“I’m waiting on a late royalty check from Macmillan, and then I’ll book my ticket. Soon, I think.” I hoped the word royalty disguised the embarrassment in my voice, but I didn’t think I could ever fool this man. I never wanted pity from anyone, and definitely not from him. I would sleep on Phyl’s kitchen floor before I allowed pity to come between us.
“Then Christmas it is,” he said. “Now get on out of this dodgy rain or you’ll catch your death before your journey to Edinburgh. We’ll make arrangements as the time draws closer.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “Let’s send our critiques and pages back and forth. Between now and then we shall get as much work done as we can so we may enjoy the holidays.” I held my arms around myself in the same way I’d have held him if I could.
“Yes, we will. We have much to look forward to, and I do have a lecture in London in November. So I shall see you soon. London is not far away, you know. Give us a bell when you return.” He handed me the umbrella and tipped his hat. “Cheerio and take this with you.”
I started to step away, shifting the umbrella to protect my face from the rain. “Oh, Jack. Wait.”
He’d already placed his hand on the brass door handle of the pub.
“I almost forgot.” I reached into my bag and plucked out the folded paper. “The sestina I promised you.”
He took the paper from me and raised his eyes to mine. “Wonderful.”
And with that, he was gone.
CHAPTER 17
I just wanted to see what would happen if . . .
“APOLOGETIC BALLADE BY A WHITE WITCH,” JOY DAVIDMAN
The train to Worcester pitched forward and my suitcase flew from my hands, sliding down the aisle. I didn’t want to leave Oxford, and yet the train was moving me away. In other heartrending times in my life, I’d used writing as an escape, and I was hoping to do the same again. I was restless and it felt an awful lot like panic. But what was I afraid of? I had no idea.
Or perhaps I did know my fear: that I’d never know real love.
Must I settle for the trouble that was mine? A life of disappointment and anger, alcohol and despair with Bill.
After stashing my valise under a seat, I walked to the dining car and ordered a gin. A tall woman came and sat next to me, and she was elegant in the way I would never be, like Renee.
“Hello,” she said and settled into her seat, crossed her legs daintily. “Are you headed to Edinburgh also?” She swung her fashionable bob of shiny hair.
“Worcester and then Edinburgh,” I said. “I’ve never been to either.”
“Oh, you’ll be charmed, unless you stay too long,” she said with a laugh. “You know, like a man you think you love until you have to live with him.”
I joined her laughter and then added, “Love. It’s never what we believe, is it?” I sounded like a bitter old woman at the end of her affairs.
“Never,” she said. “But isn’t it great fun—the falling into it?”
And it all spilled out. “I feel as if I’m falling in love. And I mustn’t.” I felt the weariness bearing down on me, the way it arrived, bone deep. I pushed my drink away and thought I might sleep for the entire train ride and forget everything.
“Oh, I’m always in love,” she said with a gay sound as tinkling as ice falling from the trees. “Well, where are you from? It sounds like maybe New York.”
“Yes.” I was conscious again of my difference. I would never be like these cultured women with their painted nails and English accents and tiny waists.
A gray-haired man in a suit who smelled of too much cologne sidled to the bar and greeted her. She smiled at him in that secret way women know, and he ordered her a drink. I rose from the barstool, feeling quite awkward, and returned to my seat to collapse. I had just told a stranger that I was falling in love, as if I’d had to say it out loud to know it. I closed my eyes, but sleep was as elusive as Jack himself.
Sunlight poured through the square window as the train skated along the tracks, the scenery a blur of every green. I took out a pad of paper. Who else could I possibly confide in?
The page. It was always the page.
If I looked backward at my loves, perhaps I could rearrange the now, summon the ghosts to this train compartment and reconcile them so they could no longer influence my future. I didn’t want to ruin this friendship with Jack. I needed to go back, start at the beginning of my ash pile of love affairs.
As far as other men, they had paid me no mind until college—my sicknesses, awkwardness, and absences in high school hadn’t led to a social life of any kind. And whom did I choose to first seduce? I was young, only sixteen, and it was my married English professor in college. Dark curly hair, a deep voice that resonated in my chest as we talked about books and history. His eyes so piercing blue they seemed painted on. I’d thought in those days that sex would be enough—that conquering him would satisfy me. But it was never enough. The quick ducking into small rooms, the furtive glances and our bodies coming together in frantic need—remembering it now was shameful. His body had seemed the answer to all my questions and needs. How could I hold Bill’s indiscretions in high-horse judgment when I had done no differently? There had been a wife at home. I’d known that and yet I’d grasped at him all the same, my desire fierce, disguised as love.