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Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
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Matthew, larger than Eddie himself, in fact. To call her “doll” was a travesty of the truth. And the thought that Eddie was going to take her money for his ill-advised restaurant venture was unbearable. Matthew knew that Big Lou had been exploited all her life. She had told him about how she had looked after that uncle in Arbroath and how she had worked all the hours of creation in that nursing home in Aberdeen. There had been no joy, no light in her life–only drudgery and service to others. And now here was Eddie about to take her money.
Matthew was on the point of saying something, but Eddie now addressed Big Lou. “And here’s another thing,” he said. “I’ve negotiated with the waitresses. They’re going to stay on and work for me. Braw wee lassies.”
Big Lou paused. Then she picked up a spoon and began to ladle coffee into the small metal container. “Oh yes?” She sounded nonchalant, as if inquiring about a minor detail. But it was not minor. “What age are they?”
Eddie looked down at the ground. “One’s seventeen,” he said. “Nice girl, called Annie.”
Big Lou’s tone was level. “Oh yes. And the other?”
“She’s sixteen, I think,” said Eddie.
Matthew watched Big Lou’s expression carefully. He knew, as did Lou, that Matthew’s bride in Mobile, Alabama–the one who had run away from him–had been sixteen. He would do anything to protect Big Lou from disappointment and sorrow. But there was a certain measure of these things from which we cannot be protected, no matter what the hopes and intentions of our friends may be.
16. How To Let Down the Opposite Sex Gently
While Matthew was at Big Lou’s, Pat remained in the gallery. She regretted misleading Matthew about Wolf. It had been a lie, no matter how she might try to clothe it in the garb of kindness. There was something shoddy about lying, even if the motive for lying was concern for the feelings of another. She had wanted to protect Matthew from the disappointment of rebuff, but there was something else which had prompted her to lie, something else not so altruistic. Pat wanted to spare herself the embarrassment of telling Mathew that she did not want a deeper involvement with him. That was nothing to do with Matthew’s susceptibilities; that was to do with her own feelings.
She watched Matthew cross the road to Big Lou’s coffee bar. He had been so chirpy in his new distressed-oatmeal sweater, and now he walked with his head down, staring at the ground in front of him. He looked disconsolate, and no doubt was. And yet, did she really owe Matthew anything? One could not pretend to have feelings that one did not really have. That, surely, was unkinder still: lying about an imaginary boyfriend might be considered cruel, but a precautionary let-down was surely less hurtful than a let-down after one has been allowed to cherish hopes.
Friendship, thought Pat, was for the most part straightforward, but the moment that friendship was complicated by sex, then its course became beset by dangers. One did not have to see every member of the opposite sex in a sexual light; quite the opposite, in fact: she had plenty of friends of the opposite sex with whom her relationship was entirely platonic. Such friendships, which rather surprised people of her father’s generation, were relaxed enough to allow sharing of tents on holiday or sleeping in the same room–on the sofa or the floor–without any suggestion of intimacy. That used not to be possible other than in exceptional conditions. She had heard from an aunt about the ethos of the Scottish mountaineering clubs in the past, when a form of purity allowed mixed bathing in Highland rivers without any suggestion of anything else. And she had read, too, that in Cambridge young men used to bathe in the river, naked, even when women passed sedately by in punts. Perhaps there was something about rivers that promoted this sense of purity; she was not sure.
But none of this helped her
Matthew was on the point of saying something, but Eddie now addressed Big Lou. “And here’s another thing,” he said. “I’ve negotiated with the waitresses. They’re going to stay on and work for me. Braw wee lassies.”
Big Lou paused. Then she picked up a spoon and began to ladle coffee into the small metal container. “Oh yes?” She sounded nonchalant, as if inquiring about a minor detail. But it was not minor. “What age are they?”
Eddie looked down at the ground. “One’s seventeen,” he said. “Nice girl, called Annie.”
Big Lou’s tone was level. “Oh yes. And the other?”
“She’s sixteen, I think,” said Eddie.
Matthew watched Big Lou’s expression carefully. He knew, as did Lou, that Matthew’s bride in Mobile, Alabama–the one who had run away from him–had been sixteen. He would do anything to protect Big Lou from disappointment and sorrow. But there was a certain measure of these things from which we cannot be protected, no matter what the hopes and intentions of our friends may be.
16. How To Let Down the Opposite Sex Gently
While Matthew was at Big Lou’s, Pat remained in the gallery. She regretted misleading Matthew about Wolf. It had been a lie, no matter how she might try to clothe it in the garb of kindness. There was something shoddy about lying, even if the motive for lying was concern for the feelings of another. She had wanted to protect Matthew from the disappointment of rebuff, but there was something else which had prompted her to lie, something else not so altruistic. Pat wanted to spare herself the embarrassment of telling Mathew that she did not want a deeper involvement with him. That was nothing to do with Matthew’s susceptibilities; that was to do with her own feelings.
She watched Matthew cross the road to Big Lou’s coffee bar. He had been so chirpy in his new distressed-oatmeal sweater, and now he walked with his head down, staring at the ground in front of him. He looked disconsolate, and no doubt was. And yet, did she really owe Matthew anything? One could not pretend to have feelings that one did not really have. That, surely, was unkinder still: lying about an imaginary boyfriend might be considered cruel, but a precautionary let-down was surely less hurtful than a let-down after one has been allowed to cherish hopes.
Friendship, thought Pat, was for the most part straightforward, but the moment that friendship was complicated by sex, then its course became beset by dangers. One did not have to see every member of the opposite sex in a sexual light; quite the opposite, in fact: she had plenty of friends of the opposite sex with whom her relationship was entirely platonic. Such friendships, which rather surprised people of her father’s generation, were relaxed enough to allow sharing of tents on holiday or sleeping in the same room–on the sofa or the floor–without any suggestion of intimacy. That used not to be possible other than in exceptional conditions. She had heard from an aunt about the ethos of the Scottish mountaineering clubs in the past, when a form of purity allowed mixed bathing in Highland rivers without any suggestion of anything else. And she had read, too, that in Cambridge young men used to bathe in the river, naked, even when women passed sedately by in punts. Perhaps there was something about rivers that promoted this sense of purity; she was not sure.
But none of this helped her
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