The Book Club

I’ve been reading all day while outside it pours down.

In order to restore my daughter’s faith in me, I’ve decided to go to the book club after all. I’m cramming in A Thousand Splendid Suns before tonight and although I wouldn’t have picked this title if it weren’t for the club, I love it. It’s about a woman in Afghanistan in the seventies. She’s married off to an older man when she’s fifteen and is completely trapped but eventually her spirit breaks free. I know how she feels.

Zoe’s call has been playing in the back of my mind. Of course I knew that it was a cheeky thing to do – that was the point of it. Am I too old for a night out? It doesn’t seem so long ago since I was a carefree stewardess travelling the world. If I’d been in the restaurant watching, would I have disowned the two women taking pictures? I’d probably envy their courage wishing I could let it rip with good friends.

And asking: ‘What will Dad think?’ was unfair of her. He lost his right to comment on my lifestyle a few months ago, but then again, maybe he did look at them and recall the fun-loving woman he originally fell for. From Zoe’s response I imagine he’d be more likely to recoil and think, ‘Thank God I got away from her when I did.’ Is this not what they all meant by ‘getting on with my life’? If not, then what?

I sigh and snuggle down. Today, I just don’t care; no one can get to me. I’m cosy, have a lovely mug of coffee and a good book. What more could I want?

It’s funny, if I tell people I’ve spent all day on the sofa reading a book, they’ll say, ‘Oh I couldn’t sit still for that long’ or ‘What a waste of a day’ and yet all week long, I sell trips to people who spend thousands of pounds, buy holiday clothes, queue at airports and then lie on loungers for two weeks reading.

I guess I won’t have to persuade this crowd of that. I don’t quite finish but I have to leave if I’m going to get there on time. It’s dark and the street lights shine down on to the wet pavement but there are no raindrops reflected in their glow, a small break in the weather to help me get to the pub without looking like a wet dog. I pull on a raincoat and armed with umbrella cross the small park to reach The Crown.

I’m hit with a blast of warm air as I walk in and I feel my cheeks ripen. I look around and see a group of a dozen people sitting at one of the dining tables. Many are holding the book, so I inhale some confidence and walk over.

‘I guess this is the book club,’ I chirp.

‘That’s us,’ replies one of the women and pulls out a chair so that I can join them easily.

I’m told there are more people here than usual because of everyone’s New Year’s resolutions to get a life. As I look around the table I see a very definite ‘type’ of person, probably every bookish stereotype you could imagine. Amongst our numbers we have the quiet intellect (Ed), the twinkly-eyed flirt (Peter), the eccentric bookshop owner (Caroline) and of course the divorcee (me!).

As soon as the drinks arrive, Caroline asks if anyone would like to start.

‘I enjoyed finding out some of the history of the region,’ I offer – not quite knowing what you’re supposed to say at book clubs.

‘She was so young to go through all that. I just wanted to rescue her,’ adds Caroline.

‘Like Lawrence of Arabia, whisking her off her feet and riding away on his trusty steed.’ Peter’s comments come with an elaborate sweep of his scarf.

‘You do realise T E Lawrence never went to Afghanistan?’ Ed corrects.

Peter responds with a huge open-mouthed exclamation, ‘Reeaaally.’

Ed smiles graciously and we all relax a little more into the evening.

Conversation flows easily considering we’ve never met before and it occurs to me that the book is just a focal point or excuse; we could be talking about anything. I could have joined a wine club or a flower club, the point is to just get out and meet people.

‘Are you local?’ asks Caroline as the evening draws to a close and a small number of us start drifting into more personal conversations.

I tell her that I live and work less than ten minutes away.

‘It’s amazing how many people we must see every day and yet never meet,’ she comments, ‘although I’m ashamed to confess that I book my travel online.’

‘Thank God for that,’ I laugh. ‘I didn’t want to admit I’d used Amazon.’

‘That’s perhaps why none of us ever meet. What made you come tonight?’ she asks.

‘Recently divorced,’ I answer without further explanation and she seems to understand.

‘So starting over,’ she says.

‘Whatever that means,’ I shrug. ‘I’m sure I don’t.’

In films, the newly divorced or bereaved tend to rediscover their childhood passion for painting or playing the piano then make a fortune out of it. I was never any good at either of them. Caroline sits quietly while I ponder.

Needing to break the silence, I offer, ‘I thought I might have my hair done.’

‘It’s always a good start,’ she says, then adds, ‘I might be able to help.’

She tells me she’s training to be a life coach. I’ve never heard of them and as she’s explaining what she does, I can’t imagine how you train to be one. It seems to consist of getting people to make lists and stick to them. But...nothing ventured and all that. I agree to let her practise on me. As we’re getting dressed to leave the pub, we arrange to meet at my house on Sunday. I’m going to make lunch and then I’m going to have my first life-coaching session. Somehow I think Zoe might approve of this; it’s her type of thing.

‘Do I need to do anything in advance?’ I ask.

‘Just one thing,’ says Caroline, switching to the soft therapist-style voice which I think comes free with the training, ‘and I don’t want you to think too hard about the answer to this question – just day dream.’

I get butterflies and wonder if I should be writing this down.

‘On Sunday I’ll bring a magic wand with me and on Monday when you wake up – your life will be perfect. What does that perfect life look like?’

And with that she gives me a peck on the cheek and heads off into the rain like a Disney fairy godmother. I put my umbrella up and start to head home feeling quite elated. After a few steps I take the brolly down and let the rain fall over my face; rather than soaking me, it seems instead to be washing away some of my woes.

I’ve made a new friend for the first time in years.

Perhaps I will be OK after all.