Excerpt of More to Life Than This by Carole Matthews

"We're far too young to be doing this, Jeffrey." Kate
looked round the crumbling village hall and put her
equally crumbly fruit cake down beside her tepid cup of
tea.

"What?" Her husband looked up from the bright yellow book
that listed English gardens open to the public.

"This." Kate gestured at the peeling paintwork. She
lowered her voice.'Everyone else in here looks like they
need a walker to even move."

Her husband peered over his glasses at her.'It's not that
bad. You do exaggerate."

"Can you see anyone here who isn't likely to be in the
post office next Tuesday, drawing their old-age pension —
apart from us?"

Jeffrey surveyed the room. He took off his glasses and had
a closer look. His mouth twisted uncertainly. "We've just
caught them at a bad time."

"I think we're the ones who are at a bad time."

At this, he put down the book with a sigh and folded his
arms.'What's that supposed to mean?"

"We've turned into trainee pensioners." She tugged her
dark hair back from her forehead with a frustrated jerk,
showing the spark of her vivid blue eyes in their full
glory. "We can't walk a hundred yards without feeling
faint and needing to be resuscitated by angel layer cake
and tea with too much milk." Kate picked up her cup and
put it down again disconsolately.

Her husband looked puzzled. "But I thought you were
thirsty?"

"I am thirsty, but that's not the point. We are in the
prime of our lives," she said emphatically. "We should
still be passionate about things."

"I'm still very passionate."

She flopped back in her orange plastic chair, causing it
to wobble on its rickety legs.'About what?"

"I liked that bubble pond and splashy fountain thing in
the last garden — Whatsit Cottage," he ventured, scanning
the book to find it, without success. "Didn't you think it
was nice?"

"And that's being passionate?" Kate picked up a fragment
of her cake and tossed it in her mouth.'We've not yet
climbed the hill to forty and we're behaving as if we're
ready for our retirement home."

A hurt look flashed across Jeffrey's face.'Don't you enjoy
nosing round other people's gardens?"

"Yes,I do.But perhaps I'd enjoy doing something else
more." 'Like what?" 'Like rollerblading or windsurfing or
rock climbing." Her husband frowned at the dregs of cold
tea in his pale green utilitarian china cup complete with
designer chip. "You've no sense of balance for
rollerblading. You hate getting wet and you don't like
heights."

"Well, something else then." 'The children enjoyed our
outing today," he reasoned. "Doesn't that worry you?" 'No,
I think it's rather nice." He smiled benevolently in their
direction.

Kate followed his glance to the Women's Institute homemade
produce stall, where a cornucopia of hand-written labels
and cellophane-wrapped sponge cakes graced an unsteady
trestle table.'They're looking at home-made jam," she said
disbelievingly. "They're ten and twelve years old and
they're looking at home-made jam — happily."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Jeffrey asked. "Look at
them. They don't argue. Ever. They play nicely together.
They sit and watch Neighbours without fighting over the
channel changer. And I can't get a twitch of interest out
of them for the lust of Heartbreak High."

The father of Joseph and Kerry Lewis cracked his knuckles,
a tried and tested indicator of supreme exasperation.

"I mean," she continued drearily,'when did we last have to
go up to their schools and be lambasted about their
disruptive behaviour?"

"Never." 'My point, exactly." 'What do you expect?"
Jeffrey's brow creased in consternation. "We've brought
them up nicely. Would you rather they were behind the bike
sheds dropping E or shooting up heroin?"

"They should be old enough for a bit of illicit smoking,
at least. I've searched both of their bedrooms and there's
nothing. Nothing." Kate flicked back her mop of raven
hair. "Sonia said Andrew's got three copies of Playboy and
a packet of multicoloured condoms, ribbed for extra
sensitivity, hidden under his bed already."

"He's eleven years old!" Jeffrey looked disgusted.'Isn't
she the one with the problem, not us?"

Kate ignored him.'They shouldn't be like this, Jeffrey,"
she went on, her eyes troubled. "They're quite happy to be
dragged round looking at gardens with their parents on a
Sunday afternoon when they should be locked away in their
bedrooms, playing computer games and trying to find
pornography on the Internet. They actually like fresh air."

"It isn't a crime." 'It isn't normal either." 'What were
you like at their age?" 'Little Miss Goody Two-shoes," she
said miserably. "I couldn't move an inch for fear of
incurring my parents' disapproval. I was nurtured to death
in a meticulously kept semi-detached emotion-free box."

Jeffrey smiled sadly.'I was the same," he said.'It was
called good parenting then — in the days before social
workers were invented. They did their best."

"That's not what I want for our children,'she sighed.'I
want them to be free to make their own mistakes. I want
them to run before they can walk and do what they want to
do, not what they think they're expected to do."

"They're young. They're still finding their feet. Give
them time."

She pointed surreptitiously at them. "But jam, Jeffrey,
jam. We have two middle-aged children and it's all our
fault."

"I know you worry about this, but let's not have a fight
today." He reached out and took her hand.

This wasn't the first time that she'd made these kinds of
noises, and clearly Jeffrey didn't want her to cause a
scene.

"They're all right," he said gently, "really they are.
Perhaps they'll be late developers."

"I must have potty-trained them too young," Kate said.'It
causes them to be repressed as adolescents. I read it in
Parent and Child magazine. They're too perfect and it's
all because I was fed up with lugging truckloads of
Pampers from the supermarket."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're a wonderful mother. You
should be proud of them."

"I know." Her voice wavered.

Jeffrey stood up, causing his chair to screech across the
wooden floor. The roomful of pensioners looked up from
their iced cherry fancies and glared at him. He smiled
apologetically.'Let's make a move," he told his wife.'We
seem to have exhausted the delights that Great Brickworth
gardens have to offer."

Kate picked up her cardigan from the back of the chair and
slipped her hand in his as they walked to the door.'I've
spoiled the afternoon now, haven't I?"

He squeezed her hand.'Of course you haven't."

The children fell in step behind them.'Can we have some
jam, Mummy?"

"We've got a cupboard full of it at home." 'Yes, but this
has big lumps of strawberry in it," Kerry insisted. "Not
like that horrible processed stuff from Sainsbury's which
is full of artificial colour and preservatives and
probably gives you toxic poisoning."

"Why don't you make jam any more?" Joe asked. "I've been
busy." Doing what? 'I'll make some this week," Kate
promised. "Great!" They raced ahead into the sunshine.

It was one of those sweltering Mediterranean-type days
with an impossibly blue sky — one of those days when you
can believe global warming is really happening and isn't
just something made up by bored scientists to keep
themselves in a job. And yet as they began to walk back to
the car, the welcome heat that was searing into the skin
of her arms singularly failed to bring any warmth to
Kate's soul.

"You're quiet," Jeffrey said. "Sorry." 'You know —" he
fiddled with her fingers ' — I think this is more about
you feeling restless than anything to do with the
children. They're perfectly content."

"I know." She squeezed his fingers back.'I wish I could
feel so delirious at being fobbed off with the vague
promise of home-made jam."

"Maybe you should stop thinking about making jam and do
something more interesting. Get out more." He stared at
the lane ahead of them. "I know you've not been finding
things easy recently."

She stopped and looked at her husband. Her other half.
Jeffrey was so sure, so confident, so at home with
himself. If he was her other half, why didn't he make her
feel whole any more? Where had their oneness gone? The
children didn't need her,either.Not like they used to.
They loved her, as Jeffrey did, but they didn't need her.
So long as there was a meal on the table, clean socks in
the drawer and someone to drive them around in the car,
they were perfectly self-sufficient individuals. She had
been a wife and mother for longer than she cared to
remember — even longer than Regis Philbin had hosted LIVE.
They'd had the best years of her life and now she no
longer knew who she was. Her brain had been sucked dry by
domestic duties until she felt like one of those sad women
on TV ads who get their meagre kicks out of sniffing the
fresh lemon tang of their new-improved fabric conditioner.
Suddenly, the fulfilment she had experienced from being
the hub of her family had flown out of the window, along
with the ability to drink more than two glasses of wine
without getting pissed and endure more than two
consecutive late nights. The feelings of doubt and
insecurity that had been bobbing below the surface of her
consciousness broke water.

"Do you think I'm boring, Jeffrey?" 'Of course I
don't." 'I do." She snapped a stem from the lavender bush
that cascaded over the weathered stone wall next to them
and twisted it in her fingers, inhaling its soothing
scent. "I've nothing interesting to say these days. My
whole life revolves round the home. I feel like a hamster
on one of those little treadmill things. I scurry around
wearing my legs out for no good purpose. My week is spent
shopping and cleaning and cooking and making sure that the
kids are washed and ironed and ready to go to school. I do
nothing for myself."

"You go to the gym with Sonia."

Kate gave a sad little laugh. "It's not exactly the
meaning of life, is it?"

Jeffrey turned to her and the look of bewilderment on his
face churned her insides.'I had no idea you were so
unhappy," he said quietly.

"I'm not," she said.'Truly, I'm not. It's just that..."
Suddenly her throat had closed and there was a nasty hot
stinging behind her eyes. "It's just that..." She gulped
the tears away. "There must be more to life than this."

"What more do you want?"

I want to feel alive again. She trailed her hand along the
rough stone, enjoying the pain on her soft skin. Anything
rather than the numbness there was inside.'I used to wake
up in the morning wondering what new challenges the day
ahead would hold. I couldn't wait to get out of bed! Now I
just wonder how much of the ironing I'll be able to get
through before the kids come home and need feeding. I
don't measure my pessimism by whether a wine-glass is half-
full or half-empty — the ironing basket is my gauge."

She turned to Jeffrey, but the expression on his face said
that he was lost when it came to sorting out her problems.
She was the sorter-outer in their household. The lawnmower
breaks — Kate fixes it. The washing machine floods — Kate
mops up after it. The goldfish dies — Kate digs the hole,
buries the fish and provides the tissues for the weeping
children. Kate also arranges replacement goldfish, having
trawled half the pet shops in the surrounding area for its
identical twin.

"What do you want to do?" he asked, with the air of a man
who isn't sure whether he really wants to know the answer.