Wise Follies (27 page)

‘Do you mind?’ I look up at him irritatedly.

‘Not at all,’ he replies. Dear God, it’s Liam. ‘That’s a cheery book you’re reading, Alice,’ he continues. ‘Are you “on assignment” here too?’ He’s stuffing some very grubby items of clothing into the machine as he says this. My usual politeness seems to have left me this evening. I decide to ignore him.

‘Once we truly know that life is difficult – once we truly understand and accept it – then life is no longer difficult,’ I read. ‘Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.’

‘Would you like a liquorice toffee?’ Liam is now asking. I pretend not to hear him. I don’t know why he’s being so forward suddenly. He hardly knows me. If I encourage him he’ll be turning up at the cottage next – wandering around – poking his nose into things. Maybe Sarah is right and men are a bit like dogs. What I want to say to Liam now, and very sternly, is ‘Sit’.

‘Self-discipline is a wonderful thing. I love to see it in others,’ Liam observes as I look down at my book again and read: ‘Most do not fully see this truth that life is difficult. Instead they moan more or less incessantly, noisily or subtly, about the enormity of their problems, their burdens, and their difficulties as if life were generally easy, as if life should be easy.’

I can feel Liam studying me. ‘Oh, it really isn’t fair,’ I think. ‘I just wanted to find a quiet corner and read my book and he has to show up.’ I read on, skipping quickly over the more challenging sentences: ‘Discipline is the basic set of tools we require to solve life’s problems…It is in the whole process of meeting and solving problems that life has its meaning.’ Yes. Yes. OK. OK. I turn back glumly to the contents page and see a section called ‘Love Defined’. I turn to it eagerly – some sort of explanation at long last! On mid page I see the following words: ‘One result of the mysterious nature of love is that no one has ever, to my knowledge, arrived at a truly satisfactory definition of love.’

Oh, just great.

I’d close the book now if it wasn’t such a useful way of not getting into conversation. So I just gaze at it until ‘Love Defined’ becomes the blur it is anyway and think how I should really have put my whites into a separate wash. Out of the corner of my eye I see that Liam is stuffing more items into a machine and, as he does so, I can’t help noticing he has a rather lurid pair of Mickey Mouse boxer shorts.

‘Ah-ha! Caught you!’ he exclaims suddenly.

‘Caught me doing what?’

‘Admiring my underpants.’

There are two other people besides us in this laundromat and they are now sneaking looks at us. ‘Your underwear is a matter of complete indifference to me,’ I reply in as withering a manner as I can manage. The cheek of him! Though I knew he was irritating, I never guessed he’d be this brazen. It’s probably his background. He probably thinks I find his New York humour entertaining, but I don’t. I don’t at all.

‘Do you have some change for the detergent? I’ve only got euros and I need two fifty cent coins.’ He gives me a pleading look.

I sigh and reluctantly look into my overstuffed handbag. I hand him the fifty cent coins carefully, determined that our hands shouldn’t touch.

‘You are so, so kind, Alice,’ he grins, offering me a euro coin with quite unnecessary ostentation. ‘We all need kindness in this difficult life.’ I give him my ‘fuck off’ Laren Brassière look and open my book again. I stare at it studiously.

‘Laundromats are great places for meeting people,’ Liam is now saying. ‘I’ve had some great conversations in laundromats in my time.’

‘Really? It’s not a phenomenon I myself have encountered,’ I reply. Then I add rather pointedly, ‘How’s Elsie?’

‘Oh, you’ve met her, have you?’ He seems somewhat surprised.

‘I’ve seen her around,’ I reply enigmatically.

‘She’s away at the moment, actually.’

‘Ah, that explains why he’s being so friendly,’ I think. ‘While the cat’s away and all that. Well, he’s not going to foist his Lothario tendencies on to me.’ I stand up.

‘Excuse me, Liam,’ I announce. ‘I don’t feel very plural at the moment. I’m going to a café where I can read my book in peace.’ I stress the ‘peace’ bit and stare at him stonily. Funnily enough he doesn’t say anything as I leave, even though I can feel him watching.

The California Café’s a bit of a walk away, but it’s a mild evening. I order myself an Earl Grey tea and a chocolate brownie, which I decide to eat guiltlessly. It’s for my ‘inner child’ – that’s what it is. It’s part of the important process of recognizing the ‘many selves’ inside of me. I go to a quiet corner and chomp it greedily. As I do so, I open my book again. I glance at some more chapter headings in the ‘Love’ section. ‘Falling in “Love”
’
, ‘The Myth of Romantic Love’, ‘More about Ego Boundaries’, ‘Love is Not a Feeling’. Whatever love is, it’s beginning to sound like an awful lot of hard work. Maybe Eamon is right when he says we don’t really need it. As I drink my tea I take out an old envelope from my bag and decide to list the reasons why I should or should not get married. I begin with the ‘Yes’:

‘Yes, because I am a contrary and complicated person, though I seldom admit to it, and need a sensible man to teach me sense,’ I scribble.

‘Yes, because if I had a baby I’d be up to my neck in nappies and immediately become a more mature and worthwhile person who could say things like “I never realized how wonderful children are until I had one. My baby has given me a completely new perspective on life.”

‘Yes, because acquiring a husband would prevent my married women friends suspecting that I might grab theirs.

‘Yes, because when you’re single people often assume you’re available at the drop of a hat to sort out their problems while somehow naively believing you don’t have any of your own.

‘Yes, because I could leave the magazine and paint at home instead.

‘Holidays in Provence.

‘Someone to spend Christmas with.

‘No shortage of pine shelving.

‘Excellent and expanded horticultural possibilities.’

I turn the envelope over and under ‘No’ I simply write: ‘But I do not love him.’

What a peevish, pernickety sentence it seems suddenly. What a small, foolish, sullen reason not to become part of that huge conspiracy of compromise and comfort which marriage surely is. Icing may be sweet, but marzipan has far more texture. Even my mother discovered that eventually. One day all James Mitchel will be is a slight sugary aftertaste. No more real than Laren’s infatuation with Leonard Whiting. Someone I simply made up because I couldn’t bear to face the truth: that I’m simply not temperamentally suited to all that high-flown romantic stuff. It simply takes up too much time, and it only lasts four years anyway. I stare at my list again and then find myself scribbling:

‘Buy new sofa.

‘Bleach knickers.

‘Continue spiritual quest, but more gently.

‘Re-pot geraniums.

‘Find backs of earrings or buy new ones at that jewellery craft shop.

‘Lose weight from bum and other flabby areas.

‘Become tidier.

‘Go out more often (where to?)’

I am deeply engrossed in this new list and about to write more when I glance at my watch. Dear God, I’ve been in this café for nearly an hour.

Back in the laundromat the first things that come out of the machine are my grubbiest bra, some very unflattering knickers, some laddered navy wool tights and the clay-stained T-shirt I used to wear to pottery class before I bought the posh new ones to impress James Mitchel. I have no wish to impress Liam. I really don’t care what impression I make on him. He’s hardly looked at me since I came back anyway. He’s reading a book as he waits for his clothes to dry. It’s called
By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept
. So he’s reading a ‘cheery little book’ too. I refrain from mentioning this, though I can’t help sneaking some glances at him. He really is very handsome in a slightly dishevelled way. He doesn’t seem to have shaved this morning, but the stubble suits him. He looks so solemn now, so unselfconsciously absorbed in the story he’s reading. I sense there’s a serious side to him. One that I have scarcely glimpsed. I think I’ve hurt his feelings a little. I was so offhand with him earlier. I’m not usually like that with people. What is it about Liam that makes me so defensive? He was probably only trying to be friendly.

Clothes seem to expand when they’re clean. As I struggle to stuff mine back into my blue plastic bag Liam looks up at me for a moment, and then goes to check if his own clothes are dry. He is behaving with such coolness now that I feel impelled to speak. To soften the tone of our meeting.

‘So, how’s your garden, Liam?’ I ask.

‘Oh, all right I suppose,’ he answers unenthusiastically, as he removes a woman’s pink blouse from the drier. That’s all he’s going to say. He’s almost ignoring me. I begin to feel rather uncomfortable. It’s best to try to keep on good terms with one’s neighbours.

‘I’m sorry I was a bit off-hand with you earlier,’ I say. ‘But I was a bit preoccupied about something.’

‘Yes, you certainly were,’ he replies, making no attempt at tact. Americans can be so blunt sometimes.

‘Well, anyway, I’m sorry if I appeared rude,’ I continue, ‘I’m not usually like that.’

‘You said what you felt, Alice.’ He turns to me and gives me a placatory smile. ‘There’s no need to apologize for being honest. I “vant to be alone” sometimes myself.’

‘Well, I just thought I’d explain,’ I say, picking up my blue plastic bag and lugging it towards the door.

‘And I’m glad you did,’ he replies, as he begins to stuff his clean clothes into a large Nike sports bag.

Once I get outside I begin to wish I’d brought another bag with me. The one I have is rather old and the plastic around the handles has stretched. How silly I was not to check it before I came out. Eamon would have. He’s such a very methodical person. I lift it gingerly and, just as I’m about to head home, I hear a thud and look down to see that my plastic bag, sans handle, has landed on the pavement. I grab my bra, which has escaped, and stuff it back. Then I pick up the bag and attempt to hug it to my chest. I wish my arms were longer. My hands are sweaty now and are slipping on the plastic. As I start to walk away in a splayed-footed duck-like fashion I sense someone is watching me and turn around. Oh no, I should have guessed it, Liam is watching me. He’s laughing. ‘Would you like a lift, Alice?’ he is now asking.

I stare at him, flustered. In normal circumstances there is no way I’d want to share a car with Liam, but I’d better say ‘Yes’ if I’m ever going to get this laundry home. I approach his Citroёn slowly. Then, as he opens the passenger door, I have a sudden desire to flee. To drop my laundry and race away down the almost empty street.  It’s ridiculous. What is it about Liam that makes me so uncomfortable? So defensive? It’s as if I’m frightened of him for some reason, but surely there’s no need to be. After a conspicuous hesitation I enter the car gingerly. This makes Liam smile. When he looks at me from his upstairs window he sometimes smiles like that. I stare ahead stoically, determined not to share his amusement. It’s just a short drive home. Surely I can put up with his company for ten minutes. As Liam stuffs my laundry bag into the back seat I say ‘thank you’ in a prim, polite manner.

‘You’re welcome,’ he replies in the bland tones of an airline steward, though he is grinning at me mischievously. As he climbs into the driving seat he adds, ‘Sorry that the car’s so untidy. I’ve been meaning to give it a good clean for ages.’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I reply. ‘You should see my cottage.’

‘I’d very much like to see your cottage, Alice,’ he answers, deliberately misinterpreting my remark it seems to me. I stare out of the window grimly. Then, as Liam switches on the ignition, I almost jump out of my seat. He must have been playing the radio at full blast when he drove here, because it’s now blaring so loudly I put my hands to my ears.

‘Sorry,’ he grimaces, turning the dial to a civilized volume. As he does so I recognize the song that is now filling the car. It’s k d lang singing ‘Constant Craving’ and it’s reminding me of James Mitchel. I look down at my lap sadly. I really don’t want to hear that song right now. Not here. Out of the corner of my eye I see Liam giving me a swift, studious glance. Goodness, he’s turning the radio off. I didn’t even have to say it. He must be very perceptive. Maybe that’s what drew Elsie to him. There must be some reason they stay together, despite their infidelities.