaine, saying she was visiting a friend.

“Yes, that’s fine, have fun, love…” My reply was easy, almost automatic. For many weeks now, Elaine had been staying with friends after school on Fridays. Overhearing me, Arthur made tea then sat quietly cradling his head in his hands with tiredness.

“Bog standard all right?” He asked. As if he had never left, he had found the cups and the milk and set it all out with a plate of biscuits. He was so used to doing everything, he hardly knew when to stop.

“Thanks” I said, as I sat beside him. I poured. I could not remember another time when, sitting down beside anyone, I had felt so comforted or so easily understood by anyone except Elaine. And Karl.

“I should start at the beginning…” Arthur’s voice shook slightly.

“You really don’t have to.” Sitting beside him was comfort enough.

“I would like you to understand.”

“It’s okay.”

“For so many years I had no-one to really talk to. I would love you to know.”

“Okay.” I felt tears and fought them away, as feelings of loss and pity overcame me. One tear escaped and slid down my cheek, thankfully on the other side, so Arthur would not see it. I licked it away, taking a sip from my mug as he carried on speaking.

“Vivienne – ” he said the name with obvious distaste. “She is very…plausible, you know? Anyway, the morning I left you…” there was a pause as he was wondering what to say, what to leave out. “I left you early because I did not want your daughter catching us together. I got home and there was this garbled message on the phone. Turns out Viv had been drinking, feeling sorry for herself. She made up this – excuse – to drag me back to see her. Said she had cancer and was dying and I owed it to her and our son to come down and look after her until she…well, until she died.”

“History repeating itself?”

“Perhaps she just knew that was my weakness. A woman in distress has always got past my reason. I feel a fool for going.”

“Well, at least you are home now. No harm done, I take it?”

“No, except to poor James. She leans on him so badly and is never especially grateful or kind to the boy. She seems to think that she can ask him to do anything. Once she even insisted that he take her to a bogus hospital appointment. She kept him waiting for a couple of hours at oncology outpatients. She just went to the café and read a book, then came staggering out looking sorry for herself. I was so angry with her when I found out, that I just threw all my stuff in the boot, took a detour to see James” – his voice shook – “and drove straight back.”

Feeling suddenly grateful and slightly ashamed, I leaned into him.

Well, I’m very glad. Would you like to, I dunno…” Abruptly, I was silenced. Arthur looked tired and sad.

“Why don’t we go round to yours and you can get yourself sorted? Elaine will probably be away most of the afternoon.”

“Would that be okay? I might be a while sorting out my mail and stuff, but I would appreciate the company.”

I gathered my keys and my coat, and then we walked together rather awkwardly down, round and up our paths to his front door. A grin split my face.

“What’s that for?

“For you, for coming home,” I sang.

Arthur fumbled for his keys, dropped them and bent to retrieve them from his front step. As he did, he toppled forward and hit his head, which clonked on the wooden door. He knelt, looked up and grimaced, tears glistening and falling over his cheeks. “Sorry, a bit of a pain…” he croaked, trying to rise to his feet.

“Are you all right?” an anxious feeling reared up, wondering what had happened.

“Tell you what, just you go in.” He pushed the front door ajar and I went ahead, stepping over papers and envelopes on the hall carpet. My eyes were taking a while to adjust in the gloom so I glanced back at the outside brightness and saw Arthur clutching at his chest, heaving a breath and trying to look as if nothing was wrong.

I scampered fearfully to the hall phone and rang 999. In a voice that was calm and not like mine at all, I asked for an ambulance, gave the address and confirmed it was a suspected cardiac arrest and an emergency. I went out to hold Arthur’s hand. Out on his pathway we waited, as the minutes passed until finally, an ambulance arrived and in a noise and a scuffle of bright lights, two strange men appeared asking questions. .

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Arthur…”

“This your wife?”

“No, sorry… Come with me?” He gripped my hand and obviously didn’t want to let go.

“Yes, I’ll come, but I’ll need my handbag…” As Arthur was wrapped up, fitted with an oxygen mask and lifted into the back of the ambulance, I flitted home, fumbled with the front door key and grabbed my bag, doing my best not to weave and fall in my panic.

I sat mute by the side of the gurney as we blue-lighted it through the streets. My eyes fixed on Arthur’s face, on the veins stranding loyally down his neck; on watching his chest rising and falling, his arms moving fretfully; I held his hand, whispered in his ear above the noise, and prayed. I prayed for a miracle because I loved him.

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 15

Strange, how we get on with doing. One night with Arthur changed my life, turned it upside down. I felt different, like a woman properly loved, and while I rejoiced in the discovery, I began to mourn the years I had waited, hoping for love and understanding. Now I had tasted it, only to have it snatched away. Arthur was not nearby to reassure me.

Days passed. Christmas and New Year threw me into a blaze of activity, of cooking and baking for the two of us and extending impromptu invitations to neighbours. The weather turned blustery and cold, so that I hardly ventured out in the dark evenings, but huddled with Sylvester on my lap while Elaine stayed over with friends, read, or we watched movies and chatted. Tears came to my eyes at odd moments, remembering the years Karl had hauled a tree into the lounge and decorated it with tinsel and lights, or while gazing out at the dark, remembering Karl’s comforting hands clasping mine as we walked, giggling, though the snow after an enormous Christmas lunch. Friends visited, dropping off festive cheer, and each time the doorbell chimed or the phone rang, my heart leapt, then sank with disappointment.

He did not phone. Perhaps I had dreamt our whole encounter, made it up to please myself? Then, at the oddest moments, as I was washing the dishes or setting out breakfast with teaspoons and egg-cups, I would remember his hands on my shoulders or the strength of his kiss on my mouth, and I knew he had meant what he said, and that what we felt for each other was real.

I felt rediscovered, but I could hardly shout about it. As hours lengthened into silent days, I mourned the loss of Arthur’s company while I carried on being the best mum I could. Many times I could have stopped in the middle of the living room or the kitchen or the bathroom; I wanted to lie down in the garden, the hallway, the bedroom and cry myself to sleep. But things needed doing; and the resumption of Elaine’s school timetable kept at me and kept me going.

Spring was on the way in again, when the phone rang. I was standing outside with a handful of damp washing and clothes pegs, thanking God that I could hang out the laundry on that light, breezy morning, when I heard the bell trill and moved clumsily to the front of the house, leaving the linen where it lay. I had grown so used to nuisance callers trying to sell me insurance, upgrade my telephone tariff or remind me to claim compensation, that I was a little abrupt.

“Hello?” I queried, my tone efficient.

“Hello… Remember me?”

I almost dropped the phone in shock, and my hands were suddenly slippery. “What the buggery are you doing, phoning me now?” I snapped, furious and sad all at once.

“Sorry, Marian, I know…”

I nearly put the phone down, but something in me held out for better.

“I know I have some explaining to do.”

“Yes.”

“Can we meet up?”

“I hardly think so, not now…and… Where are you?”

“Actually, I’m home.”

I slammed the phone down. Strange, that quiet, obedient me should be so forceful all of a sudden, but a fury I hardly recognized gave me strength, even though I wanted to weep and kiss and give in. The phone rang again and when I didn’t pick it up, the doorbell started. He was there on the other side, and I would not let him in, until I listened and heard him saying, “Vivienne lied to me…”

My heart understood, and I pulled open the door, to see Arthur’s thin, angular frame silhouetted against the light. Before we said anything else, our arms clasped each other and held on, tighter all the time, pushing as if we wanted to get inside each other, trembling with emotion, with anger, confusion, sorrow and joy.

“I came back, you see,” he said. “I came back because I want to be – happy.”

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 14

I woke to shards of dark light, a cold space in the bed beside me and the familiar quiet noises of the house in early morning. I guessed it was about six. As my thoughts stretched back, I sat up with a jolt, seeking warmth and reassurance… What had it been?

Shivering violently, I slipped out of bed and shrugged into my dressing gown. Slanting rays of light crossed the landing and I tapped faintly at the bathroom door, hoping to hear a familiar voice, but the door swung in, revealing emptiness. The shaving light glowed over the mirror.

Leaving it, I crept quietly downstairs and found nothing to remind me of last night: no half-cup of tea, no warm kettle, no shoe lying by the sofa. I dithered in the half light. Should I phone, or go back to bed? Hovering, I dialled Arthur’s number, but there was no reply. I wearily climbed the stairs and ran a bath, lowering my aching body into the hot water to wash away the indecision hanging over me. Had there been a man in my bed last night? Had we revealed ourselves, urged and wept? Incredulous, I slowly shook my head, soaped my body and dreamed.

An hour or so later when Elaine woke up, our house looked as it always had, just the two of us. So easily did she brush her hair and slowly put on her shoes while reading and eating toast with jammy fingers; so easily did life slip by in its usual holiday patterns, I felt as if the whole of last night must have been a dream. While Elaine was arranging to meet up with her friends for some last minute Christmas shopping, I was tidying, furtively wrapping presents. Not until later did I start seriously to wonder where Arthur was. Without his reassuring presence, the house felt too large.

Around mid-morning, three things happened at once: the doorbell rang, the phone went and the post arrived. Automatically I picked up the handset and said, “Wait a moment, please, there’s someone at the door…” before stretching to the latch and pulling it open. On the step was a box with my name and address on it in handwriting I did not recognize, and an assortment of junk mail that the mailman had left perched on top. I went back.

“Hello? Hello…sorry about that, the doorbell….”

“Marian, it’s me.”

“Oh! Arth–”

“Sorry to leave you this morning so early, but I thought it best to go while Elaine was asleep. I didn’t want her to catch me there, you know.”

“Very thoughtful… Where are you? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine, absolutely….fine.” Memories of last night fizzed down the line. I felt weak at the knees. The slightest push would have toppled me.

I managed to say, “I could do with a hug, right now….”

“I would love to. The thing is….” My heart dropped into my boots and I could feel a drum beating in my ears. I leaned on the wall, my breath coming in short gasps.

“I’m coming back, Marian. But there are some things I have to tidy up first. It’s something I need to do before we become any more…” The words were rushing out now, probably in a mix of confusion and guilt. “I’ll get everything sorted.” There was a long pause. “If I had stayed, I might not… I won’t be away long.”

“But–” Arthur’s words flew over my head. I could pick out the odd phrase.

“Away? When will you be back?”

“Not sure. A week or two, probably.”

“Where are you?”

“A service station, a dive somewhere.”

I was shivering violently, my teeth chattered with emotion, cold and disappointment.

“Well” I swallowed, forcing some words out, “I hope you get everything sorted and– ” My voice broke, “I – I will always be here for you.”

“Thanks Marian. I’m sorry to go away like this, but I can’t leave the situation just hanging.”

I nodded, but of course, he could not see me. I grinned sheepishly, but still he could not see me. Cross with myself for wasting time, I forced out some more words, barking them, to delay weeping.

“Are you trying to let me down gently?”

“No! Of course not. Is that what you think? I don’t get my kit off for just anybody, you know,” he whispered. “Please Marian, wait for me, please?”

“Yes, of course I will. I wish you could have told me before you left.”

“Yes, I wanted to wake you – I would have liked to, but then I might not have come away. You know how it is, sweetheart.” His gentleness undid all my sharpness and I wept quietly. Feeling I had nothing to lose, I took a great leap and said, “I love you, you know. I hope you can come back soon.”

“I will, my lover, as soon as I can, I promise.”

It was only after I had put the phone down that I realized I had no idea where he was.

The box had been left by Arthur. In it, I found a letter: “Dearest Marian… I’m so sorry to have to go away, but my affairs with Vivienne need my attention.” In the box I found a large, gangly pot plant that would need watering. “I would be very grateful if you could water Lilian’s peace lily for me, now and then. Just until I get back…”

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 12

We finished our meal in shaky silence. All the time, I was praying: for the right words, for the right time and place, and so that everything would be all right. After our baked potatoes we had fruit and hot drinks. From my wide selection of ‘horrible’ teabags, Arthur chose ginger and ginseng and I had peppermint. My nerves were jangling.

“So, what is your great secret?” Arthur re-opened our discussion. “What is so awful that you look as white as a ghost, Marian? You can tell me – you can trust me.”

“It’s not as bad as that!” I exclaimed, and he laughed softly. I noticed his laugh and loved it.

“Where to start?” I wondered aloud. “I have cerebral palsy, as you’ve maybe worked out by now. And I don’t do sex very well. That’s all.” Seeing Arthur’s quizzical expression, I hastened on, “I mean, I do love, and passion and all the usual emotions…but the sex has always been – difficult.” I settled on that, treading warily, cautious. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, use the wrong words. “It feels easier to just forget the whole thing, sometimes.”

“You mean you, what, you never have sex?” Arthur’s eyebrows were up, and he was looking straight at me. I tried not to blush, pretended he was a sex therapist I was never going to see again.

“More or less. I’m never very sure and it’s not something I can talk about much. Who would understand?”

“Perhaps you are just so used to being brave that you never give yourself permission to experiment?”

“Well…” I was searching for reasons why and how and if and what and when, none of which came easily to mind. I like to understand things, but this was one dilemma that only Karl had explored with me. He had been my only other friend when it came to matters of sex. Even then, our life together had been comfortable, which is another way of saying we compromised a great deal.

“Let’s just see how it goes, shall we?” Arthur’s words cut into my thoughts, and part of me felt disappointed. Was this the usual brush off? I steeled myself for rejection, for the retreat.

“Okay,” I quietly accepted, but Arthur continued, “I just mean, let’s have fun and see how far we get, hey? I am quite happy to take a chance with you.”

“You mean, you don’t mind?” I felt small.

“Why the fuck would I mind? I haven’t had sexual relations in about a decade, so you could call me a bit rusty too. If you don’t mind taking a chance on me, I think I could stick with you. I’m sorry Marian, but either you have had lousy luck, crap lovers or zero confidence – probably all three.”

I couldn’t help laughing with relief at the honesty blazing out of Arthur’s face. The earthy obscenities sounded right at home, jolting me into the real world.

“You’ve got to realize – we all have problems, we all have things to sort through, and I don’t mind. Why would I mind? Are you contaminated or something? I don’t think so. If you are happy to be with me, then I am happy to be with you. Let’s both take one day at a time, okay?”

We finished our meal quietly. Our silence felt intimate and relaxed, as if we finally knew there would be no more surprises. Arthur got up and I thought he was going to walk away, out. But he only fetched a drink of water from the tap, drank deeply and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Perhaps it is Elaine’s bed-time?” The clock said ten past nine.

“Yes, I’ll go and see her. You could go through to the living room and put the fire on? I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.” I left Arthur clearing up in the kitchen, looking puzzled, amused and thoughtful.

“Mum?” Elaine was already in her pyjamas brushing her teeth when I got upstairs to check on her. Clothes were littered around the hallway, but I don’t mind stooping to collect them and putting them in the basket. It’s something to do while Elaine is in the bathroom, cleaning her teeth, brushing her long hair.

“Yes, what is it, my darling?”

“Is Arthur a nice man, do you think?”

“I think so, yes. He is being very kind to me.”

“Yes, but lots of people are kind. I mean, are you going to have sex with him?

“We shall see, shall we?” I answered her, with a cheerful grin. I am used to Elaine’s straight talking. In her, I encourage openness around sex, boys and making babies. Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, I have always said.

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 11

“How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know, Marian, that’s what worries me. I have spent the last sixteen years nursing. D’you suppose I want to do it again? For Vivienne whom I hardly know? A man needs to get away from bodily functions every so often.”

We sat in companionable silence tinged with unease, while the potatoes baked and then, as I flung together a collection of cheeses, sardines, ham, chopped tomatoes, salad and some hummus, I wondered that Arthur had so recently come into my life. Already he felt a comfortable part of it. How would it feel if he went away?

He caught my eye, and said, “You know I don’t want to go. I may be able to stall for a few days. Would you like that?”

Of course I would, and my insides felt as though they had turned to water. I did not move too quickly to agree, though – it felt important to be polite – and now, I saw his impatience.

“If you would like that, perhaps you could just tell me?” It sounded crosser than he intended, but I was startled.

“Yes, I would love you to stay, but not simply for my sake.”

“Well, why would I stay, if not for you?”

“You might not feel like going, travelling, you know?” Something pulled me back from committing more.

“I suppose… There is that, yes.” His fingers were drumming ever so gently on the table top, fiddling with his cutlery.

“Let’s eat,” I said, noticing that the oven timer marked fifty minutes. Surely, these baked potatoes would be ready? Our silence felt edgy now. We ate with only the noise of our knives and forks, and Elaine’s music coming from upstairs, to ease the silence.

“Marian.” I lifted my eyes and saw that Arthur had been watching me as I was cutting a particularly stubborn piece of potato skin.

“Give me your hand,” he said, and immediately I stopped chewing, took a sip of water and offered him my left hand, which he held firmly.

“I would like us to get together more. I feel you are pushing me away but I am not sure why. Is it me?”

“No, it has nothing to do with you.”  I liked Arthur too much to beat about the bush.

“What is it then? Can you tell me? You know all my secrets, yet I know almost nothing about you, except that you drink weak tea and went to boarding school. Why do you insist on being so solitary?”

So there we had it. Now, I had to share my secrets too, which I had always felt so alone with. My secret fears. I was so frightened that I began to shiver. I feared that if I told the truth, Arthur would shake his head regretfully and walk out of the kitchen.

I gazed into Arthur’s face, and all I could see there was openness and love. Gently, I leaned over to him and whispered in his ear, “If I tell you, will you leave me?”

“No, I promise I will stay right here.”

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 10

Middle-aged mothers are so unlikely to fall in love again. I caught myself glancing at Arthur’s mouth, wondering what his lips tasted like, whether his hands were warm. I remembered that I had offered to listen.

“So!” I tried to sound business-like, not bossy. “Would you like to tell me about your boy?”

“There isn’t much to tell, really. I met Vivienne when I took Lilian for a respite break to the seaside in the early days. We were still coming to terms, you know. In Cornwall, I met this woman walking along a nearby beach road. She looked beautiful and I imagined she must be kind, with looks like that. I was a bit taken by surprise, I suppose. I invited her out for tea while my wife was safely ensconced, and before I knew it, we were having an affair. She had no husband. She invited me to share her bed. More or less insinuated she could take Lil’s place. I was very stupid. I never asked if she was taking the pill, or anything. I just assumed that no-one who invited casual sex would be unprotected. Anyway, she became pregnant and then said she wanted to marry me, but I couldn’t have left Lilian. Things turned nasty very quickly after she said she was going to keep the baby. I’ve been sending her regular maintenance for the boy. He’s eighteen now, at school. I never told Lilian, and to be honest it was very easy keeping the whole thing a secret.”

As his story tumbled out, I realised he was very easy to listen to, with a deep, calming voice that seemed to wrap itself around me.

“Last month, out of the blue, I got a phone-call from James saying that his mother was ill. You know the rest. I don’t know what to do.” Arthur had been setting the table with precision and now placed a last spoon with careful finality. Our eyes met in a mutual grimace and I understood he was levelling with me. He had a decision to make.

“Does she have any other family?” It seemed the right place to start, at any rate.

“She has three brothers, who all have families, and she has her mother still. That’s as much as I know.”

“Why do you need to go and see her, then?” I asked, aware of how selfish I sounded. “She has plenty of help nearby, and her boy is grown up now, isn’t he?”

“Yes… He’s just about to start at University. But he can’t decide whether he should stay on at home, to look after Vivienne. It seems like a lot to ask from a young lad…” Arthur paused, looking reflective. “There is probably something more to this, though. I mean, I hardly keep in touch with her – she told me very clearly to leave her alone – and now, after all this time, comes this call, this crisis. Am I just supposed to drop everything?”

***

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‘Faith, Hope and Love’ Part 9

“Arthur,” I coaxed, “Look at me.”

I waited, and slowly his gaze came up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Listen. You have done nothing wrong.” He moved his head from side to side, not exactly agreeing with me, not sure whether to contradict. So I repeated, “You have done nothing wrong. Only what so many others before you have done.”

Arthur bowed his head, and I could see tears dropping into his lap, onto his trousers. He retrieved a freshly laundered handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Whispering so quietly that I had to strain to hear, he said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you have to do anything?”

“Well, I think perhaps I should.” He answered. There was another long shuddering sigh. “It all seems like such a mess,” he confessed.

“That is what people do. We mess up all the time. And then spend ages feeling guilty.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I am sure you have better things to do.”

”Come with me.” I took his hand, and moved with him out into the hall. It felt strange but wonderful to be assertive for once. Putting on my coat, I waited as Arthur shrugged into his favourite dark waterproof. Together we left the house. My porch light triggered as we went up to the front step and when the front door clicked shut behind us, we embraced in the dark hallway. It felt like the obvious thing to do. I stood into his height, and he leaned into me. Supporting each other we held curves that were growing more familiar, inhaling the scent of wet coat and pullovers washed in scented laundry liquid.

“Come,” I said.

“What, here?” His unexpected humour hit my solar plexus and sudden gusts of laughter exploded from our chests, when there was another scrabble at the front door and we both looked around guiltily, not wanting to break up the joke, not just yet.

“Elaine’s back!” I whispered as we broke apart. On second thoughts, as we watched her familiar shape fix the key in the lock and put her shoulder to the glass panel, we inched closer together and were holding hands when she looked in and up at us, her eyes bright and shining from her bike ride, her dark hair loose and untidy, framing her pretty face.

“Hello Elaine. Come in.”

“I’m okay, Mum, don’t fuss!” I forgot that she was getting older. Each day she was choosing her way with more certainty by herself.

“Fine, love.” I gave her a quick hug and a peck on her smooth, cold cheek. “Meet Arthur.”

“Oh, hello” she answered, politely, nodding. She threw off her coat and boots at the foot of the stair and went up to her room.

“Supper is baked potatoes, okay? A wee bit late today.”

“That’s okay, I had something to eat at Lisa’s,” she called back.

I gestured to Arthur and we headed through to the kitchen. Out of habit, he stooped slightly as we went through the hall to the back sitting room. Our kitchen is an old-fashioned long, thin room at the rear, with a stone floor and kitchen cupboards that have been there since the 1970’s and which seem ageless.

“I’m sorry we only have a few hard chairs and a bench to sit on.”

“That’s all right.” I knew that Arthur really didn’t mind. Somehow it felt comfortable having him here, though I worried that maybe the kitchen was too narrow and small for him. Before I could fret, he seated himself on the bench and pulled me into his lap.

“Better?” He asked.

“Yes, much.” The sudden familiarity filled me with heat. I felt heavy against his legs, but he held on tight, so that I just had to relax and accept him taking most of my weight. Physically, he was much stronger than I realized. “Must get on.” I said self-consciously. “Let’s put some tatties in the oven, at least. The rest is just to be set out.” Miss Prim had come into the kitchen. But we did need to eat, and I gently disengaged from his embrace, resisting the urge to turn and kiss him full on the mouth. My gaze darted away, not from rudeness, but because I suddenly felt we had crossed a line. Help! I swallowed self-consciously and Arthur seemed to know he would have to help. Very gently, he allowed me to stand up and himself stood, all business, like a patient boy at my side.

I flipped open cupboards, flapping more usual. I would rather have worked unobserved, but he was standing beside me, his closeness shaking me just enough to put me off my stride. Laughing suddenly, I took a deep breath and thought, “Come on, get a grip!” as I retrieved tin foil, busily tearing a sheet, wrapping four medium potatoes and putting them in the oven.

***

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