Page 95 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
Patricia blinks. ‘I, uh … I think I feel sad.’
Dorothy beams. ‘You like him too, then?’
‘I don’t think he likes me any more,’ Patricia says quickly.
‘Of course he does,’ Grace Maud says. ‘That’s why he told you. He wants you to react.’
A small frown shows on Patricia’s face, then she releases it. ‘How did you know that your husband was the right one for you?’ she asks Grace Maud. ‘I mean – I guess you must have loved him to want to marry him. Was that enough?’
Grace Maud remembers feeling a few things after she met Clark. Relief was the primary emotion, because she thought she could finally tick off the box she was meant to and become a wife, then a mother. That was the track laid down for her, and at the time she didn’t realise that some tracks have sidings.
‘No,’ she says.
‘No?’ Dorothy looks slightly appalled.
‘I thought I was in love with him,’ Grace Maud says. ‘But I’d talked myself into it. Or perhaps he talked me into it.’
She’s only ever told Ellie Maud this – mainly because no one else has asked her. She knew that Ellie Maud would understand; that she wouldn’t think her strange. They never had to explain such things to each other.
‘Why did you marry him?’ asks Dorothy, still somewhat aghast.
‘Because I thought I loved him enough. And marriage was what a young lady did,’ Grace Maud says truthfully.
She knew other girls who hadn’t married for love. They had to be practical: without jobs of their own they didn’t have money of their own, and that meant no home of their own, so the only way to have any kind of future that didn’t mean living with their parents forever was to find a husband. It was a trap, and most of them knew it. But to remain unwed was a pitfall, so there wasn’t much of a choice.
Grace Maud looks from Dorothy to Patricia and realises she could tell them not justthetruth buthertruth. She would be outrageously lucky to live another score years, and if she doesn’t tell her story now she may not have another chance. And, really, doesn’t every person want their story to be heard?
‘I’ve never been interested in falling in love,’ she admits. ‘Because I had something most people never do.’
Two expectant faces look back at her.
‘I had my twin, Ellie Maud. I grew up feeling intimately connected with another person at all times. It made it difficult to need other people.’
She smiles, thinking of the sister who would lie in the bed next to her, clutching her hand because Grace Maud was afraid of the ghosts their brothers told her were haunting the house. The sister who told her she was the prettiest girl in Atherton – ‘And of course that means I am too!’ – and the best, most perfect person ever. There were things between them that didn’t need words, and would now never have them. It was ideal, their relationship. It was Grace Maud’s ideal.
‘I know Ellie Maud felt the same about me,’ she says. ‘But she moved away after she married so we didn’t have that connection in person any more.’
‘Did that hurt?’ Dorothy asks, her voice tender.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That she didn’t stay here with you?’ Her eyes are big and round and deep with sympathy.
‘Yes,’ Grace Maud says. ‘It hurt terribly. And it’s probably one of the reasons why my marriage never stood a chance. I could never feel close to Clark. Not the way I did to her. In the end I couldn’t bear him. And he was … unkind.’ She huffs out a breath. ‘Love isn’t just the one thing. It’s not only romantic. Or only maternal. I sometimes think of it as like plasticine. We can pull it and mould it – it changes shape.’ She makes a face. ‘I don’t know. There’s no definition for it, really. There’s what we feel, and I don’t think we can help it.’
She turns to Patricia. ‘What makes you think this Dennis isn’t still keen on you? Why shouldn’t someone be helplessly in love with you?’
Patricia blinks rapidly. ‘Because I’m not lovable,’ she whispers.
Seeing Patricia’s distress, Grace Maud feels her own heart hurt. She observes it, as if it belongs to a stranger. Then she feels that hurt radiate towards her limbs, her cheeks, her eyes. It’s how she used to feel whenever Tom was little and got upset. Before she left his father. Before she hardened her heart just so she could carry on each day. She recognises what the hurt is now: she loves Patricia like a daughter. Dorothy too.
Not that she will tell them – she wouldn’t dream of imposing that on them. It’s enough for her to know. But still, she thinks that Patricia might miss a trick with Dennis if she doesn’t find out what might be between them.
‘Don’t you dare say that, Patricia,’ Grace Maud tells her fiercely. ‘You’re the most lovable woman in the world. Apart from Dorothy.’
The hurt sensation in Grace Maud’s body recedes as she sees Patricia smile, then laugh, wiping her tears from her cheeks.
‘And I think you should give this young man a chance,’ Grace Maud continues. ‘He’s an adult. He can decide for himself if your age difference is a problem. It’s not your responsibility to do that. Just because you’re looking after your parents, and you look after your students, doesn’t mean you need to pick up all the strands of life for everyone else.’
