Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [150]
She nodded understanding.
“And afterward, I realized that you were vulnerable, too. That you were probably a bit damaged, too, and then I felt like a shit, and then I just made it worse…I know…by being weird. Ostrich behavior, I’m afraid. I really am sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure I deserve it, but thank you.”
“So…why did you call me again?”
“I wanted to apologize. To make it up to you.” Mark ran his hand around the leather of the steering wheel. “And…
“And…I wondered if you might give me another chance. Let me backpedal and start again. Have lunch with me. Have dinner with me. Take it slowly. Give us a chance to see if there’s something there?”
Jane didn’t answer straightaway.
“If, however, you want to take your apology and your Stilton Ploughman’s and give the fucked-up widower a very wide berth from now on, I’ll understand completely.”
She laughed.
“You’re a very lovely woman, Jane. You deserve to be happy.”
“We all deserve that.”
“Mmm.” Was that an answer?
“So, you’re suggesting we date? No sex. Friends. See where that goes?”
“How does that sound? Of remote interest?”
“Can I think about it?”
Jennifer
Jennifer sat back on her heels and wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow. It was hot out here today. She surveyed her work critically and nodded with approval. She’d almost finished this bed. She’d started with this one because it was the biggest, and it faced the terrace most directly. Here, her efforts would have the greatest result. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she’d been at it for almost an hour, listening to Wimbledon on a small Roberts radio she’d borrowed from the kitchen.
Gardening was one of those things you really had to grow into. Like eating olives, listening to opera, and voting Conservative—it was not the natural preserve of the young. She had a clear recollection of Mum falling for gardening. They’d moved a couple of times, after Mum and Dad split up—first to a rented house, in which the small garden had been entirely paved for the convenience of tenants. She and Lisa had cycled for hours in tight circles around a single terra-cotta pot, containing a rose of indeterminate color and very dubious strength. The tiles had been murder on Amanda’s hands and knees, when she’d started crawling. Before their baby sister was a year old, they’d moved to Carlton Close. It was a 1970s box, on a cul-de-sac full of 1970s boxes, a fact that had been of less interest, of course, than the size of their bedrooms—bigger—and the potential for new friendships on the close. The front had had a lawn, with a low brick wall at the front, and a tarmac drive to the side. Mum had never done much with that. The front was where Jennifer and Lisa and their friends had congregated. But the back—that became something really rather lovely. It seemed like they’d gone down the path one day, after money for the ice cream lorry, or begging for an extension on bedtime, and found it transformed from a wilderness to a paradise. Mum gardened at the weekends, all through the spring and summer, in a bikini, a sunhat, and a giant pair of Jackie O sunglasses, while Amanda rode her trike and held tea parties for her dollies on the small patio.
In the autumn she built bonfires. Jennifer remembered their smell and their noise. They invited the kids from the street, and their parents, and Mum cooked baked potatoes with sausages and beans. Everyone loved Mum. She had this energy—it was hard to describe. She made everyone feel interesting and like she had time for them. People liked to be around her.
Lisa used to say that she should get married again. Jennifer couldn’t imagine it then.
WHEN MARK WAS BUILDING THE HOUSE, AND HE AND MUM WERE living in the caravan, Jennifer had only visited once or twice. She found it so uncomfortable—this new, younger man. Her mum living…like that. And most of all, being pregnant with Hannah. But the first time she’d gone, they’d shown her the plans, excited about their new home. Mark had unrolled the blueprints of the floorplan—technical and detailed