Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
It’s not in a posh part of town so it’s not too expensive.
But it is modern and in one of those no-nonsense red-brick
buildings where everything’s laid on. Comfort does become
more important as you get older, especially if you’re alone. It’s a sensible place, and a good investment, apparently. It’s
also quite bright and cheery because the large windows let in lots of light. You can keep pets there too – so I’ll be able
to get my dog.
I did consider buying a cottage in the wilds – but I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to be too cut off at the
moment, I already feel pretty cut off as it is. If I don’t like the
apartment I can move out – rent it to someone. I might even
go to the Mediterranean for a while. In fact there’s absolutely
nothing to stop me going to the Mediterranean right now. I
wish I found this more comforting.
I’m getting used to being alone. It’s okay, but I do wish
that when I went into the bathroom I sometimes found the
loo seat up. I wonder if I’ll ever find the loo seat up again
on a routine basis. It seems unlikely.
I keep wondering if I should bring Charlie the present I got
him in Ibiza. It’s a really nice pottery mug with a saxophone
painted on it and lots of musical notes. I’ve never seen a mug
with a saxophone on it before – I almost leapt with joy when
I saw it. ‘This will be perfect for Charlie,’ I thought. ‘Just
perfect.’
The thing now is, how on earth am I going to get it to him?
Posting it is out of the question. Even if carefully wrapped
it could get broken – and that might appear uncomfortably
appropriate given the state of our friendship. No, it has to
reach him intact. I could, of course, drop it off at the reception
desk of his studio, or leave it on his doorstep – but I’m sure
he’d find my furtiveness a bit odd – a message in itself. I really
wish I didn’t feel so uncomfortable about seeing him again.
I used the mug myself today. When I’d finished with it I let it clatter into the sink and then washed it rather roughly.
I suppose I was hoping the thing would break, or at least
chip, but it didn’t. It’s pretty robust. It’s suddenly become a
huge thing in my life – this bloody mug. It’s got completely
out of proportion. I’ve got to get rid of it in an appropriate
manner. I’m going to drive over to Charlie’s with it – now
– this evening. I know he’s home because I phoned him and
when he answered I hung up.
Though I managed to pass my test, I’m still a bit tense about driving. However I am more proficient and
can mull over what I’m going to say to Charlie, even while changing gears. I’m going to tell him I’ve really
adjusted to being on my own. That I’m having a wonderful time. Then he’ll ask me about my tan and I’ll tell him about
my holiday. My wonderful ‘alternative holiday’. I’ll mention
the windsurfing – I mustn’t forget the windsurfing. And
though we won’t actually discuss it, it will be quite obvious
to him that I am doing the right thing.
He’ll smile at me fondly and he’ll say…he’ll say…well it’ll be something friendly anyway. And he’ll like his present. No – he’ll love his present. And he’ll ask me where I bought it and I’ll tell him about the little shop – but not about how happy I was. How incredibly happy I was when I saw the mug with the saxophone on its side.
I put on the radio and scan the wavelengths for something
cheerful. ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ – tum ti ti tum.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. It’s so much easier living alone in many ways. Just answerable to yourself. It’s
not lonely – not really. Still, I must get around to getting a dog. I’ll go to the dogs’ home. Ideally I’d like a puppy – a
terrier – something that will stay small. I won’t mind if it
sleeps on my bed. I’d quite like it to really. Still I hope it won’t
be too yappy. Small dogs can be very yappy sometimes.
Charlie and I have driven along this road so often.
Sometimes we’d stop in that lay-by beside the bay. It’s got a wonderful view. I’m near that lay-by now. Maybe
I’ll park there for a while. Good – there’s a space. I’ll turn
off the radio and have a little rest. I won’t get out of the car, like Charlie and I used to. I won’t walk along the beach, my shoes crunching the pebbles, laughing. I won’t try to find a
flat stone that I can send skimming over the waves. Charlie
liked watching me do that, I know he did. He’d stand there
just looking. It was nice. I wonder if he knew I watched
him too – when he was engrossed in something far away, or
telling me the names of different kinds of seaweed. I loved the
way his hair flopped over his forehead as he bent forward to
study them.
I love…no, no! – I mustn’t do this. Why on earth did
I stop here? It was a very silly thing to do. And now it’s getting late and I don’t like driving when it’s dark. I feel so
lost and alone suddenly. I stare at the sea, but even it looks
sad. I turn on the radio, hoping for something perky and
superficial. But ‘Something So Right’ by Paul Simon comes
on instead.
Part of that song is about the Great Wall that surrounds
China
– and the wall one can easily build to surround oneself
too…
I wish that song hadn’t come on ’cos – ’cos it’s making me
cry. Big warm tears are pouring down my face – they feel like
they are coming from my heart. Because – Oh, Charlie – I’ve
got a wall around me. I don’t like it either, but I’ve built it,
stone by stone. I need it, you see. It’s got me through.
I don’t want to be defensive. Fearful. But I am. I am for
good reason and I can’t wish it away. I didn’t use to be like this, Charlie. I used to be so open. I trusted people. I would have trusted you. I wish I’d met you then. I really do. I wish
I had the courage to tell you all this to your face. I’ve pushed
you away – haven’t I?
The sea is getting choppy now. A sudden harsh wind is
billowing the waves. I start up the car. I wish I could stop
crying. I wish I’d never bought that stupid mug. I’m going to
have to post it – two Jiffy bags and some newspaper might
do the job. I’ll put ‘extremely fragile’ on the package and
see what happens. So what if it gets broken. Things do
sometimes, it seems.
The photos from my holiday came out really well. I’ve shown
Katie the ones of Al. She agrees he’s handsome, but she
doesn’t seem too interested.
Things are changing so fast I often feel a bit dazed. Some
thing’s been set in motion and there’s no point remonstrating
with it. Al says that arguing with change is like arguing with
life – we had a long talk on the plane coming home. I was
going on about all the things I’d felt I’d lost lately and he
said, if I thought about it, I’d already lost myself many times. I’d already changed from a baby to a toddler to a
girl to an adolescent to a woman. These were all losses in
their way. And now all these ages were inside me and made
up something different.
We’ve promised to keep in touch – Al and I. We’ve promised to write each other long, truthful letters. No bullshit. I wonder if we will.
Last night Susan came round with a big chocolate cake. As
we were guzzling it, she said she’d decided to go back to work
in Africa. She said being in Ibiza had made her realise how
much she missed regular sunshine. I asked her if this decision
had anything to do with Josh – the married man she’d had
an affair with – but she said it didn’t. Then I asked her if it
had anything to do with Liam – and she said it did. Liam the rich, handsome man with a home on the Mediterranean and
a flat in Dublin. The gorgeous man she met through Hilda –
the hunt ball woman at the home.
‘I don’t want you to go to Africa, Susan. I need you nearby
– within the EU,’ I told her.
‘No you don’t,’ she replied. ‘And anyway, you have Charlie.’
‘Why do you always bring him up?’ I asked as I chomped
feistily. ‘I’m alone. Alone like you.’ Susan pulled a dismissive
face, showing she did not believe this for one moment. She
can be very stubborn at times.
I really do wish I could do something about Susan and
Liam. He does love her. It’s obvious. He’s taken time to
understand her. The thing is, I don’t think she understands herself. I must say she has hidden this fact very well over the
years. I was convinced she had it all worked out.
‘You don’t have to go to Africa. You could live with Liam
in Provence. It would be sunny there,’ I lectured. ‘And I could
come and stay with you both. I’d love that. You know I would.’
‘I simply can’t do it, Jasmine,’ she said. ‘I’m too scared.’
‘That’s my line,’ I protested. ‘You’re the one who’s sup
posed to be so well-adjusted.’
Susan frowned, then she leaned forward earnestly. ‘You’re
frightened of men in case they hurt you. I’m frightened of
what I become when I’m – you know – involved with one
of them.’
‘What do you mean?’ I cut another slab of cake.
‘I get so needy – so vulnerable. All these bits of me I don’t
know what to do with start spilling out – demanding to be
dealt with.’
‘That’s not so unusual, is it?’ I tried to assume the non-
judgemental tone of
Mrs
Swan, the marriage
counsellor
.
‘I just can’t believe anyone would love me if they really knew me.’ Susan’s voice sounded small. Dejected.
‘I love you,’ I said. ‘As a friend. I do, really.’
‘But that’s different,’ Susan wailed.
‘Why is it different?’
‘Come on Jasmine, don’t act stupid. It’s different ’cos we
don’t have sex.’
‘Yes Susan, I am aware that we don’t have sex. It has not
escaped my notice.’ I wished Susan would go back to being her old, fake, well-adjusted self. I almost resented this new
authenticity.
‘And that makes things simpler because, the thing about sex is…’ Susan hesitated and looked at the crack in my
sitting-room wall. ‘The thing about sex is – it’s sneaky.’
‘Sneaky?’
‘Yes. Sex is basically about bonding, Jasmine. It’s a kind
of glue – for women anyway.’
‘A kind of subversive
Loctite
?’ I giggled.
Susan did not smile. ‘No – a bit less adhesive than that –
Pritt
perhaps.’