Adore (7 page)

One day, seeing Roz drying herself on the sand, the boatman, who had come into the bay especially to find her, stopped his engine, let the boat rock on the gentle waves, and jumped down into the water, tugging the boat
behind him like a dog on a leash to say, ‘Mrs Struthers, Ian's doing some pretty dangerous stuff out there. He's a picture to watch, but he scares me. If you see his mother – or perhaps you . . .'

Roz said, ‘Well, now. To tell a man like Ian to play it safe, that's more than a mother's life is worth. Or mine, for that matter.'

‘Someone should warn him. He's asking for it. Those waves out there, you've got to respect them.'

‘Have you warned him?'

‘I've tried my best.'

‘Thanks,' said Roz. ‘I'll tell his mother.'

She told Lil, who said to her son that he was playing too close to the safety margins. If the old boatman was worried, then that meant something. Ian said, ‘Thanks.'

One evening, at sunset, the boatman came in to find Roz or one of them on the beach, but had to go up to the house, found Mary, told her that Ian was lying smashed up on one of the outer beaches.

Then Ian was in hospital. Told by the doctor, ‘You'll live,' his face said plainly he wished he could have heard something else. He had hurt his spine. But that would probably heal. He had hurt his leg, and that would never be normal.

He left hospital and lay in his bed at home, in a room which for years had not been much more than a place where he changed his clothes, before crossing the street to Roz. But in that house were now Tom and Mary. He
turned his face to the wall. His mother tried to coax him up and on to his feet, but could not make him take exercise. Lil could not, but Hannah could and did. She came to visit her old friend Mary, slept in that house, and spent most of her time sitting with Ian, holding his hand, often in sympathetic tears.

‘For an athlete it must be so hard,' she kept saying to Lil, to Mary, to Tom. ‘I can understand why he is so discouraged.'

A good word, an accurate one. She persuaded Ian to turn his face towards her, and then, soon, to get up and take the prescribed steps up and down the room, then on to the verandah, and soon, across the road and down to swim. But he would not ever surf again. He would always limp.

Hannah kissed the poor leg, kissed him, and Ian wept with her: her tears gave him permission to weep. And soon there was another wedding, an even larger one, since Ian and his mother Liliane were so well known, and their sports shops so beneficial to every town they found themselves in, and both were famed for their good causes and their general benevolence.

So there they were, the new young couple, Ian and Hannah, in Lil's house with Lil. Opposite, Roz's old house was now Tom's and Mary's. Lil was uncomfortable in her role as mother-in-law, and was unhappy every time she saw the house opposite, now so changed. But after all, she was rich, unlike Roz. She bought one of the houses almost on the beach, not a couple of hundred yards from the two
young couples, and Roz moved in. The women were together again, and Saul Butler when he met them allowed a special measure of sarcastic comment into his, ‘Ah, together again, I see!' ‘As you see,' said Roz or Lil. ‘Can't fool you, Saul, can we?' said Lil, or Roz.

Then Hannah was pregnant and Ian was appropriately proud.

‘It has turned out all right,' said Roz to Lil.

‘Yes, I suppose so,' said Lil.

‘What more could we expect?'

They were on the beach, in their old chairs, moved to outside the new fence.

‘I didn't expect anything,' said Lil.

‘But?'

‘I didn't expect to feel the way I do,' said Lil. ‘I feel . . .'

‘All right,' said Roz quickly. ‘Let it go. I know. But look at it this way, we've had . . .'

‘The best,' said Lil. ‘Now all that time seems to me like a dream. I can't believe it, such happiness, Roz,' she whispered, turning her face and leaning forward a little, though there wasn't a soul for fifty yards.

‘I know,' said Roz. ‘Well – that's it.' And she leaned back, shutting her eyes. From below her dark glasses tears trickled.

Ian went off with his mother a good bit on trips to their shops. He was everywhere greeted with affectionate, respectful generosity. It was known how he had got his limp.
As foolhardy as an Everest hero, as brave as – well, as a man outrunning a wave like a mountain – he was so handsome, so courteous, such a gentleman, so kind. He was like his mother.

On one such trip, they were in their hotel suite, before bedtime, and Lil was saying that she was going to take little Alice for the day when she got back to give Mary a chance to go shopping.

Ian said, ‘You two women are really pleased with yourselves.'

This was venomous, not like him; she had not – she thought – heard that voice from him before.

‘Yes,' he said, ‘it's all right for you.'

‘What do you mean, Ian, what are you saying?'

‘I'm not blaming you. I know it was Roz.'

‘What do you mean? It was both of us.'

‘Roz put the idea into your head. I know that. You'd never have thought of it. Too bad about Tom. Too bad about me.'

At this she began to laugh, a weak defensive laugh. She was thinking of the years with Tom, watching him change from a beautiful boy into a man, seeing the years claim him, knowing how it must end, must end, then should end, she should end it . . . she and Roz . . . but it was so hard, hard . . .

‘Ian, do you realise, you sound demented when you say things like that?'

‘Why? I don't see it.'

‘What did you think? We'd all just go on, indefinitely, then you and Tom, two middle-aged men, bachelors, and Roz and me, old and then you two, old, without families, and Roz and I, old, old, old . . . we're getting on for old now, can't you see?'

‘No, you aren't,' said her son calmly. ‘Not at all. You and Roz knock the girls for six any time.'

Did he mean Hannah and Mary? If so . . . the streak here of sheer twisted lunacy frightened her and she got up. ‘I'm going to bed.'

‘It was Roz put you up to it. I don't forgive you for agreeing. And she needn't think I'll forgive her for spoiling everything. We were all so happy.'

‘Good night, I'll see you at breakfast.'

Hannah had her baby, Shirley, and the two young women were much together. The two older women, and the husbands, waited to hear news of second pregnancies: surely the logical step. And then, to their surprise, Mary and Hannah announced that they thought of going into business together. At once it was suggested they should work in the sports shops: they would have flexible hours, could come and go, earn a bit of money . . . And, it was the corollary, fit second babies into a comfortable timetable.

They said no, they wanted to start a new business, the two of them.

‘I expect we can help you with the money,' said Ian, and Hannah said, ‘No, thanks. Mary's father can help us
out. He's loaded.' When Hannah spoke, it was often Mary's thought they were hearing. ‘We want to be independent,' said Hannah, a trifle apologetic, herself hearing that she had sounded ungracious, to say the least.

The wives went off to visit their families for a weekend, taking the babies, to show them off.

The four, Lil and Roz, Ian and Tom, sat together at the table in Roz's house – Roz's former house – and the sound of the waves said that nothing had changed, nothing . . . except that the infant Alice's paraphernalia was all over the place, in the way of modern family life.

‘It's very odd, what they want,' said Roz. ‘Do we understand why? What is it all about?'

‘We're too – heavy for them,' said Lil.

‘We. They,' said Ian. ‘They. We.'

They all looked at him, to take in what he meant.

Then Roz burst out, ‘We've tried so hard. Lil and I, we've done our best.'

‘I know you have,' said Tom. ‘We know that.'

‘But here we are,' said Ian. ‘Here
we
are.'

And now he leaned forwards towards Roz, passionate, accusing – very far from the urbane and affable man everyone knew: ‘And nothing has changed, has it. Roz? Just tell me the truth, tell me, has it?'

Roz's eyes, full of tears, did meet his, and then she got up to save herself with the ritual of supplying cold drinks from the fridge.

Lil said, looking calmly straight across at Tom, ‘It's no
good, Roz. Just don't, don't . . .' For Roz was crying, silently, allowing it to be seen, her dark glasses lying on the table. Then she covered her eyes with the glasses, and directing those dark circles at Ian, she said, ‘I don't understand what it is you want, Ian. Why do you go on and on? It's all done. It's finished.'

‘So, you don't understand,' said Ian.

‘Stop it,' said Lil, beginning to cry, too. ‘What's the point of this? All we have to do is to decide what to tell them, they want our support.'

‘
We
will tell
them
that
we
will support
them
,' said Ian, and added, ‘I'm going for a swim.'

And the four ran down into the waves, Ian limping, but not too badly.

Interesting that in the discussion that afternoon, with the four, a certain key question had not been mentioned. If the two young wives were going to start a business, then the grandmothers would have to play a part.

A second discussion, with all six of them, was on this very point.

‘Working grandmothers,' said Roz. ‘I quite fancy it, what about you, Lil?'

‘Working is the word,' said Lil. ‘I'm not going to give up the shops. How will we fit in the babies?'

‘Easy,' said Roz. ‘We'll juggle it. I have long holidays at the university. You have Ian at your beck and call in the shops. There are weekends. And I daresay the girls'll want to see their little angels from time to time.'

‘You're not suggesting we're going to neglect them?' said Mary.

‘No, darling, no, not at all. Besides, both Lil and I had girls to help us with our little treasures, didn't we, Lil?'

‘I suppose so. Not much, though.'

‘Oh, well,' said Mary, ‘I suppose we can hire an
au pair
, if it's like that.'

‘How you do flare up,' said Roz. ‘Certainly we can get ourselves
au pairs
when needed. Meanwhile, the grannies are at your service.'

It was a real ritual occasion, the day the babies were to be introduced to the sea. All six adults were there on the beach. Blankets had been spread. The grandmothers, Roz and Lil, in their bikinis, were sitting with the babies between their knees, smoothing them over with suncream. Tiny, delicate creatures, fair-haired, fair-skinned, and around them, tall and large and protective, the big adults.

The mummies took them into the sea, assisted by Tom and Lil. There was much splashing, cries of fear and delight from the little ones, reassurance from the adults – a noisy scene. And sitting on the blankets where the sand had already blown, glistening in little drifts, were Roz and Ian. Ian looked long and intently at Roz and said, ‘Take your glasses off.' Roz did so.

He said, ‘I don't like it when you hide your eyes from me.'

She snapped the glasses back on and said, ‘Stop it, Ian. You've got to stop this. It's simply not
on
.'

He was reaching forward to lift off her glasses. She slapped down his hand. Lil had seen, from where she stood to her waist in the sea. The intensity of it, you could say, even the ferocity . . . had Hannah noticed? Had Mary? A yell from a little girl – Alice. A big wave had leaped up and . . . ‘It's bitten me,' she shrieked. ‘The sea's bitten me.' Up jumped Ian, reached Shirley who also was making a commotion now. ‘Can't you see,' he shouted at Hannah, over the sea noise, ‘you're frightening her? They're frightened.' With a tiny child on either shoulder he limped up out of the waves. He began a jiggling and joggling of the little girls in a kind of dance, but he was dipping in each step with the limp and they began to cry harder. ‘Granny,' wailed Hannah, ‘I want my granny,' sobbed Shirley. The infants were deposited on the rugs, Lil joined Roz, and the grandmothers soothed and petted the children while the other four went off to swim.

‘There, my ducky,' sang Roz, to Hannah.

‘Poor little pet,' crooned Lil to Shirley.

Not long after this the two young women were in their new office, in the suite which would be the scene of their – they were convinced – future triumphs. ‘We are having a little celebration,' they had said, making it sound as if there would be associates, sponsors, friends. But they were alone, drinking champagne and already tiddly.

It was the end of their first year. They had worked hard, harder than they had expected. Things had gone so well there was already talk of expanding. That would mean
even longer hours, and more work for the grandmothers.

‘They wouldn't mind,' said Hannah.

‘I think they would,' said Mary.

There was something in her voice, and Hannah looked to see what Mary was wanting her to understand. Then, she said, ‘It's not a question of us working our butts off – and their working their butts off – they want us to get pregnant again.'

‘Exactly,' said Mary.

‘I wouldn't mind,' said Hannah. ‘I told Ian, yes, but there's no hurry. We can get our business established and then let's see. But you're right, that's what they want.'

‘They,' said Mary. ‘
They
want. And what
they
want they intend to have.'

Here Hannah showed signs of unrest. Compliant by nature, biddable, she had begun by deferring to Mary, such a strong character, but now she was asserting herself. ‘I think they are very kind.'

‘They,' said Mary. ‘Who the hell are
they
to be kind to
us
?'