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Liz stared at me and blinked twice. “What?” She backed away from the door. “Come inside. He might hear us.”
“Okay.” I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. “So?”
“Come into the living room. I think we need to talk.”
I followed her into her cosy living room as she switched on lights and opened the window to let in the cool night air. “It’s a little stuffy in here. I haven’t been here much in this hot weather. I usually sit in the garden in the evenings.”
“This is a nice space, though,” I said, looking at the comfortable chairs, the sofa covered in a patchwork quilt, and the bookcase crammed with paperbacks. One corner was taken up with her yoga equipment—mat and foam blocks—shared with a small bronze Buddha, and lavender-scented candles, which, even unlit, spread their soothing scent through the room.
“Sit down, and I’ll make us some camomile tea,” Liz said.
“Thank you.” I sat down in the sofa and immediately felt a strange peace come over me. I didn’t know if it was the scent of lavender, the sound of Liz making tea in the kitchen, or the soft breeze blowing through the open window, but suddenly, all my worries seemed insignificant.
Liz carried in a tray with two mugs and a plate of oatmeal biscuits and put them on the coffee table. She handed me a mug and joined me on the sofa. “Here. This’ll help you calm down.”
“Thank you.” I took the mug and breathed in the scent of camomile. “I’m already calm. This room is so soothing. And you have a very restful aura.”
She smiled. “Comes with age, I suppose. And you know what? The older I get, the younger I feel. I mean, I get more and more childlike. I no longer notice people’s race, colour, religion, or age. I see their spirits more and more clearly.”
“That sounds wonderful. Very inspirational.”
Liz shrugged. “I’m perhaps more philosophical, that’s all. But about Jonathan...?”
I sat up, spilling camomile tea on my chest. “Yes?”
“Why do you ask? Is this important to you all of a sudden?”
“Yes,” I said hotly. “It is. I need to know because...because—”
“Never mind. No need to explain. But the answer to your question is—no. Jonathan is not gay. I’ve known him for over two years, right through his engagement with that woman in Dublin and after the breakup, so I can say this with absolute certainty. Why did you think he was?”
My heart skipped a beat. “He isn’t? But I thought...when you said that he’s very close to his feminine side—”
“—that it was another way of saying he’s gay?”
I nodded. “Yes. I assumed you were being discreet but still giving me the message.”
“God, no,” Liz exclaimed. “I would never do that. People’s sexual preferences are their own business. I just meant what I said, that Jonathan is close to his feminine side. It’s one of his many wonderful qualities. Don’t you think?”
“Definitely.” I shook my head and laughed. “How stupid of me. And all this time I’ve been pouring my heart out to him about my problems with men and all my other woes, thinking he was my best friend.”
Liz looked puzzled. “Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, can’t you have a friend who’s male and straight?”
“Yes, I suppose. But a gay guy is like a girlfriend, only better. He’s a man, but there’s no sexual tension. But then if he’s straight, it makes you think of him differently. How horrible that I’ve been blabbing about my own problems and never listened to his. A broken engagement, Jules said. That must have been so hard.” I stared into the tea, not wanting to meet Liz’s eyes. “Apart from him listening to my miseries, there is this connection...this love between us. We’re kindred spirits, really. It felt like a perfect, platonic relationship, a meeting of minds, of thoughts and feelings, nothing physical. I felt safe with him.”
“Why can’t you still feel safe?”
I stared at Liz. “I don’t know. Maybe because he might be attracted to me? Or me to him? Not that he’s been flirty or anything.”
“I’d say he’s one of those slow burners. He probably wants to enjoy your friendship first and wait before anything else develops. And he’s right. We all want things to happen so fast these days. Isn’t it better to wait, to hold on and enjoy the friendship?” Liz leaned forward and put her hand on my cheek. “Stop being so frantic, Audrey. Relax and go with the flow. Enjoy what you have now, because now is all we have. Who knows what’s in the future?” She leaned back and looked at me with those wise, calm eyes.
I let out a long sigh. “You’re so right, Liz. Why didn’t I come to you before?”
She laughed and picked up her mug, taking a sip. “I’m no guru or saint. I’ve been avoiding you lately, actually.”
“You have? Why?”
She put her mug on the tray. “Oh, well, maybe it’s too soon to say this, but Sean and I have been seeing each other quite a bit during the past weeks. I didn’t know where it was going, or how you’d feel about it, so I thought I’d wait. But now, tonight, I feel we should lay all our cards on the table, so to speak.”
My mind was spinning. “Sean? You mean my father? You and Dad have been—”
Liz let out a girlish giggle. “No, we haven’t gone all the way. But that might happen soon, I feel.”
I cringed. “Uh, okay.” I tried to push away the image of Dad and Liz in bed.
She laughed. “I can see that makes you uncomfortable. But hey, give us a break. We might be old, but we’re not dead yet. I’m only sixty-three, your dad’s sixty-five. Not exactly ancient. We still have those feelings, those urges and needs, and if it works, it’s fabulous.”
I looked at the floor, fighting an urge to stand up and scream, “TMI!” But what right did I have? Shouldn’t I be happy for Dad? So they’d end up having sex—why shouldn’t they? Grow up, Audrey, I said to myself. Liz was a very attractive woman. The laughter lines around her eyes and the few wrinkles around her mouth emphasised her fine features. Her body was strong and lithe, and she seemed both self-contained and serene. Added to that was her sense of humour and intelligence. I realised she and Dad would be perfect for each other, if it weren’t for— “What about his sorrow?” I asked. “He still grieves for my mother.”
Liz nodded. “Yes, I know. And he always will. I have to accept that. We talk about it, about her sometimes. I know, to use an old cliché, that there will probably always be three people in this relationship, but that’s fine with me. Someone who is capable of such undying love must be admired, not criticised.” She shook her head. “Oh, it’s a little complicated. But we’ll work it out. I know I said take it slowly just now, but at our age we don’t have as much time.” She looked at me with a touch of nervousness. “You don’t mind? About us? If it were to become more serious?”
“Of course not.” I moved closer and put my arms around her. “I think it’s pretty perfect.”
She patted my cheek. “Good. I’m happy. I’ll never be your mother, but I’ll always be your friend.”
I sat back and smiled. “I couldn’t wish for anything better.” I yawned. “I’d better get some sleep and leave you to go back to bed. I have a heavy day tomorrow, followed by a heavy evening.”
“Heavy evening?”
I sighed. “Yes. I’ve agreed to have dinner with my rather sexy but not so loveable boss. He keeps trying to get me into bed.” I looked at Liz. “One day he’ll succeed. I can feel it.”
She rolled her eyes. “One of those, huh? I’ve come across one or two in my not-so-pure youth. The sexy but unlovable ones are hell to resist if you have a penchant for bad boys.”
I laughed despite my anguish. “You too?”
She sighed. “Oh yes. I slept with a few of them, and it never brought me anything but misery. Before I met my husband, of course. I was a career woman with an important job in a pharmaceutical company. I came across a lot of men I should have stayed away from. But it was like an itch I had to scratch, if you see what I mean.”
I could imagine her as young and sexy and—very like me. “So what should I do?” I asked.
She leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “Don’t scratch that itch.”