Aphrodite's Workshop for Reluctant Lovers (4 page)

‘Why didn't you tell her to go stuff herself?' Maggie said afterwards.

I explained that as I had spent my entire professional life being patronised why should I start minding now?

I dialled Charlotte Jessop's number. Her receptionist told me that they were now taking appointments for the period beginning the 1st of June. From the tone of her voice – a mixture of pity, triumph and incredulity that anyone could be misguided enough to presume that Ms Jessop was easily
available – I deduced that dashing people's hopes was the most satisfactory part of her job.

‘I really do need to see her sooner than that.'

‘I could put you on the list for cancellations but I have to warn you that there are already several people ahead of you, so the likelihood –'

‘I think I'm having a breakdown. I'm already behaving irrationally and there's no telling what I might do next.'

‘In the case of an acute condition you should go immediately to your local A & E.'

‘When I say I'm behaving irrationally I mean I'm not being myself. I need help but it's not an emergency.'

‘In the case if you'd like to call again on Monday when I will be starting the new appointment list –'

‘I'm seeing clowns.'

‘I beg your pardon.'

‘I'm seeing manic …' Coco wagged his finger. ‘I'm seeing bipolar clowns.'

‘Please hold.'

I waited, then, ‘This is Charlotte Jessop. How may I help?'

‘Oh, hello. It's Rebecca Finch. We met a while back at Maggie Jacob's launch party.'

‘Rebecca Finch? Oh yes, the romance writer. You say you're hearing voices too?'

I nodded into the receiver.

‘Both. ‘Just one voice, though.' It was important to be as clear as possible when speaking to a professional.

‘Then I think you'd better go to your local A & E. Would you like me to arrange some transport or do you have a friend or relative who can take you?'

‘No, no, it isn't at all like that. Coco is an old friend. OK, maybe not friend exactly … anyway, I know he's not real. He's there, which is why I'm calling you to make an appointment, but he's not
there
, if you see what I mean. I'm very tired. That's probably all it is. Exhaustion. I've heard that one can hallucinate from pure exhaustion, so that's probably it. I just felt that it would be a good idea …'

‘Come to my rooms at six tomorrow evening. I'll hand you back over to Della and she'll take your details.'

There was a brisk click in my ear and, ‘Right then, Mrs …'

‘Ms Finch.'

‘Right then, Ms Finch, you seem to have somehow got yourself an appointment.' There was a brief pause as her professionalism battled with her disappointment. ‘Now if I could have your full name and address.'

Therapy, eh?
Coco somersaulted down from the curtain rail, where he had been hanging upside down from his knees.
It won't work
.

Medication
, I told him.
Against hallucinations
.

Coco could not go any whiter, his face-paints saw to that, but he was definitely shaken.

I felt better and more in control having made the appointment and as Dominic was in Sussex seeing a client I had the evening to myself to think things through. I decided I would phone Angel-face and tell her … tell her what?

I returned to my desk and sat down. As the little tune chimed and the screen of my laptop lit up I felt comforted, like a child when their musical box plays at bedtime. I created a new document and typed a heading. ‘Angel-face: Reasons to
Marry and to Believe in Love and Happily Ever After'. I paused. Then I typed, ‘Reason One'.

I sat back in the chair, thinking. Reason One. Reasons to believe in love. That shouldn't be too hard. I believe in love because …

You have to believe in love
. Coco was standing at my shoulder.
In the same way you have to believe in imaginary bipolar clowns, because it exists
.

And that's supposed to be helpful?

Suit yourself
.

‘Reason One: love exists:' Obviously I needed something more. ‘I love therefore I am.' Which sounded quite good but what did it actually
mean?
I tried, ‘Reason Two: love is a good thing.'

Or was it? Yes, some love obviously was; the kind between parents and children and brothers and sisters and friends. But romantic love? The love in question right now, the love with which I dealt in my books, was it such a good thing? Had we invented romantic love simply as a way of placing our mating on a higher plane than the other animals? Was that why it so often ended badly, because it was just a construct? No, that couldn't be right because people had always indulged quite happily in sexual encounters with no pretence of love attached. So was romantic love there to make us settle for one person for long enough to bring up a family? That did make sense. It made sense but it usually didn't work. I wrote, ‘Romantic love is a sensible emotion enabling stable parenting.' But lack of sense, of proportion and clear-sightedness was integral to the concept of romantic love. I tried, ‘Romantic love is a senseless, muddled set of emotions enabling stable parenting.' Somehow that didn't look right.

‘Reason One: romantic love is.'

Then I decided the best way to help Angel-face and undo some of the damage I had done by my thoughtless remarks was to find her some example of lasting love. I wrote, ‘Ronald and Nancy Reagan, my mother's cousin Deborah and her husband Alistair …'

Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun
, Coco chipped in.

I told him there was no evidence that Adolf Hitler loved anyone at all and that even if he had it wasn't in any way what one would call an encouraging example. Instead I wrote down, ‘Héloise and Abelard.'

And that really
did
end well
, Coco smirked.

An hour later I gave up and made myself some more tea.

At eight o'clock I phoned Bridget.

‘Did Angel-face tell you about our lunch?'

‘Ha!'

‘Sorry, what's that?'

‘Ha! I said ha! She's here now. In fact she's been here all evening talking about breaking off her engagement. Right now she's in her old room clutching her teddy. She's thinking of calling off the wedding.'

‘Because of our lunch?'

The food was that bad?
Coco looked concerned.

‘Because of your conversation; yes, I'm afraid so. And you know you upset her or why else would you call?'

This was true but what was also true was that I had expected, in return, to be reassured that Angel-face was absolutely fine and that of course she hadn't taken anything I said to heart. The weight of responsibility descended upon me and out shot self-justification.

‘But that's silly. She can't blow hot and cold like that, depending on the views of whoever she spoke to last.'

‘You're not
whoever
, Rebecca, you're her godmother. Her favourite godmother, to whom she has looked up all her young life, a godmother who's given her signed first editions of every one of her novels about the wonders of love.'

‘Oh God, I know, I know and I'm really sorry.'

‘You said better luck next time. That's what you told her. At the lunch to celebrate her engagement.'

‘God, I'm sorry.'

‘You've already said that. By now God will be bored and asking you to do something about it. So have you?'

‘I think so.'

‘You think so? Well, why don't you come over here and share your insights with your god-daughter.'

‘The thing is …' I paused, feeling my way through the conversation. ‘These days, what with people living so long – I mean for example we don't die in childbirth the way we did previously … which of course is a tremendous thing.'

‘I'm glad you see it that way.'

I laughed a little too uproariously.

‘No, what I'm trying to say –'

‘Yes, what
are
you trying to say?'

‘OK, as we all know, back when marriage was in its heyday, people's chances, women's in particular, of surviving more than eleven years or so into the marriage were substantially slimmer. Add to that the fact that women no longer need marriage to achieve social standing and economic security and you see how the goalposts have moved. Until death us do part, for one – or two if we're talking goalposts, obviously. So I'm
thinking maybe, just maybe, we should consider a first marriage at an early age as a sort of starter marriage.'

It was Bridget's turn to pause.

‘What did you just say?'

‘I said that maybe …'

‘I know what you said. I just don't believe you did.'

‘OK, I didn't.'

By now I was exhausted. It had been a long day. Actually, it had been a long forty-two years. Good ones, of course. I was a very lucky woman, who had been a very lucky child. Lucky lucky lucky not to be like my sister, stuck in a wheelchair, unable to talk or read, and dying when she was still in her thirties. Lucky not to be like my mother with her broken child and lost love. Lucky to be healthy – give or take the odd nervous breakdown and imaginary clown – lucky to be a perfectly attractive and successful novelist with a handsome and charming partner. So, Rebecca Pearl Finch, smile, even if you don't mean it. Smile with your lips and your face will smile with you. Smile with your face and your head will smile with you. Smile with your –

‘Rebecca? Are you there?'

‘Yes. Yes. Sorry. Yes, I am.'

‘Let's be sensible here. Why don't you come over? We'll have a glass of wine and you can tell Zoe yourself. Cheer her up. Tell her she got it all wrong.'

‘It's almost bedtime.'

‘You've got a car.'

‘Dominic's got it.'

‘Then take the tube, or a cab.'

Bridget had put the phone down. I sat back and closed my eyes, straining to recall the state of mind and the thoughts
that had made me able to write my books of happy-love-everlasting. It was like bobbing for apples: just as a loving memory was within my grasp it ducked away and I was left splashing about in the cold waters of my disillusionment.

I went across to the bookcase and brought out a copy of
Suburbs of the Heart
, turning to the last page and reading that final line: ‘And as she lay in his arms a voice –'

I was interrupted by Coco appearing at the controls of an old biplane, wearing goggles and a leather airman's hat, and towing a sign that read ‘Lies, All Lies.' He finished off with a neat loop-the-loop.

I closed the book with a bad-tempered slam.

I hope your pennant gets caught in the propeller
.

The bridges, Chelsea and Albert, were lit up, as was the Embankment; the lamps reflected in the water, making the evening brighter than the gloomy day that had gone before it. Across the river in Battersea Park shadow-figures were running. I understood the value of exercise; for example, I always kept my twice-weekly appointment at the yoga studio, but generally I was a walker, not a runner. You missed so much when you were running. After all, we were made to run away from things or towards things but hardly just for the sake of it.

I found Angel-face sitting on the floor in her room, her back resting against her old bed, which was single and virginal white. I sat down next to her.

Angel-face did not look up.

‘I'm thinking of breaking it off.'

‘Your mother told me.'

Angel-face turned her huge, velvety-brown eyes on me, eyes that were confused and filled with anxiety.

‘It's your fault.'

‘I know. Your mother told me that too.'

‘Today at lunch I asked you a question and at first you had no answer. Then when you did it was horrible.'

‘I'm sorry.' I put my hand on her arm giving it a little rub. ‘But, Angel-face, you have to make your own decisions, trust your own feelings. It really isn't fair to put all this on me. I'm hardly the first person to say these things.'

‘No, you're not, but you are the first High Priestess of Romance to do so. And you know how I've always looked up to you. You can't just allow yourself to be looked up to and then deny any responsibility. So when you tell me that, in your view, there's no hope for me and Zac then I take it seriously.'

‘Now you're exaggerating, Angel-face. I never said there was no hope. I expect I did say –'

‘That the odds by and large were not in our favour.'

‘Even if I did, you can't live your life like that, saying you won't do anything because it's a risk. And disappointment is relative to expectation. Some marriages obviously break up for good reasons: abuse, criminality … but many, in my view, end because of too high expectations.'

‘And whose fault is it that we do have these expectations?' Angel-face asked.

I sighed; I could see the way we were heading.

‘Mine, I expect. But, Angel-face, don't you see that I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, because first you tell me I've ruined things for you by what I said at lunch and by not being all starry-eyed and romantic and then you tell me I've ruined things because I
am
starry-eyed and romantic.'

‘That's right,' Angel-face said trying to look assertive but I could see that she was close to tears; her eyes were open wide and her lower lip was trembling.

I put my arm round her shoulders and the feel of them, so slight and a little bony, made me close to tears myself. I wanted to find something to tell her that would make her happy again.

Coco suggested saying that just because something was bound to end in disaster there was no reason not to give it a go.
I mean look at life
, he said.
Give me one example of a happy outcome – I am assuming here that most people don't see death as a happy ending – but hey, by and large people still give it a shot
.