Chapter 27
Flora is sitting in the bath hugging herself because she’s cold. She’s cold because the bath water has gone decidedly tepid, but she doesn’t want to get out of it. If she gets out, she’ll have to see James, because he’s coming over just before noon. Flora is always punctual, and it’s just gone 11.40, so there’s no time to top up with hot water, relax and pretend everything’s okay. Because it’s not okay. Everything is far from okay. Last night she lay awake worrying herself stupid about her and James. The very thought of a ‘her and James’ makes her giddy. There’s never been a ‘her and anyone’ since Patrick, and she never thought there would ever be again. Who in their right mind would? She’s an old woman. James is an old man – admittedly, not quite as old as Flora – but old in anyone’s book.
Why do people say that – in anyone’s book? Or in my book? Where are these imaginary books that we mark things down in, opinions that we adhere to, come hell or high water? Flora looks at the wrinkly skin on her fingers (wrinkly because she’s old, but even wrinklier because she’s been too long in the bath) and tells herself to stop avoiding important issues by letting her thoughts scamper off down surreal paths. Paths that lead her away from making tough decisions. Sometimes she thinks the inside of her mind is like a Pollock painting. A mess of drips and splashes – big blobs of colour, one thought on top of another, building in texture and form, until she can’t make out which way is up anymore.
The cold eventually drives her out of the bath and into a fluffy towel. As she passes the bedroom, she longs to curl up under the duvet and sleep. Hide from the day, until night comes rolling by again, covering her with darkness. But she can’t. She needs to see James – needs to tell him how she feels. Mother was the cause of her sleepless night. She’d poked her awake in the early hours and wouldn’t leave her mind, no matter how much Flora tried to shut her up.
Mother laughed at the idea of her and James. Then out came a tirade of questions. Why is he interested in her? Nobody else has been, since that foppish youth Patrick all those years ago. Nobody has had so much as a passing interest in her for fifty-odd years – well, apart from those few men who probably saw her as an easy lay. So why does James want her now? Why would anyone want her now?
Flora found no answers to these questions, so Mother did the honours.
James seems an intelligent man, a talented artist, so she must be just his passing fancy. Maybe lost causes like her appeal to his artistic temperament. He could be bored – at a loose end. He’s stringing her along as a stopgap – just until he meets someone else, or finds a new hobby to pursue. And another thing. Isn’t she too set in her ways to compromise – to accommodate another’s needs and wishes? Hasn’t she preferred being free to make her own choices without having to consider another’s?
Once more, she had no reply, so Mother summed up. Flora is one of life’s loners, and should remain so. She hasn’t experienced proper love, not really. Patrick was a crush, a silly teenage crush. She’s not worthy of James – not worthy of love, if truth be known. Flora should end this embarrassing charade before it goes any further. It will be best all round.
* * *
The yellow-and-white cheesecloth blouse she put out earlier looks too cheerful for the task at hand, but she can’t be bothered to sort through her wardrobe again. Jeans and the top will do, James won’t be at her house long, so she can take the blouse off again once he’s gone, and get under the duvet. Shut out the world.
Without her make-up, and wild hair escaping from the clip she shoved it into while taking a bath, Flora thinks she looks every one of her seventy-seven years and more. A sleepless night and a heavy heart haven’t helped, but as her fingers hover over her eye pencil, she wonders if she should make the effort. A darker place in her mind sends a chaser after that – what’s the point in actually making the effort with anything anymore?
* * *
James perches on the edge of the armchair and looks like he can’t make his mind up whether to go or stay. Flora’s not surprised, because the mood she’s in must be blatantly obvious from her mumbled greeting when he walked through the door, and the way she deftly side-stepped his embrace.
‘I won’t offer you tea, James, because I have something to say, and it won’t take long. It’s not a very pleasant thing, but it has to be said, nevertheless.’
James’s frown already knitting his brow deepens and apprehension grows in his eyes. ‘Sounds serious.’
‘It is.’ Flora bobs her head and reaches for the words which have abandoned her. They have scarpered into a safe room and locked the door. She has to find the key. She must. It’s not helping that James is twisting the band in his ponytail as if he wants to pull it off. The poor man is looking anywhere but at her, and repeatedly clearing his throat. Time to get this over with. ‘James … I don’t think we should see each other anymore.’
He looks at the ceiling and shakes his head. ‘I was afraid that was your “something serious”.’ When he looks across at her, tears are swimming in his soft brown eyes. ‘Why, Flora? I thought we were getting along great together, enjoying each other’s company. We have so much in common, we chat all the time, laugh together and … I’m very fond of you, Flora. Very.’
This nearly crushes her resolve, but she can’t go back now. ‘We were, we are, and I’m very fond of you too. But is this…’ She falters. ‘Are we a good idea? I mean, I have one foot in the grave, almost two, and here I am, getting romantically involved. It’s ludicrous. What on earth were we thinking?’ Flora throws her hands up and chokes back tears.
James leans forward, elbows on knees. ‘Where’s all this coming from? You seemed happy enough before.’
‘I was … well, kind of. But I’ve always had misgivings. Thoughts about being too old and set in my ways have always been there, skulking about in the recesses of my mind. Thoughts of why on earth you would want to take up with me…?’ Flora can’t continue and covers her mouth with a shaking hand.
James comes over and sits beside her on the settee. He gently takes her hand away from her mouth and holds it tight. ‘Because you’re a lovely, kind, generous, funny and very attractive woman.’
A bark of laughter escapes her. ‘Attractive! Me?’
‘You.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘Do you find me attractive?’ His intense and steady gaze wakes up a few butterflies in her chest.
‘Yes…’
‘Well, there we are then. We must both be crazy, if you’re to be listened to.’
The only way to break this powerful connection is to look at the floor. ‘It’s all too late, James. Far too late.’ With an effort, she pushes away the image of her dancing in his arms on their first date and buries the remembered feeling of joy.
He sits back a little, his thoughtful expression eventually giving rise to, ‘Are you afraid of death, Flora?’
Her head jerks back up. Is she? Not exactly, as it’s as inevitable as the sun rising, but death is often in her mind. Probably because she’s much closer to it than she used to be. She has been known to wake in the night and wonder how many years she’s got left, and will she be spared a long lingering departure, or will she be in some hospital ward, in terrible pain, slowly being ripped apart by some vile disease or other? And at the end of it all … will there be anyone there to hold her hand?
‘Yes and no. But I do think of it quite often.’ Before he has time to answer, the words that she needed are at last ready to come out of the safe room, and they pour forth in a torrent. ‘I often feel like a fraud, hiding behind my colourful clothes – maybe I’m not the interesting, outgoing woman I like to portray. I worry that people will see through me. I worry I’m not good enough to be welcomed into the little community I’ve insinuated myself into. I worry I’m not good enough for you too. Then I tell myself that’s all nonsense and I’m worrying for no reason.’ Flora stands and throws her arms up. ‘For god’s sake, I don’t even know who I am! I’m still finding myself. At my age? Really? I never used to feel like this. It’s preposterous.’ She folds her arms and walks over to the window, stares at a flurry of dry autumn leaves blowing round the empty plant pots.
‘It’s not preposterous,’ James says, quietly. ‘And in a way it makes perfect sense that you’re questioning everything right now. Because you’re growing older, maybe your confidence isn’t as strong as it was. I know mine isn’t.’
She turns to face him. ‘It isn’t?’
‘No. I think in part, the world we live in puts us in different categories or camps. We’re the older ones, the ones who might need more help, the ones who are more vulnerable than we used to be because of illness, or because we’re not as able in lots of ways as we once were, for example. But it’s made worse because even if we don’t feel that things have changed much – well, apart from being a bit slower to do things, and maybe having the odd ache and pain – we’re encouraged to think they have. So the fact that we are starting out on a new relationship might seem like a really crazy thing to do. Love is for younger people. Younger people aren’t in our category. We lose our confidence, start to accept the concept of what it is to be old, and act accordingly.’
Flora thinks that James is making lots of sense. It would certainly explain why Mother’s got such a strong hold on her now. And he said ‘love’ … did he actually mean…? Dismissing that thought, she says, ‘Seems plausible. It’s a bit like having a box.’ James looks puzzled. ‘Never mind, Rose will tell you all about those.’ She smiles at him and isn’t sure where to go next.
James continues, ‘And I don’t think anyone can say they have truly found themselves. Because we change all the time, don’t we? I’m still finding new bits of myself.’ He laughs. ‘I don’t mean an arm, or a leg, that would be bizarre.’
Flora laughs too, relieving a corkscrew of tension that has twisted itself into her belly.
‘No, what I mean is, it feels that each new situation or challenge, and how I deal with it, teaches me something about me. We’re all diamonds in the rough, and every hurdle we manage to overcome gives that diamond a bit of a polish. Hopefully, by the time we cark it, we’ll be twenty-four carats.’
His warm smile encourages her to return one. ‘That’s a lovely way to look at things… Maybe my move from my childhood home in Truro to here has been more traumatic than I realised – hence the constant worry and the re-emergence of Mother.’
James pats the seat next to him. ‘Exactly. Now, come and sit down next to me.’ She does as he asks. ‘So is the influence of your nagging mother behind you wanting to break things off between us?’
Flora nods. ‘Yes … sometimes I think I will never be free of her disapproval, no matter how long I live. She did so much damage … so much.’ Then Flora allows herself to be pulled into his arms, rests her head on his chest and is helpless to do anything but sob her heart out.
* * *
Later they sit side by side sipping tea, the rain lashing the windows, the flames of the log burner dancing shadows up and down the walls. Flora feels safe, comfortable and relieved that James is still by her side.
‘So do you still want us to break up?’ James slips his hand into hers.
Flora doesn’t have to think twice. ‘No. Not if you still want me. I’m sorry for saying I did.’
‘Don’t be sorry. It was all perfectly understandable, given everything we just talked about. And of course I still want you. I will always want you.’
Flora glances up at him, noting the affection in his eyes dancing with the reflection of the flames. ‘I hope so.’
James lifts the back of her hand to his lips and gently brushes his lips across it. ‘I love you, Flora. Plain and simple … and please don’t feel under pressure to reply in kind. I’m just happy that we’re back on track.’
Even if Flora wanted to reply in kind, which she knows she does, she can’t, because her heart is too full. Instead, she snuggles into the warmth of him and closes her eyes.
* * *
After lunch, they’re sitting cosily together on the sofa with their feet up, sharing a glass of wine, but Flora thinks James seems a bit quiet. He keeps looking at her and away, clearing his throat, shuffling in his seat and fiddling with the band on his ponytail. In the end she can stand it no longer. ‘James, is everything okay? You seem unsettled.’
James lets out a heavy sigh. ‘I am unsettled. I have something to say, but I’m not sure how you’ll react. We’ve just got back on track, and I know I said there’s no pressure to tell me how you feel about me … but…’ He takes her hand and searches her face. ‘I keep trying to ignore it, but I have this overwhelming desire to…’ James clams up again and sighs.
Flora’s mind is in a spin. What the hell is it? Has he suddenly changed his mind about her after all? Because if he has, she’s not sure if she could cope with it. In fact, she knows she couldn’t. ‘Just spit it out James, you’re driving me nuts.’
James gets to his feet and then with the aid of the sofa arm, lowers himself to one knee. ‘Flora. My lovely, lovely Flora. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?’