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Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [117]

By Root 1420 0
for the last ten years, ever since Vince had moved into the area. It was the first time they’d lived in the same town since they’d been kids. Vince had gone to Durham to read veterinarian sciences the year after Mark had gone to Bath. They hadn’t been especially close as kids, or as young men, but after Mark had married Barbara and Vince had married Sophie, and Hannah and her cousin Bethany had been born, their relationship had had a renaissance. The safe, common ground of their families created the foundation of a new friendship, which they both valued. With both of their parents dead, this family bond meant more than ever.

Vince had been brilliant when Barbara was ill. He and Sophie had taken Hannah to their house, on many occasions. Sophie had delivered casseroles and disappeared with baskets of ironing. Vince had been great at those awkward silences people have when they are grieving. He hadn’t tried to fill them. He’d sat through them, just being there. And, more than once, he had held his brother, in an awkward, masculine embrace, when Mark cried, again not tempted to speak over the strangled, apologetic sobs.

Now, Mark sat across from him in the pub, nursing his second pint of the evening, and told him about Lisa moving back in. Then he told him about Jane. He had to tell someone. It had been weighing heavily on his mind for the last few weeks. Vince listened without interrupting, sipping now and then at his beer.

“I feel like a bastard,” Mark concluded.

“Why? It sounds like she wanted it as much as you did.”

“She wanted something. Just not sure it was the same thing I wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Truthfully? I just wanted to have sex with someone other than myself. You’ve no idea how long it’s been. Actually, you probably know how long it’s been. Too bloody long. I’m sorry if that makes me some kind of animal, but I just wanted to have quick, good, silent sex and then get the hell out of there.”

“And you think that just because she’s a woman, she wanted a ‘relationship’? I’m no Germaine Greer, but isn’t that a bit of a sweeping generalization?”

“Not just because she’s a woman. Because she’s that kind of a woman. I spent the whole evening with her. She’s a…a nice woman.”

“And you’re not a nice bloke?”

“I thought I was, yeah. Until then.”

“For God’s sake, Mark. You are a nice bloke. Will you stop beating yourself up! As far as I can see, you two had dinner, you both fancied each other, you did ‘it.’ End of story. You’re both free. You’re both adults. You both did what you wanted to do. You’re going on about it like you slipped her Rohypnol, or whatever it is, and date-raped the woman.”

“So you think it’s okay?”

“Well, I’m not your mother. I’m not your moral compass. It shouldn’t matter what I think. But, yes, since you ask. I think it’s okay. I think it’s good, actually. And so does Soph….”

“What do you mean, so does Soph,” Mark asked incredulously. “You told Soph?”

“Course I did. Needed the woman’s perspective, didn’t I, after what you said on the phone the other night?”

“She thinks it’s okay, too?” Irritation gave way to curiosity. Vince was right; the female perspective was all in this case. He’d have told Lisa, if he’d been brave enough. He had a nagging suspicion he knew what Barbara would have had to say about it, and it went something like—“about bloody time, you mopey git.”

Vince nodded and drained his pint.

“Have another?”

“Please.” Vince raised his hand at the barman, who came over and refilled their glasses.

“She told me to ask you whether you were going to see her again. She said, if you said no, I was to say, ‘If not why not?’”

“Does she tell you everything to say?”

Vince nodded. “Pretty much. About this kind of thing. I need an official interpreter at home. Bethany’s so bloody touchy lately I have to have permission in triplicate to speak to her at all; I’m seriously thinking of putting a woodburner and an air mattress in my shed and moving in there. Until all the hormones have finished…surging…or whatever hormones do.”

BETHANY WAS ONLY A FEW MONTHS OLDER THAN HANNAH. SHE looked like

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