“Maeve!” said Gemma. “You’re so brusque!”
“What do you mean?” asked Maeve. “There’s no point pissing around the bush, is there. Either she wants to be part of the club or she doesn’t.”
Gemma threw her arms in the air in frustration. Annie pondered.
“I’m not sure Mari would be happy for me to use the tearoom,” said Annie. “I’d have to ask her first.”
“Ask her, then,” said Maeve. “I’m not suggesting you host a Roman orgy! Mari won’t mind, she’s a good sort. Loves a book. We’d be inviting her to join if she were here.”
“How many of you are there?” asked Annie.
“Two so far,” said Gemma. She was smiling really hard, as if her friendliness could cancel out Maeve’s asperity. “Three, if you join,” she went on. “Four would be better. Maybe you know someone who might be interested?”
Annie considered the proposal. She supposed Mari wouldn’t mind. After all, how wild could a book club get? At worst she’d end up with her tearoom spring cleaned. And if winter by the sea really was going to be as arduous as people kept telling her, then maybe it would be good to have something to look forward to.
“Okay,” said Annie. “Let me check with Mari. And I’ll say a tentative yes in the meantime.” Sally’s face bloomed into Annie’s mind. “I have an idea for our fourth member too.”
Gemma clapped her hands. “Amazing!” she said. “It’s going to be so good. I’m so excited! I can get Molly to babysit, and if we do it on a Wednesday, it won’t matter if I’m late back as she doesn’t have college on Thursdays. She can sleep in the spare room, and I’ll drop her home in the morning when I drop the kids off . . .”
“Gemma!” said Maeve. “Calm down.” She said this as though addressing a dog. Podrick looked up from his place by the heater, one ear cocked, before nestling his head back down on his paws. “Her husband’s been back at sea for nearly two months now,” Maeve addressed Annie. “She doesn’t get out much.”
“It’s true,” said Gemma. “I don’t. When Esme started school in September, I didn’t know whether I was crying with relief or sadness! Sometimes I think I made a terrible mistake giving up work to be at home with the kids.”
“How old are they?” Annie asked.
“Lennox is seven, and Esme is four and a half.”
“Tough ages,” Annie sympathized. “Too big to be babies and too small to be in any way independent.”
“I catch sight of my work suits in the back of the wardrobe sometimes and I can’t believe it was me who used to wear them. I hardly remember who that woman was. It was my decision to stay at home, but I look at women who kept their careers when they had children and I feel like I’ve let the side down.”
“I often thought I’d made a terrible mistake by not giving up work to be at home with the kids,” said Annie. “I’d see women like you and think I’d denied my boys something precious.”
“It’s the guilt,” said Gemma. “Guilty if you do and guilty if you don’t. I worked in pharmaceuticals, so it was a lot of traveling. And what with Brian being away for months at a time . . .”
“And were you both men we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” said Maeve. “You want to judge yourselves? Judge yourselves by how a man would feel in the same situation. I guarantee you’ll have an easier time of it. Now, back to the matter in hand.”
“I say we choose a book now,” said Gemma. “And then, Annie, you can ask your friend tomorrow, and we’ll meet here next Wednesday, that’s the first of October at, say, seven thirty to discuss?”
“Provided Mari agrees,” said Annie.
“Oh, she’ll agree,” said Gemma. “Oh, it’s so exciting!”
“Gemma, don’t squeak so,” said Maeve. “It’s like being friends with a guinea pig.”
“Aren’t book clubs usually monthly?” Annie asked.
“Well, usually, yes,” said Gemma. “But I really can’t wait to get started. And if we meet, say, every couple of weeks, just think how many books we’ll get through . . .”
“Like I said,” butted in Maeve. “She doesn’t get out much.”
“I’ll bring wine,” said Gemma, ignoring Maeve.
“Of course you will,” said Maeve. “I’ll bring the car.”