Page 50 of Annabel and Her Sisters

To say I wandered around in a daze for the next few days would be an understatement.

It was more of a trance, if I’m honest. A great deal had happened.

But on the other hand, a great deal made sense.

My mother’s snap decision to move to the country– unlike her, in retrospect, to make such a huge and hurried resolution and such a rash one, too– became more comprehensible.

How she’d imagined it extricated her from the situation she’d found herself in I’ve no idea, but then…

I did have an idea. My mother had clearly decided geographical distance was the key.

Yes, she still drove, but not much. If she was in the country, surrounded by family, hopping on a bus to meet Piers in South Ken, or wherever, for lunch, was out of the question.

She’d wanted to make the situation impossible.

No doubt she was afraid of herself, of her feelings, as we all are.

Had they had the odd lunch? I wondered. I hadn’t liked to ask too much, even though Giovanni clearly knew.

Evidently he saw Piers a bit. Giovanni and Susan were gregarious and sociable– they still went to lunch parties, drinks with friends, early suppers– unlike my mother, who had seemed only really to live for her children and her grandchildren, except we now knew she saw her friends at lunchtime; we just hadn’t enquired.

Had she felt disloyal? To our family? Yes, that must be it. I felt sad.

I rang Ginnie and told her all. She was completely silent when I’d finished.

So shaken was she that she said she’d ring me back, when she’d assimilated it all.

When she’d told Hugo. She did, that evening, and we talked for an hour, working it back and forth.

At the end, she felt the same as I did. Sad.

And a bit ashamed that our darling mother had felt it necessary to go to such lengths.

‘For us,’ Ginnie said quietly, feeling small, I knew.

‘Yes. Just for us,’ I agreed. ‘A pair of fully grown, fifty-something women, with our own lives, our own children.’

We sighed and said goodbye, resolving to… what? Talk to her? Go and visit Piers? Talk to Clarissa? We decided to sleep on it.

‘Clarissa,’ I said, before she put the phone down.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, with some trepidation. ‘Clarissa.’

I mean, I know I shouldn’t have told Ted, but Ted was family, and there I was, seeing him the very next day– not for lunch; in the event, he got tied up at work and messaged me to ask if I could make an early supper instead.

We both hated late nights. So we met at seven, at Rowley’s, the usual place.

And my head was so full of my mother, and very many other things– could heads burst?

– that obviously, it all came out in a gushing torrent.

‘Fuck me.’ Ted sat back in amazement when I’d finished. The remains of our steaks were still burning on the little Bunsen burner in the middle of the table. The waiter appeared and turned it off discreetly, lest we set the place on fire.

‘But Ted, it all makes sense, if you think about it,’ I said urgently. ‘She’s been on her own for– how many years– twenty?’

‘And Piers’s wife, what’s-her-name–’

‘Miranda –’

‘Died when?’

‘Five years ago.’

‘So d’you think they’ve been seeing each other for some time?’

‘Giovanni said no. Definitely not. Piers and Miranda had grown very fond of one another, even though it was practically an arranged marriage, and he was really sad when she died. His boys, too, obviously. It took him a few years to get over it.’

‘Which makes him sound like a nice man,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Yes, he clearly is.’

‘Have you spoken to Clarissa?’

‘Not yet.’ I must have looked scared as I clutched my napkin on my lap.

‘But she gave you the green light to do all this, you said?’

‘Exactly. She more or less told me to. Ted, you mustn’t tell anyone,’ I urged earnestly

‘Who have I got to tell?’ he yelped.

‘Well, Sukey.’

‘Sukey, as you well know, is thankfully a thing of the past.’

‘You did it? You rang her?’

‘Not… exactly.’ He looked shifty. Signalled to the waiter for a top-up.

‘Oh Ted, you didn’t text her?’

‘No, she rang me.’ He beamed. ‘Very fortuitously, as it happens– how about that? She said she wanted to talk and I thought– oh crumbs, you know when women say that you’re going to be severely told off– and sure enough, she said she didn’t think my heart had been in the al fresco you-know-what.’

I frowned. ‘The what?’

‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? She wanted to do it outside. All the time. In the woods, on a stone terrace, you name it, anywhere cold and uncomfortable– and you know my back– and while we were at it she’d hum meditation mantras, all that sort of crap.’

I’d just taken a gulp of wine and I snorted it everywhere. ‘ Ted! ’ I squealed as I mopped the white tablecloth with my napkin.

‘It wasn’t funny,’ he said crossly. ‘The crunch– quite literally– came when I had to do it on the sodding beach, under a full moon with crispy sand everywhere– and we’re talking everywhere.

I mean, God knows I like sex as much as the next man– well, the next man of my age– but sometimes I wished I could say I had the curse, that old chestnut. ’

I giggled. ‘Whereas I, of course, can’t do it at all. Wouldn’t be Christian.’

‘What d’you mean?’

I sighed and told him about Ralph. When I’d finished– and that again took some time, we’d needed the extra glass– Ted sat back and ran his hands through what remained of his hair, which wasn’t bad, actually.

‘Shit, Annie, you can’t marry a Catholic priest!’

‘Can’t I?’ I leaned forward anxiously, keen for advice. Any advice.

‘Well, not without getting it together first,’ he spluttered. ‘That’s like– like something out of the Dark Ages! What if you don’t get on? In bed?’

‘Is that likely?’ I asked, anguished.

‘Well, look at me and Sukey!’

‘Oh, yes.’ I felt my eyes widen with fear. ‘Bloody hell, I’m not up for all that.’

‘Well, that’s unlikely,’ he said hurriedly. ‘If he’s a priest. And Sukey was bonkers. But he might intone litany at key moments or something ghastly– and flaming Nora, Annie, I didn’t even know you were that pious!’

I gazed at him, confused. I realized I couldn’t answer. Was I? I mean, as I say, I believe and– oh golly, we’ve been through all that. But…

He leaned forward intently: tried a different tack. ‘Have you at least kissed him?’

‘Yes!’ I yelped, feeling a tiny bit of relief. Triumph, even. I sat up straight.

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Well, what was it like?’

I scrambled around in my brain as I tried to remember. It was in a car park, wasn’t it? Outside a pub? Or– no, outside my house. Yes, that was it, on the pavement, with Polly sculpting away– suspiciously– behind her bedroom curtain. But what was it like?

‘I can’t remember,’ I admitted finally.

He blinked. ‘Memorable.’

‘Well, no, nice– I think,’ I said quickly.

‘Nice.’

‘Very nice. Oh Ted.’ I clutched my head with both hands. ‘Oh God, I’m in such a muddle. I don’t know what to do! I mean, I like him a lot, I really do, but will I– you know– love him? I mean, did you love Sukey?’ I countered suddenly, going on the attack.

‘Well, I thought I did,’ he conceded. ‘I mean, if you’d asked me a month ago…

but I bloody definitely don’t now , I can tell you,’ he said with feeling.

‘D’you know what she said on the phone? She said I’d agreed with her far too quickly!

Apparently, I should have talked her out of it.

She said she’d only rung to suggest we had a talk about my attitude and that I was a bastard for dumping her like that when– let’s not forget– she’d rung me and accused me of not liking sex enough! ’

‘Which you didn’t,’ I reminded him.

‘No, I didn’t. Not with her, anyway. I thought it was stupid when there was a ruddy great bed inside. Don’t know what I saw in her, actually. She called me a foul name before she put down the phone. Won’t repeat.’

‘Oh, go on.’

‘Tosser.’

‘Better than wanker.’

‘You think?’

‘A bit.’

We both giggled. And then, for some reason, we couldn’t stop.

It was as if we were six years old and up in that attic bedroom in Cornwall, laughing about silly nonsense until we cried, or until Clarissa stormed in and told us to shut up.

We dried our eyes on our napkins– mine was covered in red wine from mopping the table– and Ted rather futilely tried to drain the empty bottle into our glasses before ordering a brandy for him and a Cointreau for me.

We were still a bit weak from laughing so much. We slumped back in our chairs, recovering. Our drinks arrived. After a bit, he said:

‘If he wasn’t becoming a Catholic priest, d’you think he’d be in such a rush to marry you?’

That sobered me up. I sat up again and gave it some thought. ‘Um… probably not.’ My eyes blinked rapidly.