‘Compromise: isn’t that what those of us who don’t like conflicts do?’
Effie was on the phone to Susie, telling her about the outcome of her meeting with Kenneth. ‘Yes, we went back to his house but I said I didn’t feel like sex after what had happened. He said he was totally surprised and didn’t understand, but he was sorry and he liked me a lot and didn’t want to hurt me and all that, and so I just sort of stayed...’
‘What do you mean ‘sort of stayed’, Effie?’
‘I stayed and we went to bed together like an old married couple and watched a movie. It was really quite pleasant in the end. He made me breakfast in bed in the morning and we went for a nice walk by the river...’
‘But do you mean he denied any responsibility for what happened?’
‘I guess he did. He claimed that he was symptom-free and hadn’t had any trouble with anyone else...’
‘Anyone else? I thought he was meant to be the grieving widower.’
‘Yes, well, I think he was very fond of his wife...’
‘So?’
‘.. I don’t know... he’s good fun and nice looking for a man of his age and he has been kind.’ Effie tailed off, aware that she was manoeuvring herself into a position where she was defending Kenneth against Susie’s scrutiny and perhaps her own. She sighed. ‘Why can’t it be simpler? I thought this one was a good one.’
‘Maybe still is, but the fact is his response to you, Effie, was not a kind one. Still’ and she sounded more encouraging ‘men are never at their best when they feel they are being criticised on matters which even remotely touch on their sexuality. He’s a proud guy: remember how he was when he was buying that dress for his daughter. Proud as a peacock.’
‘I do remember and I thought it was rather touching. I mean I do like a man who’s a good father. I like the idea of a family man.’
‘Well, see how things go for a bit. Can’t do any harm, can it?’
Effie put the phone down and sat for a while, knitting her brow and sipping the remains of a now cold cup of coffee. Her thoughts wandered back to an image of her own ‘family man’, Jack, together with his children, her children, the five of them sitting on a beach in the south of France. He’d seemed such a good father, teaching Leo to play cricket, putting Cathy on a pony and reassuring the child that she’d be all right. Cathy, always the most anxious of the children, so different from her younger sister Jane who from early on relished a challenge and hated to have to depend on her parents. It was through Cathy that Helen had come into their lives. She remembered meeting her at the school gate when Cathy was about 8 or 9. Helen’s daughter, Amy, was in the same class as Cathy and the two girls had hit it off. The two mums were soon seeing a lot of each other’s children and gradually a lot of each other. Their friendship had deepened during the girls’ progress through secondary school, university and into adult life. Amy had gone into publishing and Cathy had tried her hand at social work. It was around this time that Cathy met Jim, both of them fresh from college and enthusiastic about doing something worthwhile in the world. Amy, too, had a boyfriend and the two families had been delighted when both daughters, within six months of each other, announced their intention to get married. There had been a subsequent summer holiday when Jack and Effie had shared a villa in the south of France with Helen and Tim and there had been much talk of wedding plans for the girls. Cathy was hoping to marry in the early spring and Effie remembered how preoccupied she had been with the arrangements on that holiday. She and Helen had whiled away many a happy hour lounging by the pool discussing the relative merits of venues, menus and outfits.. On the last night Jack had made a special toast to the daughters and their coming marriages: ‘may they both have as long and happy a marriage as mine has been.’
And then had come the crash, and in retrospect the dedication sounded more like a memoriam than a wish for the future - a ‘has been’ marriage.
A week after they got back Jack had announced his intention to leave Effie and go and live with Helen.
Effie was roused from her ruminations by the door bell. Archie, the gardener, liked to work on a Sunday. A man of the old school but clear that ‘the Lord would’na have given us gardens if he hadn’a wanted us to cultivate them’ he ‘d assured her in his Scottish drawl. He was older than Effie and she liked him for his solidity, his rootedness, his good common sense. Today she felt like hugging him when her own thoughts were wandering all over the place. The ritual of making two mugs of tea was also settling and this morning Effie had time to wander round the small garden with Archie, letting him take the lead as to what needed doing.
‘This un’s nae good’ he intoned as he kicked at a small flowering shrub which to Effie looked perfectly flourishing. ‘Look’. He folded up the lower leaves to display some yellowing on the otherwise dark green stem.
‘Summit’s eating the roots. Might be vine weevil and that you can’na see:it’s all hidden under the ground.’
‘Oh dear, Archie..’
‘Aye, and there’s no much else you can do but dig it out. It may still look all pretty but it’s what’s underneath that counts.’
‘I know what you mean’ said Effie with feeling.’ I guess you’d better take it out. I just hope it hasn’t spread.’