pension is sorted. I think he’ll do her just fine.’ And I drained my glass.
Claire refilled it at once. ‘Much activity between the sheets, do you think?’ Her expression was demure, all downcast eyes and sweeping fringe – a carbon copy of the Princess
Di look. Shy Di, as the papers loved calling her. But it was more than that. I remember feeling that there was a frailty to Claire that summer that hadn’t been there before. And she’d
had her hair cut, out of the blue. That was unusual in a household where everything was discussed, from men to money and what colour nail-varnish to wear. Georgie and I protested at the loss of all
those voluptuous curls, but Claire had only shrugged.
‘Time for a change, don’t ye think?’
No, we didn’t, and I’ll bet Paul didn’t, either. But I didn’t dare ask.
Now I pretended to splutter at her curiosity about Helly and Frank’s sex life. ‘Claire! This is Nora we’re talking about. Don’t you remember that she and Frank
don’t believe in sex before marriage?’
Claire looked disbelieving.
‘You don’t remember? The day we finished our exams? She told us.’ I decided I wouldn’t mention ‘respect’ and how Claire herself had reacted to what Helly
said. But I think she remembered. She went quiet.
‘And you think it was the truth?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. I visualized Frank, his thin wrists and thinner hair. Absolutely’ I said again, even more convinced. And then I felt ashamed of myself for thinking that
sex should only be for the young and beautiful. Like us.
She ran her index finger down the stem of her glass and caught the few drops of Sauvignon Blanc that had escaped. When she spoke again, she seemed thoughtful. ‘Oh, I don’t
know,’ she said. ‘I’m sure her little sojourn in London a few years back must have opened her eyes to a thing or two?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘There were no adventures. She didn’t even like London. She told me so. She stayed at home with some aunt-in-law, or some shite like that,
the whole time she was there. Helly’s not one to take risks. I know her. Trust me.’
Claire sighed. ‘Well, the only thing we can hope for is that Frank isn’t another blunderer.’ That was a great word of Claire’s: blunderer. Her face brightened for a
moment. ‘Hey – didn’t he say he’d fallen in love with Nora’s ankles, when she went into the shop to buy shoes?’
I nodded. ‘That’s the official version.’
‘Well, then, Maggie, me dear,’ and she nodded and topped up our glasses again, ‘he can’t be all bad. A man who falls in love with a woman’s ankles can’t be
all cardigan and slippers.’
Who knows? I hope she was right. Particularly when I think of Ray, who promised so much and delivered so little. Who let me down in all the ways that counted: fidelity, friendship, keeping his
promises. By then, I could see Frank’s devotion to Nora, and I was honest enough with myself, even at the time, to know that I envied it.
Last night I was rummaging through some old boxes that have sat at the bottom of my wardrobe for years and I came across the photos of Frank and Nora’s wedding. Now I know that I’ve
been crying at the drop of a hat these days, but those old photos finished me off. Twenty-five years. What struck me about them most was how unprepared we all looked. Not innocent exactly,
nor even foolish: just completely unprepared for the fact that life is a string of random disasters and occasional happinesses held together by – if you’re lucky – the cement of
friendship and the glue of family. Back then, though, we all believed that there was a caring, moral order to the universe: you just had to find it. And being good, playing by the rules and
treating everybody fairly meant that the caring universe came to you. You’d be saved from sickness, death, betrayal. Well, bollocks to all that. But it was that belief in love and
justice and fair play that lit up all
Claire refilled it at once. ‘Much activity between the sheets, do you think?’ Her expression was demure, all downcast eyes and sweeping fringe – a carbon copy of the Princess
Di look. Shy Di, as the papers loved calling her. But it was more than that. I remember feeling that there was a frailty to Claire that summer that hadn’t been there before. And she’d
had her hair cut, out of the blue. That was unusual in a household where everything was discussed, from men to money and what colour nail-varnish to wear. Georgie and I protested at the loss of all
those voluptuous curls, but Claire had only shrugged.
‘Time for a change, don’t ye think?’
No, we didn’t, and I’ll bet Paul didn’t, either. But I didn’t dare ask.
Now I pretended to splutter at her curiosity about Helly and Frank’s sex life. ‘Claire! This is Nora we’re talking about. Don’t you remember that she and Frank
don’t believe in sex before marriage?’
Claire looked disbelieving.
‘You don’t remember? The day we finished our exams? She told us.’ I decided I wouldn’t mention ‘respect’ and how Claire herself had reacted to what Helly
said. But I think she remembered. She went quiet.
‘And you think it was the truth?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. I visualized Frank, his thin wrists and thinner hair. Absolutely’ I said again, even more convinced. And then I felt ashamed of myself for thinking that
sex should only be for the young and beautiful. Like us.
She ran her index finger down the stem of her glass and caught the few drops of Sauvignon Blanc that had escaped. When she spoke again, she seemed thoughtful. ‘Oh, I don’t
know,’ she said. ‘I’m sure her little sojourn in London a few years back must have opened her eyes to a thing or two?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘There were no adventures. She didn’t even like London. She told me so. She stayed at home with some aunt-in-law, or some shite like that,
the whole time she was there. Helly’s not one to take risks. I know her. Trust me.’
Claire sighed. ‘Well, the only thing we can hope for is that Frank isn’t another blunderer.’ That was a great word of Claire’s: blunderer. Her face brightened for a
moment. ‘Hey – didn’t he say he’d fallen in love with Nora’s ankles, when she went into the shop to buy shoes?’
I nodded. ‘That’s the official version.’
‘Well, then, Maggie, me dear,’ and she nodded and topped up our glasses again, ‘he can’t be all bad. A man who falls in love with a woman’s ankles can’t be
all cardigan and slippers.’
Who knows? I hope she was right. Particularly when I think of Ray, who promised so much and delivered so little. Who let me down in all the ways that counted: fidelity, friendship, keeping his
promises. By then, I could see Frank’s devotion to Nora, and I was honest enough with myself, even at the time, to know that I envied it.
Last night I was rummaging through some old boxes that have sat at the bottom of my wardrobe for years and I came across the photos of Frank and Nora’s wedding. Now I know that I’ve
been crying at the drop of a hat these days, but those old photos finished me off. Twenty-five years. What struck me about them most was how unprepared we all looked. Not innocent exactly,
nor even foolish: just completely unprepared for the fact that life is a string of random disasters and occasional happinesses held together by – if you’re lucky – the cement of
friendship and the glue of family. Back then, though, we all believed that there was a caring, moral order to the universe: you just had to find it. And being good, playing by the rules and
treating everybody fairly meant that the caring universe came to you. You’d be saved from sickness, death, betrayal. Well, bollocks to all that. But it was that belief in love and
justice and fair play that lit up all
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