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“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen you sit on top of a table.”
“I never would have let you see me sit on top of a table. You wouldn’t have liked it.”
“You were always so worried about what I liked,” Evita said dismissively. “How was I to know you wanted to sit atop tables? All those years you were married to Winston, I could never get you to tell me a single thing except what I wanted to hear. I’m glad you’re phoning me now you’re divorced. I’d like to get to know you a bit.”
It was such a disconcerting statement, Rosemary lifted her legs onto the table, spun, and laid down. “Evita?”
“Yes?”
“Was I a good mum?”
“Imagine you asking me that.”
“Whenever Beatrice spilled gravy at dinner or wore a dress you didn’t approve of, you criticized me. Did I do such a terrible job?”
“You did a fine job. Just look at Beatrice. She’s lovely.”
“She could be lovely in spite of me.”
“No.”
“It’s only that it always seemed easy for you to accept everything Beatrice did, forgive her every flaw. It was harder for me.”
“You’re her mother. If you’re interested in loving a child and having it be easy, try being a grandmother. Being a grandmother is delightful.”
Rosemary found it was better to weep flat on her back. The tears ran off into her hair and her ears. She felt appropriately prostrate with grief. “So you think I did all right?”
Evita made a clucking noise. “You did your best, and it worked out in the end. Anything that hasn’t worked out yet will in time. It’s not as though Winston and Neville have been thrilled with my performance every moment of their lives, but they still come around on the holidays, so that’s all right.”
“How do you know when you’re doing a good job and when you’re fu—messing it up?”
“You don’t.”
“That’s discouraging.”
“Darling, you’ve only ever gone wrong in one way,” Evita said. “You’re not so very creative. You and Winston didn’t love each other. You both looked for love outside your marriage. Winston had the office, and you had the house and charity work. You sought my approval because you didn’t know where else to look for it. That’s not how it is when a marriage is working. Richard and I love each other, and we find love and approval in our marriage. We do what we want to do in the world because we both know the love is there. Or look at Neville and Mary Catherine, or Winston with this Allie. They have the right idea.”
Rosemary dried her temple with her wrist. “That’s what I was doing with the climbing? Asking the world to love me?”
“Of course. What did you think you were doing?”
“Finding my best self.”
Evita made a noise, half choked, half laughing. “Honestly. If you’ve met someone you love, try not doing what you did last time. I think you’ll be pleased with the result.”
“That sounds like good advice.”
“I only give good advice.”
“I seem to remember you giving Winston bad advice on more than one occasion.”
“He’s my child, Rosemary. All a mother ever wants is for her children to be happy and thrive in the world. When we see our children suffering, that’s when we meddle and get ourselves into trouble. You want Beatrice to be happy. She wants to be happy, and to know you love her. When she needs you, she’ll tell you, and she’ll make it clear what you’re meant to do. Give her money, or maternal advice, or be her best friend or her mentor. It’s actually quite simple if you’re not determined to make it complicated.”
There was a rustling on the phone line, and then Evita’s voice, muffled. “That’s just Richard,” she said. “We need to head to dinner. I trust you can sort through the rest of this on your own?”
“I guess. Thank you.”
