Perhaps it was the fear that marriage presented a choice between temporal misery or eternal hell that kept me single for so long. I had plenty of offers and fell in love a few times, but I felt no inclination to tie myself up. When I really did fall in love I expected and asked too much. I should have known better. I had seen enough of my friends making similar mistakes and given them excellent advice on strategy, on anodyne devices and curative measures. I remembered none of them. When the only man I ever loved finally left me, I married Jack. I had forgotten my dread of marriage when I found a man I couldn’t bear to lose, and when I lost him I found I had lost everything—even that lifelong dread. I was nearly forty by then and so had less life to throw away. I liked Jack, and he loved me. He was a little younger than I was but I didn’t exploit this. I had learned not to appear too dominating and I left all the major decisions to him. He didn’t do badly, and I was fairly content. It wasn’t the life I would have chosen but it was comfortable and it had its compensations. We spent most of the time abroad even after Syl was born until we moved here.

Where was I? I was saying that, in the main, I was quite glad that Syl hadn’t married until now. He would have, as I had had, less time to rue the day. I wished now that I had brought him up differently and not left him so much in the care of the nannies and schools. He had too fixed a view of what constituted masculinity. He was afraid of showing weakness, and felt called upon to flirt with every female who crossed his path, regardless of whether or not she appreciated his attention. Whether or not he was consciously emulating his father, it was a great pity. I could see that some people found it hard to take him seriously. Jack had always strenuously maintained that there were some things men did and some things for women to do. I was perfectly competent in practical matters, but Jack—who was less competent than I—took all such things upon himself and my skills atrophied. I don’t know now that I would remember how to put a washer on a tap. Not that it matters any more. It just seems unfortunate that the sexes should limit each other in this rigid fashion. I had always found satisfaction in being self-sufficient. The idea that two separate beings should restrict themselves to certain roles in order to form one whole seemed to me to be structurally unsound. There was a makeshift ring to it. When the string breaks, as it so frequently does, the wear and tear of the operation will have damaged even further the two parts of the unnatural whole. I had discussed this question with priests I had known, and various religious, and been soundly reprimanded for my thoughts, which they considered, to say the least, unorthodox. I had been bred to respect the priesthood and so never said precisely what I felt—that it was all very fine and large for them, speaking from their superior position of celibacy: it was we, poor foot-soldiers, who had to slog through the mire of matrimony. Despite our staunch adherence to the Faith our family had not been much blessed with vocations. I was not a good Catholic, but I could not have married somebody who wasn’t one at all, and I would have been greatly perturbed if Syl had done so. Margaret, in that respect, came as a relief to me.