Read The Uncommon Appeal of Clouds: An Isabel Dalhousie Novel (9) for Free Online Page A

hands thoroughly before handling food and had equipped the small
     washroom at the back of the shop with a stiff nailbrush, which Eddie had evidently
     not used, or used to inadequate effect.
    “It’s serious, Isabel. We’re going to live together now.”
    Isabel caught her breath. In her mind, Eddie was still very young, even if he was
     twenty-one.
    “That’s quite an important step,” she said.
    “I know that,” said Eddie. “But it’s what we want to do. If it works out, we’re going
     to get engaged.”
    Isabel’s smile was very tentative. “That’s … well, that’s also a big step, isn’t it,
     at your age?”
    Eddie looked at her searchingly. “What age were you when you first fell in love?”
    She had to think. Most of us first experienced love in our teenage years, sometimes
     when we were barely into our teens. The passionate friendships of those years were
     really love affairs even if they remained innocent. And they often focused on friends
     of the same sex—a rite of passage to heterosexuality, for some people, not all, of
     course. If people were honest with themselves, they would remember such friendships,
     but then people were far from honest when it came to things like that.
    She had fallen in love with a boy when she was sixteen. That had been her eye-opener.
     She had felt elated, excited and miserable in roughly equal measure. She had never
     dreamed that love could be painful, but it was. She had loved him so much that it
     hurt, and when it ended, as was inevitable, the pain had been even more intense—for
     three weeks. Then she had suddenly woken up one morning and realised that he wasjust a boy and that she no longer wanted to spend the entire day thinking about him.
     That was her cure.
    “I loved somebody when I was sixteen, seventeen,” she said. “And then again a few
     years later I fell badly for somebody whom I eventually married. It was a bad mistake
     on my part. I think I told you once, didn’t I?”
    Eddie remembered. “Yes. What was he called again?”
    Isabel had to make an effort: the uttering of names can be potent—and painful. “John
     Liamor. He was not a good man, I’m afraid to say.”
    “Then you’re best off without him,” said Eddie. “He’s history. Forget him.”
    “I did,” said Isabel, and felt, as she uttered the words, a pang of regret. “I had
     to teach myself not to think about him. It wasn’t easy.”
    “Then let’s talk about something else: Diane.”
    Isabel smiled at him. “You’re obviously head over heels in love with her. You’re lucky.”
     She paused. Eddie’s face had broken into a grin of sheer pleasure.
    “Yes,” Isabel continued. “You’re really lucky, Eddie. Love transforms everything,
     doesn’t it?”
    She assumed that he might be embarrassed by this talk of love, as any young man might
     be. But Eddie seemed to relish it. “Everything’s really great, Isabel. I feel really
     great.”
    She leaned forward, across the table, and kissed him gently on the cheek. He was surprised,
     and she heard his breath come sharply; but again he did not seem embarrassed.
    “I’m happy for you, Eddie,” she said. “Stay head over heels in love. Buy her flowers.
     Give her lots and lots of kisses. Worship her. Diane, Diana: they’re the same goddess,
     you know. Diana, the Huntress.”
    Eddie looked at her wide-eyed. “She’s a nurse.”
    Isabel laughed. “Don’t be too literal,” she said. “Being in love allows a certain
     poetic hyperbole.”
    Eddie remained wide-eyed.
    “What I mean by all that,” said Isabel, “is: go for it.”
    The translation was effective. Eddie beamed. “Thanks, Isabel.”
    WITH CHARLIE STILL at nursery school, Isabel and Jamie ate their lunch on the lawn, shaded by the large
     oak tree that dominated one side of Isabel’s garden. They sat on green canvas deckchairs
     that were nearing the end of their life but were still the most comfortable garden
     furniture that Isabel