LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      A tear runs down my face, which I explain away to Angie as being something in my eye.

      Angie sees through it.

      ‘Sarah’s off to university soon, isn’t she?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘Miss her, won’t you?’

      ‘Yep.’

      Another tear falls, so she changes the subject.

      ‘So you think women want to grow up?’

      ‘I don’t know about all women, but I don’t fear growing up. I quite relish it. I look forward to it. Hassles and all. After all, with age comes experience. Not necessarily increased wisdom, but experience. And I get more of a buzz, much more of abuzz, out of emotional experiences than I think many of the men I meet do, on all levels.’

      Angie smiles again.

      ‘You’re in the minority then, darling. As for growing up or getting old as most people call it, I don’t think most of the women who come to this gym look forward to it one little bit. I have at least fifty women in here a week talking to me about how they bemoan the latest line on their face, or vein in their leg, and how, if they had the money, they would have Botox, or surgery to lift and tuck something somewhere. Believe me, Hazel, these women want to hold back time just as any Peter Pan. Just as much as men do.’

      ‘That’s different, Angie. Yes, I agree, they want to hold back the physical aspects of ageing. We all do. I do. That wouldn’t be natural, although ironically, that’s what the ageing process is—natural. But I don’t think women want to hold back the emotional aspects of ageing. Of gaining experience. I think they rather enjoy that bit. I just think they’re emotionally, well, how can I put it, emotionally deeper, more interesting, more dimensional than men. They have the potential to have more fun with life if they only had the courage and believed in themselves a little more than they do. Like men do. I think women have the capacity to, well, how can I put it, to emotionally orgasm. Don’t think men can.’

      Angie laughs. ‘Never heard it described that way, but think I know what you mean. So, let me get this right, you think men are rather emotionally frigid?’

      ‘Yep. Well, the men I’ve met are. Both in my professional and personal life.’

      ‘And simple?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘So if these men of yours are such simple creatures then, why can’t you understand them?’

      ‘I can. They’re boring emotionally. We think they’re straightforward because that sounds more hopeful, more positive, but actually they’re just boring. Immature if you like, but they’re less honest than children and don’t say what they mean or mean what they say. Or know what they want or want what they need. Children are honest and do say what they want and need. I find men emotionally one-dimensional. Bit dull.’

      ‘Not all of them surely. What about the romantic gestures they make? You’ve told me about some of the lovely weekends to Prague, New York and Milan you’ve been on care of these boring emotional insipid men of yours. They’ve been spontaneous with flowers and actions.’

      ‘What about them?’

      ‘That shows emotional depth.’

      ‘No, it shows imagination. Consideration. Thoughtfulness. If they want something in return, it shows logic, probable manipulation, it doesn’t show emotional depth.’

      ‘How do you gain emotional depth, then? How do men gain emotional depth?’

      ‘For me, was when I gave birth to Sarah. And when I got divorced. I gained an inner strength, an impetus, an edge, an understanding, a focus, an energy, a direction, through childbirth and divorce I didn’t have before.’

      ‘You didn’t gain any of those things when you got married?’

      ‘No. I became a part of something. I wasn’t whole anymore.’

      ‘Don’t you lose yourself a bit when you become a mother, too?’

      ‘I found being a mother is as whole as they come. And the mother figure as any religion or prophet or tarot card reader will tell you, is the strongest card in the deck. Most powerful. Most resourceful. Most compassionate.’

      ‘So how did your divorce make you whole?’

      ‘I got my name back and my self-esteem, having gone through the steepest learning curve I hope I’ll ever experience. I rediscovered my identity.’

      ‘Don’t you think your ex did, as well?’

      ‘He never lost his. Moreover, he went straight to someone else, so didn’t give himself time to discover who he was by himself anyway, which is why he’ll never change.’

      ‘You’ve been out with divorcees and fathers yourself. Didn’t they have emotional depth? Didn’t they show how much they loved their children? They’ve been through the same experiences you have, after all.’

      ‘To be blunt, no. In my opinion—and from what I’ve observed—little changes for a new father. Or little in relation to the mother. Those I’ve dated view fatherhood as responsibility, one they are happy to take on, to talk about, to show off, but it’s responsibility all the same.’

      ‘That’s a bit harsh, Hazel.’

      ‘I know. It’s harsh. I know. And it’s disappointing to think like that, isn’t it.? That men, the ones I’ve met at least, are that shallow. And isn’t it so much nicer to believe in the caring father figure and the romantic hero? The white knight. The Mr Darcy. Much nicer to think men think about their children in the same way women do, wouldn’t it? That men think about women the same way women think about men. That they grieve and hurt in the same way women do. That they gain emotionally through experience. But they don’t. Not the ones I’ve known anyway. They don’t learn. They don’t have the same nurturing chip as women have because, bottom line, they’re the ones that need the nurturing. Even Peter Pan needed his Wendy.’

      ‘So if you stopped nurturing them, do you think they’d grow up emotionally?’

      ‘No. And that’s the rub. That’s why it’s disappointing and futile to try. All of mine had this fixation to be and stay young, whatever their age, which makes them fun and fickle, but ultimately rather draining—taking from me emotionally rather than giving back. But I live in hope. I will never give up looking.’

      I sit and scrutinise my crotch, which is now blotch free and quite sexy. I remember the time when I was in the car with an old boyfriend and he was stroking my inner thigh, gradually working his way up, and I realised I hadn’t waxed for ages, and didn’t want him to go there. I wonder what he’d think of this now. My cupid arrow. Angie jolts me out of my reverie.

      ‘So, my love, how do you feel about turning forty?’

      ‘Fabulous. My school friends are all turning this year as well. Meeting up with them in a few weeks for a celebration of sorts. I know it’s not usual to say this but I’m quite excited about turning forty, Angie. Quite excited.’

      ‘Good for you, darling. Good for you.’

      I like Angie. Angie doesn’t give me any homespun philosophies or advice, but does make me think. Thought for the day—are men emotionally shallow or is there a free-spirited, fun, funny, sexually imaginative Peter Pan out there who also happens to be emotionally mature? Please discuss.

      We hug and smile and Angie tells me I have to come back in a month’s time to have the arrow sharpened.

      ‘You’ve got to keep it neat. You never know when you’re gonna get lucky.’

      Chapter Two

      My Best Friend’s Wedding

Скачать книгу