you, can one ever be really friendly with one’s son’s wife?’
‘They’re not married yet, you know. They’re not even engaged.’
‘Yes. But you know what I mean. It’s difficult for men. They don’t feel the same sense of loss when a son marries. Maybe you feel a little jealous of Sally’s boyfriend, Jonathan?’
‘I never give him a thought.’
‘Hmm! That’s slightly your problem. You give the impression sometimes that you don’t really think very much about the children … their future … their relationships.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘That remark about Sally’s boyfriend is just typical. If I didn’t keep on about Anna you’d probably never give her a thought either.’
My back was to her. I closed my eyes. A sudden shame at the meanness of the deceit, and the cruelty of the evasion, came over me. I could neither move nor answer.
‘Darling? Darling, are you all right?’
I spun round, and realised that Ingrid had seen my back in the mirror. Perhaps some line of my shoulder or body had told its own story. Certainly the face I saw in the mirror as I turned to her was that of a man in deep distress.
Ingrid’s eyes filled with love as she approached me. Her nearness, and my guilt, led to a rage within me. Ugly and menacing, my reflection stared back at me.
‘What’s the matter? What’s the matter?’ she cried.
‘Nothing. Nothing. Age, I suppose. I suddenly felt old.’
‘Oh, darling! Darling, it’s because the children are on the verge of marriage, that’s all. You’re not old. You’re still the most attractive man I know.’
She was close to me. Her body, satin-contoured, rested against mine in a familiar embrace. I put my hands on her shoulders, and keeping a chasm of inches between us, kissed her forehead. Then I moved away. It was a rejection. We both knew it.
‘Is there something you haven’t told me?’ She was not looking at me as she creamed her hands.
‘Of course not.’
‘Are you worried about something? The committee perhaps …’
‘No! Nothing. Ingrid, I’m sorry. I just suddenly felt old and tired. It’s passed now. I’m going downstairs to read a bit. I’ve got some papers I must work on. I’ll come up later.’
A look of anger flashed between us. I ignored it, and left the room.
Downstairs I poured myself a whisky. I must find a way of moving us quickly towards the marriage for which we were destined. A marriage of diminishing physical contact, which would cause neither comment nor heartbreak. Ours had never been a passionate marriage. Surely it must be possible to accelerate the already well-established route towards celibacy.
I must make it happen. Ingrid’s physical closeness was becoming impossible for me to handle. A sickness for Anna wrenched my being. It was as though Ingrid had been trying to invade the space which the ghost of the absent Anna filled. The battle-charged air had made me ill.
You will make yourself very sick, an inner voice admonished. You know that. Don’t you? Yes, doctor. Physician, heal thyself! I smiled wryly as I remembered the old adage. Perhaps punishment was what I needed?
Having made up my mind to a further sacrifice of Ingrid’s happiness, I went to work on my papers.
Breakfast the next morning was monosyllabic and cool. To my shame, Ingrid’s concern for me constantly triumphed over her desire to punish me.
I remained cool. I was anxious to keep a distance between us that would allow a new workable pattern to emerge. A finely judged thing, this careful undermining of the foundations of a marriage.
‘I want to organise the birthday party for Father on the twentieth. I thought it might be nice if we could all arrive for dinner the night before and stay for lunch on the Sunday. I’ll talk to Ceci. I can plan the lunch menu. Sally and I can help Ceci prepare everything. Then there’s Anna, of course, she can help too.’
This domestication of Anna seemed to me part of a plot on Ingrid’s part. Did
‘They’re not married yet, you know. They’re not even engaged.’
‘Yes. But you know what I mean. It’s difficult for men. They don’t feel the same sense of loss when a son marries. Maybe you feel a little jealous of Sally’s boyfriend, Jonathan?’
‘I never give him a thought.’
‘Hmm! That’s slightly your problem. You give the impression sometimes that you don’t really think very much about the children … their future … their relationships.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘That remark about Sally’s boyfriend is just typical. If I didn’t keep on about Anna you’d probably never give her a thought either.’
My back was to her. I closed my eyes. A sudden shame at the meanness of the deceit, and the cruelty of the evasion, came over me. I could neither move nor answer.
‘Darling? Darling, are you all right?’
I spun round, and realised that Ingrid had seen my back in the mirror. Perhaps some line of my shoulder or body had told its own story. Certainly the face I saw in the mirror as I turned to her was that of a man in deep distress.
Ingrid’s eyes filled with love as she approached me. Her nearness, and my guilt, led to a rage within me. Ugly and menacing, my reflection stared back at me.
‘What’s the matter? What’s the matter?’ she cried.
‘Nothing. Nothing. Age, I suppose. I suddenly felt old.’
‘Oh, darling! Darling, it’s because the children are on the verge of marriage, that’s all. You’re not old. You’re still the most attractive man I know.’
She was close to me. Her body, satin-contoured, rested against mine in a familiar embrace. I put my hands on her shoulders, and keeping a chasm of inches between us, kissed her forehead. Then I moved away. It was a rejection. We both knew it.
‘Is there something you haven’t told me?’ She was not looking at me as she creamed her hands.
‘Of course not.’
‘Are you worried about something? The committee perhaps …’
‘No! Nothing. Ingrid, I’m sorry. I just suddenly felt old and tired. It’s passed now. I’m going downstairs to read a bit. I’ve got some papers I must work on. I’ll come up later.’
A look of anger flashed between us. I ignored it, and left the room.
Downstairs I poured myself a whisky. I must find a way of moving us quickly towards the marriage for which we were destined. A marriage of diminishing physical contact, which would cause neither comment nor heartbreak. Ours had never been a passionate marriage. Surely it must be possible to accelerate the already well-established route towards celibacy.
I must make it happen. Ingrid’s physical closeness was becoming impossible for me to handle. A sickness for Anna wrenched my being. It was as though Ingrid had been trying to invade the space which the ghost of the absent Anna filled. The battle-charged air had made me ill.
You will make yourself very sick, an inner voice admonished. You know that. Don’t you? Yes, doctor. Physician, heal thyself! I smiled wryly as I remembered the old adage. Perhaps punishment was what I needed?
Having made up my mind to a further sacrifice of Ingrid’s happiness, I went to work on my papers.
Breakfast the next morning was monosyllabic and cool. To my shame, Ingrid’s concern for me constantly triumphed over her desire to punish me.
I remained cool. I was anxious to keep a distance between us that would allow a new workable pattern to emerge. A finely judged thing, this careful undermining of the foundations of a marriage.
‘I want to organise the birthday party for Father on the twentieth. I thought it might be nice if we could all arrive for dinner the night before and stay for lunch on the Sunday. I’ll talk to Ceci. I can plan the lunch menu. Sally and I can help Ceci prepare everything. Then there’s Anna, of course, she can help too.’
This domestication of Anna seemed to me part of a plot on Ingrid’s part. Did
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