The Greening (8 page)

In his thirties, soon after joining the Civil Service and still unmarried, he fell in love. Geraldine Stephens was a new recruit to his department in Whitehall. They were together for several months and by the time they had realized that they were not really suited, she was pregnant. She decided to end the relationship and make a clean break. She came from a well-to-do family and did not need his financial support. At this point in the story, Dr Newell broke off.

He said, “Look, I don’t want to say any more about this. I don’t want to blacken Geraldine’s name. I understand she’s told your reporter her side of the story, which is true – that she wanted to bring up our child alone and not involve me in any way. I felt strongly it was the wrong decision, yet I could do nothing other than honour her wish. But over the years I have been in touch from time to time, just to make sure she and Freddie have everything they need. He thinks I’m just an old friend of Geraldine. She wants to tell Freddie to his face. She gave the interview – she was afraid that if she refused they’d track Freddie down – on the understanding that it wouldn’t be used before tomorrow. But he’s away on some course and she can’t reach him. She’s in a terrible panic. You’ll keep all this to yourself…?”

I nodded assent. I asked, “Does your wife know about Freddie?”

“Yes, of course. She’s always wanted to include him in our family, but – well…”

“Geraldine didn’t want that?”

“No. She thought a clean break was best. She says she’s told your colleague all this.”

Fifteen years earlier, five years after Freddie’s birth, Dr Newell had met his wife-to-be. Theirs had been a very happy marriage. They had a son and a daughter, both now away at school. I said I would do all I could to keep them out of the story, that there was every chance of achieving this if I made the copy sufficiently sympathetic. Above all, Dr Newell wanted to protect his wife, who was suffering from cancer, and his three children. His story told, he leaned back in his chair and I switched off my tape recorder.

He said, “It’s strange, isn’t it? I thought I was doing something for my country. I suppose I thought I was doing something noble. I hadn’t realized that it would cost me so much. The world doesn’t see things the way the heart sees them.”

I asked, quietly, “May I use that as a quote?”

Dr Newell smiled and said, “I can see you’re good at your job. Professionalism is a great refuge, isn’t it? But it’s not enough.”

I kept my promise. I wrote a sympathetic piece, putting into it every bit of energy and creativity that I could muster, trying to make it so good that its quality would speak for itself and it would go into the paper untouched by the subeditors, news desk and Editor. And it did. I stayed late at the office, to see the page go through for printing.

I arrived home feeling very tired but more confident and content with myself than I had felt in a very long while. I suddenly remembered Alex and wondered how he was feeling. I dialled his number.

He replied, sleepily, “Hey, Jo? Oh, hi.”

“Oh, dammit. I was thinking you wouldn’t be able to sleep and now I’ve woken you,” I said.

“No, don’t worry. I was slumped in front of the telly. Wazzatime? Blimey, midnight.”

“What time are you in tomorrow?”

“Eight. Don’t worry. I’m young and the magic dust will get me there,” said Alex.

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Oh, not over the phone line, maybe.”

“Alex! What are you up to?”

“What everyone else is up to, Jo, my little friend, my mentor and my guide.”

“You sound out of your head.”

“Well, it’s a good place to be. Inside my head, now that’s where it’s all a bit dodgy. Don’t want to go there too often…”

“I hadn’t realized things were this bad with you. Are you on something?”

“It’s just the time of the hour, time of the year, hair of the dog, year of the dog, dog of the year, Cruft’s champion – and I miss my dear old dog, my dear old Rufus, every single day.” Alex sounded as though he was about to cry.

I said, “Shall I come over?”

“No. I’m OK.”

“Really, shall I come over?”

“No. I’m OK. I’ll be OK. Listen – get your beauty sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, Jo.” Alex hung up.

Was Alex taking drugs? I wondered if I should go straight over to his place, but thought he probably would sleep and that he needed his rest. So did I. It had been a long, emotionally draining day. In bed that night, I recalled Dr Newell’s words: “Professionalism isn’t enough.” I thought:
No, professionalism isn’t enough – but it is a great refuge, at least for now
. I had played Michael’s Joker and it had worked – hadn’t it? Feeling far too restless to sleep, I took up the journal.

My hand is trembling, my heart’s beating fast. I feel alive, I feel part of the world at last, because tonight something wonderful happened. I had given up hope and now hope fills me and surrounds me with a buoyancy that lifts me out of the shadows. Tonight I was noticed and admired and, perhaps, loved.

I saw him as I entered the room. He turned – almost as though he had been expecting me, waiting for me – and smiled. In that moment I felt that something passed between us, a
recognition. He walked across to me – again, as though he had been expecting me.

There was a vibrancy about him and a lively curiosity in his expressive, soft blue eyes. I couldn’t speak. But I didn’t need to. For he was smiling at me with a boldness and confidence that made up for my tongue-tied awkwardness.

He introduced himself – his name was Mark – and asked me my name. Then he asked, “Do you often attend these seagull sessions?” I had no idea what he meant, so he explained, “You know, eew, eew, eew. The sound of us philistines being impressed by you thespians. I’m assuming you’re a thesp and not a seagull? You don’t look like a seagull.”

I confessed that I rarely attend fund-raising theatrical events, not even for my own plays. He said, “But you should. A beautiful woman should be looked at and admired at every possible opportunity.” As he said the words, I felt beautiful; I felt that the ease and confidence that comes with the assurance of one’s own beauty might perhaps be mine. We talked and talked. He made me laugh. And all the while he looked at me, in a gentle and thoughtful manner, which I liked. I liked the openness of his face, the straight nose, finely drawn cheekbones and soft mouth.

He was exciting and amusing, with plenty to say; yet he seemed as keen to listen as to talk. We talked about serious and trivial matters – our shared love of the performing arts, his Labrador, Jasper, who seemed to be the light of his life. He asked so many questions; he wanted to know every detail – my likes, my dislikes, my work, my past, my hopes for the future. When he laughed, a lock of thick auburn hair fell across his forehead and I would have liked to gently brush it from his eyes.

Perhaps I drank a little too much champagne because suddenly Mark was saying, with an odd, desperate urgency, “I have to leave. But I must see you again.” Moments later we were in Piccadilly Circus and he was hailing a cab. We climbed in and the taxi set off, rumbling through the brightly lit streets.

We sat very close together; then, without warning, he reached out for me and took me in his arms. He held me gently for what seemed like several minutes. Then, as I withdrew from his embrace, he kissed me on the mouth. He held me tightly and his kisses were at first gentle and then passionate. Though I wanted him to continue, I drew back, feeling shy and awkward. By the flickering lights of a continuous stream of lamp posts and neon signs, I looked into his kindly blue eyes. He said, “You’re lovely. You’re wonderful.” I asked, “Why am I wonderful?” He replied, “It’s wondrous that we’ve met.”

And so it is. And I wonder now – as I replay and savour, moment by moment, the moving real-life picture that carried me along so swiftly and naturally – what made me choose to take the action that set the event in motion? Why did I suddenly choose, as the tube train pulled into Piccadilly Circus station, to leave my seat and push my way through the packed, rush-hour carriage, to quickly step through the closing doors? Something I remembered had prompted me to overcome my fear and shyness. I had thought of another woman, a woman who risked everything for what she believed in. I had thought of Julian’s strong heart and that had brought a little courage to mine. And I have my reward. Tomorrow I shall see Mark again.

As Mark walked into the restaurant I felt as though everything around me were dissolving. He was handsomer than I remembered. There was a lightness of energy about him. I could hardly believe that this bright butterfly had chosen such an inconspicuous little flower. The time passed quickly. We are easy and natural together. I feel I have known him a lifetime. He loves the theatre and wanted to be an actor, but to please his father he joined the family firm and eventually took it over. But he was unlucky. He said, “The market changed and we were hammered by cheap imports, so the firm went bust.
Unfortunately it happened a few years after I took charge.” It seems his father blamed him and never forgave him. After that Mark spent ten years in the army and now runs a security consultancy. He said, “My father can eat his hat now, and his entire wardrobe. I now have a company of my own that’s going great guns. Next year I’m planning to expand – bigger premises, more staff – prepare to be drooled over by a multi-millionaire.”

Mark has been married. He said, “I married impetuously and it didn’t work out. Passion isn’t enough. There has to be genuine respect and love.” As we waited for the bill he said, “I can’t believe I’ve found you. You’ve knocked me off-balance. I’m in a spin.” He seemed anxious and afraid. He said, “Now that I’ve found you, you won’t run away, will you?”

Then, as we walked to his car, an extraordinary thing happened. He said, “I have to go to Norwich on Thursday. Would you like to come? We could have most of the day together.” I was astonished. I have been thinking so much about Julian and wondering if I should return to Norwich, to carry out research and find out if her story has the makings of a play. Now it seems that fate is taking a hand. In two days’ time I will see Mark again. I can hardly wait.

I was puzzled and disappointed. What was I to make of this girlish, romantic confession? Anna had expressed such sensitivity and depth of feeling in the earlier entries. In comparison, this last seemed frivolous and shallow. But Anna was going to Norwich. What might she find out about Julian? I turned the page and continued to read.

“A cold coming we had of it…”

I like the sense of isolation and endurance in Eliot’s poem, of striving against the odds. I would like to be the kind of person who would be brave enough to set herself such a task. I would
like to have the belief and faith that some prize was really worth the sacrifice. I like the image of the seed in the hard ground beneath the snow and frost, the unbreakable promise of life to come.

As I opened the door, Mark greeted me with a hug and a kiss. “Are you ready for this adventure to Norwich?” he asked. Something is happening between us, and happening so quickly. A door has opened onto a path leading to companionship, sexual pleasure, friendship, understanding, joy, fidelity, honour and love. Ahead lies the hope of fulfilment, the chance to be held in the embrace depicted on the cover of the little yellow book. Shall I be allowed to walk that path and take those pleasures and comforts that I so desire?

As we drove through London and towards the coast I stole quick glances at Mark. I could hardly believe that he had chosen to take me with him. Suddenly I wanted him with a passion that I knew I must contain. His face seemed to change at different times, and I realized I had not yet got a clear image of it in my mind’s eye.

He sang to me. He has a good voice, but he sings with an American accent, which felt odd and a little uncomfortable. I felt embarrassed to have him expose to me this part of himself, with such a lack of awareness. In the small space we shared there seemed to be nowhere to put that feeling. But when I discovered that he had added five hours to his journey in order to take me with him, I was thrilled. I felt valued and nothing else mattered.

Mark was curious about my interest in Julian, though he doesn’t believe in God. He said, “If there’s a God, why does he let us make such a muck of things? I wouldn’t want him managing anything for me.” He really has no concept of God; religion seems to have passed him by.

Today has been a perfectly beautiful sequence of happy, pleasurable moments. I have been so hungry for times like these, so starved of being looked at with admiration and affection,
being listened to with fascination and approval, being held with warmth and intimacy, being wanted, being needed, being loved.

We lunched in a little country restaurant just outside Norwich. We told each other about our lives, but it seemed as though we already knew everything about one another, from some time long past that I had forgotten. I probed gently to find out why Mark’s marriage had ended. He said, “We wanted different things. Once the initial passion was over we just didn’t connect. We couldn’t talk, as you and I do. After five years of vase-throwing – by my wife, not me – shouting and slamming of doors, we agreed to disagree and go our separate ways.”

We drove on to Norwich and along the dingy streets that I walked along so recently, to Julian’s little church and the Julian Centre next door. As we parted, Mark leaned forward to kiss me gently on the cheek. He said, “No running off with any monks or vicars.” Promising to return in three hours’ time, he got back into the car and drove away.

As I walked towards the Julian Centre I turned my head, to see if Mark was giving me a final wave, and saw another car go by. The driver glanced towards me, and there was something in his eyes that I did not like. As I stepped through the doorway of the Julian Centre, I shivered. My emotions, rekindled in the past days and brought close to the surface, were making me more sensitive than was good for me. A few hours of sober research would bring me back down to earth.