An Enormous Yes Read Free Page B

Why did she always crave excess?
    Hanna, in marked contrast, had invariably given the impression that she regarded sex as sinful, dangerous and definitely distasteful. Sometimes, Maria wondered how she herself had come to be conceived, unless it was another Virgin Birth. Yet even her friends in the village – earthy types like Carole, June and Jacqueline, each with a big brood of kids – seemed to lose all sexual appetite once they passed the menopause. ‘Eddie leaves me alone now, thank God!’ Carole had remarked, just the other week.
    She summoned Eddie to bed: a burly, weather-beaten man, with a head of strong white hair and powerful, muscly hands. She made him use those hands; enjoyed the sense of his solid bulk astride her; inhaled his masculine smell of gun-oil and tobacco. Eddie was a thruster, and not a man to tire. He might be seventy-odd but, frustrated by Carole’s tepidity, he was ardently determined to make up for lost time.
    A wild cry escaped her lips, followed by a sense of deep embarrassment, not to mention shame. She was far too old for these ersatz thrills and, anyway, it was adultery by stealth, and adultery was not only a sin but signally disloyal to Carole.
    However, even now, she wasn’t satisfied; yearning for some more substantial pleasure. Was something seriously wrong with her – stuck in perpetual adolescence, despite her pension and her bus pass? Or was she simply reinhabiting her rebellious, twenty-something self?
    That memory set off another fantasy: her imperious and talented first lover kissing away her scruples and her nerves; simply overruling her, through the force of his own passion. His urgent, seeking mouth was clamped against her own; shockwaves shuddering through her body as—
    She sprang off the bed at the sound of something being overturned in the sitting-room below; charged downstairs, full pelt.
    Rebellious youth was over; it was time to return to her present, burdened self.

Chapter 2
    ‘A ND THIS IS our lounge,’ the worryingly young nurse announced, opening the door to a large, institutional room, its walls painted a depressing sludge-green. ‘Just look at that fantastic view!’
    Maria glanced out at the bleakly empty flowerbeds and naked, shivering trees. Admittedly, the prospect would be much improved once spring brought leaves and blooms but, judging by the inmates here, it would take more than a view to rally them. Twenty aged females and two still more ancient men were sitting in a circle of identical green-padded chairs, facing a large television that was tuned to a children’s programme featuring quacking ducks and mooing cows, all giving tongue at full volume.
    ‘We have to turn it up loud,’ the nurse explained, apologetically, ‘with so many of our residents being hard of hearing.’
    Maria did a quick appraisal. The furnishings couldn’t be faulted: the carpet decent quality, the curtains properly lined, the residents themselves all respectably dressed. It was just the general atmosphere that seemed so sadly wrong. For one thing, no one was talking – no interaction, no friendly exchanges – but then conversation would have been well nigh impossible, with so much competition from the screen.
    ‘Do they watch television all day?’ she dared to ask. Hanna had lost the distinction between flesh-and-blood people and their on-screen counterparts , so she kept their own set firmly switched to ‘off’.
    ‘Oh,
no
!’ The nurse sounded genuinely shocked. We employ a dedicated activities co-ordinator – Danielle – she’s lovely! She arranges things like carpet bowls and handicrafts. And, although we don’t have a specialized dementia programme, there are reminiscence sessions, which, from what you say, might be very helpful for your mother.’
    Maria nodded abstractedly, taking in the Christmas decorations: tinsel, streamers, tall tree festooned with fairy lights; the glitter and adornment an ironic contrast to the marked lack of celebration in any