Altered States by Anita Brookner Page A

herself polishing spoons. She had decided to believe that Angela was my girl-friend. Unfortunately Angela did too.
    ‘See you tomorrow,’ she always said as we left. And she had already given me her telephone number at home and at work, and had asked for mine. I was obliged to give her the office number, saying that there was no point in ringing me at home, as I was hardly ever there. ‘Where are you, then?’ she said. I winced, and told her that I spent a lot of time with my mother, noting with a sinking heart that this fallacious information was yet another point in my favour.
    As a matter of fact Mother did ring me one evening andasked me to come over, as she had something to discuss with me. I imagined that this had something to do with her investments, on which matter she habitually deferred to me, although she was quite capable of managing very well on her own. As I trudged through the park I felt vaguely uneasy. Looking back later, I saw that this was premonitory; at the time, however, I merely looked forward to eating one of her delicious suppers and listening to her news, to which I need pay little attention. She was a supremely tactful woman, who had no doubt spoilt me in this respect: she saw that she must not burden me with information of any significance until I had eaten, and never before she had satisfied herself that I was comfortable. Therefore I was largely unprepared to find her so nervous and so abrupt. Scarcely had I taken off my coat than she ushered me without ceremony into the drawing-room and indicated a chair. I sat down warily, thinking that I must be in for some additional duties. All I could think of was Sybil, presenting Mother with some intractable family problem which I should have to sort out.
    ‘My darling,’ said my mother hesitantly, ‘I have something to tell you.’
    ‘Are you ill?’ I said, alarmed.
    ‘No, no. It’s just that Aubrey and I were married this morning.’
    ‘What? You mean you didn’t tell me? Warn me, I should say.’
    ‘I made up my mind very quickly,’ said this woman who had once claimed that her position in life was to be my mother. ‘Of course it will make no difference to my feelings for you. In my heart you will always come first. And Aubrey has been so kind: that’s why he stayed upstairs—he knew I’d want to see you on my own. We’ll move in together when we get back.’
    ‘Back from where?’
    ‘From Cagnes, darling. He has this little house, and we’re going there soon, perhaps next week.’
    ‘For your honeymoon,’ I said, trying to come to terms with the fact that my mother was not only going to marry this man but to sleep with him as well. I felt like Hamlet, though as far as I could see (and I had to concede this) Aubrey was not in the least like Claudius. Then I got to my feet and kissed her and was rewarded for my effort when she wiped her eyes and put away her handkerchief and gave me a shaky but happy smile.
    ‘What decided you?’ I asked. ‘After all this time.’
    ‘Such a silly thing. I was out with Jenny, on one of our afternoon excursions. Perhaps I was a little out of sorts, or perhaps I wasn’t listening, as I usually do, to Jenny’s chatter. Suddenly I caught sight of the two of us in a long mirror in one of the shops, and, Alan, I saw two old women, arm in arm, with obviously nothing better to do with their time than spend it in department stores, in that terrible overheated atmosphere. I could feel Jenny’s arm weighing me down. And I suddenly thought, “I don’t want to get old like this. I want a sense of renewal. I want to be with a man again.” ’
    ‘And is that what Aubrey offers you? A sense of renewal?’
    ‘He offers me kindness, care, generosity, and a social position. And perhaps the last is the most important. A woman on her own is rarely respected for what she is, and not always for what she does. She has to make a strenuous bid for recognition if she wants to merit attention, even in this day