We'll Always Have Paris

by Sue Watson

  ‘I’m sorry, Peter, I can’t do it,’ I say. ‘The last thing anyone needs is me announcing for the first time ever that I won’t be there for Isobel’s birthday because I’m off for the weekend with my lover.’ I have to be strong on this, I know he doesn’t get family ties, but he must know that in some things my family have to come first. I feel a sparkle of anger flicker through me – why does real life always have to come in on us and ruin everything? After our lovely weekend the splash of reality has woken us both up and all the calm I’ve been nurturing inside has fizzed to nothing. Is it too much to ask that my partner and my family can be in my life at the same time without conflict?

  ‘Oh, I understand,’ he says. ‘A fortieth is special and it is your daughter – I was being selfish. But I wonder should I send Isobel a card? A gift?’

  I thank him but say there’s no need. They don’t yet know about the nature of our relationship and it may seem odd to suddenly receive a gift from my friend. I point out to him that he hasn’t really met them officially, only briefly at the Parker wedding, when he and I first met again.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. Perhaps I should meet them. What do you think? I feel like I know them, and their partners and the grandchildren. If you and I are going to be spending time together it’s only right we’re introduced. And from what you tell me about Anna, she’ll want to vet me like your mother did.’

  We laugh about the day he visited and my mother ‘received him’ in the front room like the queen mother, serving stale Battenberg and strong tea and telling me to ‘sit nicely’.

  Then he says, ‘I’m just thinking about Isobel’s birthday . . . is it a dinner just for close family?’

  My heart sinks and I try not to grimace. Oh God, I can’t bring him along to Isobel’s birthday just like that. Yes, it’s close family, but in saying that to him I feel like I’m telling him he isn’t close to me – that he means nothing. Knowing he has no children of his own and aware this is sometimes a point of sadness for him I try to say no kindly and with tact so as not to hurt him.

  ‘I think you meeting the girls is a great idea, but I need to talk to them first and then I think we need to prepare the best possible time and place,’ I say. It seems my family are a constant reminder of him being alone and I sometimes feel like we’re all on the inside and he’s on the outside looking in. But I’m really not sure I’m ready for the full announcement, or the commitment.

  ‘But they know about me. They know we were together once, that I make you happy. Why don’t you want to introduce me?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I say. ‘I just feel that to introduce and hope to integrate someone into a family takes time and it needs to be managed.’

  ‘Managed? I just want to be part of your life. This is about saying hi, chatting, getting to know them . . . it isn’t a corporate takeover.’

  ‘You don’t understand, I’m talking about people’s feelings here. We are treading on delicate ground and yes, I do need to “manage” feelings. I have been looking after other people long enough to know when some empathy is required, I don’t just walk away from things when they don’t work, Peter, I stick around and sort them out.’

  ‘That was a low blow,’ he says, looking at me.

  ‘I’m sorry, but so was your comment about me being “corporate” about this. We can’t approach this like some bohemian get-together where everyone just accepts each other and gets on with their lives. I’m sure that’s how you see it . . . but it doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘Don’t tell me how I see it, Rosie – I know how I see it. I want us to be together, but I know how much your family means to you, how they are a big part of your life – and I just want to fit in. But how can I if you push me away?’

  ‘I’m not pushing you away. I just know my girls and I know you – and bringing you in on a special occasion when everyone’s thinking about Dad is not the time. You’re going to have to trust me that I’ll know when the time is right and everyone – including you – is ready. I want this as much as you do.’

  I hear echoes from the past as I think of Peter’s family, their coldness towards me, and the way my own family may or may not accept Peter now. Different times, but the same issues, the same obstacles coming back through the years to haunt us. ‘I understand,’ he says, and we say our goodbyes with kisses. But in the car on the way home I know he can’t ever comprehend the daily pull that a parent feels for their child. From the moment they are conceived they sit in our hearts and our heads. When they are born we drop everything the minute we hear their cry – for the rest of their lives. And how can Peter ever understand how it feels to want to do one thing, but know you need to do something else? I will start living again, I will chase the light and grab what’s left of life before it’s too late, but I’ll still be there for my family. It can’t just be about me, it never has been – but for Peter it always was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I left Peter’s that day feeling crushed. This was going to be my time and I find myself once more torn between the wishes and needs of others. I want us to be together, I don’t yet know the shape of this, I don’t know if we’ll ever marry, or even if we’ll live together, but I do want us to be accepted as a couple by my family. I feel ready for this and just hope we can find a way for it to happen, without causing too much upset or conflict for any of us, but first I need to find the courage to tell them.

  I keep telling myself that cancelling the hotel break with Peter was the right thing to do, but I still feel guilty about it. I can only be in one place at one time but then I think about Peter’s face smiling at the brochure, the special afternoon tea on the lawn. My heart aches, knowing he’d listened when I’d talked about the gardens and he’d taken the time and the trouble to present me with something that I would love.

  We keep in touch and I celebrate Isobel’s fortieth with everyone and I have a wonderful time knowing it’s the right thing, and I wouldn’t be anywhere else. And I know it’s stupid, but I miss Peter terribly and long for him to be part of these celebrations too. I realise that I could have asked him to join us but I know it was my own cowardice stopping me. I always say that Anna is resistant to change but I’m beginning to realise where she gets it from – me. I’ve never been tested before, because life with Mike didn’t involve huge amounts of upheaval. But now I’m faced with the possibility of change and I want something new it’s dawning on me I’m going to have to be the one to instigate it. And I’m daunted by this.

  Anyway Isobel’s fortieth was a big success and everyone was happy, so feeling like I need to make it up to him I call Peter and invite him over for lunch the following Friday. I feel guilty about rejecting his idea to come to Isobel’s and stalling his suggestion about meeting my family. I don’t intend to introduce him to anyone at this stage, but inviting him into my home, the place I shared with my husband, is a first step to bringing him gently into my life.

  It’s another watershed as he hasn’t been to my home before and I want to reveal the more recent Rosie to him. I don’t invite him to stay over; this is the family home and it would be inappropriate as I still haven’t mentioned to the girls that Peter and I are now in a relationship. I don’t need their permission, but I would like their blessing.

  Before he arrives I set the small table in the kitchen and prepare a Stilton and walnut salad. I tried to call the shop first thing to tell the girls Peter is coming over for lunch so they won’t keep calling or wondering where I am if I don’t pick up straight away. But they must be busy as the answer machine is on. I don’t leave a message.

  Peter arrives in a flurry of flowers and wine and kisses and I apologise again for our weekend and he says it’s fine and we sit in the kitchen as I make coffee.

  ‘I was upset about the weekend,’ he suddenly says. ‘And when you left I did wonder about us now, how we fit together.’ He looks up at me from where he is sitting and I feel a little stab in my heart. Not again?

  ‘Well, I�
��m afraid that’s the way it is, Peter, my family is part of me, it’s who I am now and as Margaret used to say, “If you don’t like it you can lump it”.’

  He reaches for my hand. ‘You’re quite feisty these days, aren’t you? Some might even say defensive.’

  ‘I suppose I am, but to say you don’t know how we fit together makes me feel cross. You know where I stand and—’

  ‘Stop. You didn’t wait until I’d finished. What I was thinking was that when we started to meet for lunches and chat about old times and talked through the baby and everything – I just thought it would be plain sailing after that. I asked you if we could be more permanent and you agreed and I just sat back and enjoyed the view. But spending last weekend with you brought it home to me that it will require some effort and sacrifice if I want to be involved in all aspects of your life. We’re still good together but I also know we may have quite a rocky road ahead – not because of us, because of everyone else. So let’s just face it head on and make a start.’

  ‘Yes – what you say makes perfect sense. And I agree we are great together – I love you and I love this . . . you and me. But are we ready for me to make a big announcement to the family, try and integrate you by inviting you to all the family gatherings, then six months down the line you decide you’ve found another Italian vineyard?’

  He looks puzzled.

  ‘You tend to leave,’ I say, gently. ‘And that’s okay, but if you’re already worried about the road ahead, we’d better stop now, because you haven’t met Anna yet.’

  ‘Oh God, is she as feisty as you?’

  ‘She makes me look like a pussycat.’ I take a long sip of hot black coffee, wondering how she’ll take it when I tell her about Peter and me.

  ‘Look, I know I haven’t got a particularly good track record, but trust me, I’m here for the duration,’ he says, reaching out to me. I get up from my seat and sit on his knee, feeling young and cherished in a way I haven’t for a long time.

  ‘I don’t want you to feel trapped,’ I say, putting my arms around him. ‘I just want us both to be sure this time before we go making any promises and announcing our love to the nation.’

  ‘Then start the announcements, Rosie. I told you, I learned my lesson long ago and if something’s worth fighting for – this time I’m going to stick around and fight!’

  I smile, and take another sip, not completely comfortable with the analogy given that he wouldn’t last five minutes with Anna in a fight, but I feel his commitment.

  Later we eat lunch with the French windows open, a summer breeze wafts the net curtains and the sunshine trickles in like honey and I feel so happy. Everyone’s okay, my family are happy, Peter’s here and all is right with the world, and even thinking about Mike doesn’t make me feel as bereft as it has done. One day at a time.

  ‘I have dessert,’ I say, after I’ve cleared away the salad plates and put more coffee on.

  ‘Oh good, you know I have a sweet tooth,’ he says.

  ‘Yes, and guess what, it’s ice cream! I couldn’t decide so I bought three tubs. Pralines and cream, cookie dough and strawberry cheesecake.’

  ‘You are really going for it, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, I am going to try every ice cream flavour in the world before I die.’

  ‘That’s some bucket list . . . let’s have them all.’

  ‘Really? But we can’t open all three tubs at once.’

  ‘Why not? Is there a local by-law that forbids the opening of ice cream tubs in multiples of three?’

  I laugh and go into the kitchen, taking all three tubs from the freezer and getting two spoons.

  ‘That’s what I’m talking about,’ he says as I plonk them down on the table and we open each one and taste.

  ‘OMG, as my granddaughters say . . . the praline one is just LMFAO, or something like that.’

  ‘I think that means laughing my f . . . arse off,’ he says.

  ‘Mmm, I’m never quite sure what they mean when they use letters like that, but this ice cream is lots of letters all rolled into one. Why have I always stuck with mint choc chip?’

  ‘Because no one told you how big the world of ice cream is,’ he says, licking his spoon.

  I watch him and think how I’d like to kiss him now, here in my own living room with ice cream on the table and curtains wafting in the breeze. He’s looking back at me and I think he’s having exactly the same thoughts.

  Then he does kiss me and my stomach feels like strawberry cheesecake ice cream, all sweet and swirly.

  ‘I like this one,’ I say, gouging out a spoonful of cookie dough and pushing it gently, but I hope seductively, into his mouth. It’s a larger portion than I’d realised and he almost chokes then he laughs and we fall together on the sofa as he tries to force a large spoonful of pralines and cream into my mouth. I’m screaming for him to stop and he’s laughing and tickling me and we must have been making quite a noise until I look up and see Anna in the doorway.

  ‘Mum?’ she says, looking confused and horrified.

  ‘Oh, hello, love. You know Peter, don’t you? He’s here for lunch and we’re . . . having dessert. It’s ice cream . . . We’re having ice cream for dessert,’ I say. I’m mortified to be discovered like this by Anna of all people, but at the same time I instinctively know I have to brazen this out – if our Anna smells blood she will be worse.

  ‘I can see that. Hello, Peter,’ she says, like she’s addressing primary school children. ‘I hadn’t heard from you,’ she goes on, distracted momentarily by the ice cream carnage, ‘and as I had a delivery I thought I’d pop round.’

  ‘I did try to call you this morning.’

  ‘We’ve been busy,’ she says, looking from Peter to me.

  I’m embarrassed for Peter more than myself, and Anna’s making us both feel stupid. I suddenly feel like I’m being judged and this makes me quite angry and somehow emboldened – how dare she make me feel like this in my own home? We were just having fun and after the freedom of being at Peter’s home last weekend I suddenly feel rather claustrophobic.

  ‘Mum, I wish you’d let me know when you have someone over, I wouldn’t have barged in.’

  ‘And I wish you wouldn’t barge in when I have someone over,’ I say back. I don’t want to embarrass her in front of Peter, but it seems she’s quite happy to do the same to us.

  ‘I’ll be off then,’ she says. ‘Bye, Peter.’

  He says goodbye and she leaves, but I follow her into the hallway.

  ‘Anna, please don’t speak to me like that in front of Peter . . . in front of anyone. I am not a child and I resent you treating me like one.’

  ‘Then stop behaving like one,’ she snaps, banging the front door a little too hard as she goes.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I say to Peter, returning to the room and clearing up the tubs of ice cream. ‘So much for my corporate approach, perhaps having you just turn up at a family do might have been better after all.’

  ‘Yes, I’m not sure you and me squealing and feeding each other ice cream was quite the introduction either of us would have chosen. I’m sorry, are you upset?’

  I shake my head; I want to cry, but for the first time it isn’t because I’ve upset Anna, it’s because she’s upset me – and I’m angry with her.

  ‘I think I’m beginning to understand your life,’ he says with a smile, and kisses my forehead. ‘I know I’m not always very wise when it comes to families, but I think I may have been right when I mentioned the rocky road ahead.’

  Peter leaves about eight p.m., and I wave him off on the doorstep. We’ve had a lovely day but I’m still stinging from my awkward encounter with Anna earlier. And the following morning over a cup of tea and a million carnations I broach the subject with both my daughters: ‘Girls, I’ve been meaning to tell you that Peter and I are now seeing each other,’ I say. I wait for their reaction, I’m sure it will be fine, but after yesterday I’m feeling slightly awkward.

  ‘We
ll, that would explain why you looked like something from an ice cream commercial when I walked in yesterday,’ Anna snapped.

  Isobel laughs and looks at us both, puzzled.

  ‘Anna, I love you . . . both of you, to bits, and having Peter in my life doesn’t change a thing, but he may, at some point in the future, visit again and yesterday was embarrassing.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Anna starts. ‘I went to see if Mum was okay,’ she explains to Isobel, ‘and there they are, all over each other on the sofa, ice cream everywhere. Mum’s laughing her head off . . . I didn’t know where to put myself.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry if I was having fun in my own home,’ I say.

  ‘Well, I didn’t know where to look . . . ’

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have looked – perhaps you should have knocked.’

  ‘It’s my home, I was born there, I shouldn’t have to knock.’

  ‘Yes, it’s your home but I would like it if you respected me enough to announce your arrival, or at least cough as you’re coming down the hall. You can’t just walk in when I’ve got company. I don’t wander into your house – I don’t want to find you and James in a compromising position.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t. At least not in the living room in broad daylight.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you should, a little afternoon delight never did anyone any harm,’ I say. ‘Who knows what you might walk in on, storming into people’s living rooms.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, Mum, you shouldn’t be thinking stuff like that.’

  ‘What, at my age?’

  ‘At any age.’

  ‘Oh, Anna, let go, live a little. I am.’

  ‘Mmm, so I noticed.’

  ‘All I’m asking is that you understand it’s my space and respect my privacy. I love having you over and want you to feel at home, but sometimes you might need to knock. It’s not just about me having Peter there, I might want to dance naked or do topless yoga and it’s your choice, but if you don’t knock I won’t be responsible for the torrid scenes you may witness on the yoga mat – or the sofa.’