Chapter 1
In early February
2014 two friends made their way to their favourite pub just off Union Street.
They went there because it was the place most likely to serve what they called
proper beer. Paul from the highlands had pretty much never tasted anything
other than lager until he met Mark. But his Geordie friend had weaned him away
from all things yellow by first buying him a bottle of “dog” known otherwise as
Newcastle Brown Ale and moving on from there.
Paul still had the odd pint of lager when he was with other friends, but
he also knew by then that however pleasant the taste of a pint of Heineken, it
tasted much the same as a pint of Becks. There was nothing really to be
interested in, while now as he looked at what was on offer this week at the
Prince of Wales, he was delighted to see there was an ale he had never tasted
before.
“I’m having
one of those. Do you want one, too?” he said to his friend.
“Why not?”
It was about
four on a Saturday afternoon and the pub was fairly full. It was their habit
every now and again to have a couple there and then go for an Indian around
five. Most restaurants were pretty much empty at that point, and you got faster
service and could hear yourself think.
After that an early night, and they felt better the next day ready to study
some more. They were both in their final
year at Aberdeen, Mark studying English, Paul studying French and politics.
They’d both done averagely well up until now and so not that much depended on
the next few months. There would be some exams, but not too many. Their result
was already all but decided.
“You’re
still determined to turn me into a foreigner, I suppose?” said Mark.
“You know
fine I’m not,” said Paul.
“I know that
you’d like to convince everyone of that.”
“We’re
friends, good friends now, I think.”
“None
better.”
“It’s not as
if I’m anti-English then?”
“No, of
course not.”
“I just
think it’s the best chance for the left.”
“Most people
are on the left where I come from, too. You know, we’re pretty much agreed on
the politics. Just I want to see my country stick together and you want to see
your country become independent.”
“But I’m
British, too. I want to stay British, it’s just I want Scotland to decide
everything, not some parliament where we’re outnumbered.”
“I doubt
we’ll convince each other now,” said Mark. “But at least we don’t fall out
about it. I’m not from Scotland and so in the end, it’s not my business. I’m
not even sure I should vote.”
“Well, don’t
expect me to give up trying to persuade you. It’s just you always seem to have
a good argument. Where do you get them?”
“Some of
them I think up for myself. I’m sure you do, too. But there’s a blog I
discovered that I read. I rather like the style of it.”
“What’s it
called?”
“Lily of St
Leonards.”
“Effie
Deans?
“That’s the
one!”
“Do you
think she’s real?”
“I know she
is. She’s an academic here.”
“But her
name is not listed. I’ve checked.”
“Wasn’t that
a bit creepy of you?”
“Oh, someone
online asked me, because I’m a student here.”
“She uses
her Russian name officially. It’s some long monstrosity that you can’t even
pronounce. But she still uses her maiden name in day to day business. It’s a
heck of a lot easier for colleagues and students.”
“Have you
met her?”
“I’ve seen
her, but never really said anything. Jenny knows her though, and likes her a lot.”
They’d both
known Jenny since they’d started at Aberdeen four years earlier. She was a
tall, thin, blonde girl from Glasgow with a high-pitched, rather squeaky voice
that they always compared to Minnie Mouse. Jenny was one of those girls who
were rather shy, devout and who they both thought had never been kissed. She
was average looking, pretty enough, but not someone you’d notice. She somehow
seemed to lack the ability to attract. She lived in her own, rather splendid
flat with Lorna and Susan who paid her, or rather her parents, some rent,
though not the going rate. Mark had been with Susan for some years now. Paul
had been chasing Lorna along with a lot of other men for over four years, and
had got precisely nowhere.
“Have you
decided to go the medic’s ball?” asked Mark.
“With whom?”
“I’d give up
on Lorna if I were you.”
“I know.
It’s been a pointless exercise for as long as I can remember.”
“You’re just
another of her courtiers. She enjoys it very much indeed. But the enjoyment
depends on sitting on her throne.”
“Has anyone
made her descend from it?”
“Have you
ever heard her mention someone from home?”
“A name
crops up every now and again. Michael. Do you know he is?”
“I asked
Susan if she knew. Michael is some chap ten years older than us. He’s not her
boyfriend, but he’s the only one who is liable to become one. Lorna talks about
him in a way she doesn’t talk about any other man. It’s like he’s on a throne
and she’s the courtier. Same problem though. Just the other way round.”
“No much
point asking Lorna then?”
“I don’t
know if she’s going to the ball with anyone. Michael might take her, though I
doubt it. He’s never even been here as far as I’m aware. But no, not much
point. She might say ‘yes’, but she might well say ‘yes’ to half a dozen
others. No not much point at all.”
“I’m not
sure I can be bothered going at all then.”
“Why don’t
you take Jenny?”
“Are you
kidding?”
“You know
her as well as I do. We’ve both spent enough evenings at her flat. She’s nice.
She’s really nice.”
“Wouldn’t it
be a bit like going to a ball with your sister?”
“Look, I’m
here partly because of Susan. She asked me to talk to you. Jenny’s not a little
girl. She has feelings. She likes you. She fancies you. She wants you to ask
her. But she’ll never ask herself. You know she’s far too shy. How long is it
since you’ve gone out with someone?”
“A couple of
years, more really. I’ve been unlucky.”
“No, you’ve
been chasing someone who doesn’t want you, while right beside her is someone
who does. Besides, Jenny is a much better person than Lorna. I maybe know her
better than you. She’s kind and gentle and capable of giving.”
“I’m not
sure I could take the primness, the Christian Union nonsense.”
“You’d be
taking her to a ball, not a church service.”
Paul thought
of Jenny and of the dozens of occasions they’d all sat in the kitchen of her
flat. He’d chatted to her loads of times, but he’d never been in her kitchen
because of her and had almost never been alone with her for more than a few
minutes. He tried to conjure her image into his mind and fleetingly was able to
do so. He noticed an attractiveness that had not registered before. The fact
that she wanted him was in itself attractive, indeed very attractive. Here was
possibility while in the past couple of years had been only frustration and
disappointment.
“Shall we
visit them after the Indian? I wouldn’t want someone else to ask her before me?
“Why not
ditch the Indian and go now?”
“I think,
that wouldn’t be a bad idea”.
Half an hour
later Paul, rather flippantly, said: “Jenny, you shall go to the ball.”
He saw her
smile and exchange a glance with Susan. The glance seemed to say something like
“Thanks.”
“Why don’t
you two sit down and I’ll find something for you to eat?” said Jenny. “It’s so
good of you to take me Paul, I’ve never been to a ball before.”
“Rather,
it’s good of you to go with me after I asked you in that way. I’m really
looking forward to it. I’m sure, we’ll have a great time together.
Chapter 2
No one had
mentioned the word ‘boyfriend’, but having someone take you to the ball was
sort of like having a boyfriend. She’d known Paul for ages. But for the longest
time he’d just been one of a series of men she’d known who turned up at the
flat. She was thus part of quite a large social circle. There were people she knew
from her course. But these were people she’d have the odd cup of coffee with
and rarely see in the evening. There were people she knew a bit and would chat
to when she saw them. Some of these people she’d likewise known for years
although frequently she wasn’t quite sure of their names. But then there were
the people, both men and women, who would regularly come to the flat. They were
Susan’s friends or more often they were Lorna’s friends. Jenny knew that they
rarely came to the flat because of her. But surely some of them were her
friends, too.
How long had
she known Paul before she began to hope for this moment that had just arrived?
They were dancing. He looked fine in his red kilt and his prince Charlie
jacket. As he spun her round, she was conscious of how he held her. It was
possibly the first time he had touched her. She thought back to the first time
they had met. She had an image of Lorna bringing him into their kitchen saying:
‘This is Paul’. How long ago was that? Perhaps, it had been as long ago as two
or even three years ago. Or was it more like four. She couldn’t remember. He
began coming rather often. But he was just another one of a long series of boys
coming to see Lorna and with eyes only for her. Yet at some point Jenny had
noticed him and liked him. Perhaps, it had been at some evening when he’d
turned up when Lorna hadn’t been there, but they’d chatted for a while. Was it
then that she’d noticed his blue, blue eyes? It came upon her slowly, like a
drip, drip and even when she began to realise it herself, it took her a long
time before she said anything out loud. Some time ago she’d found a time when
she could talk to Susan alone. She’d mentioned Paul. She’d mentioned him shyly,
without really saying what was on her mind. But Susan had picked up the hint as
Jenny had known she would.
“You like
him, don’t you?” Susan said.
“I don’t
really know. I don’t know him very well,” said Jenny.
“How long
has he been turning up at the flat?”
“But you
know he comes to see Lorna.”
“I think, he
also comes to see us. Besides, none of them are going to get anywhere with
Lorna. You know that as well as I do.”
“Still what
chance do I have?”
“Jenny, it’s
not as if Paul is some sort of film star. He’s nice enough looking, but it’s
not as if women are falling at his feet.”
“How do you
know?”
“Mark told
me. Paul’s been single for a long time.”
“And I’ve
been single forever.”
“You’ve
never?”
“I’ve always
been very shy and I’ve had to work so hard. I’ve been scared, too. You know my
beliefs; I’m very traditional, old-fashioned. And it seems all the men just
want. Well, you know.”
“Many of the
women, too. You’ve seen how they go around displaying the goods on offer.”
“It’s not a
world I fit into.”
“But they’re
not all like that. Look at Mark and me. He’s a good person and he respects me.”
“But you…”
“Yes. But
we’ve been together a long time and it all happened very slowly without any
pressure and whatever happened, happened because I wanted it as much as he
did.”
“I like
Paul, but I’m a little scared as well.”
“He seems
nice to me. Why don’t I talk to Mark about it? See what he thinks. Maybe he
could help.”
“Would you?”
“You do like
him, don’t you?”
“Oh,
terribly. It’s just I don’t know what to do with men.”
“Don’t
worry, Jenny. It all comes pretty much instinctually.”
Like every
other person who goes to school in Scotland, Jenny was made to go to dancing
classes in the gym. The ball was a mixture of Scottish dancing with every now
and again something more contemporary thrown in for variety. She wasn’t a good
dancer, nor was anyone else really, but she knew what to do.
Jenny found
herself exploring the feeling of having a man she liked holding her. She found
herself focusing on the parts that joined them together, his hand holding hers,
his hand touching her back, moving a little up or down. The touch was unfamiliar. She had rarely been
touched by anyone since school and then each boy touched each girl with
distaste and as little as is possible for people who are continuing to dance.
She forgot that she was dancing as her attention lingered on his touch, but she
didn’t need to concentrate as he guided her.
During a
pause Paul said: “Did I tell you already that I liked you dress?”
“Loads of
times, you’ve been very kind about it,” she said.
“But I mean
it. Some of the dresses around here are indecent; or rather I suppose the girls
in them are.”
“I know I’ve
a reputation as being rather prim. I’m sure you actually like what she’s
wearing,” Jenny nodded towards a girl in a low cut taffeta dress. “Don’t all
men?”
“I like and
I don’t like,” said Paul “Do you ever watch old films?”
“Yes, why?”
“You know
who Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn are?”
“Doesn’t
everybody? Monroe is the blonde, rather silly one, while Hepburn was in ‘Roman Holiday’, you know the film
about a princess and Rome, they were on a scooter.”
“I think,
I’ve seen that one, too.”
“And so?”
“Well, men
might say they like the Monroe type, but in the end most men much prefer the
Hepburn type. I know I do. There’s something not very attractive about showing
too much, while there’s something very attractive about showing just enough.”
“I doubt
Audrey would wear my dress though”
“I don’t
know. It’s simple, classy, modest and suits very well the person wearing it.”
They danced
a few more times and Jenny found her nerves were lessening. She was getting
used to the idea of being with someone and was beginning to speak and act
without first planning what to do and say. She felt a pleasant feeling that was
unfamiliar and yet she knew what it must be from some sort of instinct or
memory. Perhaps it was from something that she’d read. She liked this moment
and wanted it to continue, not only today but tomorrow also. She liked
Paul. She wondered if he was here more
out of duty. She knew that Susan and Mark had helped arrange things. Did Paul
really want to be with her? They stopped dancing and stood for a second
wondering what to do next.
“Shall we
get a drink?” said Paul. “I’ve had enough dancing for the minute. There are a
couple of seats over there.”
“I’d like to
be able to talk for a bit so long as the music’s not too loud,” said Jenny.
“What will
you have?”
“I don’t
really know, I don’t drink often.”
“Perhaps,
some wine; we’ve got to celebrate a little, don’t we?”
“OK, but
you’re not to get me drunk, Paul.”
A few
minutes later she was sipping some white wine, while Paul was drinking his pint
of beer like a marathon runner drinking water.
“I don’t
think I’ve seen your tartan before,” said Jenny. “It’s a pretty colour with the
reds and the greens.”
“It’s
Drummond of Perth,” said Paul.
“You’re from
somewhere in the West Highlands, aren’t you? I remember picking that up
somewhere. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes, some
wee place with less than one hundred people that’s not quite on the map.”
“It must be
pretty though.”
“We look out
over Raasay, Skye and when it’s clear, we can even see the Hebrides, but when
you’ve seen it every day, it seems rather dull in the end.”
“I thought
only Mackenzies lived out that way. You’re called Grey, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I know
it doesn’t sound much like a Highland chieftain.”
“So is your
family from Perth? Is that why you have your kilt? Perhaps, your mother’s
family?”
“No, I
picked it up second hand and mainly because I liked the colour. I’m glad I did
though as it’s a Jacobite tartan. One of Charlie’s advisors or some such was a
Drummond of Perth.”
“Do you
really like the Jacobites?”
“I’m joking
mainly. I’m not trying to bring back the “King o’er the Water”, but I
sympathise with what they fought for. The Scottish King had been wrongly
overthrown, and they were trying to get him back and our independence, too.”
“Were they?
I can’t have been paying attention in that lesson.”
“Now that
you know about my kilt I have to confess I feel rather embarrassed. We’ve known
each other for ages but I don’t think I’ve ever known your surname. It was
always just Jenny.”
“Davidson.
You know I’m from Glasgow though?”
“There’s a
hint of it in your accent, but it’s very subtle. I don’t even think you roll
your ‘Rs’”
“Not really,
though I can if I try. In my school we were discouraged from having too much of
an accent. Besides I’ve got relations all over Britain and Ireland. I’m a bit
of a mongrel I suppose.”
“It’s a nice
mix.”
“Thank you.”
“But you are
Scottish?”
“Yes. But
I’m not sure if there even is a Davidson tartan. Does it matter?”
They
continued in this way for the next couple hours, dancing a while and then
sitting down and chatting. Jenny was now on her third glass of wine and feeling
it slightly.
“It’s
getting rather hot. Do you think there’s anywhere else we could sit?” she said.
“Let’s go
out and have a wander about. There might be a nook somewhere that’s a bit
cooler.”
Outside the
ballroom there were corridors, another bar and a large staircase descending
towards the reception. The stairs were wide and lushly carpeted and a few
couples were already scattered about.
“Let’s have
another drink and we can find somewhere to sit that’s got a bit more air. Quieter, too” said Paul.
“I’m not
sure I ought to have another,” said Jenny.
“It’s not a
sin to drink wine, is it? I remember some people who did so a long time ago.”
“No. It’s
not a sin. It’s just I’m not used to it.”
“You’ll be
alright, Jen. I’ll look after you. We’ll sit for a bit and then we can go
home.”
“I like
having someone to look after me. One more glass of wine then, but don’t blame
me if you have to carry me back.”
“Sit down
there. It looks about as quiet a spot as we’ll find on the stairs. I’ll be back
in a minute.”
Paul came
back with another pint and another quite large glass of wine for Jenny. She sat
on his left in what amounted to a sort of nook on the stairs. People passed up
and down, but Jenny and Paul didn’t impede anyone and indeed they were barely
noticed.
“We should
do something else again soon,” said Paul.
“I’d like
that, I’ve enjoyed this evening more than you know,” said Jenny.
“Me, too.”
“It was good
of you to take me. I know Susie and Mark had something to do with it.”
“If I hadn’t
been such a fool I’d have asked you myself long ago. It’s just I’m not very
good with girls.”
“I wouldn’t
have known, you’ve been good with me.”
“I try to
hide it but I’m rather shy. How are you supposed to know if a girl likes you?”
“She can
tell you,” Jenny took his hand and squeezed it.
“I know, but
beforehand. I’ve come to your flat loads of times. If I’d asked you out and
you’d said ‘no’, it would been difficult to come again.”
“I hope you
come every day from now on. But why did you come? Lorna?”
“We’ve all
sort of fallen into being a group of friends. I suppose I did meet Lorna first.
Does it matter?”
“No. Not if
it doesn’t matter to you.”
“Lorna wants
many men. To be honest, I’d rather have one woman.”
“She’s
yours. You just have to ask her.”
Gradually
he’d moved his hand around her back and she had snuggled herself closer to him.
They had lowered their voices and moved their heads closer so that they might
hear and be heard.
“This is all
rather new for me,” said Jenny. “I’m not sure I know what to do.”
Paul made a
move towards her and slightly tilted his head. She found herself knowing what
to do and then they were kissing. At first just their lips met and then only
for a few seconds.
“I’d hoped
you’d do that,” said Jenny.
“Me too, but
the first time is always a bit difficult. Not easy to know how to start.”
“Because of
British reserve.”
“I think of
it more as Scottish shyness.”
“You know
I’ve never really had a boyfriend.”
“That seems
strange, Jenny. You’re very pretty.”
“I suppose I
just haven’t met the right man. Until now, I hope.”
“Don’t
worry, Jen, we’re together now, sealed by a kiss. You’re my girlfriend if
you’ll have me.”
“And you’re
my boyfriend, my very first.”
“But, Jenny,
we’re both fourth years. You must be twenty-two. Haven’t you wanted to meet
someone before?”
“I’m only
just twenty-one actually. I came a year early.”
“Even so?”
“Yes, of
course, I wanted to meet someone. Who doesn’t? It’s just I’ve studied rather
hard and, well, most of all I’ve worried about what he might expect. I’m rather
old-fashioned.”
“About
what?”
“Well, you
see I believe people should wait until marriage. The trouble is I sometimes
think that only I think that way.”
“Oh!” said
Paul unable to hide his look of astonishment.
“I know it
rather comes as a shock. When I tell them what I believe, most boys rapidly
lose interest. You can, too if you like.”
“Don’t be
silly, Jenny, we’ve just got together, don’t split us up after five minutes.”
He leaned in
to kiss her again, and this he suggested with his tongue that she open her
mouth further. He remembered reading something in Chretien de Troye’s
‘Perceval’:
Qui baise feme et plus n'i fait,
Des qu'il sont sol a sol andui,
Dont quit je qu'il remaint en lui.
Feme qui se bouche abandone
Le sorplus molt de legier done.
He’d rather
liked the quote and so had remembered it. He went over the translation in his
mind. ‘He who kisses a woman and doesn’t go further when they are alone, then
it’s his own fault, I think. A woman who surrenders her mouth gives the rest
quite easily’. He’d liked the idea of a woman being like a citadel, but that a
kiss was the key to the drawbridge and really her final defence. He’d know what
Jenny was like, but still it had been unexpected what Jenny had said. It was
partly this which made him think of the quote. She was like someone from
another time. He felt a sense disappointment also after their kissing had made him
think of what soon might come. But the
quote reminded him that women always begin by saying ‘no’ and that ‘no’ of
course didn’t mean ‘no’. Otherwise humanity would have died out long ago. He
found her very attractive indeed at this moment. But above all he liked her. He
hadn’t expected to have such a good time. She was definitely worth pursuing, if
that was the right word now that she had, so to speak, been caught. He had his
foot in the door. He could be patient.
She was worth waiting and seeing what would happen.
Soon
afterwards they decided to call it a night.
“What do you
think, Jenny?” said Paul “Shall we get a cab or walk it?”
“It’s nice
enough outside and I’m sure you noticed I don’t have heals.”
“Thank
goodness you don’t or you’d be taller than me.”
That’s her
only problem really thought Paul, that and the nutty Christian business. He much preferred short women, indeed very
short woman more like 5 foot rather than five foot nine.
“I must be
only a few centimetres less than you,” said Jenny. “At least we’ll fit together
nicely.”
They got
their coats and started walking towards Old Aberdeen. It was one of those clear
February nights: a bit cold, but no frost, no wind and no rain. It was about as
good as it gets in Aberdeen in winter.
“It hits you
a bit when your first get outside,” said Jenny.
“What hits
you?” asked Paul “The wine? A walk will do you good.”
He reached
out and took her arm, and she gratefully arranged things so that they could
walk comfortably together.
“It’s
strange,” she said, “how everything seems changed since a few hours ago. Even
the streets look different.”
“What’s
changed?”
“Well we
have, haven’t we? Before there was just you and me and the possibility of
something, I didn’t quite believe it.”
“That’s a
little deep for me after four or five pints.”
“You’ll have
to forgive my tendency to analyse.”
“Someone
told me you’re one of the best students at the uni.”
“Oh, I think
they exaggerate.”
“What are
you going to do afterwards?”
“I’m staying
on. It’s pretty much all set already. What about you?”
“I don’t
really know. I’ve done alright, but nothing special. I’m busy campaigning. It
takes up a lot of my time.”
“Campaigning
for what?”
“Independence.
After we finish in June I’m going to campaign all summer. You should see what
we’re planning.”
“Well, I’m
not sure I’ll be here to see. I’ll be in Russia.”
“What on
earth for?! It’s going to be the most important summer of our lives and you’ll
miss it!”
“I have to
try to get my Russian good enough. I have a course there. It’s all arranged.”
“I don’t get
it. You study religion, don’t you?”
“Theology
and some philosophy, and some literature as well.”
“What’s that
got to do with Russia?”
“My tutor
suggested it. She’s been helping me for the past couple of years or so
individually.”
“What do you
mean? This is Aberdeen, not Cambridge”
“I’ve been
very lucky. She’s been giving me tuition in the evenings. Completely
unofficial, of course , and for no pay.”
“What do you
do in these tutorials?”
“I write an
essay, give it to her a couple of days beforehand and then we discuss it.”
“How many
essays have you written?”
“One a week
for the past two years or so.”
“Good God!
And that’s on top of the ones that everyone has to write?”
“Well, I
tend to recycle for those.”
“I see
you’ve been busy. But you’re interested in Scotland, too. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, but
I’m not sure we’ll agree on politics. Let’s not argue now.”
“What’s you
tutor called?”
“Dr Shch----
“, Jenny said a long Russian word that Paul couldn’t catch. “She’s known in the
department by her maiden name: Effie Deans.”
“I know of
her,” said Paul.
“How? Have
you met her in the department?”
“No, I’ve
come across her online. She’s a No campaigner. Quite well known. She writes a
blog.”
“Yes, I
know.”
“People say
she’s a Tory as well.”
“I think,
it’s more subtle than that,” said Jenny.
“And what
about you?”
“I’m not
that interested in politics. I think theological and moral issues are much more
interesting.”
“But you’re
left wing anyway?”
“I wouldn’t
describe myself as such. You see I believe in individual action rather than
collective action. I’d like to see a smaller government.”
“You’re a
Tory. I didn’t think they existed amongst Scottish students our age.”
“Yes, I’m a
Tory. My family are and I am, too.”
“But it’s
immoral.”
“I think,
when you know me better you’ll find me very moral in my own way.”
“I’m sorry,
Jenny. It just came as a bit of a shock. You’ll vote ‘No’, too, I suppose?”
“The UK is
my country. I don’t want to see it broken up. But do let’s not argue about it.
I want to find what we have in common as two human beings who’ve just found
each other.”
“We can
agree to differ about this and other things, but you’ll allow me the chance to
persuade you.”
“But of
course! I try to be open-minded and enjoy reasonable discussion.”
They were
approaching Jenny’s flat.
“Please come
in,” said Jenny. “I want to say goodnight to you properly.”
“I’m not
sure it’s a good idea. I remember reading something about not leading me not
into temptation.”
“But I feel
I can trust you. You should trust yourself.”
Paul hesitated
for a few seconds and various thoughts went through his mind including the
lines from Perceval and the fact that she was the first woman his age who had
expressed trust in him. It felt rather good for someone to say something like
that that.
“OK, I could
do with some coffee,” he said.
They sat
down in the kitchen and spoke in low voices.
“You haven’t
much experience with men, have you, Jenny?” asked Paul.
“None at
all,” she answered.
“It probably
isn’t a good idea to ask someone in. There’s a sort of expectation.”
“I know, but
we’ve already discussed that.”
“It’s not
always easy for the man. It’s a bit like being in a sweet shop, but not being
able to eat any sweets.”
“I
understand. Don’t you think it’s the same for me? I want to be held. I want to
be caressed. I want to be loved.”
“But you
said?”
“And I meant
it. But we’re both intelligent. We can keep our ideals and our principles
intact while finding warmth in each other’s arms. People have been loving in
this way for two thousand years. You have to trust me on this, Paul. I’ll not
lead you into temptation. I trust you, you must trust me also. Now come to my
room and we’ll spend some minutes saying good night.”
They went
into Jenny’s room and he saw the books, the crucifix on the wall and the icons
in the corner. She put on a side light and sat down on the bed next to him. She
put her hand around his neck and started kissing him passionately.
Half an hour
or so later Paul was on his way home. No-one had taken any clothes off and yet
he couldn’t remember a nicer half hour in the arms of a woman. Their kissing
had soon led them to an embrace that toppled onto the bed. They each kicked
their shoes off and enjoyed the fact that for the first time they could hold
each other and caress. There was no need to explore further. Who could know
just then when or if that would occur? He was conscious of Jenny’s shyness and
wanted to prove that he was worthy of her trust. So there were no struggles. No
battles with wandering hands. After a few minutes he sensed that she felt safe
in his arms, which meant that she was the one taking the lead. She was the one
exploring more than he was. He found it exciting to let her make the choices,
but he also knew that this sort of excitement had its limits and so suggested
going home after their first bout of passionate kissing had subsided into a
calm embrace with whispers.
“You can
stay,” said Jenny. “We can sleep just like this.”
“Let’s be
content with where we are just now,” said Paul.
“I trust
you.”
“I know and
it’s a big compliment, but there comes a point when it’s easier, you know, not
to continue.”
“Oh there’s
so much I don’t know. Let’s be honest and open with each other.”
“I’ll try
Jenny, I’ll really try. When shall I see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be
back from church about one.”
“You don’t
fancy giving it a miss? Having a break?”
“Well, I
need it. It’s the time I can relax most and forget everything else.”
“Oh, well.
Why don’t I come round about two and we can go for a walk if it’s still nice
out?”
“Let’s do
that.”
As he
wandered the short distance to his flat he reflected on what had happened. She
was great; he’d loved the whole evening and especially had loved kissing her.
But a couple of things still nagged. He had very little time for Christianity.
He not only thought it stupid and obviously false, he thought it positively
harmful. How on earth were they going to continue kissing and embracing like
this? Even the shiest girl was expected nowadays to sleep with her boyfriend
after a few weeks at most. It just wasn’t done to keep on as if it was the 19th
century for months, even for years. He’d never seriously thought of marriage,
no-one he knew did. What for? If you met a girl, you were supposed to get all
of the benefits of marriage and none of the downside. Marriage under those
circumstances was pointless at best, downright risky at worst.
It had been
more than pleasant that last half hour or so. It had been, if anything, more
exciting than any time he’d ever been alone with a girl. But there really could
be too much of a good thing when there was no chance of reaching the goal of
all this kissing and caressing.
Then there
was her politics. She obviously was more concerned with her studies, but how
could he tell his friends at the local ‘Yes’ campaign that he was going out
with a ‘No’ voter, and a Tory to boot. He’d obviously have to try to persuade
her not only about politics but about other things as well. There was time. He
could be patient. She was definitely worth it, but she clearly needed to change
in a few respects. He’d have a look at a few web sites to see if he could find
some good arguments.
Chapter 3
It was still
pleasant on Sunday when he arrived at Jenny’s flat. In the kitchen he met Lorna
and Susan.
“So it seems
you have some news, Paul,” said Lorna with a smirk.
“I think, I
stumbled over a couple kissing last night,” said Susan. “It couldn’t have been,
you could it?”
“I’m very
happy,” said Paul. “I was stupid not to see what was in front of me before.”
“Just you be
good to Jenny,” said Lorna.
“Or you’ll
have us to answer to,” said Susan.
Jenny came
in. She was dressed in jeans and a jumper, neither hugged her figure, but
rather expressed the fact that she didn’t think that much about how she looked.
She had on as little make-up as he did.
“Where shall
we go?” she asked.
“I always
like the beach in winter,” said Paul.
“OK. I like
looking at the grey sea and the boats waiting to come into the harbour.”
They set out
walking the familiar streets, but this time they were walking together for the
first time in daylight. Jenny put her arm in his, and it took a while to get
used to this method of walking without having the benefit of alcohol.
The beach
was practically deserted, with just a few people who had the same idea as they
did. There were people with dogs, there were some children, but clearly most of
Aberdeen preferred to stay inside watching Sunday afternoon television.
“Have you
liked it here these past four years?” Paul asked.
“Well
enough, I think. I ended up here more or less because I wanted a change from
Glasgow. I was offered a place at Oxford and Cambridge, too, but…”
“Why didn’t
you go?”
“Money,
really. My parents could have afforded it, but why spend so much when I could
study here for free?”
“It was
awful what they did putting so many students in debt.”
“I suppose
so.”
“We can
disagree you know, Jenny, we’re bound to.”
“I know.
It’s just I don’t want to argue quite so soon.”
“Friendly
discussion.”
“You should
hear how I argue with Effie. It gets quite heated, and we’re only discussing
theology and literature”
“What have
theology and literature got to do with each other?”
“Well,
that’s something I’m beginning to learn about. You see a couple of years ago I
sort of reached the conclusion that traditional theology wasn’t much use.”
“You’re
right there, you know.”
“I’d learned
Hebrew, Greek and German just to analyse texts and theologians who were somehow
all missing the point.”
“I never did
see the point myself. It always struck me as wishful thinking and insofar as I
agreed with the morality it was always obvious that it required collective
action to bring about anything in the real world.”
“I see that.
There are good arguments for it. I know them well. It’s just that two or three
years ago I had a chat with Effie about some ideas I’d had from reading a
couple of books. One was by a Danish man, and the other was by a Russian.”
“Why did she
offer to tutor you, by the way? It’s like you got an Oxbridge education here in
Aberdeen.”
“I think,
she liked my ideas. She’s quite something, you know.”
“But didn’t it
give you an unfair advantage? What did the department think?”
“Not really.
It wasn’t their business anyway. She’s been teaching me Russian and Danish and
discussing literature. We hardly touch on the things that are in the lectures.
I’ve ceased to go to most of them anyway.”
“But, Jenny,
that’s like doing two courses at once.”
“I know it’s
been hard. But I’m nearly there. It looks like I’ll get the grade I need and
then it will all be a good foundation for when I start my studies in
September.”
“It’s as if
you completely ignore the most important event in September.”
“I don’t
think anything much will happen. Aren’t the SNP way behind?”
“We’re not
the SNP. There are people from all sorts of parties and none in the ‘Yes’ camp”
“Oh I’m
sorry, but don’t let’s discuss it. I hardly read about it. Sometimes I read
something Effie writes, but that’s about all. She seems to be taking it
seriously for some reason. I never watch television or even glance at the
papers. I’m far too busy.”
“We’re not
going to get anywhere if too much is off limits. It’s something I spend a lot
of time with. I’m very active with the campaign.”
“We’re just
going to have to find a way to discuss these things without it affecting how we
feel about each other. It may take a little practice.”
By this time
they had reached a point where they could either continue further along the
beach towards Footdee or turn off towards the centre.
“What now,
Jenny?” asked Paul.
“I’d quite
like to go back and do a bit of study.”
“And I have
a campaign meeting.”
“Can you
come by later, around ten? Just for an hour or so. We can have some tea and a
hug.”
“Are you
leading me into temptation again?” Paul said with a laugh.
“But wasn’t
it nice to hold each other yesterday? I want to again.”
“Yes, very,
it’s just, you know it makes me want more.”
“I
understand, don’t you think I have desire, too?”
“Well,
then?”
“I might
desire to eat chocolate every day, but I don’t.”
“I never
really understood what Christianity had against people loving each other.”
“I don’t
think it does have anything against this.”
“Isn’t that
playing with words, Jenny? You know full well what I mean. Does everyone who
believes act as you do? Does Susan?”
“I don’t
really ask myself about what other people do. It’s not my way of thinking. Not
the perspective I choose to take. I suspect very few people act as I do
nowadays.”
“So, why?”
“It’s not
about following rules, it’s about how I feel, where I am just now. I can’t
justify what I believe, nor do I try. It’s just faith. That’s all there is.”
“And so I’m
left with desire and frustration.”
“Trust me,
Paul, we’ll find a way so that you have no frustration ,but only love, just be
patient, please. We’ve only been together one day. We’re going to need to spend
a of time together learning about each other in all sorts of ways. Will you be
patient with me?”
“I’ll
certainly try. Yes, Jenny, I’ll be patient.”
“So around
ten then?”
“I’ll be
there.”
When she got
home, Jenny picked up her mobile and dialled one of the few numbers stored in
the memory. She listened as it rang for a while and eventually obtained the
single word answer.
“Da?”
“It’s me,
Effie” said Jenny.
“Oh. I’m
sorry Jenny, I was expecting Petr. He’s going to take me home in a while.”
“Where are
you?”
“I’m in my
office. Is something wrong?”
“No, but I
would like to talk to you.”
“About
work?”
“No, not
exactly.”
“Well, why
don’t you come over. I’ll make us some tea. I could do with a break from
marking anyway.”
“Thanks,
Effie. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
As sometimes
happens, Jenny had gradually developed a close friendship with her tutor over
the past couple of years. It wasn’t at all one-sided. Effie was as likely to
call up Jenny for advice about something or just to go out for some coffee.
They had to guard a little against talk of favouritism, but everyone in the
department knew that Effie was honest. They also knew that Jenny didn’t need
any favouritism, but rather was one of the best students anyone could remember.
Over time
Jenny had found out quite a bit about Effie. She was a little over fifty,
short, with dark hair. She’d met her husband Petr sometime a little while
before the Soviet Union collapsed and had gone with him to live there. They’d
stayed for a while, but eventually had made their way back to Britain and
Aberdeenshire in particular because that was where Effie was from.
Jenny
knocked on the door, opened it and saw her friend with a pile of papers and a
red pen.
“Hello, Jen!
Do come in,” said Effie.
“Hi! Thanks
for letting me come for a visit.”
“No ‘thank
you’! This marking is dull and at times very stupid.”
“Who’s
stupid?”
“Well, I’d
better not say. But there are one or two of your colleagues who would be better
off working as hairdressers. They’d do more good than writing essays about Karl
Barth.”
“Oh, dear!”
“Sit down,
my dear. But what is it? You look happy and yet there’s something else.”
“I’ll tell
you in a minute. I think I need a sip of tea first.”
“Right
away.”
A few
minutes later they were drinking black tea without milk as Effie always did.
You either drank tea that way with Effie or not at all.
“I met
someone,” said Jenny.
“How nice!
Do I know him?”
“I doubt it.
He’s called Paul. He does French and Politics.”
“Well, it’s
closer to what we do than if he did Engineering or Medicine. How did you meet?”
“I’ve known
him a long time as part of a group of friends who come round to the flat.”
“So what
changed?”
“Well, I
went to a ball last night.”
“I don’t
think I’ve been to a ball since Cambridge. What was it like?”
“Well, I was
a bit nervous. I’d sort of got a friend to help things along and Paul had asked
me to go, but I didn’t really know if he was keen or not.”
“These
things are often a bit mysterious.”
“Well,
anyway. I’m not very used to wine and I had, I think, four glasses.”
“And why not
once in a while? It can help these things along. Did it?”
“We chatted
and danced and then we sat on the stairs and he kissed me.”
“You kissed
him back, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes!”
“So what are
you worried about?”
“There’s
lot’s we don’t agree on.”
“Like what?”
“He’s a
nationalist.”
“And you’re
a Conservative?”
“They hate
Tories,” said Jenny.
“They say
they do, but it’s just a myth they hate.”
“I’ve got so
much to think about, so many interesting ideas to explore. It just seems so
uninteresting.”
“It is
uninteresting, but we have a fight on our hands.”
“But surely
we’re way ahead?”
“At the
moment. But why do you think I’ve been writing so much about independence?”
“I don’t
really know, Effie.”
“Because
it’s necessary. They will put up one heck of a fight this summer. They dominate
online and they’re much more dedicated than most of our side. It’s like
insurance. It may not be necessary to fight as hard as I do, but I’d rather be
safe than sorry. I’d rather do all I can.”
“You think I
should do more?”
“Perhaps.
Let’s wait and see. For the moment your priority should be to develop your
thought about important matters, gain the skills necessary to read what you
need to read. Besides you’re going to have to be careful about how you discuss
these sorts of things with Paul.”
“It’s not
just on this that we differ. I don’t think he has any faith, but he’s not just
indifferent. He’s hostile.”
“This is
something we’ve all had to face for centuries, Jenny. I think, you know how to
respond.”
“With
argument?”
“Come now.
We’ve discussed this long enough. Do you know any effective arguments for what
we believe?”
“No. Except
some parts of Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky, but they’re not really arguments are
they?”
“Not in the
traditional sense, and they only really work if someone is open to them. It’s
like grace, I think. An adult has to be open to faith to receive it or at least
that is often the case, though sometimes it can strike even the unwilling. A
bit like that other Paul. Infants, on the other hand, are open to grace and so
baptism is always a help. That’s where the Baptists go wrong. I’ve always
thought.”
“So, I
shouldn’t argue with him.”
“No, Jenny,
you should avoid argument with someone you want to love. You especially.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t
know this Paul at all. But I doubt very much that he is even close to your
level.”
“How do you
know?”
“Because I
know people in his department, and I would have heard if they had a student at
your level”
“But he
seems very bright to me.”
“I’m sure he
is. But there’s a difference. If you attack his arguments, you have the power
to make him feel foolish. You know how to attack from within and make it all
come tumbling down. It’s not something you should use lightly with someone who
is not at your level. I did that once to someone and have regretted it for
thirty years.”
“It would
hardly make him love me if I did that, would it?”
“No, of
course not.”
“So what do
I do?” said Jenny looking a little as if there were no options left.
“You argue
by example. You stick to your beliefs and show gently why you think he is
wrong.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“You believe
in Christianity. So show by how you live that being a Christian is a good place
to be. You’re a Conservative, well show by example that Tories are not
monsters. You can’t do more anyway.”
“There’s
something in particular that he’s not going to like very much about
Christianity. You know I’ve never really had a boyfriend before and I’m very
old-fashioned. I want to live like the people I admire from the past. I like
the style and don’t like the modern style at all.”
“You must continue
to be who you are. If he loves you, he’ll respect that individuality, but if he
doesn’t, he’ll soon go”.
“But how am
I to find anyone, if everyone expects, you know, after a few days?”
“Don’t be
embarrassed about it, Jenny. This is all part of human nature. We can’t change
human nature, but we can bend it.”
“But what do
I do? We went back to mine last night and I wanted to kiss him and hold him,
but we both get excited.”
“Of course
you do. Why not? Explore what is possible and what is not possible. Be
imaginative. You can find joy in your embrace now and still remain the person
you want to be.”
“I don’t
really understand.”
“Sure you
do. Listen to yourself and listen to him. Adapt, adjust, don’t be dogmatic, but
stick to your principles above everything else. Be patient. You’ve only known
him a little while. Find out whether he’s worthy of your love. There’s lots
that you can give him physically that breaks none of your Christian ideals.”
“I’m scared
that if I go any further it all becomes inevitable.”
“Sure it’s
inevitable eventually. We are human beings and our desire tends towards making
love. But because we are human beings, we can moderate our desire. For you at
the moment, and I love and agree with this ideal, making love should be
something that happens in marriage. But remember, marriage is not primarily
about going to a church and signing a book. Marriage is simply the promise two
people make to each other before God that they will love each other always.
When you sincerely receive that promise you are free to love in any way you
want. It’s just important to be absolutely sure that the promise is sincere and
genuine.”
“Where does
that leave me now?”
“You must be
patient, Jenny. Kiss him. Hold him. See how it all feels. Show him what you
want and also what you don’t want. Talk to him. Explain how you feel. If, he’s
worthy of you, he’ll listen. If he’s not, drop him like a stone. Never let a
man take advantage; never let him do one thing that you don’t want. But be fair
also. Understand that he has needs and desires, and do what you can to answer
them. That’s what love is.”
The phone
rang and Effie started speaking in Russian, she talked very fast and without a
trace of a Scottish accent. After she finished she asked:
“How much of
that did you get?”
“Almost
none. I pick up about one word in four.”
“Well, it
was Petr ready to take me home and you need to practice your Russian, or you’re
going to struggle when you start your course.”
“It all
sounds completely different than it look on the page.”
“It will
take time. Don’t be discouraged.”
“The same
with relationships, I suppose.”
“You’re
learning about them, too. How much Russian did you know after one day? Not even
the alphabet. Be patient, Jenny.”
Chapter 4
The
following Saturday Jenny and Paul were sitting in the Prince of Wales. He’d had
to persuade her not to order a pint of real ale, and so she sat with her glass
of white wine and he had his pint.
“Let me
try,” she said.
“If you
must, but I don’t want the whole world making glances.”
“I could care
less what the whole world thinks.”
“I thought
you were supposed to love your neighbour.”
“Of course,
but that’s a matter of how I act, not how he or she thinks.”
“Alright.
Have a sip.”
Jenny took a
sip, and then another.
“I’ve never
really drunk beer before and certainly not like this. It’s a lot more
interesting than white wine. I’m going to order one myself.”
“And the
wine?”
“I’ll give
it back and say I don’t want it.”
“I can’t
really win with you. You do what you please. You will anyway. Do you want some
money?”
“I have my
own money. It’s silly for you to try to pay for everything. It’s me that has my
own flat and a good allowance from my parents. I’m the one who’s pretty sure to
get the decent scholarship for next year.”
She came
back a few minutes later with a pint of dark beer. She grimaced occasionally at
the taste as she sipped it.
“You really
don’t like it, do you?”
“Did you
like beer when you first tried it? Like everything else, it takes practice.
Have you ever read a novel and found it tough going, but persevered and loved
it in the end?”
“I don’t
read that many novels, Jenny.”
“What do you
read?”
“Well, after
I’ve read the books for my course, I read the occasional classic for fun, but
not often. I read a bit of biography or
history, mainly rubbish. If I’m on holiday, I might read a thriller or a horror
book. ”
“Well, I’m
sure some of those need a bit of practice, too.”
“At the
moment most of my spare time is taken up with the campaign. There are blogs I
follow every day to keep up with the argument, newspapers I read and comment
sections I comment on.”
“Is it fun?”
“The
campaign group is great. I enjoy the meetings.”
“What
happens?”
“I’m not
really sure I should tell you.”
“Why?
Because I might disagree?”
“No, but
some of what we do is sort of secret.”
“And you
think I’d tell people on the ‘No’ side? Well, I promise you that anything you
tell me I will not use to harm the cause you are fighting for.”
He looked at
her and could instantly see that she was completely serious. There was a flash
in her eyes that said: ‘I’m telling the truth.’
“You are
rather moral, aren’t you, Jenny?”
“What else
is there?”
“What do you
want to know about the meetings?”
“Who goes to
them?”
“Well, my
group is mainly students. People from the SNP society and the Greens, and some
left wingers”
“The SNP is
pretty left wing isn’t it?”
“I’d say so,
though not everyone. There are even a few people on the right. We’re all united
by wanting independence”
“I can see
how people on the right might want independence; it would eventually give their
views a chance.”
“That’s a
strange thing to say. We’re doing this to keep the Tories out of Scotland.”
“I know, but
what if there were a few left wing governments in Scotland either SNP or
Labour, and things weren’t going so well, who would we turn to for a change?”
“But at
least it would be our choice.”
“Oh, I quite
agree. Anyway what do you do at these meetings?”
“Well, we’re
sort of assigned tasks. Someone might be assigned to monitor the comment
section of the Telegraph, someone else the Scotsman. Another group will share
responsibility for twitter. Still others will comment on one of the ‘Yes’
blogs. We’re all encouraged to find someone who might become a ‘Yes’ voter and
to gradually convince them.”
“How do you
do that?”
“Well, we
have lots of information, summaries of the arguments. At the moment we’re
campaigning through personal networks, friends and families. The idea is to
build momentum. Even someone who is opposed to independence, can be gradually
convinced.”
“People like
me?”
“Why not?”
“But do you
have a good time at these meetings?”
“Well, a lot
of these people I’ve known for years. I know guys who have met most of their
friends in the SNP society or the Greens or socialists.”
“I suppose,
there are couples, too?”
“Yes, a lot
of couples. It can be a bit awkward; sometimes people break up and find someone
else in the group.”
“And you?”
“A girl I
used to know is still in the group. She’s called Roisin. We still get on well
enough though her boyfriend doesn’t much like me. These things happen and you
move on. We’re all working together.”
“Is she
Irish?”
“Roisin? No,
she’s from Glasgow.”
“I bet she’s
not a Rangers supporter though.”
“No. I
suppose, her family came from Ireland some time ago.”
“So did part
of mine. My grandfather came from somewhere near Dublin.”
“Where do
you go to Church, Jenny?”
“I mix and
match. Sometimes I go to the Church of Scotland, sometimes to the Catholic
Church, sometimes to the Episcopalians. I’m not that interested in
denominations. It doesn’t seem important to me. At the moment I’m reading about
the Russian Orthodox Church.”
“Why ever
would you do that?”
“I think
parts of it are rather deep and I want to understand Dostoevsky better.”
“I heard
he’s tough going.”
“He can be,
but the ideas and the stories, the characters are unforgettable.”
“It sounds
good. You’re going to study him?”
“Not only
him. But he’ll be a part. Do you want me to give you one of his books?”
“I don’t
know if I’ll have the time, but I can try.”
“Please do.
I’ll buy you a copy of the translation I think best and you can have a go.”
After
another pint, Jenny was beginning to feel the effects of the beer, but she
liked the feeling and it gave her the nerve to raise the topic that was most on
her mind.
“Paul, we’re
getting on pretty well, I think.”
“Yes. I
think so, too. What’s on your mind?”
“We’re sort
of practicing, too. I know you find it a little difficult and a little unusual.
We meet up every day at my flat and we end up lying on my bed kissing. I have
an idea that you don’t know what to do. What’s OK and what’s not.”
“Jenny,
you’ll have to keep your voice down. It’s embarrassing.”
She saw his
face redden and the sense of mild horror in his eyes. She was used to
committing these sort of social errors, which was one of the reasons she was
rather shy. But she was also determined.
“No-one is
looking at us,” she said. “No-one is listening to us. It’s important. We have
to get through our British, or if you like, our Scottish reserve.”
“All right.
If you think so. It’s just I don’t think there should be a problem at all. It
all seems so silly.”
“My beliefs
aren’t silly, my dear, they are me. They are all that I am.”
“I’m sorry,
Jenny. It’s just we kiss and kiss, and never get anywhere.”
“It’s a
process. We’re getting to know each other, not only by talking but also by
holding each other and kissing.”
“It’s just
not what I’m used to.”
“I know, I
expect the last time you started going out with someone, by now you would
already have slept with her.”
“That’s how
everyone is these days.”
“I know, but
let me put forward to you a way that we can love each other, which will be nice
for you and nice for me. Maybe it will even be more beautiful and more loving
than what you have in mind at the moment. It could even be a sort of ideal to
tend towards.”
“Go on.”
“There’s no
reason at all why in a few months from now, you and I shouldn’t be in a bed
together completely naked. We can wake up together. I can give you pleasure and
you can give me pleasure. We can find out about each other and about our
bodies, what works and what doesn’t work. We can reach a level of closeness
that few people reach. It’s not something that happens in a day or week, but
gradually and with patience.”
“That sounds
good. But how does that differ from what everyone does?”
“Well, let’s
just say, we use only our caresses. If I
agree to not put anything in you, you agree to not put anything in me. Doesn’t
that seem fair?”
“I suppose
so. It seems a bit silly having rules about what should come naturally.”
“It’s not a
matter of rules. It’s a matter of how I feel about myself. I want to take a
journey with a man, which involves gradually getting to know him, both in terms
of his personality and in terms of his body. I don’t want to hurry, because I
only want to have one such relationship. When he promises to love me for ever,
we will be married and then with all this practice loving will come easily and
naturally and beautifully.”
“Marriage is
not something that’s very much on my mind, Jenny.”
“It doesn’t
have to be now, because we’re only practicing.”
“So how does
that change things? I mean, practically, when we’re back at your place?”
“It doesn’t
change anything. We’re not going to be a few months ahead now at this moment,
but I’m not going to reject your caress and nor are you going to reject mine.
We’re going to spend some time learning about each other and discovering how to
love each other. It needs time and trust. That’s the most important thing. I’m
trusting you not to hurt me.”
“I’ve never
met anyone like you, Jenny.”
“I’m pretty
pleased with you, too, Paul. I’ve been waiting for someone with your
understanding. Most men would either laugh or run a mile. Anyway, let’s go back
to mine. We should begin practicing.”
Chapter 5
A couple of
weeks later Jenny got on a bus that would take her into the country. She’d told
Paul that she was going to see Effie and Petr. It wasn’t as if Paul minded, of
course, but he did think it strange that she would stay the night at a
lecturer’s house. Most of his lecturers he scarcely knew, and certainly not
personally.
She liked
the journey into the countryside. Somehow the land seemed expansive in a way
that she wasn’t used to. It wasn’t dramatic like the parts of the Highlands she
had seen. There was just farmland and rolling hills. The sea looked a bit
rougher today and the wind bit, but soon she arrived and made the familiar
short walk to Effie’s house. She reflected that there was more to this corner
of Scotland than she had thought of previously. There was something she
discovered every time she left Aberdeen, every time a little more. She couldn’t
quite articulate what it was, but she could recognise it and did every time she
sat on that bus in daylight.
“Come in, my
dear,” said Effie “How are things?”
“Not bad.”
“That
doesn’t sound so great.”
“No, things
are fine. It’s just I’m a bit tired.”
“Too many
late nights with Paul maybe?”
“I do go to
bed later than I’m used to.”
“But it’s
good for you, Jenny, to have someone. You were too intense before. You need to
relax. We all do. Love is the best way to relax. It can keep you sane.”
“Or drive
you mad.”
“We’ll talk
some more about that later. How are your studies going?”
“I don’t
think the lecturers like it that I don’t go.”
“I’ve heard
the odd muttering about the Brodie set.”
“It’s not
really a set when there’s only me. But I do think you’re in your prime.” Jenny
laughed as did Effie.
“Don’t worry
about them. Even if they were minded to take revenge, they couldn’t. Your level
of Greek and Hebrew was First class Honours level already two years ago. It’s
just they’d like it if you were more interested in what they’re interested in.”
“So you
think I’m pretty much guaranteed the result I need?”
“I don’t
think it, I know it. Why else would I be moving you onto other things?”
“I’m finding
one of those other things tough-going.”
“Which?”
“Well, I’m
making reasonable progress with Danish.”
“The main
thing is to get to the stage where you can read with a dictionary.”
“It’s like
easy German.”
“Agreed, but
the pronunciation is horrible. At some point you may need to go there and learn
to speak, but just now I don’t expect you to read much Danish. Just read the
texts in English and check the crucial passages in the original. If you can do
that, it will be enough for the time being.”
“It’s
Russian I’m finding tough.”
“Did you
bring the exercises and your essay?”
“What do you
think?”
“Ever
reliable Jenny. Well, let’s have some coffee and we’ll have a look.”
Effie had
given Jenny one of her old books of exercises, endless grammatical drills where
there was a blank space that had to be filled in with the correct form of the
word.
“Well, it’s
all correct as far as I can tell,” said Effie “What’s the problem?”
“I can only
do the exercises by checking back at the explanations and the examples. It’s
like doing a maths problem. Every sentence takes me a couple of minutes to work
out or more.”
“That’s how
it was for me, too, at the beginning. The key is to drill yourself like
learning scales on the piano.”
“It seems
much harder than Greek or Hebrew.”
“The problem
with Hebrew is the alphabet where letters look alike and the vowels when they
are absent. Greek is closer to Russian than English or at least quite a bit of
Russian vocabulary is guessable if you know Greek.”
“I don’t see
how I’ll ever be able to read Dostoevsky?”
“You can’t
yet, so don’t try. The problem with Russian is not grammar. In the end it’s
your friend, because it’s hard, but regular. The problem is learning
vocabulary, as it’s nearly all unfamiliar. The key is in roots, but we’ll not
get to them for some time yet.”
“When?”
“We’ll see,
after you get back from Russia maybe. Now read your essay.”
Jenny began
reading, struggling over the pronunciation, being corrected every now and
again.
“Excellent!”
said Effie.
“Do you
really think so?” asked Jenny.
“You’re
learning a lot quicker than I did, I can tell you that much for sure.”
“You were on
your own though, weren’t you?”
“I learned
at a strange time and in a strange way. I had help from the start, but I also
did a lot of study on my own.”
“Who helped?
Petr?”
“Eventually.
That’s the best way to learn, you know.”
“Why am I’m
finding it much harder than any other language I’ve learned?”
“Most of
them you only have to read.”
“That’s true
even with German. I only really read.”
“Greek will
help you though.”
“I know the
grammar’s similar.”
“It’s more
that a lot of Russian words are derived from Church Slavonic and that was
heavily influenced by Greek.”
“Is there
anything more I can do?”
“Not really.
You must try to immerse yourself in Russian culture, you know, books and films
and such like.”
“I’ve
watched a few of the films you’ve lent me and I’m ploughing my way through
thick novels, even if they are only translations right now.”
“When you
get to Russia, the most important thing will be for you to avoid speaking
English.”
“That
shouldn’t be hard.”
“Actually it
will be very hard. There’ll be a bunch of foreign students who’ll make friends
and spend all day talking English.”
“What should
I do?”
“Be polite,
but make it clear you’re not interested. I’ve organised things so that you’re
going to have some Russians to look after you who won’t speak any English,
it’ll just be up to you to avoid the temptation to speak English.”
“But, Effie,
I hardly understand anything in Russian.”
“I know.
It’s the only way to learn.”
“When does
Petr get home?”
“Oh, usually
around half past five. You’ll help me make something, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“We’ll have
a nice evening with a few drinks and some Russian conversation.”
“With some
English translation sometimes, too, I hope.”
“Naturally,
though I want you to try your best to understand. When we’re feeling relaxed,
I’ll send Petr up to his computer and we can have a little chat about how
things are going with you and Paul.”
Jenny smiled
at her friend and looked shyly at her. Some unspoken words had already passed
between them. Jenny had said ‘I need you’ with her eyes and Effie had answered
‘I’m here’.
“I’d like
that,” said Jenny, “but you’re right, it’s sometimes easier without a man being
there.”
“And also
after a few drinks. There’s something I want to ask you now though.”
Effie looked
worried and Jenny was a little startled at the glance she received.
“What is
it?”
“I need your
help.”
“What can I
do?”
“Look,
Jenny, I know you’re busy, but you needn’t worry about the theology any more.
You’re going to get one of the best grades in years. I shouldn’t really say
that of course, but everybody knows it. So it’s hardly a secret.”
“Still I
want to do all I can to make sure.”
“It is sure,
but I need you to start a new subject.”
“I don’t see
how I can.”
“No, not
academic work. I need you to help with the referendum.”
“But why?
Aren’t we winning easily?”
“I think,
we’ll win, but I’m worried we might not.”
“But I read
somewhere that ‘No’ was far ahead.”
“We have
been, but something strange is happening.”
“What?”
“The ‘Yes’
supporters are not using rational argument.”
“What
worries you about that?”
“Take the
announcement on the pound. No-one rationally can support independence after
that.”
“But they
just deny it. They say the government is bluffing.”
“They play
the wicked Tory card and they bypass the brain circuits of the average voter.”
“What do you
think, would there be a currency union if there were independence?”
“I honestly
don’t know. I’m sure, these politicians mean it when they say there wouldn’t
be, but it would depend on how bad things got if Scotland voted ‘Yes’.”
“How bad do
you think it could get?”
“I honestly
don’t know. But you’re mucking around with something that could have unforeseen
consequences. It could get very bad indeed.”
“How do you
know all this, Effie?”
“Until 2008
I never looked at the financial pages. It didn’t seem to be a subject worth
studying. Then it did suddenly. So I read about economics every day.”
“But you
haven’t had any training?”
“No, but so
what? I’ve had an education that enables me to think. I can learn. You can,
too. We never cared very much about each other’s subjects in college. In the
end, everything becomes one subject, the same subject.”
“What do you
want me to do?”
“For a start
I want you to read some more of my blog.”
“OK. I can
do that easily enough.”
“I then want
you to read some nationalist blogs. I’ll give you the links.”
“That’s
already a fair amount of reading, but I’ll try to fit it in.”
“I then want
you to write a few essays both in favour of independence and against.”
“I’m not
sure, I’ll be very good at that. It’s not as if I’ve been following the debate
closely.”
“There’s no
need to follow the debate. It’s best not to get into ‘he said, she said’ type
arguments.”
“What’s this
for Effie?”
“Well, it’s
going to help your Russian for a start.”
“You want me
to write them in Russian?”
“If you can.
I know it’s above your level, but thinking in another language is very creative
in terms of new ideas.”
“I can only
try. But I wouldn’t expect much if I were you.”
“You’ll be a
big help. What we’ll do next is discuss these essays and, hopefully, I can use
them in my blog and on twitter.”
“How do you
find twitter?”
“I didn’t
really understand it for a long time. I just used it to promote the blog. Now
I’m getting a bit better, getting more followers. It’s just…”
“It’s just
you’re busy. You want help. Just ask. Is there anything more I can do?”
“Perhaps,
later. If I needs must, I may need you to tweet for me. But not now.”
“You think
it might be as close as that?”
“As I said
I’m finding it hard to reach them.”
“Does it
matter so much?”
“It does to
me. I’m not sure I could continue living here.”
“And that
would obviously affect me, too.”
“It’s not
that easy to get a new academic post, nor one for Petr, too, and in the same
town.”
“Well,
you’ve succeed in motivating me.”
“But don’t
say anything to Paul.”
Effie saw
Jenny’s look of dismay.
“I don’t
want to keep secrets from him,” said Jenny.
“I know, my
dear. We must all try to be as honest as possible. It’s just we have to be able
to discuss tactics without the other side finding out. I don’t want them to
know what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.”
“What are
you doing?”
“I’m
attacking from within. I’m accepting their assumptions and undermining them.”
“But if
reason doesn’t work, what’s the point?”
“This is our
problem, but what other weapons have we? I can only argue against their case,
point out the flaws. But I can see it doesn’t really work. It’s just I haven’t
found an alternative.”
“Maybe it’s
this that we really need to work on.”
“Maybe.
Anyway enough for the moment. Let’s go for a walk. There’s a couple of things I
need from the shop.”
They went
out and walked together through the suburban housing estate.
“What are we
going to have?” asked Jenny.
“Oh, just
something simple. Petr only really likes simple things. I’m going to make
shepherd’s pie, but I need some beers for him and some wine for us.”
Petr got in
at just after 5:30. He knew Jenny quite well by now and said hello to her
before starting to speak very quickly in Russian with Effie. A minute or two
later he sat down with Jenny in the lounge.
“I’ve been
told to keep you company,” he said in very good English.
“How was
your day?” asked Jenny.
“Frustrating
and stupid. My students either don’t want to learn or can’t.”
“You work at
the college?”
“I teach
English to foreigners like me.”
“And your
wife teaches Russian to foreigners like me.”
“Just you.
She tells me you learn quickly,” said Petr in very slow Russian.
“Thank you.
I can understand you, but I can’t really speak yet.”
“But I hear
you’re going to Russia in a few months. It’s time you learned.”
“I can work
out sentences on paper well enough, but when I try to speak, I just don’t have
time.”
“Let me tell
you a secret. The key to speaking Russian, at the beginning anyway, is to speak
very badly.”
“How?”
Just think
of what you want to say and string words together.”
“But it will
be nonsense?”
“How about
‘Go pub you like’? Did you understand?” asked Petr.
“Yes, of
course.”
“How about
‘You speak name me Jenny’? Is that hard to understand?”
“No.”
“You see
then it’s not that difficult to have a conversation even when you speak badly.
This is how everyone begins. It’s how babies begin, too. More or less”
“So I just
speak Russian gibberish, is that it?”
“No. Try to
speak correctly, try to get the verb right and the endings right, but don’t
worry if you get it wrong.”
“Won’t
people laugh?”
“Why should
we? We know how hard Russian is.”
“The trouble
is I understand so little.”
“You must
pretend you understand everything.”
“How?”
“Use
whatever clues you get from words and gestures, but keep speaking no matter
what. That’s how you learn. Fool the Russian that you understand him, and he’ll
keep speaking and in time you’ll pick up more and more up. You can go a long
way with ‘Da’ and ‘Nyet’.”
Jenny looked
at him dubiously.
“You haven’t
even tried it yet, Jenny, and you look at me as if it’s impossible. If you
think something is impossible, it already is, but if you think it’s possible,
you’ve already made a good start.”
“I’ll try. I
see the point of what you’re saying.”
“We’ll try
it at dinner. Try to follow what you can and join in a bit. You’ll find a
couple of drinks really help with the endings and the pronunciation.”
Everyone
tried to speak Russian at dinner with some translation for Jenny. She
understood very little, but she said a few sentences of very bad Russian. Still
they got the correct response and she persevered. She felt herself making just
a little bit of progress, but after an hour or so was completely exhausted with
the effort to converse and understand. But for the first time she could see a
way forward.
“I’m going
to play on the computer and then go to bed,” said Petr. “I’ll see you in the
morning, Jenny. It was a really good effort today. Well done!”
“Thank you,
Petr,” said Jenny. “You really helped.”
Jenny helped
tidy up a bit and when that was more or less done, she paused for a second. She
saw that Effie, too, had finished with this inconsequential bustling about.
“Now let’s
sit by the fire,” said Effie. “I’ll get you some more wine.”
“Let’s,”
said Jenny.
Still they
chatted about unimportant things for a while then Effie said:
“We usually
have a way of getting to the essence of a thing.”
“I know.
Neither of us do small talk.”
“How’s it
going with Paul?”
“It’s all very
new to me.”
“How long
have you been with him? Three weeks?”
“About
that.”
“It may take
a while yet before you get the hang of things. Like a few years. What do you
talk about?”
“That’s
something that worries me a bit. There’s a lot that’s off limits.”
“His
politics?”
“I hardly
agree with anything he says, not about independence, not about economics, not
about politics.”
“He’s pretty
much on the left.”
“He’s quite
far left if truth be told. I just think
all that stuff is a mistake.”
“So why are
you with him if you disagree?”
“I could
care less about his politics. I think, he’s a good man. A kind man.”
“What makes
you think so?”
“He’s
gentle. He knows I’m unsure, but he never pushes things. He waits for me. He
sort of asks sometimes when he caresses me. He waits for me to say ‘that’s OK’
and that makes me want to say ‘go ahead’ all the more.”
“That sounds
very nice, so what’s the problem? I could see when you first arrived today that
there was some sort of problem.”
“We’re both
very inhibited. I tried to talk with him about it, but it came out rather
awkwardly. I’m not sure I expressed myself well. Anyway, it didn’t make any
difference. When we’re alone together we still don’t know what to do. We don’t
really talk about what we want. I sense he’s frustrated. I sense he’s a little
bored with kissing and a few caresses. I’m scared he won’t want to stay with
me.”
“You can
never prevent someone leaving if that’s what he wants. He can find any number
of girls who’ll sleep with him. You can’t compete if he wants that more than he
wants you.”
“But I don’t
want him to go. Why do I feel about these things the way I do? I wish I didn’t.
I wish I was like all the other girls.”
“It’s not
really a choice. Your faith is what you are. Without it you’re just not Jenny.”
“That’s
something else I can’t talk about, or else he talks, but I don’t really answer.
He comes out with all the standard arguments against Christianity, it’s
just I can’t explain that I know them
all already, but that I’ve gone beyond them, that they’ve become something
irrelevant to me.”
“You can’t
explain that to anyone. They have to find out for themselves. Same with
politics. No argument convinced me. It was living in the USSR that did the
trick. Don’t argue with him, Jenny.”
“What do I
do then?”
“Let him see
your example, especially how you love.”
“In what
way?”
“Be kind,
Jenny. You are kind: be caring, be loving. That’s all any of us can do.
Politics is trivial and transient.”
Chapter 6
That same
evening Mark and Paul were in the Prince of Wales once again. Paul had just
been at another ‘Yes” campaign meeting while Mark had been studying Chaucer.
“What will
you have?” asked Mark.
“Let’s have
a look. I think, I’ll try the porter. What about you?”
“I’ve not
had that new IPA, so I’ll have that. But I’ll have sip of yours, too, if I may”
It wasn’t
especially busy as it was a week night, and they found a quiet enough spot.
“What have
you been doing this evening?” asked Paul.
“Just the
usual study. I’ve been reading over some bits of the ‘Canterbury Tales’.”
“I’m amazed
you bother with that stuff. There are easier options in English, aren’t there?”
“I rather
like the language, besides must everything be easy? I don’t think your campaign
is easy for instance.”
“You don’t
fancy joining us?”
“I’m from
Newcastle as you well know.”
“We have
English people with us.”
“Those that
live in Scotland. Seems odd, but I can just about understand it if they agree
with your policies.”
“We have a
few supporters who are English and have lived all their lives in England.”
“Don’t get
that. I’m afraid, it looks awfully like self-hatred.”
“No, it’s
people who see independence in Scotland as the best chance for the left, both
in Scotland and in England.”
“More likely
I’d have thought to leave us with a permanent Tory government.”
“There are
quite a few people on the left in England who hope we’ll win.”
“I know.
Most of them are from the old style left. Regretting the last thirty years.
That’s not where I am.”
“You want to
get rid of austerity though, you want to get rid of the bedroom tax, do
something for the poor?”
“I think, we
need economic recovery for all these things.”
“You sound
like a Tory.”
“Oh, come
on! I think, if Labour had got in last time, we’d have had some sort of
austerity, too. Maybe a bit different, but not much.”
“I think, we
need a bit more optimism about the future: an alternative to austerity.”
“I’m afraid,
you’re not going to get rid of poverty by putting a tick in a box.”
“But our
oil?”
“It’s
volatile: the price goes up wildly and falls wildly, and, anyway, Scotland gets
the revenue from it already. You can’t very well spend it twice.”
Paul was
looking still more frustrated as the conversation went on.
“Always the
negative from you, Mark!” he said.
“Well, let’s
move on to other things. I’m just a neutral about independence.”
“I was
feeling so positive after our meeting.”
“Why was
that in particular?”
“Well,
partly because I had a nice chat afterwards with Roisin.”
“I’d watch
that one if I were you.”
“No, she was
nice. She complimented me on what I’d said during the meeting about street
campaigning. She had some good ideas, too. Maybe we’ll work together.”
“I thought
it was awkward between you two.”
“It is. Her
boyfriend used to get jealous, but it seems they’ve split up.”
“How many is
that in the last couple of years?”
“I don’t
know. I was away for one of them. Does
it matter?”
“Does she
know about Jenny?”
“Well, I’ve
not said anything.”
“I guarantee
she does know. Women always know these things.”
“You don’t
think?”
“I do think.
She probably still thinks she has a claim on you.”
“No. She was
just being nice and, anyway, I’m not interested.”
“Be good to
Jenny, Paul, she’s the real deal and worth a heck of a lot more than Roisin.
That one’s really poisonous.”
“Why do you
think that?”
“I don’t
care for all the Celtic, Irish Republican nonsense. She hates Brits as if she
were a Catholic in Northern Ireland in the seventies. She’s sectarian.”
“But so are
the unionists: sectarian.”
“I have no
time for them either. Silly men in bowler hats. But it’s only a Glasgow thing.
I can’t abide that stuff. Very glad I came here where it doesn’t much exist.”
“Jenny’s
great, Mark. I know what you’re saying, but it was easier going out with
Roisin. I knew what to do. We went out, we went to bed.”
“Then when
you went to France, she got bored and went to bed with someone else.”
“Still at
least we went to bed.”
“I don’t
think you should turn it into such a big deal,” said Mark.
Paul smiled
and looked at his friend.
“That’s easy
for you to say. Am I right?”
“Susie and I
have been together for three years. For the first six months I didn’t even go
into her room. For the next six months we only kissed.”
“So it’s a
matter of time and patience?”
“No, it’s a
matter of trust and commitment, and love.”
“How long
did you have to wait?”
“It doesn’t
really matter, does it?”
“No. I’m not
prying, I hope?”
“It all
happened very gradually and with no sense of hurry. In the end it was her
suggestion. I was happy to wait forever.”
“But what a
waste of time, Mark, if you’re going to get there in the end!”
“Who knows
where you get in the end when you’re beginning. It’s not about that anyway.
It’s a relationship between two people. You learn to love more and more and
when you feel you’ll be together forever, it all happens quite naturally at the
right moment.”
“You don’t
believe, do you?”
“In what? In
religion? In Christianity? No. I don’t think so. I believe in moderately left
wing politics and I try to be a decent, kind person. But, no, I don’t believe
what Susie does.”
“Do you
discuss it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you try
to persuade her?”
“But why?
Who knows, maybe I’m the one who’s wrong?”
“But it’s
all such nonsense, Mark.”
“Perhaps,
but Susie and Jenny are still two of the best people I know.”
“There’s a
sort of barrier between me and Jenny.”
“You’ve been
together less than a month. Be patient.”
“I’m being
more patient than I thought possible.”
“About sex?
Good Lord, Paul! It’s not that big a deal surely? You need to stop thinking of
yourself so much and also stop thinking of a woman as some sort of device that
satisfies an urge. Long term, that sort of stuff isn’t the key. It’s the person
that matters. It’s the person you’re with that counts. Nothing else.”
“I can get
that, at least in theory, but it’s not just that kind of barrier. She clams up
when we discuss things.”
“Like what
things?”
“Well, when
I argue about politics or religion she doesn’t even try to put up a fight. She
just says something disarming.”
“I’ve spent
quite a bit of time with Susie and Jenny, and I’ve heard Jenny a few times
during a formal debate. I can assure you she knows how to argue.”
“Then why
not with me?”
“Maybe she
thinks it would cause you to fall out, if she gave you her best shot.”
“That’s a
bit disrespectful, don’t you think? I can hold my own, too.”
“Paul, Jenny
is one of the brightest people I’ve ever met. She’s on a different level to me.
She just doesn’t want to argue with someone she’s going out with. You’re her
first proper boyfriend. She really, really likes you and doesn’t want to make a
wrong step. Just show her that you can discuss things without falling out and
she’ll gradually discuss more. But there’s no future in looking for arguments
with your girlfriend. I never argue with Susie. Or very rarely. What’s the
point?”
“It’s just I
want to persuade her.”
“About what,
Paul? Independence or Christianity?”
“Both.”
“Because you
want to get her into bed in an independent Scotland if not before?”
“That’s not
entirely fair.”
“I don’t
think what you’re trying is entirely fair either. Has she tried to persuade you
of anything?”
“No.”
“She could,
you know. She could put up one hell of an argument.”
“How do you
know?”
“I was in
the same position a couple of years back, trying to persuade Susie into bed,
trying to undermine her beliefs. I feel pretty guilty about it now. You should
have heard Jenny defend her friend and herself. They’re not stupid. They have
good arguments, too.”
“I’ve never
heard any.”
“You’re not
open to them yet. Until you are, it’s easy to dismiss.”
“I don’t
much like her politics either.”
“I imagine,
she doesn’t much like yours. Jenny’s one of the few Scots I’ve met who’ll
openly admit to being a Tory.”
“There’s
something immoral about it.”
“I disagree
with her politics, too, but Jenny is not immoral, nor is she selfish. She’s
more moral than anyone I know. She’s much more moral than me or you for that
matter. It’s the person that’s important, not the politics.”
“It’s just
hard when we disagree on so much.”
“Then find
something to agree on, and do it quick.”
Chapter 7
Jenny went
home to Glasgow during the Easter holidays. Paul went home to his village in
the West Highlands for a few days. His parents were glad to see him, but
disappointed that he didn’t intend to stay longer. He told them that he had a
lot of study to do and it was easier in Aberdeen. In reality he wanted to
continue campaigning. Jenny had wanted his parents’ number, but he had come up
with an excuse. She wondered if he’d even told them about her. Most of all she
just wondered why he hadn’t wanted her to phone him at home. Paul, too, felt
the awkwardness, but he brushed it off by pointing out that she could contact
him by e-mail and facebook, and mobile phone. She reminded him that mobiles
frequently didn’t work where there were mountains all around. In the end he
came up with another implausible excuse and she decided not to push it. He had
a reason and he didn’t want to tell her what it was. It shouldn’t have niggled
her, but it did and throughout her time in Glasgow this small thing stayed at
the back of her mind.
She spent
her time doing the small amount of work she needed to do for her course. Effie
had told her about how finals had been thirty years or so before, where
everything depended on seven or eight three hour exams and the only aspect of
continuous assessment was perhaps a dissertation. All that had changed.
Perhaps, it was for the better, perhaps not, but Jenny knew that little
actually depended on what she had to do now in the next couple of months. Her
First class degree was all but assured, not least because the department expected
it and had marked her accordingly for the past few years. Still she went over
what might crop up in the couple of short exams she would sit, and she put the
finishing touches to the last essay that she would have to write.
She
continued her Russian studies by watching some of the films that Petr and Effie
had lent her. She wondered if perhaps Paul might like to watch one or two with
her. She drilled herself on grammar continually doing endless exercises. The
subject interested her because she found it so difficult. She’d had a glance,
despite being told not to, at a page of Dostoevsky in Russian. It had been
much, much harder than she had thought it would be. With other languages she
had got the basics of the grammar and then learned by reading literature,
looking up words in a dictionary. This worked well enough with Danish, but had
proved impossible with Russian. They seemed to use a different grammar in
literature, and you couldn’t even find the words in the dictionary as the forms
the words took were often unfamiliar as if they were trying to hide themselves;
and even if you could find them it was frequently unclear quite what they
meant. Sentences went on and on, and you just got lost half way through. There
were hordes of tiny little words which were used to join the sentence together,
but no dictionary could tell you what they meant. This was a challenge, thought
Jenny. This was a subject worth studying.
When she got
back to Aberdeen, there were signs of spring. Paul had suggested they go to
Duthie Park, and on the first nice Sunday they did. They decided to get their
by walking along the river Dee.
“I’ve never
even been this way,” said Jenny.
“What? Along
the river?”
“I’ve never
been here at all. Nor to Duthie Park.”
“Don’t you
like plants?”
“I like them
well enough. I just had no reason to go.”
“But you do
now?”
“You asked
me. That’s reason enough, don’t you think?”
The route
didn’t start of promisingly, passing some factories and small businesses, but
soon they reached the river. There were some boathouses for rowing and one or
two teams of rowers on the river.
“Did you
ever try that?” asked Jenny.
“I’m not
that sporty,” said Paul. “It strikes me that they’re pretending they got into
Cambridge.”
“I haven’t
done any sport since school.”
“What did
you do then?”
“Oh, you
know, hockey, netball.”
“You went to
a private school, didn’t you?”
“Well, sort
of. It wasn’t that expensive and I lived at home.”
“While I
boarded, but it was a comprehensive.”
“You could
hardly have travelled there every day. It would have taken half of the day.”
“How do you
remain so slim then?”
“I exercise
in my room.”
“Doing
what?”
“Well, I
have a small step that I use for my legs, and I have a small weight with a
handle that I use for my arms. You swing it. It’s pretty good.”
“Well, it
certainly works, Jenny.”
She pressed
his arm and smiled at him very pleased with his complement.
“It also
means I can learn a bit about music.”
“What music
,Jenny? I didn’t think you liked music. You never want to go to clubs.”
“I don’t
really understand that sort of music. It’s probably my lack, but I just can’t
really get into it.”
“What sort
do you like?”
“I like two
sorts. I like songs with words that have some sort of meaning, you know, folk
songs or songs from shows and then I like modern classical music.”
“So, who in
particular?”
“I’m
listening to Bob Dylan at the moment and Messiaen.”
“You were
born in 1993, weren’t you?”
“Yes?”
“So you’re
listening to a guy who was first popular thirty years before you were born.
I’ve never even heard of the second one.”
“Have you
listened to Dylan?”
“One or two
things. Strange voice. And very, very old-fashioned.”
“I’m
old-fashioned.”
“I know.
It’s one of your best qualities. What does modern classical music sound like?”
“I’ll play
you something later if you like. But you need to practice.”
“What sort
of practice?”
“You need to
practice how to listen to it. What classical music do you like?”
“I don’t
really know. I don’t have very much. Some Mozart maybe or Beethoven.”
“You need to
build up to the modern stuff, you sort of need to start at the beginning and
take it in stages. Messiaen is where I’ve reached just now, but there’s more.”
“It sounds
like hard work, Jenny.”
“I know, but
it’s worth it.”
“Well, I’m
willing to give it a go. It would be nice to share something.”
“It would.”
The Park
itself was looking splendid in the sunshine with spring flowers having finally
arrived in the northern part of Scotland so much later than in the southern
parts of the UK, anyone would have thought it was a different country.
“I wish I’d
come here before, years ago. I wish you’d taken me then, Paul.”
“I do, too.
I know we don’t agree on everything, but we agree on wanting to be together. I
wish we’d been together for years.”
“We will be.
I very much hope we will be,” said Jenny.
“Let’s go
into the Winter Gardens.”
“But it’s
not winter?”
“I know, but
it’s the best bit of the park. The rest is like any other nice park in
Aberdeen.”
They went in
and passed slowly through the various parts of the Winter Gardens. There were
rooms with hot house flowers that were humid and very warm. There were rooms
with cactuses and rooms with all sorts of other plants that had no business
growing in the north of Scotland.
“Do you know
anything about plants, Jenny?” asked Paul.
“Not a thing
really. I’m not very scientific. What about you?”
“Not that
much, but we used to go to Inverewe gardens when I was a kid.”
“That’s
somewhere over on the west coast right?”
“It took
forever to drive there, but it was worth it. I remember there was what looked
like giant rhubarb and palm trees. Stuff like that.”
“How on
earth does it grow?”
“There must
be some sort of warmer spot. Something to do with the Gulf stream. My mum is
into plants. She loves gardening and so I picked up a bit here and there.”
“What does
she do? You never talk about your parents.”
“She teaches
in a little school. She taught me, in fact.”
“My! I don’t
think I’d fancy that. Was she strict?”
“Not
especially. But you couldn’t really leave school behind at the end of the day.”
“What about
your dad?”
“He teaches,
too, only he teaches climbing and sailing. Things like that.”
“They sound
like fairly unusual highlanders.”
“I suppose
so.”
“Did they
meet there?”
“I wasn’t
around,” joked Paul.
“But did
they move to where you live now? From where?”
“We’ve been
there as long as I can remember.”
Jenny knew
not to push the conversation further. It was strange, but there was something
that Paul was reluctant to discuss. She wondered what it was and why he
obviously didn’t trust her enough to talk about it. She felt slightly hurt, but
then reflected that there were all sorts of reasons why someone might not want
to talk about his family. Perhaps, his mother had remarried, perhaps, he’d been
adopted, perhaps who knew what. It was probably something mundane. More likely
still he just didn’t like talking about a place he was glad to have escaped,
though he clearly thought the world of his parents. She brushed it off, but
thought she’d continue to probe just a little as they got to know each other
better. After all, at some point she hoped to meet his parents.
They found a
bench in a quiet spot surrounded by some of the most colourful plants.
“It’s a
lovely spot to sit,” said Jenny.
“I’m really
glad you like it. I’ve only been a couple of times myself.”
“You bring
all your girls here?”
“Actually,
come to think of it, I’ve been here hundreds of times with hundreds of girls.
I’m in the process of building a harem.”
Jenny
laughed, but she wondered who he had brought before. It wasn’t the sort of
place you went on your own. It was a good way of fencing to exaggerate in the
way that Paul had.
“Do you
think the man who has the harem is happy?”
“I don’t
know. I suppose so. Most men would think it’s a pretty ideal situation.”
“You mean
you’re surrounded by the most beautiful young women and you can choose a
different one every night.”
“What’s not
to like?”
“Do you
think there were ever harems that worked the other way round? Where there was
one woman and dozens of handsome young men?”
“I’ve no
idea. Are you planning to set one up?”
“It just
intrigues me. It’s such an unlikely idea, because I don’t think any woman would
want it. Yet the reverse probably appeals at some level to every man.”
“It appeals
to something instinctual, something superficial. But in the end it’s not what
men want either. Not if they’ve got any sense. It’s a temptation for men.
Something we think we want. But it’s not really what we want. Does that make
sense?”
“I think so,
though it all sometimes seems mysterious to me.”
“I’ve been
reading the book you gave me.”
“The
Brothers Karamazov?”
“Yes.”
“What do you
think?”
“Oh, I’m not
even a quarter of the way through it. I like it on the whole, but it’s pretty
tough going.”
“Which
brother do you like?”
“I’m not
sure I like any.”
“But if you
had to choose?”
“Maybe Ivan.
He seems very clever. What about you?”
“Oh,
Alyosha!”
“You’re
going to study this book?”
“Not only
that one, but some of the others, too.”
“Can I ask
why?”
“Well, I
think they have more to say about faith than any other books I’ve read, apart
from a Danish writer also from the 19th century.”
“Who’s
that?”
“Kierkegaard.”
“And you’re
studying Danish to read him?”
“I can read
him already well enough, though I can’t really speak the language.”
“Why not
just read it all in English?”
“I don’t
think that’s really possible, if you want to understand properly. You can go so
far, but you’re far too dependent on the translator.”
“Surely the
translators are good enough?”
“They are.
But Russian is a long way away from English. The tendency is either to be too
literal or just to paraphrase. Either way you sometimes miss something vital.”
“But I don’t
see what good it will do in the end, Jenny. You’re not going to be able to
prove anything about faith, are you?”
“Oh, no! I’m
certainly not trying to do that.”
“Then what are
you trying to do?”
“Perhaps,
I’m showing a path that people may want to explore if they are interested in
finding faith, or more accurately in being given it. It is a gift, you know.
You can’t get there on your own.”
“I like the
kindness of Christianity; I like the morality, the ideas about sharing. I can
see why you like Alyosha. Wouldn’t he approve of socialism? Wouldn’t that bring
Christianity to the world in the only way that’s really possible?”
“During the
Soviet Union Dostoevsky was rather frowned upon. It wasn’t so much that he was
banned as discouraged. There’s a reason for that.”
“But the
Soviet Union was a distortion of socialism.”
“Agreed. But
the point of Dostoevsky is not that we achieve Christian ideals politically.
Rather we achieve them individually.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“If you make
me love my neighbour by means of law, it ceases to be a matter of morality at
all.”
“Do you
think it’s moral that we have food banks in Scotland?”
“I’d rather
we didn’t.”
“We’re
campaigning to get rid of them.”
“I know you
are. You’re doing what you think is right. And that’s as it should be.”
“So how
would you get rid of them?”
“Through
kindness and generosity, and good management of the economy.”
“You think
the Tories are running the economy well. You must have seen the poverty in
Glasgow?”
“Don’t let’s
argue, Paul. We’re not going to agree especially if we attack each other. But
we can find a common ground that can be discussed.”
“I’m sorry,
Jenny. I’m not attacking you.”
“I know
you’re not, you feel passionately about what you’re campaigning for. Who am I
to say you’re wrong? We just disagree. Time will tell who is right.”
Paul felt
once more her reluctance to argue with him. It was just slightly humiliating.
She never got worked up like he did and when they got to a point when he was
sufficiently worked up, she just ducked the argument. He knew she was trying to
prevent them falling out, but sometimes he wished she would just give him both
barrels and tell him what she really felt. At least that would have shown she
respected him as an opponent. Then again he also knew she was right. If they
became opponents what would be left of their love?
Chapter 8
A few days
later Paul rang the bell at Jenny’s flat. He was earlier than usual, but hoped
that he’d catch her in. Susan answered the door.
“Is Jenny
in?” asked Paul.
“No, but
come in anyway. I’m rather bored and could do with some company.”
“Are you on
your own then?”
“Mark’s
studying at the library, Lorna’s off with one of her devoted servants.”
“You all
laugh at Lorna.”
“We’re a bit
jealous of her. She’s so much prettier than us and never had a problem
attracting men.”
They sat at
the kitchen table. A CD was playing quite quietly, something very peculiar.
Susan made some coffee and sat down with Paul.
“You don’t
really envy Lorna, do you?” asked Paul.
“No,” said
Susan. “I envy me and Jenny for that matter. I feel rather sad about Lorna.”
“But she’s
happy enough. She can pick up the phone and someone will be here in five
minutes flat to take her out somewhere.”
“Someone.
Anyone. I think that’s the problem.”
“You like
where you are with Mark, I mean, you’re …”
“Mark’s your
friend, you know him pretty well. I’d say I’m pretty lucky wouldn’t you?”
“But you’re
also very different.”
“None of
that matters much anymore after we’ve been together so long. You don’t have to
agree about everything, just about being together.”
“But you
must sometimes wish he thought as you do.”
“Not really.
I love Mark. I love who he is. To wish him different is to wish to love someone
else. Don’t you think?”
“I suppose.”
“What are
you going to do afterwards?”
“After Uni?”
“I suppose…”
She said it
in a way that obviously imitated him, but with the hint of a smile that meant
‘don’t get in a huff’.
“For the
first few months,” he said, “I’ll be campaigning full, after that I haven’t
really thought. Nothing matters more than the campaign right now, I don’t look
beyond it. What about you? Have you got plans?”
“I’ll look
for a job. Most of us have to. I’ll go
where Mark goes, or I hope he’ll go where I go.”
“Marriage?”
“Oh, I do
hope so! We sort of dodge around the subject as neither of us is in a position
to make an offer, but we both talk of what we’ll be doing in a few years’
time.”
“And you
talk of doing it together. I hope it works out, Susie”
“Me, too. I
think it will. I have hope. I have faith.”
“What’s the
music? It’s rather odd, don’t you think?”
“Very. But
I’ve sort of got used to it. It’s something Jenny sometimes puts on.”
“Where’s the
box?”
“You’ll find
it on the shelf. It’s the one with the picture of the birds on it.”
“Messiaen,
Catalogue d'Oiseaux. I thought it might be something like that. She played me
something the other night by him. It wasn’t quite as odd as this, but nearly as
much.”
“What was
it?”
“Something
on the piano about Jesus.”
“Vingt
Regards sur l'Enfant-Jésus?”
“I suppose
so.”
“I know that
one. I like it now.”
“You didn’t
before?”
“No, not
very.”
“What
changed your mind?
“Oh,
patience. We’ve lived with Jenny for 3 years now. Everyone likes to share what
they care about. I’ve lent her books. We’ve watched films together. We’ve
played CDs.”
“Does she
like the things you like?”
“Sometimes,
and I’ve grown to like some of the things that she likes. Jenny’s changed me
and for the better.”
“Because you
like listening to this rather odd music about birds?”
“No, Paul,
because I give it a chance now. I don’t always get it, but sometimes I think,
the lack may be in me.”
“I hardly
know anything about classical music.”
“I didn’t
either. But I’m glad I know someone who does.”
“She didn’t
study it, did she?”
“I don’t
think so, though she might have learned an instrument at school. No, she just
listens.”
“I think, I
could listen to this birdsong for 10 years and it would still be just plinkety
plonk, random notes joined together.”
“I was just
the same as you a couple of years back.”
“So you just
listen long enough and like it, is that it?”
“No. Jenny
began playing stuff that I’d never heard before. Bits of Beethoven and other
stuff from the 19th century.”
“How did
that help?”
“Well, she
sort of showed how it all fitted together and developed.”
“Wasn’t it
all a bit like continually studying?”
“No, she’d
just have a CD playing at breakfast. Eventually, I became familiar with it and
grew to like it. Then we’d play something else. It all just happened over the
course of years.”
“Isn’t it a
bit like having a teacher in the flat?”
“Do you find
that Jenny lectures you?”
“No. Quite
the reverse. It’s more likely that I lecture her.”
“That’s my
experience, too. She just wants to share some things. With you, too. With you
especially.”
“You think,
I should be open to this?”
“I don’t
think, it would be a bad idea. Don’t be dogmatic about what you think or what
you like. I’ve found some wonderful things that Jenny showed me. Foreign films
I’d never heard of and never would have unless she’d suggested that we watch.”
“I hate
subtitles.”
“So did I.
You should have heard the groans when it was her choice to choose the film we’d
watch. Lorna and I just wanted to see something that had been made recently in
English and in colour.”
“I didn’t
know she knew quite so much about films. I had the impression she knew a bit
but I didn’t know that it was that much.”
“Jenny is
rather scared of appearing to know things.”
“Why’s
that?”
“She’s not
always had the best of experiences. Some people don’t like it when a woman
knows a lot. It scares them off.”
“So you
think she hides her knowledge?”
“No, she
wants desperately to share it, but only with people who don’t hold it against
her.”
“I’m glad I
found her, but it’s not always easy.”
“I know. We
talk. She’s my best friend. We share. Mark tells me things, too.”
“Oh, I
hope.”
“Don’t
worry. No one is being indiscreet. We all just want to help Jenny and you,
Paul. We care about you. You’re our friend. One of our dearest friends.”
“It’s funny
how we’ve all got to know each other. Funny how I never saw Jenny in that way
until it was almost too late.”
“You were in
Lorna’s clutches. Poor, poor Lorna. It’s like she attracts ships to be
shipwrecked. She’s not happy and the poor men are not happy either.”
“I still
like Lorna.”
“Don’t get
me wrong, so do I. She needs someone, but she won’t find him here. I’m not sure
she’ll find him anywhere.”
“Where is
Jenny? Do you know?”
Susan looked
a little unsure of what to say. She hesitated for a few seconds.
“She’s
helping someone.”
“Effie?”
“No. She
helps some people with literacy sometimes.”
“She never
mentioned it to me.”
“Do you know
the phrase “Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth?”
“I don’t
think so. Something from the Bible, I suppose, given the archaic language.”
“I just like
that way of putting it. But it could equally well be “don’t let your right hand
know what your left hand is doing.”
“I don’t
think, I really understand. It’s a sort of riddle, isn’t it?”
“It just
means when you help people, don’t make a song and dance about it.”
“What does
she do? I’d like to know.”
“Don’t you
think you could ask her?”
“Please,
Susie. I feel rather embarrassed about a couple of things I’ve said.”
“About
selfish, immoral Tories?”
“Something
like that.”
“Jenny helps
with people who can’t read or write. She goes when she can. We’re all busy of
course, but she goes pretty regularly. She has been going there since she began
here.”
“I didn’t
know.”
“Nor did I.
Some of the places are quite rough.”
“I’m sure
they are.”
“It’s hard
for someone to find work if they can’t read, so she does what she can to help.”
“It’s a lot
more than I do. At least individually. I think, I do most by campaigning for a
better Scotland.”
“I don’t
really agree with Jenny’s politics either. We discuss it from time to time, but
we just let it go. I understand where she’s coming from. It’s all rather well
thought out too.”
“But you
don’t agree?”
“No, we’re
made differently. I believe in collective action and I think, politics is the
best chance of making a better Scotland. Jenny doesn’t believe this. She
believes only in what she can do as an individual. She’s fundamentally
uninterested in politics.”
“So you’re
sympathetic to independence, Susie?”
“On the
whole, no. But I’m not completely opposed either. I may not even be here to
vote. If Mark goes back to England, I’ll go with him.”
Paul paused
for a few seconds and a question appeared in his mind that he really wanted to
know the answer to. The conversation was going well with a flow that he could
see they were both enjoying. He asked:
“What’s it
like knowing that the man you love doesn’t believe what you believe?”
“You mean
faith, don’t you? We are getting serious today, aren’t we, Paul?”
“Sorry, if
I’m prying. Just tell me it’s none of my business.”
“No. I can
see why you want to know these sorts of things.”
“At the
beginning, when you first started going out, didn’t you ever want him to
believe in what you believe? Wouldn’t it have been easier?”
“Relationships
aren’t easy. We’ve been together for three years now because we’ve each been
willing to adapt, to give and to receive, and to change also. I don’t think, it
would have been easier if he had more faith than he does. It might have been
harder.”
“I don’t see
why?”
“I know a
lot of couples in the Christian Union. It’s not as if all of those
relationships work out. Everyone faces the same challenge. I’ve heard about
some odd mental contortions that Christian couples go through to try to justify
themselves to themselves.”
“But still
if they both believe, it must be easier in at least that respect. I find it
difficult that on something fundamental to Jenny we disagree. I just think,
she’s mistaken.”
“She thinks,
she might be mistaken, too, Paul. So do I.”
“And yet?”
“There isn’t
such a big gap between Mark and me. I have doubts, he has doubts. It’s not as
if I have some sort of knowledge that he lacks. In his own way he agrees with
me. We just call it something different.”
“You talk
like Jenny.”
“Of course,
I talk like Jenny. Without her I might not have found the path that took me to
where I am today with Mark. We had tough times, me and Mark. We split up a
couple of times. I thought I’d lost him forever. I wouldn’t bend, and so we
broke up.”
“I remember
how upset Mark was. What did Jenny do?”
“She went to
Mark. She brought him back. She showed me how we could be together. She’s not
at all dogmatic. She hates dogma of any sort, not least theological dogma. She
explained how we must be kind to each other. She’ll do the same for you if
you’re kind, too, and if you have patience.”
“I just
don’t see why it should all be so difficult. It isn’t for most of the people we
know.”
“Sure it is.
It’s just difficult in a different way. They flit about and find nothing that
means very much. They have a relationship, but it’s little more than instinct,
little more than inclination. It’s not something to envy, Paul. You have the
chance of something much better.”
“So does
Scotland, by the way.”
“That’s your
article of faith, isn’t it?” said Susan.
Chapter 9
In the weeks
that followed Paul and Jenny continued their embraces to the accompaniment of
Jenny’s music. He said that he found some of it rather difficult, but would
like to hear more and would like to understand better. She started with Glen
Gould playing the Goldberg Variations, and then skipped everything until some
late Beethoven. They kissed to the Diabeli Variations, and they explored a
little further with their hands while some late piano concertos were playing.
It was all very new to Paul, but then again it was all very new to Jenny. They
became closer. They found something that they could share. He described what
touched him, or tried to describe it. But each of them found words
inadequate. He was reduced to phrases
like ‘the one we played yesterday with the fast bit and then the rather moving
bit that sounded like…’ She’d play a bit of it again. Sometimes she found the
part he meant and there was a moment of recognition.
She moved on
with some Schubert quartets. He found himself listening to Death and the Maiden
for the first time, and he liked it. He really, really liked it. He regretted
he’d not known about it before.
“How did you
find out about these things?” he asked.
“My parents
always played this sort of music.”
“Mine did as
well. But only the stuff everybody knows.”
“I like to
explore. I like to find new things that I don’t know, that no-one told me
about.”
“What will
we listen to next?”
“I just
thought we might work our way through the 19th century. Just lose ourselves in
the music.”
“It sounds
good to me.”
“I’m finding
it all terribly romantic, holding you while listening to the peaks of
romanticism in music. You’ll make me swoon if you’re not careful.”
“I never
know quite when you’re being serious and when you’re taking the Mickey.”
“I’m afraid,
I don’t always know myself.”
They
continued with Schumann’s Kinderszenen, and Paul thought, perhaps, he might
have recognised one of the scenes.
“That would
be Träumerei,” said Jenny. “It’s the scene where the child is dreaming.”
“But do you
really think anyone could guess that the music represented that?”
“No. I don’t
think music represents anything and when it tries, it’s bad music.”
“But it was
so beautiful, Jenny.”
“I’m not
criticising Schumann’s music. I love it, too. It may have been his inspiration.
He may have been thinking of children when he wrote it. But this music is not
limited by what the composer thought it was about. It’s what we think it’s
about.”
“You mean
our kisses, the way you hold me while we listen, while we share our experience
together?”
“Something
like that.”
They began
watching films as well. It turned out that Jenny had quite a collection of DVDs
of films that Paul had never heard of.
“I’ve mostly
watched things that have just come out at the cinema,” he said. “I’ve watched
some old stuff on TV and I’ve seen the odd foreign classic. I know the basics,
but you just seem to reach onto your shelf and find all sorts of things that I
suspect not one person in Aberdeen has seen.”
“Oh, I don’t
know. These films aren’t that obscure. I’m lucky. My dad has been collecting
films since he was a student. He had hundreds of videos and now he’s got
hundreds of DVDs. He gets them from all over the world.”
“So these
are his films?”
“Mostly. I
just ask him for a selection that might be interesting. Some I keep with me
because I like to watch them regularly.”
“There not
all foreign, are they? Sometimes I can’t be bothered reading sub-titles.”
“Me, too. No
I have lots of old British and American films. I wanted us to watch a film
about Brahms and Schumann, and Clara Wieck. I don’t suppose it’s very accurate,
but it’s a nice story.”
“What’s it
called?”
“Song of
Love.”
“I suppose
it’s in black and white?”
“All the
best films are.”
Paul
recognised the other man from Casablanca who played Schumann and he knew
Katherine Hepburn who played his wife Clara. Brahms he vaguely knew, but
couldn’t place. The film was gushing and far too romantic, but somehow when
Jenny played him some Brahms it helped him to picture the man who was composing.
“You really
like Mr Brahms, don’t you, Jenny?” he said after yet another CD appeared .
“Yes and no.
I think, he’s very important. But I find him rather difficult.”
“I must
admit I’m getting a little sick of him. Shall we move on?”
“Can I play
just one more piece? If you don’t get Brahms, you can’t really get what comes
later.”
“Sure, go
ahead. What did you have in mind?”
“His
requiem.”
“I’m not
sure I’m going to make much of religious stuff, Jenny. You know that.”
“There’s a
part which really helped me when I was struggling with Brahms. Don’t think of
it in terms of religion. Think of it in terms of life.”
They
listened and she pointed out the part she liked where the text was about all
flesh being as grass. He didn’t understand the German words, but he felt her
tremble and he noticed that his cheek was wet with her tears. He felt
something, too. The words didn’t matter, and pure emotion welled in him. It was
emotion for her and it was emotion for him. Somehow he was touched in a way
that he had never expected to be touched by a requiem. He held her tightly and
gently caressed her, and they melted into each other finding a closeness in
each other’s arms. She saw that there was emotion in his eyes, too, that they
were moist.
“Now we can
move on,” said Jenny when the CD had finished.
They
gradually began talking about what was most important to them. Paul tried to
explain why he was so desperate that Scotland should become independent. He
told her some of the arguments he had read and the sorts of the ideas that were
discussed at the Yes campaign meetings. But he wasn’t trying to persuade her.
He was just trying to explain. She asked pertinent questions. She tried to put
herself into the position of someone who wanted independence. She tried to
understand this man who she was coming to love more and more each day. Where
they couldn’t agree, they agreed to differ, but without rancour. She no longer just moved on with the
conversation, ducking away from an argument. She made points against his
argument, but more in a spirit of cooperation as if trying to reach the truth.
Each of them had no wish to attack the point of view of the other. Jenny began
to understand the desire for independence better. She heard arguments that she
didn’t know, that she hadn’t heard. She began to write a series of essays for
Effie.
Firstly, she
thought of her own point of view. What arguments from a Conservative
perspective could be made for independence? Well, obviously it might help the
Conservatives in England if all those Scottish Labour MPs were no longer at
Westminster. But what about Conservatives in Scotland? Well, they had precious
little chance now while Scotland remained in the UK. What would happen
afterwards? It could hardly be expected that Scotland would have permanent left
wing government. So would there eventually be a chance for the Right after
independence? No doubt, there would. What else from a right wing perspective
might be an argument for independence? Well, imagine someone who was concerned
about immigration levels. Might not such a person reflect that splitting off
from the UK would put a barrier between a place that has high levels of
immigration, England, and a place with low levels, Scotland? It wasn’t that she
was opposed to immigration, quite the reverse: she favoured a free market in
immigration, too. However, this sort of argument could be used to attack those
who favoured independence. Not all arguments that contain a degree of truth are
politically helpful.
Suddenly,
Jenny found that she had inspiration. She took what Paul had said the other day
about UK supporters being British nationalists and she wrote a deconstruction
of it. Writing in Russian was slow and difficult. She continually had to look
in the dictionary. But Effie was right: it was liberating. She was using a part
of her brain that felt somehow freer. She thought about what Paul had said
about nationalism and how it was civic and liberal, and not at all like the
ugly forms of nationalism in the world. She attacked these arguments, but she
attacked them from within. She put the case for independence in the most
positive light, and then one by one attempted to undermine each assumption.
Meanwhile, they continued with their music and their films.
Chapter 10
She met some
resistance with Parceval. They listened to it one night and Paul accepted it as
a chore, but one night wasn’t enough. One night was just the first act.
“It’s
turgid. It just goes on and on,” said Paul.
“I thought
you liked the Grail story?”
“I do, sort
of. We had to read the version by
Chretien de Troyes. Tough going, but at least it’s relatively short. Even as a
kid I rather liked Arthurian tales.”
“And you
liked Sir Perceval?”
“I don’t
know why, but yes, I did. He seems more human than the others.”
“But this is
the same story, only you get to finish it.”
“To be
honest, I was focussing so much on the old French that much of the story passed
me by. I remember most a few ideas and a few quotes.”
“What do you
remember?”
“About him
being told not to speak and the king, and he’s in a castle somewhere and
there’s a procession with a bleeding lance and finally the grail. It keeps
passing back and forth during the meal. But Perceval keeps silent.”
“Qui trop
parole, il se mesfait,” said Jenny.
“How did you
know that?”
“It’s the
proverb from ‘Pauline at the Beach’. It means ‘He who speaks too much damages
himself.’ That’s about right, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But
you lost me there Jenny. Who’s Pauline?”
“It’s a
French film from the 80s I rather like. The quote is from Chretien, but they
get the moral wrong.”
“Why?”
“It’s
because Perceval doesn’t speak that he wakes up and the castle is gone, and the
grail, too, and he has no idea where to look because where it was is now a bare
hillside.”
“So he
should have spoken.”
“He should
have asked the fisher king about the lance and about the grail. Instead he has
a quest which is endless.”
“You should
have been writing my essays, Jenny. So you think the moral is always to speak
your mind?”
“No, the
moral is to know when to speak and when to stay silent. But how can you know.
How can any of us know what question we must ask and when?”
“It’s a pity
he didn’t finish the story.”
“For me the
greatness is that he didn’t. He leaves us wondering how to reach the grail.
We’re sitting on that hillside with no idea how to find it.”
“Does that
mean we can stop listening to Parceval?”
“Let’s try
something else.”
“What did
you have in mind?”
“It’s only
seven minutes long. It’s called Libestod.”
“Still
Wagner?”
“Yes. We
need to get past this impasse.”
“You’re obsessed,
Jenny,” Paul laughed. “Go on then, I’m willing to try anything for seven
minutes.”
They kissed
as Isolde sang over the dead body of her Tristan, and Paul felt himself again
enjoying the strangeness of their encounter. He couldn’t imagine any other girl
kissing him while trying to make him understand the music that she loved. Why
was she doing it? What goal did she have in mind? The same issue arose with the
films, why were they watching films about ghosts? Going home later he reflected
on the strange collection of old black and white films they’d been watching
recently. There was “The Uninvited”, which had a really beautiful young actress
and a haunted house. Then they’d watched “The Ghost and Mrs Muir” which was
just a fantasy about a woman writer loving the ghost of a ship’s captain. Then
there was that rather creepy Japanese film, Ugetsu something or other. He was
beginning to quite like these films. They took a bit of getting used to. It had
all seemed rather dull to begin with. Often nothing much happened. There was
lots of talk. He found with the foreign films it wasn’t always easy to keep up.
You had to read and watch at the same time. But he was getting better at it. He
could sort of take in the whole sentence while still watching.
Over the
next days, Jenny persevered with bits of Wagner, and Paul began to enjoy some
of it.
“It’s very
different from what we’ve had before?” he said.
“It’s a
totally different sound, I think.”
“Just waves
and waves that wash over you and in the end cover you. It seems like some sort
of huge whole, not parts anymore.”
“Almost not
tune anymore.”
“So we can
move on?”
“Yes, we’re
moving on.”
“And what
film will we have next?”
“I want us
to watch the Song of Bernadette.”
“What’s it
about?”
“It’s with
the same actress who was in Portrait of Jenny.”
“That’s the
one about the little girl who’s a sort of ghost and grows up to love the artist
fellow?”
“That’s
right.”
“Well,
what’s this one going to be about? More ghosts? They seemed to be obsessed with
them in the forties.”
“That’s
because there was a war.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“Many people
in the audience would have lost people, or would have feared losing someone
dear. These films were comforting.”
“So what
about this Bernadette?”
“It’s about
a girl who sees visions.”
“Religious?
Are you trying to convert me?”
“No more
than you are with your politics and your atheism.”
“I rather
liked the Dylan song you played me, Gotta Serve Somebody. I didn’t agree, but
the lyrics were fun and I liked the tune.”
“You’re
already beyond most Dylan fans who can’t stand his Christian albums.”
Paul
laughed. He sometimes felt like a bit of dunce next to Jenny. She kept
surprising him with the things she knew even about his own subject. But she
wasn’t being arrogant, he could see that. It’s just the things that she knew
kept bubbling up and spilling out, wanting to get out into the world, wanting
to be heard.
“It’s good
that we’ve been able to chat about these things without falling out.”
“It’s
marvellous, Paul. I so enjoy it. You see, I’m sort of chatting with my films.
They’re things that are important to me, that I want you to share. Same with
the music. It’s not that we have to like the same things. I love how you’re
open to what I like, how you try to understand and how you listen even when you
hate what you’re listening to.”
“We’ll watch
your Bernadette then.”
“It’s rather
long, so it may take a couple of nights. There’s a rather nice story about the
novel on which it is based.”
“What’s
that?”
“Well, it
was written by a Jewish man who was fleeing the Germans with his wife. He found
refuge in Lourdes and the people there helped him, so he vowed to write the
story that they told him about Bernadette.”
Paul thought
the film was a fantasy just like the films about ghosts. Bernadette naturally
didn’t see anyone. He found himself siding with the sceptical priest and the
sceptical authorities in the town. But there was something very beautiful about
the actress. He’d never even heard of her before. Anyway, you didn’t need to
believe anything to be caught up in the story. He saw how Jenny was entranced,
how she loved the film and he wanted to love it, too, if for no other reason
than that she did. It didn’t change what he thought one little bit. But it was
a rather beautiful fantasy.
As they
kissed and held each other each evening Paul began to enjoy the fact that they
had time and that there was no hurry. He remembered the previous relationships
he’d had at university. There’d been a few flings that sometimes ended up in
bed, and there’d been Roisin which had lasted a few months until he’d had to go
to France and she’d found someone else. He thought back on how it had been with
Roisin. It had been pleasant, of course, but it had all been rather trivial
compared to what he was feeling now. It wasn’t easy though, this lying down
with a woman he loved, but not really being able to touch her as he wanted and
yet they had become closer physically in the past weeks. Even fully clothed and
without much in the way of hands exploring they still were able to sense each
other and explore each other’s bodies. It’s just they did so with their whole
body rather than their hands. Their embrace would find sometimes their legs
entwined. Sometimes Jenny would find herself embracing Paul from above and she
would move in a way that excited him and he felt her excitement also. There was
something very intense about it as they lost themselves in the music,
especially now, when the music continued to be such that he felt yourself
drowning in it.
“Who is it
now, Jenny?” he asked.
“It’s
Bruckner.”
“I rather
like it.”
“You
wouldn’t have liked it if we hadn’t listened to Wagner.”
“It’s a bit
like him and yet…”
“It’s hard
to find the words, isn’t it?”
“There are
no words. Just waves of emotion. Where are we now?”
“We’ve
nearly reached the twentieth century.”
“We’ve come
a long way.”
“Together.”
“What next?”
“About what?
Music?”
“Not only
music.”
“About us?”
“Yes.”
“We continue
together. That’s all I want. You’re my grail and I’m going to ask every
question. I don’t want you to disappear. Where would I look to find you if you
did?”
Chapter 11
Jenny’s main
subjects in her final term at university became Scottish independence and
Russian language. She did both together. Effie was delighted with the results.
The arguments were subtle, imaginative and at times devastating if only the
person reading them could understand them. They talked regularly usually at
Effie’s office, but sometimes Jenny made the trip out to the country. Only now
she was eager to get back each evening so that she could continue her dance
with Paul.
“How’s the
blog doing?” said Jenny.
“Not bad,”
said Effie. “It depends. Sometimes we get a lot of people having a look,
sometimes not so many.”
“You’re
still worried though.”
“We’re
consistently ahead, but we should be much further.”
“But it’s
just not possible. I simply can’t believe that half the population of Scotland
could be nationalists.”
“Many of
them don’t even accept that they are nationalists, or they muddy the waters by
calling us nationalists.”
“I think I
disproved that one.”
“You did.
But it hardly matters. They don’t notice. And if they do, they don’t care.”
“But there’s
hardly a good argument?”
“No, Jenny,
there are many good arguments. They start by subtly changing the meaning of
words. They complain if we use words like ‘secession’ or ‘separation’. They
even don’t want to emphasise the word independence, rather Scotland will become
independent almost without having independence.”
“But that’s
nonsense.”
“Of course,
it is, but it’s very hard to fight against people who want to change how
ordinary words are used.”
“Like that
speech Salmond made about England not being foreign.”
“Or how we’d
still be British as the island of Great Britain would still include Scotland,
even that the United Kingdom would continue as the Queen would still be the
monarch just like when there was only the union of the crowns.”
“They’re
trying to pretend that everything would be the same.”
“That’s what
it amounts to. It’s a very clever campaign. Anything we say against them is
being negative about Scotland. Our campaign is negative, because we’re forced
to campaign for No. Imagine if the question had been such that independence
required the No answer?”
“It would
have been easier for us.”
“But the
biggest problem is the mentality of all of us. We’re not just fighting against
the nationalists; we’re fighting against how most of us have been brought up.”
“In what
way?” asked Jenny.
“There’s
going to be a world cup soon.”
“I know. I
don’t really like football. Do you?”
“No, of
course not. But I read about it a bit. There will be thirty two countries
taking part one of which is not a nation state. Do you know which?”
“I don’t
know. Scotland?”
“No.
Scotland aren’t very good. England will be taking part in an international
competition.”
“Why isn’t
there a British team?”
“Something
to do with the history of football and the fact that it began here. But you see
the problem?”
“Yes. It
makes it seem as if England and Scotland already have an international
relationship.”
“It makes it
seem as if Scotland is already independent. Most Scots, even No voters, think
of Scotland as a country in the same way that France or Spain are countries.
That’s the essence of our problem.”
“In what
way?”
“Once you
accept that Scotland is a country like France, it’s natural to suppose that
Scotland ought to be an independent country like France. That’s the essence of
their argument. We’re a country, therefore we ought to be independent. The vast
majority of Scots believe that Scotland is a country or a nation, which makes
the vast majority susceptible to the argument.”
“But don’t
you think Scotland is a country?”
“Yes and we
certainly must always argue that Scotland is a country or we’ll never get
anywhere. But it’s just a linguistic quirk. For some reason, due to our history
we ended up describing Scotland and England as countries even as nations. I
don’t really know why. But there it is. Other countries that merged together
like Bavaria and Saxony, or Burgundy and Aquitaine ceased to be described as if
they were still independent.”
“So Scotland
is a country, but really we’re the same as somewhere like Bavaria?”
“Quite so.
But Bavaria, of course, does not play international football.”
“No, that
would be rather silly. And I suppose we’d end up with rather a lot of teams if everyone
did that.”
“But you see
the difficulty? I have to be very careful about pointing out the truth that
Scotland is a country only in a rather odd sense of the word. The nationalists
portray this as me being unpatriotic about Scotland, but worse, so does my own
side.”
“So you
think No voters are part of the problem?”
“Indeed. Far
too many No voters are lukewarm at best about Britain. They’ll complain about
England during the World Cup.”
“Didn’t they
win some time ago and they always go on about it?”
“We go on
about them going on about it. Everybody gets angry and our country divides.”
“But Paul’s
best friend is English. I don’t think Paul is anti-English.”
“I’m sure,
he’s not and, anyway, it’s mainly low level stuff. The nationalists are quite
well disciplined. But the root of all of this is that far too few Scots feel at
all British, and to feel Scottish, above all else, is to feel not English. It’s
just the same with Canadians. Five minutes after meeting a Canadian he’ll
always say he’s not an American.”
“What can we
do?”
“Very
little. Playing the British card is very difficult, precisely because so few on
our side have any real feeling about Britain.”
“While
playing the Scottish patriot card works best for Yes?”
“Of course,
it does. They have terrible arguments, but in the end, unless you accept that
Scotland is in essence a region of the UK, you ought to vote for independence.”
“But no one
thinks Scotland is a region.”
“Precisely.
That’s why we have a problem. That’s why it’s difficult to argue our case with
any passion. It’s just economics, the pound, the EU, technocrat stuff.”
“But still
the majority are with us.”
“They are,
but it’s with their minds, their hearts are with the nationalists, even if
they’re not conscious of this fact. Every time you hear someone you know to be
a No voter emphasise the differences between England and Scotland; every time
you hear someone emphasise that they are Scottish as opposed to British. Each
time this happens you’re hearing an argument for independence.”
“But we’re
still going to win?”
“I expect
so. But I’m not sure. Their blog sites get thousands if not hundreds of
thousands of visitors. Have you ever seen their comment sections? Hundreds of
comments. How many do we get? One or two if we’re lucky. There are more of us
online now than when I first started, but it usually still feels as if we’re
outnumbered.”
“Paul goes
to his campaign group all the time. We have nothing like that sort of mass
participation.”
“They’re
going to spend all summer on the streets, and most of us will think it’s in the
bag and we’ll do nothing. We’ll deserve independence if it happens.”
“Because of
our laziness?”
“No, because
too many of us in our hearts are nationalists. We think about Scotland in a way
that makes independence possible, even logical. There’s not a thing we can do
about this either. It will take decades to change this mentality.”
“You seem
very pessimistic.”
“No. I still
think we’ll win. It’s just I’m tired. I have my own academic work. I have this
on top. I’m really grateful for your help.”
“It won’t be
long before I go to Russia.”
“You’re
looking forward to it?”
“I’ll miss
Paul.”
“Things are
going better?”
“Oh, yes!
We’ve found some things we share. We’re growing closer.”
“What
things?”
“I play him
classical music. Things I like. Things that helped me understand how it all
developed.”
“Does he
like it?”
“Not always.
Sometimes he hates it.”
“What have
you been playing lately?”
“I started
with some early twentieth century stuff. Erik Satie and Debussy, then some
Stravinsky. We’ve just begun listening to Mahler.”
“Which?”
“Kintertotenlieder.”
“Bit heavy
going I would have thought.”
“I like
music with words and it has such emotion. I want to open him up to different
emotions.”
“You want
him to feel the sadness of losing children?”
“No, of
course not.”
“Then what,
Jenny?”
“We’ve been
watching films which deal with the soul in some way. Either a soul that’s no
longer connected to a body, or a film that emphasises choice or
unpredictability in action.”
“Like what?”
“Like Red
River.”
“The
western?”
“At the end
we think that John Wayne is going to kill his adopted son, but he doesn’t; he
chooses to forgive instead.”
“Why do you
think choice is vital?”
“For me
crossing the road proves the immortality of the soul. Because the freedom I feel
is not a matter of physical causation.”
“There needs
to be more than that, of course, but I can see where you’re coming from. It’s a
foundation.”
“It’s
building faith on the foundation of every day experience.”
“Are you
trying to convert him?”
“No. How could
I? I just want him to be open. Then who knows.”
“What are
you going to watch next?”
“We just
watched a Danish film. I wanted to practice a little trying to understand some
of the words without reading the subtitles. It was called Day of Wrath.”
“I know
about it, but I’ve never seen it. It’s by Dreyer, isn’t it?”
“To be
honest it’s not only about practicing my Danish. I want him to get used to
Dreyer so that I can show him Ordet.”
“Good Lord,
Jenny! Are you sure?”
“You’ve seen
it?”
“Yes. I
think it’s the greatest film about faith I’ve ever seen. The first time I saw
it I found the whole experience emotionally overwhelming. It was like taking
part in a miracle.”
“I thought
so, too. I didn’t have a clue what was going to happen. The Word is not exactly
an informative title. Just my Dad said I should watch it and I did. I cried my
eyes out for the joy of it.”
“But he
doesn’t believe at all. He’s hostile. Isn’t that what you said?”
“He’s less
hostile now.”
“You know
him better than me. And what next with the music?”
“If he likes
Ordet, if he even remotely gets it, I’m going to play him Das Lied von der
Erde.”
“That’s
Mahler’s Chinese Songs as a sort of symphony, isn’t it?”
“The last
part I find terribly emotional and I hope it might be a special moment for us.”
“I hope so,
too, Jenny, but don’t plan too much. Also don’t try to teach too much. He’s not
clay to be moulded. Let him mould and change you, too.”
Chapter 12
It had been
a strange film. For the first hour or so he’d just found it dull. He knew that
Jenny wanted to practice her Danish, but he didn’t quite see why he should have
to sit through stuff like this. Ordet… There had certainly been enough words
spoken. He’d quite liked the Danish film about witchcraft. The girl was
stunning. But they did have a funny way of speaking, all mumbles and odd
sounds. He recognised one of the stars of the previous film in this one. Only
he was ten or fifteen years older. What an odd way he had of speaking, even
stranger than the others. It was like he was some sort of nutcase. Jenny had
asked Paul about half way through what he thought. He hadn’t been completely
honest. But he did like pleasing her. It was obvious that it was important to
her to share these films and her music. He didn’t like all of them by any means.
He didn’t understand much of it. But he liked some and he liked her. He liked
her more every day.
It became
clearer as the film progressed that it was another of her religious films. It
was pretty futile, he thought, her attempts at conversion. Was that what she
was trying to do? Yet she didn’t argue and when he came up with his reasons for
not believing, she didn’t try to prove him wrong. It all just seemed so
unlikely and he found the topic rather dull. Rather like the film, he didn’t
really know anyone of his own age group apart from Jenny and Susan who went to
church. You might as well have tried to believe in the Greek myths.
He’d looked
across at Jenny on the sofa they shared watching the DVD. She loved the film
that was clear. But why? It was like a stage play. But somehow almost
involuntarily he found himself finding a certain beauty in the austerity of the
scenes and the sets. He hadn’t wanted to like the film and for the first half
would have stopped it if only he’d been watching it on his own. He’d felt duty
bound to watch out of affection for Jenny, and also because he wanted to
understand her and know why she loved this film so much.
A woman
died. Another grim Scandinavian film would end soon with some message about the
futility of life and how we should all be pessimists. The crazy man was
rambling. It was like some sort of satire on prophets or false prophets or
something. Suddenly, something quite unexpected happened. He hadn’t seen that
coming. He’d never seen anything like it in a film. He looked across at Jenny.
She was crying her eyes out. It was impossible, but he was crying, too. Not
that he believed, of course, but in the context of the film he was able to
suspend his disbelief and so the miracle made sense. Of course, it was all nonsense like
hyperspace in Star Wars or all sorts of other impossibilities. Yet he had been
touched. He’d found himself thinking about what it would have been like to lose
a wife and a mother. He’d felt the sadness, and then this crazy man who took
everything literally. What did he do? Or was it the little girl who did it. He
couldn’t get it out of his mind, the expression on the woman’s face, the
reunion with the husband, their kisses, their joy. He didn’t believe a word of
it, of course, he kept telling himself, almost pleading with himself that he
didn’t believe a word of it. Yet he couldn’t get the image of the woman rising
up out of his head, her surprise at the unexpectedness of it all.
Jenny saw
that the tears were flowing down his cheeks. She pulled him towards her.
“It’s OK, my
darling. There’s no need to be upset.”
“I’m not
really,” said Paul. “It’s just rather powerful. I didn’t expect anything like
it.”
“Nor did I
when I first saw it.”
“When was
that?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. A couple of years ago. I’ve seen it a few times since.”
“Oh, I don’t remember. A couple of years ago. I’ve seen it a few times since.”
He kept
thinking of the film all that night. He still thought the same way. He
certainly didn’t think such miracles were possible. You had to respect science,
what else was there really to rely on. And science told us such things were
impossible. He looked forward to discussing it all once more with Jenny later
on. He’d be a bit later than he’d hoped as there was another campaign meeting.
But he’d get there.
When he
arrived at the flat, he found all three of the girls sitting drinking tea in
the kitchen. They were also all in their nightwear and dressing gowns.
“Why the
dressing gowns?” asked Paul.
“It’s a
girly thing,” said Lorna. “I’m never more comfortable than in my pyjamas.”
“If I could
spend my life only wearing pyjamas, I would,” said Susan.
“I thought
you weren’t coming,” said Jenny with a laugh, “and so I got ready for bed.”
“Oh ye of
little faith,” said Paul.
A few
minutes later when everyone had gone off to their own room, Paul said:
“I really
enjoyed the film yesterday. It took a while to get into, but I can’t stop
thinking about it.”
“Me, too. It
was a nice moment for us to share.”
“What did we
share? You believe and I still don’t.”
“But we
watched the same film and felt the same emotion. That’s the truth also.”
“How am I
doing as your pupil?”
“You’re not
my pupil, you’re my boyfriend. You think, it’s a bit one way traffic sometimes,
is that it?”
“I don’t
know the things you know, Jenny. I can’t teach you anything.”
“You’re
teaching me how to love. I never knew how before. Without your patience I might
never have learned. Few men I think would be as patient as you.”
“So what are
we listening to tonight?”
“It’s more
Mahler. It’s a sort of symphony of Chinese songs sung in German.”
“Where on
earth do you find these things? But I’ve scoffed before and ended up liking the
oddities you play.”
Jenny put on
the CD, took off her dressing gown revealing red tartan pyjamas and got into
bed.
“Where do I
go?” said Paul, “I can’t very well get into bed with you like this.”
“What do you
normally wear to bed?”
“Just
shorts.”
“Well, why
don’t you wear them now?”
Paul
wondered what was going on. But sat down on her bed and undressed, and slipped
in beside her. He held her and felt how her fingers moved through the hair on
this chest. There was very little in the way of barrier between them now only
the thinnest of cloth of her pyjamas and his boxer shorts. They continued their
dance as they had for the past few days. Their embrace varied so that at times
he lay on her and at other times she lay on him. She caressed him with her body
rather than with her hands. She sat astride his leg and moved so that he sensed
her and felt her warmth and her excitement. Then she adjusted herself once more
and sat across his lap.
“I’m not
squashing you, am I?”
“No, I’m
fine.”
“You don’t
mind me rocking a little back and forth. It’s such a nice feeling. I love the
closeness we’re finding.”
Her duvet
was already on the floor. But neither of them noticed. She pressed herself
against him. She could feel him and he could feel her. She moved a little
faster. He saw that her excitement was increasing. Her eyes closed and it was
as if she’d forgotten him. Her breathing came faster and her mouth sort of
grimaced. Then, she sort of fell or rather gently collapsed on him as if tired
out.
“Jenny, I
can’t carry on much like that. I get excited, too.”
“I know, it
doesn’t seem fair.”
“It becomes
a little uncomfortable.”
“Why don’t
you let me help you with that?”
“That’s OK,”
he looked terribly embarrassed.
“No, really,
Paul. Would you let me?”
“I don’t
want to make a mess.”
“You’ll not
make a mess.”
She reached
under the bed and found the tissues she’d left earlier.
“I’ve never
done this before.”
“I haven’t
either.”
She touched
him for the first time through the thin fabric of his shorts and then reached
inside and eased them down. In a few minutes they’d had another special moment
and felt still closer to each other.
“There are
all sorts of ways to make love. You remember I said something about this
earlier. Everyone can stick to their beliefs, but find fulfilment and
contentment in each other’s arms.”
“It doesn’t
seem very fair that you’ve seen me naked but I’ve not seen you.”
“No, it
doesn’t, does it?” Jenny took off her pyjama top and bottoms. “Touch me, Paul,
but gently.”
“Don’t
worry, I’ll touch you as you want to be touched and nothing more. I’ll ask
every time I touch and wait for your response.”
“You’ve been
so patient with me, Paul.”
“And you
with me.”
Sometime
later they lay quietly naked under the covers whispering to each other.
“You’re not
remotely like other women. You don’t follow their rules,” said Paul.
“I have my
own rules,” said Jenny.
“I’ve never
had a nicer time.”
“We’ve only
just started. Now we’ll have all sorts of other possibilities.”
“You don’t
feel we’re doing anything wrong?”
“I can think
of no reason why I shouldn’t be naked in bed with someone who I love and trust.
Why should you not touch me and why should I not touch you?”
“But you
don’t want anything more?”
“Of course,
I do, you’ve just seen how a woman has desire, just the same as a man does. But
no. This is enough for now. We have to take our time, we have to be patient. We
have to continue learning and trusting. We’ll know when the right moment
arrives.”
“A wedding
night?”
“Something like
that. But in in the meantime we can still be lovers. You can see that, can’t
you?”
“Yes, I see
that and I feel that.”
Chapter 13
Their final
term ended, but they barely noticed. It hardly seemed to matter beside what
they had found with each other and what they were learning about music and
about themselves. They danced to the music of Rachmaninov’s Vespers, only their
dance didn’t involve any use of feet or at least hardly any. They caressed as
Bartok’s Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta seemed to bring something
new into their world.
“That one’s
strange,” said Paul.
“But you
like its strangeness?”
“I like your
strangeness, Jenny.”
“Oh, I’m
strange now?”
“I didn’t
know that it could be like this. I didn’t even imagine.”
“What didn’t
you imagine?”
“Well, I had
an idea of what it should be like to be with a girl, to love and be loved, but
it didn’t involve watching old films I’d never heard of and music that
frequently has no tune.”
“This has a
tune. Just a different sort of tune.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“Think of it
like when you were learning French.”
“Sitting in
a dull classroom learning irregular verbs?”
“No, of
course, not. You went beyond that.”
“Sure I did,
eventually, but what’s that got to do with Bartok?”
“Mozart and
things before Mozart is a language, a beautiful language, but we’ve been
learning another language that plays a different tune. When we’ve learnt it, we
can begin understanding what comes later.”
“What comes
next?”
“There’ll be
some Shostakovich.”
“Grim
Russian stuff.”
“I don’t
think you’ve actually heard any, have you?”
“No. I’ve
just heard about him.”
“The hardest
thing sometimes is someone’s reputation. It scares people off.”
“Like
Dostoevsky.”
“You enjoyed
it in the end.”
“Yes, but I
didn’t understand all of it.”
“Who does?”
“Who do you
like best?” asked Paul.
“I like
different people in different ways.”
“You like
Alyosha best, surely, and the Father Zosima. Isn’t that what you’re going to
study?”
“I like
them, of course, but I think I like even better the characters who are weaker.
I like Ivan’s mind. I like Katya’s jealousy and her way of loving in the end.
Most of all I like Grushenka for her onion.”
“I don’t
think I remember that bit”
“There was a
wicked old lady who only did one good deed in her life. She gave a poor person
an onion. When she died, she was in hell but an angel gave her that onion and
used it to pull her out. All the other sinners held on to her legs and were
being pulled out, too, but the old lady tried to kick them off and at that
moment the onion broke.”
“Do you
think that’s true?”
“Yes. But
I’ve no more knowledge of these things than you do. But I like the idea that
only one tiny good deed may be enough. It gives me hope.”
“Hope about
me? Aren’t you a bit like Alyosha or rather like good Donald Duck sitting on my
shoulder, while bad Donald Duck tempts me?”
Jenny saw
his smile and the way he was mildly mocking her.
“Have you
found me especially pious in the last couple of weeks?”
“I wouldn’t
describe it as piety, but what we’ve found is something more beautiful than I
could imagine before.”
“Why is
that?”
“Must we
always analyse?”
“No.
Sometimes we just have to dance to the music and find out what’s nice. I love
learning about you. I love our new found freedom.”
“Clothes do
have a way of constraining. We should be nudists and never wear them.”
“You’d have
to learn German,” said Jenny.
“I only ever
thought of myself before.”
“When?”
“When I
imagined being with a girl, I imagined what it would be like for me I thought
only of what I would do.”
“Now you
think about me and what’s nice for me. You forget yourself and you think how
can I do what Jenny wants? Everything you do has me in mind. Do you think, I don’t notice?”
“I never
even thought that way before.”
“Because you
never had a relationship before.”
“But I did.”
“I know, but
you didn’t really. You just had two people who were acting on their own for
their own ends.”
“I suppose
that’s true.”
Soon the
results came through and Jenny got her expected first while Paul got an upper
second.
“I don’t
deserve it,” he said. “I hardly did any work. Nothing compared to you and yet
I’m only one grade below.”
“I didn’t do
much work on theology in the past few months.”
“You did
Russian.”
“Yes, and
some other things.”
“When are
you going?”
“Not long
now.”
“Must you go?”
“It’s only
for two months.”
“I’ll miss
you, Paul, of course, but I’ll be glad to get away from Scotland.”
“We’ll have
to disagree on that one.”
“I know.”
“I wish we
could keep up with our music.”
“We’ll not
be able to keep up with all of it.”
“What part
can we not keep up with?”
“The
dancing.”
“You mean
the horizontal dancing?”
“That’s
quite a nice way of putting it.”
“But I can
leave you some CDs and point out the order in which you should listen to them.”
“That would
be nice, only I’m not sure I’d understand anything without you.”
“You’re
going to spend all summer campaigning?”
“Yes.”
“But how
will you live?”
“I’ll claim benefits and I expect my parents
will chip in.”
“You’re not
going to look for a job?”
“Not until
after the referendum.”
“But you plan
to stay here?”
“I’m not
going anywhere, Jenny. Whatever the result, we’ll be together. I’ll find
something then.”
“Don’t you
think it a bit strange campaigning for independence when you depend on the
British government for your money?”
“That’s a
bit below the belt.”
“I’m sorry.
It’s all so pointless. I don’t see anything changing. You’ll spend all summer
campaigning for something you really can’t win.”
“Oh, we’ll
win all right!”
“How can you
be so sure?”
“I’m out
nearly every day campaigning talking to people; we’re gaining momentum.”
“Lorna said
she’d seen you with Roisin.”
“She’s my
campaign partner. We work together. Lorna’s stirring Jenny. She resents that
I’m no longer one of her courtiers.”
“She said
that you had your arm in hers.”
“Maybe I
did. We were close once, Roisin and I. We’re good friends now.”
“What does
she think of your Unionist, Tory girlfriend?”
“I could
hardly mention that.”
“What? The
bit about the girlfriend or the bit about the Tory?”
“My friends
in the campaign wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re
ashamed of me.”
“No, Jenny.
But don’t let’s fight about it.”
“You see,
now while I’ll be glad to get away from Scotland.”
Chapter 14
It was the
beginning of July and Jenny was due to fly the next day. She went to Effie’s
house with her last collection of essays all written long hand in Russian and
all about Scottish independence.
“You’ve
learned more than one new subject, Jenny, you know that,” said Effie.
“What have I
learned?”
“You’ve
become an expert in economics, in constitutional law, in history and in logic.”
“You think
these essays I’ve been giving you are good?”
“They’re as
good as anything I’ve written. Sometimes you have a completely new slant that
I’ve never thought of.”
“What about
the Russian side of things?”
“It’s
difficult writing from a dictionary. It’s hard to know sometimes if the word is
appropriate. At times you sound unnatural. But the grammar is mainly correct.
You write like a second year student at a good university studying Russian.”
“But I still
speak very poorly.”
“That’s why
two months in Russia is what you need right now.”
“I’m
actually very glad to get away.”
“Are things
not going so well with Paul?”
“We’ve been
squabbling a bit. He’s out campaigning every day, and he’s with his
ex-girlfriend going round estates persuading people to break up our country.”
“Don’t be
jealous, Jenny. There’s no point. He believes he’s doing the right thing, but I
agree it’s not a bad time for you to be away. It will be hard for loved ones
who disagree about such a matter just now.”
“Lorna said
she’d seen Paul and this Roisin together and they looked pretty close.”
“You’re
worried.”
“I’ve been
playing Janáček’s The Cunning Little Vixen hoping the message will get
through.”
“Who’s the
vixen though, Jenny, Lorna or Roisin?”
“Both,
perhaps.”
“You can’t
control people. You just have to let them do what they want to do.”
“But she can
give him what he wants.”
“Can she,
indeed? So can every woman in the world. Are you going to be jealous of
everyone?”
“It’s just
we’ve come so far. We’ve found something very special. I love him, Effie. I
know we don’t agree about lots of things. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Do you think
he loves you?”
“Yes, he
does. We couldn’t have reached the point where we are if he hadn’t loved me. He
does love me, I can feel it. Only we needed more time. We needed to listen to
more music, watch more films.”
“You and
your music, and your films. You just have to be patient. There may be bumps
along the way.”
“Was that
how you were with Petr?”
“We met when
the Soviet Union was still going strong. He lived in a closed city where you’re
going tomorrow. There were bumps along the way, Jenny. It wasn’t easy. We also
needed to forgive each other more than once.”
“You never
told me the whole story.”
“I intend to
write it all down sometime, but from the opposite perspective. I’ve been
working on it for a while.”
“I’d love to
read it.”
“You will,
when it’s ready. Now I’ve arranged everything for you in Kaliningrad. You’re
going to be staying with one Petr’s sister who lives quite near the school, and
there should always be people who’ll take you out and show you things and only
talk Russian to you.”
“Thanks, Effie.
You’ve been awfully kind.”
“No, my
dear, you’ve helped me more. We’re a good team and we’ll continue to be one
next term. I think you’re going to write something extraordinary once we’ve got
rid of this independence nonsense.”
“It’s a
subject not worth studying really, isn’t it?” said Jenny.
“It’s not
worth studying at all. But we do what we must.”
“And Paul?”
“Have faith
in Paul in the same way we must have faith in Scotland.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“None of us
know what the next two months or so will bring, but I hope when it’s over,
you’ll find a way to be together. If you can’t, there’s not much hope for any
of us.”
Chapter 14
A small
group of Yes campaigners sat around a table. It was mid-July.
“I’ve
received a message from the campaign,” said James Bisset who was the unofficial
leader of their group.
“What is it,
James?” asked Roisin.
“They’ve
asked us if any of us know Effie Deans.”
“I’ve seen
her twitter account and read a couple of her blogs,” said Iain Mackay. “She’s
clever enough.”
“That’s part
of the problem,” said James.
“But these
Brit Nat blogs can’t compete with ours,” said Roisin.
“What do you
think, Paul?” asked James.
“I’m not a
big fan of social media. But I’ve heard of her.”
“Someone
told me she’s your girlfriend’s lecturer,” said Roisin.
“I’ve never
met her,” said Paul.
“But she
is?” said James.
“Yes, as far
as I’m aware. We haven’t talked about it much.”
“Are you
sure? asked Iain.
“What do
you, mean?” said Paul.
“Well, some
of the articles seem to have a bit of inside information.”
He presented
some print outs of some of the recent articles that had appeared on the Effie
Deans site Lily of St. Leonards.
Paul read
through the articles and began seeing phrases that he had mentioned, examples
that he had cited. He saw the arguments he had been making for the past few
months taken apart piece by piece. He saw the assumptions that he had made
contradicted with care, and with reason. He heard Jenny’s voice as he read
through the articles. He found his anger rising. She’d deceived him. She’d used
their relationship to attack what he held most dear. Of course, it was all
spurious. The arguments were clever, but it was all just word play. You could
argue anything if you were trained to do so like Jenny was. She was like some
sort of Jesuit, using her mind to deceive and persuade. How could he have been
so stupid as to be taken in? It had probably all been set up right since
February. He continued reading and felt guilt. He had helped the No cause, he’d
helped the Brit Nats with his stupid loose tongue. Why did he have to always
talk so much? And she just kept silent, listening, learning, writing. She’d
betrayed him. That much was clear. He kept reading.
“How many
articles are there?” he asked.
“There’s
usually one a week,” said James.
“Do you recognise
anything?” asked Roisin.
“Yes. I’m
sorry. I didn’t know she was writing this stuff.”
“So she’s
Effie Deans. Your girlfriend is Effie Deans,” said Iain.
“No. There
is an Effie Deans.”
“Who? We’ve
looked at the list of staff at Aberdeen University. There’s no Effie Deans.”
“But there
must be.”
“There’s
not.”
“But I know
Jenny goes to visit her. She learns Russian from her.”
“But you
recognise what you’ve been reading.”
“Yes, some
of it. But I don’t see how Jenny could have produced all of this. She didn’t
even seem that interested. She’s not even in Scotland just now.”
“Where is
she?”
“She’s in
Russia.”
“You’re
going to have to break it off with her, you know,” said James.
“We can’t
have someone in the group who’s unreliable,” said Iain. “We need to keep our
discipline. We can’t allow such leaks.”
“But I just
don’t understand,” said Paul. “It can’t have only been Jenny. She was far too
busy. When did she have the time to write all this?”
“We don’t
know. Maybe there are others involved,” said James. “But anyway it’s clear that
she’s made a mug of you.”
“I wouldn’t
be surprised if it was some sort of Honey trap,” said Roisin.
“I hardly
think,” said Paul. “I think you’re all taking this too seriously.”
“These are
very good arguments,” said James. “You know that, don’t you?”
“We’ve got
people, some of our best people, trying to come up with counterarguments,” said
Iain.
“And on
Twitter,” said Roisin. “But it’s difficult. She’s very polite and very careful
about what she says. She implies without saying and the implication is
sometimes dangerous for us. She writes these little aphorisms, and they’re
effective.”
“I don’t
know how I can help,” said Paul “I can’t write any sort of response to this
kind of stuff. I’m just not good enough.”
“None of us
are,” said Roisin.
“I’m so
sorry,” said Paul.
“That’s OK,
my friend,” said James. “You made a mistake, but we don’t depend so much on
argument. It helps, of course, to sway some people, but we depend more on
emotion.”
They could
all see that Paul was desperately downcast.
“Cheer up!”
said Iain. “We’re getting great results from our surveys. People who were only
2 out of 10 in favour of independence a month ago, are now sometimes 3 or 4 out
of 10 now. We just have to keep returning and get them another notch up and we’re
there.”
“I just feel
that I’ve let the side down,” said Paul. “I didn’t know. I’ve been working so
hard and look at how I’ve damaged us!”
“Take it
easy! You’re making a great contribution. You’ve really helped us today with
what you’ve told us. Roisin, take Paul for a couple of drinks. You’ve both been
working hard. Relax for a bit.”
A couple of
hours later Paul was feeling a little drunk.
“You mustn’t
feel guilty that Proddy bitch played you,” said Roisin.
“How do you
know she’s a Prod?”
“Well, if
she wasn’t she’d be with us.”
“But I
wasn’t brought up a Catholic.”
“You’re not
from Glasgow.”
“I don’t
know what it has to do with religion, Roisin.”
“It doesn’t,
but we’re going to get our own back on the Brits for what they’ve done to
Ireland for centuries.”
“I feel like
getting my own back as well. It’s been quite a day. It’s a bit tough to take,”
said Paul.
“I really
like working with you, you know that.”
“I do, too.”
“I’ve missed
you. I’ve been jealous.”
“I think
about you, too, sometimes.”
“About when
we were together?”
“Yes. I
always liked red hair.”
“I’ve
thought about you, too. I was stupid. I didn’t realise what I had. I miss what
we had, Paul. I want it again.”
“Are you
saying?”
“Of course,
I’m saying. I want you. We just have to get a taxi and we’ll be back at mine in
twenty minutes.”
“Are you
sure?”
“Yes, just
so long as you write to that Jenny and tell her it’s over. You can do it from
my flat. I’d rather like to see what you write.”
“It will be
a pleasure,” said Paul.
Chapter 15
Paul didn’t
receive a reply from Jenny. When he got home the next morning, he checked his
e-mail account, but there was nothing from her. Too early, probably, or else
she hadn’t had the chance to read or reply. But later that evening when he
checked again, there was still nothing. He checked what he had written and
found it on the whole fairly kind, given the circumstances. He’d written three
or four sentences in a bit of a hurry. He’d said nothing cruel. He’d just
explained his disappointment at finding his words and ideas used in a No blog.
He’d said they were too different in all sorts of ways, and that he had got
back together with someone who had the same ideas about how to live as he did.
He’d shown what he’d written to Roisin, who had thought it more than Jenny
deserved. He’d pressed send and for the next twenty minutes or so reflected on
what a good decision he’d made.
He looked at
the pile of CDs on his shelf and wondered how he could give them back to Jenny.
He could take them round to her flat, but he wasn’t sure if Susan and Lorna
would still be there. There’d been some talk of a sublet. Anyway, they would
just sit there in a pile. He thought about the music. He’d begun to like some
of it. That song symphony by Mahler towards the end sent shivers through him.
It was hard to believe that a woman could sing that way. It all meant
something, too, even if he knew none of the words. What had Jenny intended he
listen to next? There were a couple more Shostakovich CDs, one called
Twenty-Four Preludes and Fugues, and one he couldn’t pronounce called
Cheryomushki.
Over the
next few days he listened to them from time to time. Why had she picked those,
he wondered? They were so different. The piano preludes and fugues were serious
if not a little daunting. It was like some sort of study or intellectual
exercise. Beautiful in places, but you needed to concentrate. There were tunes,
even if at times it all became a bit discordant. But Cheryomushki was like some
sort of American musical only set in Moscow and about a new housing
development. It seemed absurd that he could like it, but the songs were catchy
and he found himself whistling one or two while he was going round the
Tillydrone housing estate with Roisin.
“What are you whistling?” asked Roisin.
“Oh just a
song from a CD I was listening to earlier,” said Paul.
“One from
that pile that’s sitting next to your CD player?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t
believe you like that sort of classical stuff. It’s so heavy and dull.”
“Oh, I don’t
know. It’s OK if you give it a chance. Why don’t we listen to something later
on?”
“I’m willing
to try anything once, I guess, but if it’s dull it goes straight off.”
Paul and
Roisin spent most nights together either at his flat or at hers. He sometimes
tried her with something that he was listening to. After Shostakovich the path
seemed to go backwards and was by far the most difficult music he’d ever
listened to. There were some CDs marked difficult with a post-it note. There
was Alban Berg’s Wozzeck, and some selections including Three Pieces for Orchestra.
There was Anton Webern’s Concerto for Nine Instruments and Variations for
Piano. Finally, there was Arnold
Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire.
Paul
listened to each in turn, but got little from the experience. Roisin was
horrified and just laughed.
“What on
earth is that stuff? You didn’t buy it, did you?”
“No, someone
lent me it.”
“Who do we
know who likes this sort of noise?”
“It’s not
noise, Roisin, it’s just difficult. You need to practice.”
“Why ever
would I want to practice to listen to music? The music I like, I like
straightaway.”
“I can’t
really explain. It’s just I’ve been finding out about this sort of music and
some of it I rather like.”
“Who lent
them to you, Paul?”
“It’s no big
secret. Jenny did.”
“Why do you
still want to listen to it then? It’s like you regret breaking up with her. Do
you?”
“No, of
course, not. It was an impossible situation. We disagreed about everything.”
“So why
listen to the music she lent you?”
“I like it.
I still want to learn. It’s not her music. It’s everybody’s. I don’t regret
that she showed me some of these things. I don’t have to regret everything
about the time I spent with her even though I’m with you now.”
“Well, I’d
still rather you didn’t spend quite so much time with stuff she lent you. And
let’s not watch any more of those terrible old black and white films.”
Over the
next few weeks whenever he was alone, he’d periodically check his e-mail to see
if Jenny had written him. Surely, she wouldn’t just leave things in silence.
But she never did write. He wondered what she was doing just then, who she had
met in Russia. Perhaps, she’d met some Russian man. He thought of all the ways
in which his life was better now. Roisin was much prettier than Jenny. Her red
hair, her figure, her face made other men turn around and look especially when
she wore those ultra-thin leggings with a shirt that came just to the top of
her thighs. They agreed on politics, they were working together for a goal that
was dear them. The campaigning was going exceptionally well. It wasn’t reflected
in the polls yet, but they could both feel the mood on the streets. It was so
much easier to just take a girl home and go to bed with her. Roisin was
straightforward. She knew what she wanted and took it. He wondered from time to
time about the night when he’d broken up with Jenny. How much of that had been
orchestrated by Roisin. Jenny had been wrong to use their conversations. But
then again there was nothing in what she had written that she couldn’t have
found out from somewhere else. It was just general stuff, the sort of ideas he
had that he’d got from the group meetings. There was nothing secret that he’d
divulged. Had it just been that he’d been angry that she’d argued so well? Had
he been angry that she hadn’t told him? Did he even know for sure that she had
written those articles? But he knew she talked with that Effie Deans, so it
seemed reasonable to assume that some of what had been written was due to
Jenny. Anyway, if she hadn’t been responsible, why didn’t she write back and
say so. But then he’d already been with Roisin by then. She must have known
that even by the time she read the e-mail. He thought again of how lucky he was
to be sleeping with such a beautiful woman as Roisin. So many people he knew
would be jealous of a girlfriend like that. She wasn’t inhibited in any way. He
remembered all the nonsense with Jenny. Goodness, he’d gone further with Roisin
in 20 minutes than with Jenny in five months. But somehow he couldn’t help
dwelling on those months. He could remember moments of tenderness with Jenny
that were just rushed past with Roisin. After a few weeks it had all become
rather dull and mechanical. They’d arrive back at either his flat or hers and
spent a very nice twenty minutes together. But each twenty minutes was more or
less the same as every other. He got used to seeing her naked. He enjoyed
sleeping with her. He continued to want her each time. But afterwards it seemed
a rather foolish thing and not of great value. There was no music to accompany
their dancing, and so they didn’t really dance at all. But Roisin was so much
better than Jenny he kept telling himself. Roisin thought like he did, she had
the same goals and they worked so well together. What else was there? Moreover,
they were going to win.
Chapter 16
After a
brief exchange of e-mails in early July, at Effie’s suggestion, Jenny didn’t
write again until late August. When she did she wrote in much improved Russian.
Dear Effie,
I’ll be
coming back to Aberdeen soon and I’m already thinking of my studies and how
good it will be to get back to thinking about things that are important. I’m so
glad I’ve had the chance to spend some time here. As you suggested I’ve kept
myself to myself. I’ve had individual lessons with two of the teachers. We’ve
focussed on grammar and reading and ways in which I can speak more naturally. I
listen to the other students talking in English at the coffee breaks, but I
don’t take part. I talk to them as if I were Russian. I’m sure they know it’s
not true, but I don’t mind. I’ve hardly
spoken any English since I arrived here. It’s liberating in a way I never
really knew before. Beyond a few tourists I would hardly have the chance to
speak English anyway. Russian only here. In the shops they don’t speak English.
On the streets they don’t speak English. It’s another world and I love it.
I know you
feel guilty about what happened. But you mustn’t. Of course, I was upset and it
all came completely unexpectedly. Everything was going so well. We were making
plans and then suddenly… Well, I hope he’s happy. Maybe it’s best for people to
be with their own kind. If he has what he wants now, then it’s for the best.
Only I know him better than he knows himself. I don’t think he will be happy. I
think he can do better. He is better. But that’s already old news. As always
your advice was sound. I cried for a little while, I accepted that it was over
for ever and I moved on. As you suggested, I didn’t write. What’s the point of
arguing over such a matter? Does it ever change anyone’s mind? If someone says
they no longer want to be with you, that they’ve found someone else, how are
you supposed to persuade them otherwise? It’s demeaning to even try. So I’m
glad I didn’t. In the end, I’m not sure
if any of these kind of arguments have any point. I mean arguments about things
that are fundamental to us. I can’t argue about my faith or, indeed, my
morality or any of the other ways I think. The way I think about politics is
just the same way I think about anything else. I start from the individual and
work outwards. It’s possible, perhaps, to show this way of thinking in how I
live, but that’s the only form of persuasion I know.
I’ve been
hearing all sorts of stories from Petr’s sister and her husband about how you
came here just before the Soviet Union fell apart. How it was a closed city
then, but somehow they were able to find a way for you to come and be with
Petr. They say that’s how you learned to speak so well, because you had to. But
that at times you had to pretend you couldn’t speak for some reason so as not
to give yourself away. Oh, Effie, it sounds so romantic that you made such a
trip to be with Petr. I long to hear about it. I ask Olga and Andrei every now
and again when I have the chance, but they only want to tell little bits. They
say things like “that was all a very long time ago.” You must tell me what
happened, every little bit when I get back.
I’ve learned
a new way of living here being part of a Russian family. People think that
Russians are cold and unfriendly, that they never smile, and that they’re
brusque, but it’s not true. Of course, in shops they don’t smile and that takes
some getting used to. And sometimes the waitresses are impossible when they
ignore you. But when you get to know them, these people are much more friendly
than we are. You just have to be introduced and they treat you like they’ve
known you forever. Thank you so much, Effie, that you organised it so that I
would stay with the Lavrovs. Nearly every afternoon and evening there’s been
someone to take me somewhere or introduce me to other people.
I’ve become
special friends with Svetlana and Ivan, your niece and nephew. Sveta, as you
know, is very beautiful in that Russian way, blonde and slim. It’s a little
funny talking to a girl of eighteen who is so much more worldly than I am. She
expects me to know all sorts of things that I don’t. She asked about my
boyfriends, but I told her I’d only had one and that we’d recently broken up.
She said she’d help me find one here, but that I’d have to wear different
clothes and change my hair and shave my legs and arms and such like. We all
went swimming at the beach at Svetlagorsk. Sveta whispered to me about my funny
old costume, all baggy. I told her that I didn’t care that much how I looked
and that I wasn’t going to waste my time plucking my eyebrows or changing the
way I was intended to look. If a man liked how I looked, that was nice, but if
he didn’t, I wasn’t that bothered. She didn’t believe me and she’s right, of
course. I do care how men look at me. I do want to be attractive. It was a nice
feeling to be loved. But I’m not going to spend my life trying to be something
that I’m not. I’m not going to look like Sveta no matter how hard I try and
even if she didn’t shave her legs and her arms, men would still want to be with
her. I see how they walk past on the beach and they take her in. They take all
of her in. She sees it, too. She loves it. But I’m not sure there’s any
happiness to be found there. We’ve become very close, and she talks of what she
hopes for. She wants to meet someone successful who can give her a better life.
It’s true that this is probably her most obvious route to a better lifestyle.
But I try to tell her that it won’t necessarily be a better life. They are
poorer, the Lavrovs, than almost everyone in Britain. They struggle and have to
think about what they buy. Going to a restaurant is a rare occurrence. What
they earn is much less than the average person in Scotland who receives
unemployment benefit and it’s not as if things are much cheaper here. But they’re happier, I think. They have
something more real. It’s all rather like Britain in the fifties. Or what I
imagine Britain was like. Men are expected to bring flowers when they take a
girl out. People have attitudes that would be considered very old-fashioned in
the UK. It’s like the sixties never happened. Sveta and Ivan admire Britain.
They see what life is like on the television and they rather idealise it. But I
try to tell them that there’s something rather special here, too.
Sveta has
tried to set me up with a few men. She asked me if I liked Ivan. I do. I like
him very much, but it would hardly do to have a romance with someone who lives
in the same house. He is very nice and we’ve spend a lot of time together. He’s
just a little older than me and very charming. When I first came here, I didn’t
understand what anyone said. But on these afternoons and evenings I found
myself so wanting to discuss things that I just kept trying. I remember going
to a gallery with Ivan. It can only have been a couple of weeks after I arrived
and we started talking about films. I just didn’t know the words for things so
I started trying to describe them to him. He guessed pretty well and did his
best to help me. Sometimes I knew the Russian word for something, but not it’s
opposite so I’d ask him what the opposite was. Sometimes I used my hands and
did a sort of charades with him. He found it all very amusing, but he enjoyed
the experience, too. It’s amazing we actually had some fairly deep discussions
of literature and art even if I only spoke broken Russian then.
I think Ivan
might actually rather like me. Sveta thinks so. For me it’s all too early. I
haven’t really been even thinking about men this summer. I notice someone who’s
handsome, and it’s been very flattering having Sveta organise some very nice
meetings with people she knows. They’ve started to become very flattering about
my Russian, but I think in the end when I sit down with someone new who Sveta’s
brought to meet me, it’s Sveta they want to be with, not me. I see men look at
her. I see the desire in their eyes. They love her beauty. They want her
beauty. But do they want her? I know I’m just average looking, but I don’t
regret it. Who wants to be loved for something transient that will fade? Who
wants to be loved for something on the surface? I try to tell her that, but I
can see that she thinks her beauty is her ticket to a better life. She thinks
she can trade it for someone who will bring her what she wants. I see this
everywhere in the way the women walk down the street. The way they dress is to
attract. Not in the way that girls do in Scotland by displaying themselves, but
rather by what they think is the stylish way to dress in the West. Of course
they often make a hash of it. They just don’t get the idea of a little going a
long way. It’s a bit like a girl playing with her mother’s make up. It’s often
all too much. The men seem to care less about their appearance and on the whole
they seem less attractive than their sisters. How can that be? But they’re also
more natural. They’re not trying to sell anything. I prefer that.
So I’ve not
met anyone here in that way. Perhaps, something might have happened if I had
allowed it. There were a couple of moments with Ivan when I wondered if he
wanted to say something. There have been a few hints. I think about him, too,
occasionally. He’s bright, he’s kind, and we believe much the same sort of
things. We talk about literature and he’s shown me the simplicity of Russian
faith. We sometimes pass a church and just go in. He lights a candle as do I,
and we stand there for a minute looking at the icons. Then we go. There’s no
need to talk about it. But I feel something in these places. Perhaps, something
I’ve never felt in Scotland. We’re going to write, Ivan and me, and who knows
maybe I will soon return to my friends in Russia.
I haven’t
been following the news from home at all. I’ve just wanted to forget about the
whole thing. I can’t quite forgive those who started this process of dividing
our country. They have done me harm. If it wasn’t for their stupid referendum,
I would still be with the man I loved. The first man I loved. Perhaps, I was
wrong to write those essays. But it wasn’t an attack on him. I understand why
he resented what I did. I can also understand why he wanted to go back to his
former girlfriend. They were spending a lot of time together. I knew that
already. Doubtless, she offered herself, and as he said to me once it’s
difficult for a man who’s in a sweet shop not to take the sweets. I think he lost
something rather more precious, as did I. For that, if nothing else, I can’t
forgive the SNP. That no doubt is a sin. I should always forgive. I will try if
they lose. But sometimes I think of the words: “Father forgive them for they
know not what they do”. But it seems there’s nothing much to worry about. Even
if I don’t follow the news, the Russians sometimes mention something about the
referendum. It seems that we’re a long way in the lead. They’re pleased even if
there’s a bit of tension between Russia and Britain. They just can’t understand
why anyone would want to break up a great country. Nor can I.
I’ll be back
at the beginning of September and will come and visit you almost immediately.
Until then:
With love,
Jenny.
Chapter 17
A few days
after the first debate between Alex Salmond and Alistair Darling, the de-facto
leadership of the Aberdeen Yes group sat around James’s kitchen table.
“We’ve
lost,” said Iain. “We may as well give up.”
“I don’t
think it’s as bad as that,” said James.
“We’re
twenty points behind,” said Ian. “We’ve got a little more than a month to go.”
“I thought
Alex did pretty well,” said Roisin.
“He did well
for people like us,” said Paul, “but he didn’t convince the undecided, let
alone the No voters.”
“That bloody
pound,” said James. “How do we counter it?”
“We ignore
it,” said Paul. “We don’t have a good answer. We don’t know. But Westminster
isn’t going to let the pound go down the toilet.”
“You think
they’ll let us keep it?” asked Roisin.
“An
arrangement will have to be made. They might not like it, but they won’t have
any choice,” said Paul.
“But it’s
still not a good position for us,” said Iain. “They might have to let us keep
the pound or there would be chaos.”
“Who want’s
chaos?” said James.
“We just
have to try to keep convincing people that things would work out,” said Paul.
“But it
would take years of struggle,” said Iain.
“We know
that, but we also know it would be worth it,” said Paul.
“But we
don’t tell anyone that,” said Iain.
They all
laughed.
“But how can
we win when we’re twenty points behind?” said Iain.
“We beat
them with turnout,” said Paul.
“I’ve been
online a bit lately,” said Roisin, “they are so cocky at their twenty point
lead. They think it’s over. But we’ve been canvassing and it’s very close. Actually,
I think we’re leading.”
“I think
we’re winning, too. These polls don’t mean much. We’re reaching people who’ve
never voted before,” said Paul.
“Do you
think it will be enough?” asked James.
“I don’t
know,” said Paul. “I think it will be awfully close. The key for us is to get
everyone to vote. If the Brit Nats are complacent, we can still win. Let’s say
turnout is 70 percent, but we get out more like 90 percent of our supporters,
we win even if the majority is against us.”
“You really
think that can work?” said Iain. “Won’t they be working hard to get out their
vote?”
“But they
think they’re winning,” said Roisin. “Me and Paul have chatted about this a
lot. We need them to continually think they’re going to win easily.”
“And so we
sneak in right at the wire,” said Iain. “I’d like to believe it, but I’m
finding it rather hard at the minute.”
“We’ve
worked so hard,” said Paul. “It’s just another few weeks. There’s another
debate and there’s our grassroots. We’re going to have posters up everywhere.”
“And we’ve
organised a team to take down theirs,” said Roisin.
“Do you
think that’s wise?” asked James.
“We need to
give the impression of strength,” said Paul. “Make people believe that their
neighbours are voting Yes and they might, too.”
“It’s like
in that old film Beau Geste,” said Iain. “You put the dead bodies in the
battlements to make the enemy think you’re stronger than you are.”
“What else
needs doing, Paul?” said James.
“I think we
need more volunteers for social media,” said Paul.
“I’ve set up
a Facebook group,” said Roisin “to direct people to where they’re needed.”
“In what
way?” asked Iain.
“Well, you
know how some Brit Nat accounts are a pest,” said Roisin. “Well, I send people
to make friends with them.”
“How does
that help us?” said Iain.
“Well, take
that Effie,” said Roisin “She’s actually quite polite usually. So I send people
to make friends with her. It distracts her. If she’s being friendly to one of
us, she can’t be dreaming up any of her clever aphorisms. We get her bogged
down in endless little quibbles.”
“That’s
rather good,” said James.
“But we need
to do more,” said Paul. “That’s why we’re on the hunt for more volunteers.
Again the more of us there are online, the more we can make it appear that
we’re dominating.”
“You really
think we’ve a chance, don’t you?” said Iain.
“Oh, I can
feel it!” said Paul. “We both can Roisin and me, I mean. We’ve been out every
day and there’s something in the air. You just wait and see.”
Chapter 18
On a Sunday
morning early in September Jenny made the familiar journey to Effie’s house.
She’d arrived back on a flight to Glasgow a few days earlier, spent some time
with her parents and then took the train to Aberdeen. Her flat was empty. Susan
and Mark were in Newcastle. Mark was going to do a teacher training course and
it would be cheaper if he could live with his parents. Susan was going to find
any sort of job she could, just to help. They were going to stay together. A
wedding was going to happen as soon as it could sensibly be arranged, but they
both considered that it had already happened. Lorna had gone to be with the
mysterious older man whom no-one had ever met. He worked in finance in
Edinburgh and was in his thirties. She’d written to Jenny that she’d known
Steven all her life. He’d been a friend of the family just like an older
brother. She’d loved him in her own way ever since she could remember even when
she didn’t understand what the word meant. She loved him because he didn’t put
her on a pedestal and didn’t seem to care very much what she looked like. She
didn’t know if she could get him to love her back in the way that she wanted,
but she was going to Edinburgh to find out. At the moment Steven just saw her
as the little girl he’d always known. They were friends and he treated her like
a little sister. Perhaps, he always would. But she hoped he wouldn’t. He was single and they were already close, so
they had a chance.
It was
strange being in the flat. Jenny had a sense of Paul’s presence. He was vivid
to her in a way that he hadn’t been for weeks. She remembered the music that
had been played in her room. She wondered where he was at that moment, what he
was doing. She was glad to get out of the house and was glad that she would
have the chance to speak Russian today. In Russia there had been no Paul,
nothing to remind her of him and so she had forgotten, and she had moved on.
She remembered Kaliningrad and the times she’d had and she began to wish that
she was still there. Perhaps, she should have shown more how much she liked
Ivan. She did like him. There were definite possibilities there. It was a pity
he was so far away. There was no stupid referendum there either. It had been
good to miss all that nonsense. Her parents had told her about another debate.
It hadn’t gone as well they said. But neither of them had been following the
referendum closely. They had their work and they had each other, and all the
shouting in the end was so uninteresting.
Petr opened
the door.
“It’s good
to see you after so long,” said Jenny, “and it’s good to have a chance to talk
some Russian again. I’m already sick of English.”
“What
happened, Jenny?” asked Petr. “It’s not possible you can speak Russian so
well.”
“Hi!” said
Effie. “Surely, you need a rest from all that Russian?”
“No,” said
“Jenny, “let’s continue. I really need the practice and it helps me think, and
also I feel rather in need of my Russian at the moment.”
“Alright,
let’s have some breakfast and then we need to talk.”
“I imagine
you want to chat about your Scottish politics,” said Petr. “Best to leave me
out of it. I neither understand it, nor am I very interested, though, of
course, I hope that this country doesn’t break up. We’ve been through that once
and it wasn’t much fun.”
“Why the
pessimism?” said Jenny “I heard there was one debate that didn’t go so well.
Surely, that’s not going to make such a difference?”
“Let’s sit
down,” said Effie. “I’ll make some breakfast.”
Effie and
Jenny sat at the table while Petr went upstairs and got on with some work.
“You’ve not
been following the debate much in Russia, have you?”
“Hardly at
all. You know I became thoroughly sick of it. You know what it did to me.”
“How are you
feeling about that?”
“I don’t
know. I’ve moved on. I’m beginning to think of the possibility of someone
else.”
“Ivan? I
heard there was something in the air.”
“There isn’t
really. But there could be, perhaps, if we spent some more time together. At
least there might be. I’m not sure. I don’t really want anyone at the moment.
Just it felt strange being back in the flat. Sleeping there last night I
remembered. I felt rather sad in a way I hadn’t for weeks. I thought of all
that had happened.”
Effie could
see that there were a couple of tears in Jenny’s eyes.
“You can’t
expect to get over something immediately. I’m sorry for the part I played. It
was rather selfish.”
“What I
wrote was what I believed. It was things I had kept hidden from him because I
didn’t want us to fall out. He’d been allowed to put his arguments, but I’d
been scared to put mine. That was no foundation for a relationship. He couldn’t
handle my honesty.”
“But it must
have been a bit tough to find his own words used against him.”
“Yes, I know
that. But it’s been so much better to be with people who want to talk about
ordinary things. I’ve chatted about things that are so much more important than
stupid politics.”
“You’ve made
extraordinary progress too. I’ve never met someone who has learned as quickly.
But we need to talk a little about stupid politics, Jenny.”
“Why?”
“We might
lose.”
“Surely,
not.”
“There was a
poll this morning. They’re in the lead.”
“One poll.”
“I know, but
the momentum has been building. If it continues as it has been, they will win.”
“No. It’s
not possible.”
“It is
possible, something very odd and rather scary is happening in Scotland.”
“But there’s
no way most people are going to vote for nationalism, it’s impossibly stupid.”
“I agree,
but I can’t reach them. I’m online all the time now. They just come back with
stock phrases. I try to reason with people but it’s pointless. All our
arguments are scaremongering, or lies or negative or some such phrase.”
“If they
win, I’m going straight back to Russia. I could study there.”
“I wouldn’t
do that, Jenny. I love Russia and it’s great to visit, but it’s not an easy
place to live, nor to study. Your Russian is very good, indeed, but how quickly
can you read a Russian novel now?”
“I can’t
read easily. I still need to look up too many words.”
“Do you
think you could write essays in Russian?”
“Not easily.
But I could learn.”
“Yes, you
could learn. At the moment you write very well, but it reads like a foreigner
writing Russian, which is what you are. They’re taught style for years in
school. It’s not something that we can easily pick up.”
“You want me
to stay and study with you?”
“I think it
would be the best thing for you and for me. In the end the roles reverse and
the teacher needs the student just as much. The teacher becomes the student. I
need you, Jenny.”
“I’m not
sure I could bear to live here if Yes wins.”
“I’m not
sure I could either. So we need to make sure they don’t.”
“What do we
do?”
“Jenny, I
desperately need your help.”
“Not again!
I haven’t even been following things.”
“So you’re
less tired. I’m getting really tired, tired in a way that begins to worry me.”
“What have
you been doing?”
“I’ve been writing
the blog, spending hours debating on twitter. I’ve been doing my own academic
work, too. I don’t know how long I can keep it up. I know it’s a big ask, but
will you help.”
“I can see
you’re worn out, you’ve been doing far too much. Of course, I’ll help. Term
doesn’t start for a couple of weeks anyway. Until then I’ve got nothing much
planned.”
“We need to
work out a change in strategy, too.”
“It all
sounds rather military.”
“There’s
quite a lot to be learned from military history.”
“Like what?”
“The moral
is to physical as three to one.”
“Who said
that”?
“Napoleon.
He was a dreadful tyrant, but one of the best generals in history. We need a
flanking movement. Sometimes it seems that one army is winning. All the
momentum is with them and just as it seems they’re going to reach victory
they’re attacked from an unexpected place.”
“Sounds
good. But how do we attack?”
“We remind
people of Britain. We go positive about Britain. We keep up morale. We keep
repeating that we’re going to win. We remind people of all the times that
Britain has been in peril and how we all stood together to defeat a common
enemy. We beat them with turnout.”
“But
everyone’s indifferent. My parents hardly follow the referendum. They say it’s
just a bunch of shouty men.”
“I don’t
think our side will be indifferent after today. We just have to tell everyone
that if they don’t vote No, we might wake up in a couple of weeks in a UK
that’s about to fall apart.”
“So you
think this poll might be good news?”
“No, it’s
bad news. I’d rather we were still twenty points ahead. But we can, perhaps,
turn it into good news.”
“What do you
want me to do?”
“I want you
to write. You can choose whichever language works best for you. I need two or
three essays. And I need you to take turns on twitter so that I can write also
and have time to think. Can you stay here?”
“I’d love
to. There’s no-one in the flat. Just so I won’t be in the way.”
“Quite the
reverse, my dear.”
“You keep
having debates with the nationalists on twitter. Why?”
“That’s how
it works.”
“But we’re
not trying to persuade them, are we? They’re not going to change their minds.”
“No. I
suppose not,” said Effie.
“Then why do
it? Why not ignore them and if they don’t go away, mute them or block them”
“I’ve become
quite friendly with some.”
“I know it’s
a shame, but you’re exhausting yourself talking to people who won’t change
their minds. From now on we block mercilessly. We’re talking only to our
supporters and the undecided.”
“Why don’t
you start, Jenny?”
“With
pleasure.”
Chapter 19
Paul woke up
with Roisin on that same Sunday morning. He looked across at her still
sleeping. They’d had quite a night of it celebrating the poll. His mind drifted
briefly back to the memory of how he’d held her. She really was very beautiful.
She knew it, too. She’d probably want to again when she woke up, but that might
not be for some time. She didn’t seem to know any limits. She drank almost as
much as he did. She was willing to say and do anything to win the referendum.
He’d distributed leaflets with her and seen how she took the Better Together
leaflets out of the letterboxes and then put them in a plastic bag. He’d asked
if this was quite fair and she’d laughed.
“All’s fair
in love and war,” she’d said. “We’ve got to beat these Brits, we’ve got to do
anything it takes.”
For him
there’d never really been any hatred. He just thought Scotland could do better
on its own. But he knew that for Roisin and for some others it was more
personal. They had a grudge. You saw it sometimes. People were mainly quite
careful to say the right thing but once in a while when someone had a couple
too many there would be talk about the bloody English. He didn’t join in.
Anyway, he’d seen nutters on both sides.
Look at some of the Rangers fans. They were no better than the worst on
his side. But if only there was less aggression, especially online. Some of the
language he’d seen on twitter had been completely unnecessary. It really hurt
the cause of whichever side used it.
He got up
and made himself some coffee and got back into bed to drink it. He was careful
not to disturb Roisin. It was still early and they’d have a busy day ahead. He
reached up to his shelf and brought down his book. He’d already read a hundred
pages or so of Crime and Punishment. He’d tried talking to Roisin about it, but
she wasn’t interested.
“Why read
that stuff? We’ve got important work to do,” she’d said.
“I need to
relax and switch off from the referendum occasionally.”
“Don’t I
give you something else to think about? Don’t I help you relax?”
She did, of
course, but they didn’t have much to talk about except the referendum. She’d
laughed when he’d played any of his music and then simply refused to listen to
it. But he’d continued. Whenever there had been some spare time, whenever she
had been off somewhere else, he’d slipped on one of Jenny’s CDs. He started
learning and he wanted to continue. There was a goal. He was still tending
towards somewhere with this music. He didn’t know quite where, but he knew that
he liked it and wanted to get there. Where was it that he’d begun to
understand? Jenny had sent him on a strange path, backwards and forwards. Then
there was that CD by Charles Ives “American Journey”. What an odd bunch of
tunes. But he kept playing it. He kept playing all of the CDs after that, until
he wondered if he might try something else himself. He looked around the shops
in Aberdeen, but they only had the most famous classical music and so he had a
look online. What was that piece by Messiaen that Jenny had played him that
he’d hated. He went on Amazon and bought Vingt Regards sur l'Enfant-Jésus.
Roisin had
seen the box.
“You’re not
becoming religious, are you?”
“No. I just
wanted to try this.”
“You still
think about her, don’t you?”
“Who?”
“Jenny.”
“Not
especially. Anyway she’s in Russia.”
“I see her
on twitter all the time.”
“Perhaps,
that’s her. I don’t know any more. I’d have thought she’s too busy there.”
“Well, that
Effie Deans is on twitter morning noon and night. I do my best to annoy her
though. She even follows me, can’t think why. But it makes it easier to troll
her.”
“Why do you
bother, Roisin?”
“Well,
whatever hinders her helps us. You should have a go as well.”
“Perhaps, I
will.”
“I just
can’t understand why you continue to listen to your ex’s music if you’re with
me?”
“I don’t
think of it as her music. I like it. I can’t help that. We’re just going to
have to agree to differ on this sort of thing.”
“And you
keep reading her books, too. You read one, now another. It’s like you regret
that you’re with me.”
“Does it
seem to you that I regret it when we’re together?”
“Just so
long as you don’t get any religious nonsense into your head. I can’t stand that
stuff.”
“I thought
you were a Catholic?”
“I am, but
that doesn’t mean I have to believe that rubbish.”
“The music’s
beautiful. It’s just notes. It’s not as if it’s really about anything. The
composer just called it something about Jesus Christ.”
Looking
across at Roisin, he remembered some of the notes from Messiaen. He reflected
on the strangeness of the sounds that came out of the piano, but how somehow
they seemed to work in new way. He wished he could talk to Jenny about it. He
certainly didn’t regret being with Roisin when he was in bed with her, but he
did at other times. He wondered how long they would stay together. She was planning
to go back to Glasgow, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go with her, not that
she’d asked. They were both just focussing on the present, how to get as many
people as possible to vote Yes. After that there would be lots of work to do.
Perhaps, there would be opportunities for those who’d put in as much work as
they had. There’d been some talk of rewards.
Paul’s
parents had been asking him about when he might be coming home. It was costing
them rather a lot to keep him in Aberdeen. They couldn’t really understand what
he was doing there. He’d told them that he was looking for a job, but they
couldn’t understand why he’d had no success. After all, Aberdeen was one of the
easier places to get a job. He could hardly tell them that he’d been spending all
day every day campaigning. But he’d been able to put them off with excuses thus
far. He felt a little guilty about their money funding his personal Yes
campaign, but then there was more chance of prosperity coming to the Highlands
in an independent Scotland. He was quite sure of that.
He
remembered how word had begun leaking out yesterday about the poll. They had a
lead. It was an incredible turnaround from a few days earlier. He was quite
sure Yes was going to win now. My goodness, they were twenty points behind only
a couple of weeks ago. Now they were ahead. That momentum wasn’t suddenly going
to stop. It was going to be just like the Holyrood elections in 2011. Roisin
was equally sure. They’d been ecstatic last night and it had transferred itself
into their lovemaking.
“We’re going
to beat the bastards,” she had kept saying.
That morning
Paul sat and read his book, but he couldn’t really concentrate on it. He kept
thinking of what it was going to be like to win. He began to think ahead to the
days of celebration. He’d hoped before and told others that he was sure of
winning, but he hadn’t been really. Only now did he really feel sure. Their
canvassing had been incredible and he’d been told of some secret SNP private
polls that were looking pretty good, too. It was all coming together.
He wondered
where Jenny was now. Was she still in Russia? She’d have to come back soon or
term would already have started. He thought of the CDs and how he could return
them. It might be a bit awkward at least until the referendum was over. When it
was, he could at least commiserate with her and say the sort of things you do
to the defeated. There’d need to be reconciliation in Scotland. The unionists
would have to accept the result and start helping rather than hindering Scotland.
He hoped they would. Wouldn’t it be great if former opponents could come
together and work out how to make a new Scotland? Who knows, maybe Jenny would
even help. That was for the future right now they had to work out how to
increase their support still further.
Chapter 20
The tactics
evolved over those last few days. Effie would discuss an idea with Jenny and
they’d try it out. Having been away for two months Jenny brought a fresh, less
tired perspective. She’d also just had first-hand experience of a place that
was doing a lot worse than Britain, where people were a lot poorer, but where
there were no food-banks. The Russians she had met admired Britain though they
were often critical. They simply could not believe that “England” as they called
it was about to split up.
“Did you
explain to them that you were actually from Scotland?” asked Effie.
“I did in
the beginning, but it seemed a bit pointless after the first ten times.”
“Their word
for Britain is England, just as our word for the Soviet Union used to be
Russia. This is quite common the world over. Who are we to correct their
language?”
“I remember
saying I was from Scotland and people being not quite clear where it was.
Someone thought we were an island near the Faeroes. “
“There are
cities with a million and more people in Russia that not one person in a
hundred knows the name of here. You ask even educated people how many Russian
cities they can name. You rarely get more than three.”
“They knew
more of our history than I knew of theirs,” said Jenny.
“They also
know their own, or at least parts of it, especially the part about splitting up
a country. It was chaos. We sometimes didn’t know who was going to rule us the
next day. We didn’t know what was going to be in the shops. We had food aid
sent from America.”
“Let’s write
about that. Let’s somehow try to get that point across. How fortunate we are.”
“But we must
do it above all in a positive way, we must be relentlessly positive.”
“I know,”
said Jenny. “We need something people are going to feel good about, we need
morale to increase, we need a myth.”
“1940.”
“I’m only
twenty-one I don’t go quite that far back.”
“But you
know the essence. I have a couple of films we can watch.”
They tweeted
about how Britain had been threatened with destruction before and how the
people had not been afraid but had stood united. They tweeted about how Britain
had withstood worse than this and come through. They mocked the pettiness of
the cause that was threatening their country. They told how the Scots who had
defended Britain would be horrified that what they had defended would be
threatened by their grandchildren. They talked about the greatness of Britain,
of what had been achieved historically, what was being achieved now and what
would be achieved in the future. They reminded everyone of what they were in
danger of losing. They pointed out the dangers of nationalism. They did this
over and over again for the next few days.
The
nationalists reacted with fury. They kept sending people to get Effie involved
in long discussions. But whichever of them was now manning the account they
simply muted or blocked those who were a hindrance.
“We must
have a simple rule,” said Jenny, “or we’ll go nuts. Don’t get involved in long
conversations with people we’re not going to convince. Just don’t answer
anymore after one or two replies.”
“I always
find that a bit difficult. I don’t like to give them the last word.”
“Ignoring is
the last word.”
“I wish we
could get the message across to more people. I’ve got a piece prepared for
Saturday, but I want to find readers. We need to get the message across to
people who are not on twitter and who don’t know what a blog is.”
“From now on
we follow everyone who retweets or makes a positive comment. We follow and
follow. They will tell other people. They will tell their friends and their
family.”
Effie wrote
a summation of everything she thought about Britain. It wasn’t an attack on
independence; it barely mentioned Scotland or Scottish nationalism. She put her
whole heart into the piece.
“What do you
think?” she asked Jenny.
“Perhaps,
people can quibble about details.”
“You mean, I
generalise overly? I do it deliberately.”
“Why is
that?”
“There is a
truth that’s not in the details. In history I think you can say something that
is true in general, that is even a little false in the details.”
“I was
thinking of your bit about the Picts and the Iceni being the same people. Is
that true?”
“I don’t
know. I doubt anyone does. I believe it is true in general. People may quibble
with details. But it’s an ignorant quibble. They’re just trying to show off
particular knowledge while missing the general point which is sound.”
“And the
British civil war that lasts a hundred years. I’ve never heard about that.”
“Again
people may dispute the details. I’m not interested in the details, I’m trying
to show how we on this island are all the same, and if you strip away the
details, we are. It’s the nationalists who want to dispute the details, who
want to find difference where it does not exist.”
Effie’s
piece became one of the most read that she’d ever written. Dozens of people
retweeted her including a famous historian, which made her feel rather
vindicated and proud. They were gaining followers, too. Every morning they woke
up to find loads of people had followed. They followed each and every one back.
They went through the timeline and followed everyone who had tweeted them. In
the last week they doubled their followers.
There was an
extraordinary effort from people all over Britain. Some of the best writers in
the country were producing extraordinarily good articles. The best economists
from around the world were absolutely devastating about the nationalist cause.
Major international companies were saying that independence would wreck the UK
economy and possibly the world economy.
“Can you
write something summarising all this?” asked Effie.
“I can try.
Economics is not really my strong suit, though I understand the basics.”
“I just
don’t feel I have another essay in me.”
“You gave
your all in the last one and what a response!”
“We need
more, Jenny. The polls are still very close.”
“I think the
polls are all over the place. Some of the guys talking about betting seem to be
more sure that we’re winning.”
“Betting
always struck me as a stupid activity. Long term you’re bound to lose.”
“But I think
these guys know what they’re talking about. One of them showed me an article
that demonstated that betting usually predicts accurately the result of
elections, much better than polls. It has been doing so since before polling
began”
“I’m not
going to believe anything until the result is in.”
“I thought
with the sort of things business and economists were saying one or two
nationalists would realise the folly of what they are doing.”
“You mean
when a Nobel prize winning left wing economist says your plan will bring
national disaster, one or two might listen?”
“Not just
him. But all those banks, all those economists. I don’t understand all of it,
but it scares me stiff.”
“Between you
and me, Scotland will not become independent whatever the result of the
referendum.”
“Then what’s
the point of all this?”
“The point
is to save us from the chaos and the grief of trying to split up our country.
We would have to try to implement the decision of the Scottish people and, no
doubt, we’d end up with something called an independent Scotland. But in
reality you can no more split up the Poundzone without economic chaos than you
can split up the Eurozone.”
“You think
that Scotland would keep the pound?”
“Yes, of
course, in the end for the alternative would be default, but then we’d still be
ruled by London, only we wouldn’t have any MPs there and in the meantime, a lot
of people around the world would lose a lot of jobs and a lot of money, just so
some fools could say we’re free.”
Jenny wrote
the last blog before the referendum. It summarised everything that they had
seen in the press from the previous week and made clear that the finest minds
in Britain and the world were united against independence, not only from the
perspective of economics, but also from the perspective of how it set a
dangerous example to the people of Europe having the potential to reawaken
conflicts and border disputes that were settled. This time the response was
even greater. Their tweets were sometimes retweeted by huge numbers of
supporters.
“We’re
building something. Something is definitely happening,” said Effie two days
before the vote.
“What do you
feel?”
“I feel
we’re winning. The mood has changed.”
“I can’t say
I’ve noticed. There are still a lot of very negative UK supporters. There’s one
who keeps going on about how we’re going to lose.”
“Tell him to
buck up, or block him, too. Defeatism is just as dangerous as the nats.”
“Why do you
think the mood has changed then?”
“Call it
feminine intuition, but I feel the nats are getting scared. They’re attacking
even more vigorously. They’re attacking me personally.”
“Me, too.”
“It’s
amusing when someone with a silly name tries to make fun of your name.”
“They don’t
believe you’re real Effie.”
“I know, even
some on our side think I’m a fictional character.”
“I find it
incredibly creepy how some of them dig around trying to find out where you work
or where you live.”
“Can’t we
use that?”
“What?”
“Their
creepiness.”
“We can and
we will.”
With a day
to go, Jenny received a private message on twitter. “Why do you keep telling
lies, Jenny? You see we know who Effie really is. She’s you. Best wishes, Paul.”
It upset her
quite a bit.
“What do I
do?” she asked Effie.
“Don’t
respond. Just block him.”
“I can’t
believe Paul would do that? It doesn’t seem like him. Then again he was angry
with me. But still. What do you think, Effie?”
“I’ve no
idea. It was probably Paul, but then again it could have been someone else. We
can’t tell. And it’s not worth thinking about. It’s no secret that you study
with me.”
“But he
thinks there is no Effie, that I am you.”
“Well, you
are like a part of me. You’ve been helping me. You’ve been writing as if you
were me and sometimes you’ve been writing better than me.”
Each night
Petr would make them a large drink so that they could sleep. He didn’t get
involved much in the discussions, but he distracted them by talking of other
things. They became like a family.
“Don’t
worry, Jenny” said Petr. “Nothing bad is going to happen and if it does, we’ll
still find a way to continue. I’ve been through much worse than this. My
parents went through things you can’t even imagine. This is all trivia.”
“Effie is
very lucky to have you.”
“We’ve been
through a lot together. It’s getting on for twenty-five years that we’ve been
together.”
“It’s what I
want most in the world, to be with someone forever.”
“You have a
lot of time, my dear, you’re only twenty-one. I hear that Ivan still thinks of
you.”
“He was very
kind and he’s a dear friend.”
“Perhaps, he
could be a little more.”
“Are you
matchmaking?”
“He’s my
nephew, I don’t see him that often, but we talk sometimes. I think he’s a
decent boy.”
“At the
moment I’m not really thinking about boys.”
“But you’ve
moved on. You can begin to think a little.”
“I do, but I
still need some more time. I try not to think about the past too much.”
“Better to
find someone who thinks like you do.”
“But you
don’t agree with Effie about all sorts of things. I’ve heard you argue.”
“We agree
about the fundamentals.”
“I’m not
sure I know what they are.”
“We think in
a similar way, we believe similar things, at root we think of people
individually and think of ourselves as individuals most of all. You can’t
really define it, but there are some people who are your kind of person and there
are some who will forever remain strangers. In the last few days while I’ve had
a chance to get to know you a little better I can see that you’re like Effie
and me.”
“A kindred
spirit.”
“I remember
that from somewhere or something like it from somewhere long ago.”
“It’s from
Anne of Green Gables.”
“Yes, Jenny,
we are that way. Without it love rapidly becomes very dull, even meaningless.
Find someone like that. Perhaps, you already have.”
“Perhaps,”
said Jenny and flashing briefly through her mind she saw the faces of first
Paul, which she rapidly shook away and then Ivan.
On the day
of the referendum Effie and Jenny no longer argued. It was too late for that.
They just tweeted about getting the vote out and they tweeted about how they
were winning. As the day wore on, Effie became more and more confident.
“Can’t you
feel it, Jenny?”
“Not really.
I’m still scared stiff.”
“Something
extraordinary is happening.”
“You must
have some sort of special insight as I can’t feel anything.”
“I know
we’re winning. We’re winning much better than the polls suggest.”
“They all
seem to be saying a one percent victory.”
“No, they’re
wrong, very wrong. It’s going to be much more than that.”
“How can you
be so sure?”
“Faith.”
As evening
fell, Effie received a message that the odds of a Yes victory were falling
further and further. Someone sent a private message that suggested that No
would achieve a much bigger victory than expected. Jenny was still nervous, but
Effie was more and more confident.
At ten Petr
came in with two large drinks.
“You two
have worked round the clock for the past ten days. You couldn’t have done more.
I’m getting a little worried about both my girls. You need sleep and lots of
it.”
“But we have
to stay up for the results,” said Jenny.
“No. You
have to sleep. The result will be what it will be whether you stay up late or
not.”
“He’s right,
Jenny” said Effie. “Don’t worry. We’re all going to wake up in the morning and
see that we’ve won. Just you wait and see.”
And so they
all went to bed with a sleeping draught made from an old Russian recipe. The
whole housed dreamt in Russian.
Chapter 21
Roisin and
Paul got in the car that was going to take them down to Edinburgh. It was ten
in the evening on the day of the referendum.
“You two
ready for the best party ever?” said the driver.
“I can
barely keep awake,” said Paul.
He noticed
that Roisin was putting quite a few bags in the boot of the car. He’d only
taken a small rucksack as he expected to be away only for a night or so.
“What’s with
all the bags?” he asked her.
“I’m not
coming back. I never really felt at home here in Aberdeen.”
“And me?”
“Nothing’s
stopping you coming to Glasgow. We make a good team. If only you’d get over
your scruples.”
“Let’s not
spoil things, Roisin. We’re going to win. Couldn’t you feel it today?”
“We’re going
to win quite easily. But we could have won by even more.”
“I’m sorry.
I just couldn’t face attacking Jenny. I’m not even sure it was her.”
“Of course,
it was her, you said yourself that you recognised her style.”
“But I still
don’t understand. Effie Deans was
tweeting nearly all day. How could Jenny have been doing that on her own?”
“She has
energy, I’ll give her that much.”
“Don’t you
think it best to just leave them alone?”
“No, I
don’t. I got a whole group to troll them. It would have really helped if you’d
exposed her.”
“How could I
do that? We were together for quite a long time. You don’t do that to people
you’ve loved.”
“You still
love her, don’t you?”
“No, Roisin,
I think I’ve shown you all summer how I feel about you.”
“And yet you
wouldn’t even do what I asked.”
“I just
didn’t think it fair to send her a private message to try to find out who was
tweeting. I wouldn’t like it if someone had done that to me.”
“It would
have really helped us in the past couple of days. We could have said that Effie
was a Tory, prim proper little girl with rich parents. It would have demolished
her.”
“But she’s a
person, Roisin, a rather nice person. A kind person.”
“It didn’t
work anyway.”
“What didn’t
work?”
“I sent her
a message as you.”
“You did
what?”
“Well, you
weren’t willing to do it, so someone had to.”
“What
happened?”
“I was
blocked.”
“But she
still thinks that I tried to spy on her?”
“What does
that matter? You don’t love her.”
“I wish you
hadn’t,” said Paul. “I really wish you hadn’t.”
“Anyway,
you’ll be a long way away from her. Or perhaps you’d rather stay in Aberdeen to
see if you can get her back.”
“Perhaps, I
would.”
“You’re
welcome.”
“Don’t let’s
fight. We’ve done so much together and we’re going to win by 7 points. That’s
one of the greatest turnarounds in political history.”
“I’m sorry.
It’s been good having you around all summer. I really needed someone to sleep
with. It helps with tension and relaxation, you know.”
“Yes, I do,
but it’s been more than just that.”
“What else
is there in the end?”
“It’s been
good campaigning together.”
“It has.”
“And other
things. We’ve shared other things.”
“Like your
strange music and your long old books?”
She laughed,
but somehow it didn’t seem very funny to either of them.
They drove
on through the night and lapsed into silence. Somehow there didn’t seem much to
talk about now that the referendum was finished. Paul nodded off for a bit. It
was going to be a long night and he hadn’t slept very much for days. The whole
day they had been organising the effort to get the vote out. They had so many
people helping, they had so many cars ready to take people from the housing
estates to the polls. And then, in the late afternoon, the best news of all had
been sent to them from the party headquarters. They were going to win well. A
poll had been specially commissioned and it said that they were going to win by
7 points. To think all that effort was going to pay off. He’d never met Alex
Salmond, but he would tonight. They were among the special guests coming from
all over Scotland to the party. They’d get there just before the first results
started coming in.
Paul woke up
and thought about what the next days would bring. Perhaps, there would be some
sort of job offered. Where would he go? Perhaps, going to Glasgow wouldn’t be
such a bad idea. He wondered about Roisin. She was very beautiful and very
sexy, indeed. But he’d only really enjoyed her and it seemed now that she’d
only ever really enjoyed him. They had little to talk about beyond the
referendum. Well, he’d stay with her for a bit. Why give up a good thing?
They’d no doubt eventually reach a hotel room bed in Edinburgh and that was
something to look forward to. But the result... He could hardly wait for the
result. He’d seen some of the No voters on twitter. They were confident. What
little did they know? What about Jenny? He wondered if she were staying up all
night. He felt rather sorry for. She’d be hugely disappointed. But then she’d
just have to accept the will of the majority. She would, he felt sure she’d do
that. She’d always been fair and she was certainly a democrat. Perhaps, in time
he’d try to contact her again. He had to give back her CDs at any rate. He
might give her the new one that he’d bought. It was Ligeti’s Etudes. He’d
bought it pretty much on a whim to hear what really contemporary classical
music sounded like. It was amazing stuff. Why was he thinking about Ligeti on a
night like this? Yet he couldn’t get the strange sounds out of his head.
As the car
crossed the Forth road bridge it was getting on for one in the morning. He
looked across at Roisin who was also sleeping. Yes, she was very beautiful,
indeed, but he couldn’t help wondering about what she had tried to do to Jenny.
He shook his head. Jenny had been wrong. He still resented how she’d written
those articles using what he’d told her. It had made him feel foolish as he had
been trying to persuade her and had thought he’d been succeeding. She was wrong
in other ways too or at least mistaken. The things she’d been saying for the
past few days were just convincing lies. With a Yes vote there would be time
enough to show how these people were in error. Scotland was going to be a great
new independent country. But everyone would have to be on board. Something must
be done to bring the No voters round. He’d have to think of ways in which
reconciliation could be achieved.
They were
nearing the party venue. It would all be decked out, no expense would be
spared. There would be everything that would be needed for a celebration none
of them would forget. The first results would be due at two and the news would
go round the world as it gradually became clear that Scotland was voting Yes.
Alex would address the whole Scottish people in a few hours and tell them all to
work together, to unite for the sake of the new country they had just voted to
create. They’d have to be careful not to gloat too much, reconciliation was
vital. It would be funny to see the look
on the faces of people like Gordon Brown, Alistair Darling and, above all,
David Cameron. Paul felt a sudden wave of joy. Whatever the future held, he’d
celebrate tonight with Roisin and their lovemaking would be quite something
after this triumph they had helped to create.
“We’re
nearly there,” he said nudging her.
Chapter 22
A month
later, Jenny sat waiting in the Prince of Wales. She sat with a pint of 80
shilling and ignored the amused glances cast in her direction. She didn’t have
long to wait and soon she saw Paul approaching.
“It’s been a
long time,” he said.
“I know. I
wanted to say sorry to you for using your ideas.”
“It’s a long
time ago. Shall we forget it?”
“But I upset
you. I hurt you.”
“I imagine I
did the same. I’ve wanted to return the CDs you lent me for a while. But it’s
been hard to track you down.”
“I know. I
moved. The flat’s let to some people through an agency.”
“They didn’t
even know who you were.”
“I’ve never
met them.”
“Where are
you now?”
“I live in
the country. About fifteen miles from here.”
“You live
with Effie?”
“Yes, and her
husband Petr. We’ve become close, almost like family and this way I get to talk
Russian every day.”
“How are you
doing with that?”
“Oh, pretty
well. I still read fairly slowly, but I can chat away. What are you doing
yourself?”
“I’ve got a
job in a supermarket. It’s not ideal, but it’s paying the bills.”
“You moved,
too.”
“How did you
know?”
“I tried
giving you a call a few days after the referendum. I wanted to offer my
commiserations.”
“Thanks,
Jenny. That’s kind of you. How did you find out where I was?”
“I called
your parents.”
“Oh!”
“Why the big
secret? Because they’re from England?”
“You could
hear that, of course. It’s not something I’ve tended to advertise.”
“When did
they move here?”
“I was about
five. I hardly even remember living in England. I remember I was given a bit of
a hard time as a child about my accent. The thing that everyone thought was the
greatest thing on earth I didn’t have.”
“What was
that?”
“Being
Scottish.”
“But you are
Scottish. You fought for Scottish independence. Who can say you’re not?”
“I know
that. But a lot of people don’t think it quite the same if you were not born
here or if your parents don’t come from here.”
“That’s
silly.”
“I know. We
don’t choose our politics. They choose us. I understand things a bit better I
think. I believe what I believe because of a set of circumstances, you because
of a different set of circumstances.”
“Oh, I think
there’s a place for thought as well. Why did you choose to stay in Aberdeen?”
“That chose
me as well.”
“How so?”
“Well, I
ended up on the morning of the 19th with nowhere much else to go. There was a
bit of row when the celebration party turned out rather differently than
hoped.”
“Please,
tell, so long as it’s not anything secret.”
“I don’t see
how there could be any secret now. Roisin started blaming me.”
“For what?”
“Well, she’d
wanted me to attack the Effie Deans twitter account, she’d wanted me to find
out if it was you who was behind it.”
“I remember
someone did send a message”
“It was
Roisin.”
“We just
blocked it. No big deal.”
“Well,
Roisin thought my scruples had damaged us.”
“But I don’t
think we made that much of a difference. There were thousands of others.”
“Maybe she
just wanted to pick a fight. Anyway, she went off with someone else and they
went to the hotel room booked for us. I got the first train back to Aberdeen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was
stupid, Jenny. She even called me an English bastard when I tried to discuss
things with her. The sentence involved a word beginning with F, too.”
“Did you
listen to the CDs?”
“Yes, I did
and I grew to like them all. I’ve also been reading some more Dostoevsky.”
“Which one?”
“Crime and
Punishment.”
“What do you
think?”
“It’s tough
going but I like it. It’s a challenge, but worth it.”
“Which CD
did you like best?
“I’m
beginning to appreciate all of them in their own way. Perhaps, the Charles Ives
helped me the most”
“And
Messiaen?”
“There is
something there that I glimpse. I need to listen to some more. I’ve already
bought a couple more of his CDs. He’s difficult and it is like a new language.
I’m still learning.”
“We’re all
still learning.”
“I bought
you something to say ‘thank you’ for lending me them.”
“That’s very
kind of you, but it wasn’t necessary.”
He gave her
a little bag with CD in it. It was Ligeti’s Etudes.
“Do you know
them?”
“No, but
I’ve heard they’re extraordinary.”
She reached
across in a way that had been automatic and gently hugged him and kissed him on
the cheek.
“Jenny, can
you forgive me?” he said.
“I forgave
you as soon as I received your e-mail, or almost as soon as that. Perhaps, a
couple of days later.”
“I thought
you might have replied.”
“There isn’t
much point arguing about these things.”
“I’d like to
try again.”
“It’s too
early for me to tell.”
“Why? What’s
happened?”
“Well, I met
someone in Russia.”
“You’re
going out with him?”
“No. We’re
friends. Perhaps, a little more than that, but nothing has been said. I’ve
never kissed him or anything like that.”
“Russia’s a
long way away. I’m right here.”
“He’s coming
here for a visit.”
“To see
you?”
“No, to see
his uncle and aunt and also to see me.”
“Do you want
to be with him?”
“I don’t
know yet. I’m going to need to find out. We’re similar.”
“And me? You
remember what it was like when we were together. I miss you, Jenny. I miss the
times we had.”
“I do, too.
Those times will always be special to me.”
“Then let’s
bring them back. You only need to say the word.”
“I’m very
tired, Paul. That last two weeks I gave everything I had. I don’t want to
continually fight old battles. There was too much that we didn’t dare talk
about. There was too much about which we had to keep silent.”
“I don’t
want to fight old battles either. I thought we’d won. I knew we’d won. I got
the shock of my life when it turned out we’d lost. I just want to move on with
my life now.”
“That’s good
to know. I can’t make any promises. I was hurt very deeply by what happened in
July. I was thinking of our wedding night and hoping it would be soon. I
thought it would be forever and then I wake up one morning to find it all
gone.”
“I’d marry
you tomorrow, Jenny.”
“We’re going
to need a little bit more patience than that, Paul.”
“Nothing’s
really changed since when you left.”
“Everything
has changed. You went through it. Our country needs to heal. So do we. Why
don’t you come out to Effie’s one day next week?”
“Will your
Russian friend be there?”
“Yes, but
there’ll be enough of us who can translate. You’ll like him.”
“I’m not
sure I will if he has designs on you.”
“We’re all
just going to be friends for a while and see what happens. But remember, I’m someone who loves only
once.”
“It will be
nice to meet Effie Deans. I tried to find her in the department but nobody knew
who she was. I’d hoped to find you through her.”
“I heard
that. Hardly anyone does know her by that name. She uses a Russian first name
and she has Petr’s surname or the female form of it. I sometimes use a Russian
first name, too.”
“Why do
that?”
“Well it’s
easier for them to say Zhenya than Jenny and it’s near enough the same.”
“That’s
rather nice.”
“It’s short
for Evgenya.”
“Now just
remember, Jenny, you’re not Russian. You’re Scottish.”
“We shall
see,” said Jenny smiling at her friend enigmatically.