Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman

‘Yup.’

Tears suddenly rained down my cheeks, an unstoppable release of emotion, and I was helpless. Vee leapt up and dabbed at my face with a tissue. ‘Stupid,’

My long-term habits are, so to speak, ingrained in my blood and bone and I have to dig deep to break them. A Thousand Olive Trees wasted an hour or two of valuable time lying on the kitchen table before I stretched out my hand and, for a second time, picked it up.

It described the journey he had made on foot through Italy. A ‘journey,’ he wrote in the preface, ‘marked by a succession of painful blisters, a common affliction, which has more effect on history and war than might be supposed.’

He began in the Veneto and picked his way south, along an ancient route taken by the merchants. ‘Those who embark on these old paths are normally looking for secular rewards, the benefit of exercise, the charm of unfamiliar surroundings, a sense of achievement – but are often taken by surprise when they experience a feeling that might be called spiritual.’

Hal’s language was as unfamiliar to me as Nathan’s had become and, if I was not mistaken, he was less goldentongued, and that made me smile. But I could picture his walk, an impatient quick-march that used to leave me gasping. I, too, hefted my rucksack and placed my feet in his footprints and slithered down the stony scree, up the winding path into the hills, through a maquis of wild herbs, so bruised in passing that their aroma scented the hot air.

Blisters forced him to a halt in the village of Santa Maria, which fitted into a curve of the hillside among the olive groves in Umbria. And there he had discovered an olive farm that required an owner. The second half of the book was his account of buying it and settling down to learning about olive-tree cultivation.

I wrote the review, paying A Thousand Olive Trees no more and no less attention than I gave to the others in the round-up. I said that it was a book for dreamers.

Chapter Sixteen

I sent in the review by e-mail, and sat back in my chair, hands clasped behind my head.

Definitely there was a plus to having done some work. A step forward: and I was the better for having given my brain a workout. In the peace and silence of my study, being on my own did not seem to be quite so drastic a fate. I was even beginning to suspect that it had one or two compensations. Had we ever confessed, Vee, Mazarine and I, how exhausting marriage could be? Good management in a marriage was not merely a question of being one step ahead of one’s spouse, but two. And it had been Nathan who taught me that good, competent management is the key to comfort and efficiency, which, if as a principle it lacked poetry, had the merit of being honest.

Did he feel, on his side, I wondered, that he had had to manage me as well as himself? What we had not managed was familiarity. I saw that now. Mark Twain had been right after all. Familiarity is edged with the danger of tedium.

Sun flooded the landing, and I felt the house settle around me, my warm, companionable, familiar setting. The carpet under the window had been stained by damp and the sash window – probably – required replacing. Idly I added it to the list of the must-do and, as idly, flicked into my e-mail in-box. There was one. It was headed SURPRISE, SURPRISE.

Darling Mum. This is the biggest surprise.

Rashly, it crossed my mind that our nagging had paid off and Poppy had done well in her finals.

We are on Koi Sumui. It is the best. I have never been anywhere so lovely. It’s so unspoilt. You would love it. I love the East. So cool, so into different things. But, hold your breath. Richard and I have got married. On the beach, and it was beautiful. It was quite wild and I am so happy. Please tell Dad. I will ring you. I love you. Poppy. PS I got a 2:2.

I picked up my bag and ran out to the car.

‘My dad,’ Poppy was also overheard confiding to her friend Emily at the ninth birthday party, ‘loves me the best.’

On more than one occasion, I explained to Poppy that this was not the case. Both of us loved both her and Sam equally. But Poppy, who was never in the least bit interested in the level playing-field, merely giggled naughtily and held up her arms to be cuddled. Clever, instinctive Poppy knew that the conspiracy to present life as fair and equal was just that.

Outside Minty’s flat, I held my finger on the bell. The door jerked open to reveal Minty, with a half made-up face, wearing a satin teddy underneath a white towelling dressing-gown. ‘What on earth -?’ She frowned. ‘Rose, have you gone mad?’

‘I’d like to speak to Nathan.’

She hesitated. ‘I’ll see if he’s free.’

‘Just get him. On second thoughts.’ I elbowed Minty aside and stepped into a diminutive hall, made even less negotiable by two large suitcases, which I recognized as Nathan’s, propped against the wall. ‘Nathan?’

There was the sound of running water from the bathroom, which stopped, and Nathan emerged, also wearing a snowy white towelling dressing-gown. Its unfamiliarity brought me up short.

‘Rose, what’s the matter?’ He looked alarmed. ‘Is it Ianthe?’

‘No, not life and death but a bit of a shock. Nathan, Poppy has just e-mailed to say she and Richard have got married.’ I paused. ‘She sounded happy.’

‘You’re joking,’ Nathan said quietly.

‘Good grief,’ said Minty.

He led the way into a tiny sitting room, cluttered with newspapers, books and unwashed coffee mugs. An over- large sofa and one chair made it even more cramped. Nathan dropped down on the sofa and put his head in hands. He was shaking. ‘I don’t know what to say except that I’ll kill him.’

I sat down beside him. ‘She’s only a baby, whatever she thinks.’

‘So were you,’ Minty pointed out.

‘But that was different.’ Nathan addressed me, not Minty.

‘No, it isn’t.’ Minty regarded the pair of us sourly. ‘For God’s sake, Poppy’s twenty-two.’

We ignored her. Nathan sought my hand. ‘Did you have any idea? Did we miss something?’

‘How could we possibly have known? Poppy never gave a hint.’

Nathan grasped at a straw. ‘Wait a minute. It might have been one of those potty ceremonies that aren’t legal.’

Minty tied the belt of her dressing-gown tight around her slender waist and looked superior. ‘Nathan, Poppy is an adult, and free to make her own choices. The fact that she did not involve you is sad, but not the end of the world.’ She had succeeded in capturing his attention. ‘Does it occur to you that Poppy went off precisely because she did not wish you to interfere?’

‘I bet that man pushed her into it.’ Nathan shaded his eyes with his hand.

Minty raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Don’t be so Victorian. Poppy wasn’t pushed into it, she made the choice for herself. You can’t start huffing and puffing and indulging in conspiracy theories because you don’t happen to like what’s she’s done.’

In one sense Minty was correct. But in another she was quite wrong and she did not – could not – understand. ‘You don’t have children,’ I told her.

There was silence in the slightly frowsty room.

Nathan and Minty exchanged a look. Minty stacked a couple of the books that littered the low glass coffee-table on top of one another. ‘Having children doesn’t make you Mastermind, Rose. I am closer in age to Poppy’ She slapped another book on to the pile. ‘Having children doesn’t put you into a superior category of the human race. You don’t have a monopoly on experience and judgement. We lesser mortals have one or two things to say that matter too.’

‘Minty,’ Nathan said warningly, ‘I think -’

‘It’s fine, Nathan.’ Minty had reminded me of what I had – those long, interesting, love-filled years that nothing and no one would ever take away.