Sally and Frank’s house was as expected, smart, tidy and extremely nice to be in. The drinks were champagne cocktails and the canapés deliciously different and mouth-watering. Effie’s moment of jealousy at how perfect everything was was short-lived as Sally gathered her up in a warmly welcoming embrace. She seemed genuinely pleased to see Effie and swept her along enthusiastically into the neat back garden where people were standing around, bunched in small groups. ‘Right, Effie,’ she trilled as she piloted Effie across the velvety green lawn towards a small huddle, ‘guys, this is Effie, a friend of Oliver’s. And where is he, by the way?’
A grinning face popped up from behind a rose bush: `I was just admiring your Pink Dawn, Sal. Simply gorgeous...’
‘Yes, she is, isn’t she? I must say, Effie, you are looking particularly super tonight. But, Oliver, for god’s sake get the lady a drink. I must see whether Frank’s coping with the oven.’ And off she went clicking a pair of elegant heels that somehow managed not to get stuck in the lawn.
Oliver beamed as he placed a bubbling flute into Effie’s hand. ‘Good to see you, Effie. I was too busy at the bazaar to really talk. So how are you? You’re looking well.’
What Effie would like to have said was that she was feeling utterly churned up inside, that she was wracked with guilt about her daughter, disturbed by intrusive images of her ‘ex’, and generally feeling a bit of a mess. What she said was `I’m good’, proceeding to chatter about the last few days, her work, her family and a lot about the grandchildren, her tongue loosening as the champagne cocktails went to her head so that she had little memory of what she had actually said. She was aware, however, that Oliver was looking much tidier than at their first meeting as though something of Sally’s neatness had rubbed off on him. She registered that he was wearing a pair of smart but casual trousers that showed off a slim waist and a pale blue shirt open at the neck which gave him a nautical air. The main improvement, as she had noted at the bazaar, was that his hair no longer looked ridiculous with the brushed over wisp. Now, with it close-cropped round clear-cut features, he looked surprisingly modern.
‘You’re obviously an excellent mother and so lucky to have grandchildren’ he was saying. `They clearly give you a lot of pleasure.’
‘Oh they do, yes. I am lucky and I’ve got a most charming son-in-law too’ Effie blundered on, finding that it was surprisingly easy to talk to Oliver. He seemed to be genuinely interested in her and her family and the words just slipped out. Perhaps that was how the confessional worked, a terrible urge to tell. The conversation was interrupted, however, by Frank who was doing the rounds with a bottle of champagne and a middle-aged couple who were introduced as ‘old neighbours’. The man proceeded to regale Effie with stories of someone called Nancy who she thought sounded most odd until she realised he was talking about his pet terrier. He bored her for a further ten minutes or so while she searched for escape, scanning the assembled company. She couldn’t help noticing that Oliver was engaged in an intense discussion with a woman who did not take her eyes off him. She had hair that looked too black and a nose that looked a bit too sharp. She instinctively did not like this woman’s proprietorial attitude towards Oliver.
With an effort she dragged herself back to the terrier man and made her excuses to move on. She didn’t know any of the other people but headed for a small group that clustered round the drinks table. She knew she shouldn’t but she held out her glass for a re-fill. The mixture of boredom, guilt and some unidentified tension was quite a cocktail. The man pouring the drinks was jolly and soon Effie recovered her spirits enough to join in the chat. She calculated she’d stay another ten minutes before making her exit. She was aware that she wanted to be able to speak to Oliver before she went and had half an eye open in his direction. The intense engagement with the black- head continued. Effie sipped back another mouthful or two. The barman was joking and noisy but Effie didn’t mind, and she was just about to put her glass down when someone touched her arm and it was Oliver.
‘Effie, so glad you’re still here. I got trapped by an ardent conservationist. I didn’t think I’d ever get away. Not that I’m not in favour of conservation, I mean I belong to the National Trust and all that. What about you? Are you interested in historic buildings?’
A brief image of Oliver’s definitely not-so –modern house flashed into Effie’s view. She also thought of Jack, that they had been members of the National Trust until the children, wasn’t it Cathy?, started to complain that they didn’t like old buildings. ‘Well, my membership lapsed after Jack left, like a lot of things. My house now has very little old in it which, come to think of it, is probably something to do with his departure. I mean I got rid of a lot of stuff when he went, quite cathartic I suppose.’ Oliver was nodding which encouraged Effie to forge on with her revelations about her marriage. ‘Yes, actually Jack liked antique stuff but I don’t think what we had was much good, probably second rate, knowing Jack. The joy is that my house now is furnished with flat pack products, things I can put up myself and dispose of when I get fed up.’
‘Oh that makes enormous sense. I suppose it’s the difference between a death and a divorce. I mean I’ve probably held on to things a bit too long. Didn’t want to change anything I guess, but...’ he added cheerfully, looking at Effie, ‘I think that’s changed recently’.
‘I’m so glad’ said Effie, and she really meant it.
This moment of contact with Oliver was not to last, however, as the black-haired woman bore down on them. She was obviously not going to let Oliver go so easily. ‘Ah, Oliver, there you are. I just want to make sure that you will sign the protest about the new cinema scheme the council is proposing.’ She turned to Effie ‘Have you seen what they’re going to do? Knock down that lovely piece of ‘thirties architecture and replace it with some ghastly modern construction.’ She pushed a pamphlet into Effie’s reluctant hand.
‘’Oh, but I think the new scheme is great’ asserted Effie with more conviction than she felt. ‘I mean the existing building is hardly an architectural gem, is it?’
‘Some of us think it is’.
‘But we have to move on, let another generation make its mark.’
‘Mark!’ the lady spat out the word. ‘I’d call it more of an excrescence.’
‘Oh, come on!’
‘An act of barbarism.’
‘We can’t live in the past.’
‘We are to a large extent our past.’
‘Some of us want to progress.’
‘Ladies, ladies...’ Oliver interjected ‘shall we have another drink and agree to differ.’
`So, what do you think, Oliver? Surely you don’t want to destroy our precious heritage?’
‘I certainly do not, but I don’t want to destroy the good atmosphere of the party either. Don’t you think Sal’s garden is too gorgeous? She really has green fingers.’
This seemed to be Sally’s cue to appear carrying yet another plate of mouth-watering goodies which did a great deal to calm the atmosphere. But Effie’s engagement with the black-haired woman had triggered a surge of blood to her face which she knew would take a while to disperse. She suspected she had not behaved entirely well in this interchange and wanted to go home. Oliver seemed to have been cornered again by that woman and Effie was not sure whether he registered her hasty ‘goodbye’. She was retrieving her jacket from the hall stand when Sally appeared.
‘Effie, not going so soon? Are you all right? I notice you and Lucinda having rather an intense discussion. She gets a bit passionate about things. But hang on, I know Oliver wants to say goodbye. Ah, here he is. I’ll leave you to it, but do hope we’ll see you again soon, Effie.’
Oliver sounded quite breathless and dramatically wiped his brow, ‘phew! There’s nothing like a woman with a cause. But I didn’t want you just to disappear again, Effie. I mean... ‘he hesitated, ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to pay a visit to the condemned cinema before it succumbs to the builders. There’s a good French movie coming up.’
‘That sounds like a very good idea.’
Back home, Effie made a quick note in her diary before going to bed. She skimmed down to the heading ‘Oliver’ which had been left empty. She could now write something with a degree of conviction.
‘Give him an A+ for improvement in appearance, not that he’d ever be really good-looking, but he has a nice personality, something of a peace-maker and we seem to share some interests. I think he has a sense of humour, thank god. I certainly like him a lot better than I did. I must do because my reaction to that irritating bitch - she scored out ‘bitch’ and substituted - ‘black-haired flag waver’ - was something I haven’t felt in a long time; no bones about it, I was jealous.’ And that was enough for one night.