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Lizzie looked at her mother. She was so sad, she thought. Imagine living a life in which the highlight of one’s existence was a political ball. How sad. “Depends,” she said. “Depends when it is.”
“Next week,” said Sasha. “I know I haven’t given you much notice, but it’s next Friday, at the Braid Hills Hotel. It’s such a nice place for it.”
Lizzie pursed her lips. She was in a difficult situation. She did not want to go to the ball, but she was realistic enough to understand her position. Her parents paid her rent and gave her an allowance. She accepted this, in spite of her pride, and she understood that in return there were a few duties that she had to discharge. Attendance at the Conservative Ball had always been one of these. This was what her mother’s look meant.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll come.”
Sasha looked relieved. “That will be very nice.” She picked up her table napkin – paper! – and removed a crumb of marzipan from the edge of her lower lip. She would have liked to have licked her lips, and would have done so at home, but she couldn’t in town. “We’ll make up a small party. Daddy’s arranged that.”
Lizzie, who had been looking out of the window, turned to face her mother. “A party?”
Sasha smiled. “Yes, of course. A small party. Just the three of us and . . .”
“That’s fine. The three of us. That’s fine.”
“And a fourth.”
Lizzie said nothing. She tried to meet her mother’s gaze, but Sasha looked away.
“A young man,” said Sasha. “A very charming young man from the office. He’s called Bruce. We thought it would be a good idea to ask him to join us.”
Lizzie sighed. “Why? Why can’t we just go by ourselves?”
Sasha leaned forward conspiratorially. “Because there’s hardly anybody going,” she whispered. “Nobody has bought a ticket –
or virtually nobody.”
Lizzie looked at her mother in frank astonishment. “Nobody?”
“Yes,” said Sasha. “Even the people on the committee have found some excuse or other. It’s appalling.”
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“Well, then, why don’t you cancel it? Surely that would be simplest?”
Sasha shook her head. “No, it’s not going to be cancelled.
Imagine if people heard about that. We’d be the laughing stock.
The ball is going ahead. Your father has made up his mind.”
Lizzie thought for a moment. “And Bruce? What about him?”
Sasha answered quickly. “Very charming. A good-looking young man too. He lives down in the New Town somewhere.”
She paused, and then added: “Unattached.”
For a moment there was a silence. Then Lizzie laughed. “So,”
she said. “So.”
“Yes,” said Sasha. “So. And it’s about time, if I may say so, that you started to think of finding a suitable man. It’s all very well enjoying yourself, but you can’t leave it too late.”
Lizzie closed her eyes. “I’m on the shelf, am I?”
Sasha picked up her coffee and took a sip. She would remain calm in this conversation; she was determined about that. “You know very well what I’m talking about. There are some people who just miss the bus. You may think that you’ve got plenty of time, but you haven’t. The years go by. Then you suddenly realise that you’re thirty- something and the men who are interested in getting married aren’t interested in you any more – they’re interested in girls in their mid-twenties. Oh yes, you may laugh, but that’s the truth of the matter. If you want a husband, don’t drag your feet – just don’t drag your feet.”
Lizzie waited until her mother had finished. Then: “But you’re assuming that I want a husband.”
Sasha stared at her daughter. “Of course you want a husband.”
Lizzie shook her head. “Actually, I don’t have much of a view on that. I’m quite happy as I am. There’s nothing wrong with being single.”
Sasha put down her coffee cup. She would have to choose her words carefully. “All right. You’re single. Where does the money come from? You tell me that. Where does the money come from?”
Lizzie did not respond, and after a few moments Sasha provided the answer herself.
“Money comes from men,” she said.
Carried down on the Jenners escalator, mother and daughter, one
step apart, but separated by a continent of difference.
