The Single Life. Liz Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ food after grueling sessions at the fitness class. When they had befriended Clare, a sister in sweat, they had invited her along. But the vegetarian menu didn’t thrill Clare. The first couple of times she’d ordered only salads. She even joked about it: the Green Factory became the Slim Factory and the name stuck for a while.

      Then, one day, Clare became adventurous. She tried a tofu burger and liked it. The next time, she moved on to the lentil loaf. After that, it was the olive-roasted bread, millet pilaf and vegetable croustade. Now, she was a jolly green monster, insisting Lauren eat bread. Everyone else worried about carbs, but Clare pushed bread!

      Lauren forced herself to eat some in a show of good will. For some reason, it took less effort to get it down than whatever had been on her plate.

      “Happy?” She looked at Alice who was leaning back, her hands folded across her stomach. “Aren’t you going to have any more?”

      Alice shook her head. “I’ve had too much already. Not that I can stop myself. I’m addicted. I’ve got the hips to show for it.”

      She patted them, inviting Lauren to look at the parts of her figure visible behind the table. It was full and ample and curvaceous. Lauren wished she looked half as healthy and a quarter as feminine.

      “You don’t have anything to worry about. Besides, I think it’s going to happen, addiction or not. It has something to do with meno… No, what did you call it? Oh, yes. The dawn of a new age. You don’t loose your figure, you just gain a middle.”

      Alice wagged her finger. “Careful, Lauren. I’m going to think you agree with me.”

      “Help me with my house and I just might.”

      Clare became suddenly serious. “Look, as your lawyer, I really think your best option is to sell.”

      “I told you—” Lauren began, but closed her mouth when Clare lifted up a dainty index finger.

      “Alice and I have been talking about it, and we think, well, there is something you could try.”

      “What?” Lauren reached for some water.

      “Get a job.”

      Lauren almost knocked her glass down. “A job? I have one. It’s called writing.”

      “And apparently, it’s not going too well.”

      Once again, Lauren opened her mouth to say something; once again, Clare persevered.

      “I’m talking about another job, Lauren. One that would get you some cash. And it would have other advantages. It would get you out of the house. It could give you something to write about.” She held up three fingers. “It might even shake your depression.”

      Clare dropped her hand, leaned her elbows on the table and moved closer to Lauren. “I’m serious, Lauren. Get a job, and you just might be set for that new life we were talking about.”

      “Get a job?” Lauren looked at Alice for help and saw that the battle lines had been drawn earlier, probably before she had arrived at the table. “I wouldn’t know how to do that. The last time I tried was a lifetime ago. And who’s going to want a woman who’s over the hill, anyway?”

      “Well, if that’s the way you think, no one!” Alice said, impatience straining her voice for the first time. “Shake out of it, honey. You may not be the only one who’s got problems around here, but you’re the only one who’s determined not to do something about them!”

      Lauren was so startled by the uncharacteristic outburst, she stopped listening until Clare pounded her fist against the table.

      “You really haven’t been hearing a word we’ve been saying, have you? Well listen to this. It’s all about attitude. Convince yourself and you’ll convince others.”

      Chrissie hadn’t needed any convincing. She had been delighted with Clare’s and Alice’s idea and had urged her mother to explore the professional contacts she had developed over the years. Western University, where Lauren had taught years ago, might have short-term jobs. With the semester beginning soon and the increase in enrolments, the school would be looking for a good, experienced teacher, especially one whose name carried a little weight in the publishing world.

      Western had asked Lauren to run a creative writing workshop several years ago, when she had won the Behn Foundation Award, but she had been eager to start her second book then and had turned down the offer. A year later, Western had renewed it. She had been on the verge of accepting when Charles had announced that he wanted a divorce. Lauren’s friends had encouraged her not to abandon her plans, but she simply forgot to respond until it was too late. Now, she sincerely hoped Western wouldn’t hold it against her. A few hours teaching the craft of writing might be the ideal way to hold on to her house.

      The next day, sobered by her friends’ parting remarks, encouraged by her daughter and armed with budding newfound courage, Lauren called Diane Cart, the head of the writing department, who promptly invited Lauren to a trendy coffee shop near the campus to talk.

      Lauren took her time getting ready. She considered this meeting an interview. She carefully sorted through her clothes, seeing, for the first time, some advantage to the extra closet and rack space Charles had left behind. She tried on three trouser suits before finding one that didn’t hang on her hips like a sack. But it still needed a belt and was much less flattering than it had once been. She had lost far too much weight recently, but, with the state of her life, she hadn’t given a thought to her wardrobe.

      Not that Lauren had ever been a woman who turned heads. Although she was tall and toned from exercise, she lacked the hourglass proportions of the ideal female figure. Her breasts were far too small, her behind too big and her waist almost nonexistent. Nonetheless, she had always liked to wear good quality clothes, and she had enjoyed scouring expensive boutiques and department stores in search of them. She hadn’t done that since the divorce, but maybe things would change with the interview.

      Examining herself in the full-length mirror, Lauren tried not to dwell on the ravages of the past few months. At least, she looked like a professional woman ready for an interview. That was what mattered.

      Her gray roots were showing, but that couldn’t be helped now. She styled her hair as well as she could and promised herself an appointment at the hairdresser, if she got the job. Then she went to work on her face, hoping to put more sparkle in her blue eyes and more color in her cheeks. She may not have used her makeup kit for a while, but she still knew a few tricks. The woman she saw when she gave herself a final, parting glance in the mirror was not who she used to be, but she wasn’t this year’s lifeless shadow either.

      Diane wasn’t at the café when Lauren arrived. She glanced around the room, taking in all the poised, youthful diners, in their twenties and thirties, wearing expensive designer clothes, drinking coffee, reading newspapers or engrossed in flirtatious conversations.

      It was like walking onto the set of a fashion shoot. Despite her efforts with her appearance, Lauren felt self-conscious and out of place.

      She felt even more drab and dull when Diane Cart swept into the room, looking as if she had stepped off the pages of Vogue. Lauren watched Diane cross the room—a self-aware, well-kept, confident woman—and wished she had never made this appointment. She should have waited until she looked less of a wreck. How was she ever going to assert herself to someone like this?

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ