Maeve Binchy - Evening Class

'So what's all this about, Connie?'

'You and I have a problem. I can't understand it. You're gorgeous, you're an experienced lover, I love you. It must be my fault, I may need to see a doctor or a shrink or something. But I want to sort it out. Can we talk about it without fighting or sulking or getting upset?' She looked so lovely there, so eager, explaining things that were hard and distasteful to articulate, he struggled to

'Say something , Harry, say that after eight days and eight nights we will not give up. It's a happiness that's there waiting to happen for me, tell me that you know it will be all right.' Still the silence. Not accusing, just bewildered. 'Say anything,' she begged. 'Just tell me what you want.'

'I want a honeymoon baby, Connie. I am thirty years of age, I want a son who can take over my business by the time I'm fifty-five. I want a family there over the next years; when I need them I

come home to them. But you know all this. You and I have talked of aims and dreams for so long, night after night before I knew…' he stopped.

'No, go on,' she said, her voice quiet.

'Well then, before I knew you were frigid,' he said. There was a silence. 'Now, you made me say it. I don't see the point of talking about these things.' He looked upset.

She was still calm. 'You're right, I did make you say it. And is that what I am, do you think?'

'Well, you said yourself you might need a shrink, a doctor, something. Maybe it's in your past. Jesus, I don't know. And I'm as sorry as hell because you're absolutely beautiful and I couldn't be more upset that it's no good for you.'

She was determined not to cry, scream, run away, all the things she wanted to do. She had got by by being calm, she must continue like this.

'So in many ways we want the same thing. I too want a honeymoon baby,' she said. 'Come on, it's not that difficult. Lots of people do it, let's keep trying.' And she gave him the most insincere smile she had ever given anyone and led him back to the bedroom.

When they got back to Dublin she assured him she would get it sorted out. Still smiling bravely she said it made sense, she would consult the experts. First she made an appointment with a leading gynaecologist. He was a very courteous and charming man, he showed her a diagram of the female reproductive area pointing out where there might be blockages or obstructions. Connie studied the drawings with interest. They might have been plans for a new air-conditioning system in the hotel, for all the relevance they had to what she felt in her own body. She nodded at his explanations, reassured by his easy manner and discreet way of implying that almost everyone in the world had similar problems.

But at the physical examination the problems began. She tensed so much that he could not examine her at all. He stood there despairing, his hand in its plastic glove, his face kind and impersonal at the same time. She did not feel that he was a threat to her, it would be such a relief to discover some membrane that could be easily removed, but every muscle in her body had seized up.

'I think we should do an examination under anaesthetic,' he said.

'Much easier for everyone, and very probably a D and C, then you'll be as right as rain.'

She made the appointment for the next week. Harry was loving and supportive. He came to the nursing home to settle her in. 'You're all that matters to me, I never met anyone like you.'

'I bet you didn't,' she tried to joke about it. 'Beating them off was your trouble, not like you have with me.'

'Connie, it will be fine.' He was so gentle and handsome and concerned. If she couldn't be loving to a man like this there was no hope for her. Suppose she had given in to the persuasion of people like Jacko in the past, would it have been better or worse? She would never know now.

The examination showed that there was nothing physically wrong with Mrs. Constance Kane. At work Connie knew if you went down one avenue and came to a dead end you had to go back to where you started from and go down another. She made an appointment with a psychiatrist. A very pleasant woman with a genuine smile and a matter-of-fact approach. She was easy to talk to, she seemed to ask shortish questions and expected longer answers. At work Connie was more accustomed to be in a listening mode, but gradually she responded to the interested questions of the psychiatrist, which never seemed intrusive.

She assured the older woman that there had not been any unpleasant sexual experiences in her past because there hadn't been any. No, she hadn't felt deprived, or curious or frustrated by not having had sex. No she had never felt drawn to anyone of her own sex, nor had an emotional relationship that was so strong it overshadowed anything heterosexual. She told the woman about her great friendship with Vera, but said that in all honesty there wasn't a hint of sexuality or emotional dependency in it, it was all laughter and confiding. And how it began because Vera was the only person to treat the whole business of her father as if it were a normal kind of thing that could happen to anyone.

The psychiatrist was very understanding and sympathetic and asked more and more about Connie's father, and her sense of disappointment after his death. 'I think you're making too much of this whole business about my Dad,' Connie said at one point.

'It's quite possible. Tell me about when you came home from school each day. Did he get involved in your homework, for example?'

J

CI know what you're trying to say, that maybe he interfered with me or something, but it was not remotely like that.'

'No, I'm not saying that at all. Why do you think I'm saying that?'

They went around in circles. At times Connie cried. CI feel so disloyal talking about my father like this.'

'But you haven't said anything against him, just how kind and good and loving he was, and how he showed your picture to people at the golf course.'

'But I feel he's accused of something else, like my not being able to be good in bed.'

'You haven't accused him of that.'

'I know, but I feel it's hanging there over me.'

'And why is that, do you think?'

'I don't know. I suppose it's because I felt so let down, I had to write my whole life story all over again. He didn't love us at all. How could he have, if he was more interested in some horse or dog?'

'Is that the way it looks now?'

'He never laid a hand on me, I can't tell you that enough. It's not that I've suppressed it or anything.'

'But he let you down, disappointed you.'

'It couldn't be just that, could it? Because one man let us down as a family I'm afraid of all men?' Connie laughed at the notion.

'Is that so unlikely?'

'I deal with men all day, I work with men. I've never been afraid of them.'

'But then you've never let any of them come close to you.'

'I'll think about what you say,' Connie said.

'Think about what you say,' said the psychiatrist.

'Did she find anything?' His face was hopeful.

'A load of nonsense. Because my father was unreliable I think all men are unreliable.' Connie laughed in scorn.

'It might be true,' he said to her surprise.

'But Harry, how could it be? We are so open with each other, you would never let me down.'

'I hope I wouldn't,' he said, so seriously that she felt a shiver go the whole way up and down her spine.

And the week went on. Nothing got any better, but Connie clung to him and begged, 'Please don't give up on me, please Harry. I love you, I want our child so much. Maybe when we have our child I'll relax and love it all like I should.'

'Shush, shush,' he would say, stroking the anxious lines away from her face, and it wasn't all repulsive or painful, it was just so very difficult. And they had surely had sex often enough now for her to have become pregnant. Look at all the people who got pregnant who were doing everything on earth to avoid it. In the wakeful night Connie wondered could fate have also decided that she be infertile on top of everything else. But no. She missed her period, and hardly daring to hope she waited until she was sure. Then she told him the news.