Page 47 of The Winter of Second Chances
Gemma had brought a notebook with gold-edged pages, which she smoothed open with her palms.
‘I’ve been making notes while the children do colouring in,’ she said.
‘Right,’ said Maeve. ‘Let’s begin.’
The women shuffled in their seats and ran their hands over their books as though divining inspiration from the jackets.
‘It was long,’ said Sally. ‘But not as long as it seemed when I read it at school.’
‘But not boring,’ said Gemma.
Sally nodded.
‘No, the explanations and descriptions seemed pertinent.’
‘And at least notallthe women were drips,’ said Annie.
‘I assume you’re referring to Marion?’ said Maeve, leaning back in her chair. ‘Unusual for a male writer of the time to write a woman of such gumption and not have her fainting all over the place.’
‘I hate that,’ said Gemma. She put her hand to her forehead and feigned a Victorian swoon. ‘Oh, I do declare,’ she said in a wispy voice, ‘I just caught sight of Julian’s sock-suspender!’
‘Laura faints all over the place,’ said Sally. ‘Made me want to slap her with a wet cod.’
‘All delicate and self-effacing,’ agreed Annie. ‘Why wasn’t Walter in love with Marion? She was much more interesting.’
‘Because Victorian men didn’t want interesting women,’ said Maeve. ‘They wanted china dolls with vaginas.’
‘I’ve known a few twenty-first-century men like that,’ said Sally.
‘Why are Victorian women always written like that?’ asked Gemma. ‘They can’t go out in the drizzle for fear of catching a chill, which will undoubtedly result in a fever and near death.’
‘I always thought that about Jane inPride and Prejudice,’ said Annie. ‘She trots out on a horse in the rain to see Bingley and spends the next three weeks at death’s door.’
‘If I’d have been Bingley,’ said Maeve, ‘that would have put me right off her.’
‘If you’d have been Bingley, you’d have had her put down like a lame horse,’ said Gemma.
Maeve nodded gravely.
‘It’s interesting that Marion could only be brave and intelligent because she was manly,’ said Annie. She flicked through her book to a piece of paper poking out of the top of the page. ‘Wilkie describes her as swarthy with a masculine jaw and a full moustache. He’s basically written Marion as Magnum P.I.’
‘I noticed that too,’ said Gemma, flicking through her notes. ‘Why couldn’t she have been sexy and pretty and still be clever and brave?’
‘If she’d been sexy, she would have been evil,’ said Sally. ‘Because men found sexy women tempting and therefore those women must be bad.’
‘And if she’d been pretty,’ said Maeve, ‘then she’d have been too meek to be clever and been killed by rain: undoer of good women all over nineteenth-century Britain.’
‘And everyone knows,’ said Annie, ‘that only men can be clever and heroic.’
‘Or swarthy women with full moustaches,’ said Gemma.
‘What did you think of Walter?’ Annie asked.
‘Typical hero,’ said Sally, in a bored voice. She waved a hand dismissively as though batting Walter out of the room.
‘And, therefore, completely uninteresting,’ said Maeve.
‘Oh, I don’t agree,’ said Gemma. ‘Why must a kind and honourable man be classed as boring? I hate that whole damaged hero crap. I don’t want my daughter to grow up chasing after arseholes; I want her to meet someone nice, like Walter. There’s a lot to be said for being nice.’
