Womanfriendship
There are acquaintancesovertea, and there are friendsforlife. Eleanor Marsh had her own tale.
Alright, thatll be all for today, she said, voice bright as sunrise. The dear one will be home from the office soon, and I havent even started dinner. And you, dear, kiss your man and ring him the moment you decide on arrival dates! She ended the call in a cheery mood; her friends husband was due to visit their daughter in Paris, so a real meeting lay just around the corner.
How sad that Clara lives so far now, and everythings become so pricey and hard to arrange, the Countess sighed for the umpteenth time. At least we can chatter endlessly over the phone.
Despite the rare meetups and wildly different lives, they always slipped into conversation as if no pause had ever occurred. Most of the other women Eleanor had met after moving abroad in her thirties never managed that; they roamed the same clubs, flew to the same resorts, yet seemed to have nothing new to say. Often they forced empty words, and Eleanor despised hollow banter.
She and Clara had known each other since the first day of school, yet true friendship only blossomed after Eleanor left Russia. In school every girl spun in her own little world, barely brushing past one another, while Eleanor always dreamed of a true FRIENDlike those in the novels, solid and real.
Writers never lie; they pull from life unless they are scribbling fantasy, right?
Theres a common belief, peppered with jokes, that women dont have friendshipsonly the sturdy male bond. But what is that? Going to a football match together, helping each other move furniture, talking politics, maybe lending a few quid They never pour their souls out, at most they complain about spouses or bosses.
Eleanor split female bonds into acquaintances and friends. The former were plentiful, topics featherlight: fashion, health, beauty, books, movies, travel, home, parenting, elderly parents. A FRIEND was something else entirelya person you loved as you were, who could hold your deepest secrets without a hint of mockery, and who would sprint to your side at the first call, rain or shine, with or without a bottle, and listen to the same story in endless variations while dabbing away your tears.
Eleanor knew such a friend existed, because she would act exactly that way herself. Perhaps she couldnt always sprint at midnightparents first, then her husbandbut otherwise she was ready to lend a hand.
She had been searching for that all her life and finally found it in Clara, after a winding, thornstrewn road.
There were mishaps and letdowns, beginning with the flatshare neighbour shed known almost since birth. Their friendship cracked over a broken walking doll, a birthday gift from the neighbours parents. A visiting cousin drenched the doll in water while playing house, and somehow the blame fell on Eleanor. Clara didnt defend her, and that thread snapped.
Later, a friend in the States grew angry over a trifle and cut off all contact, despite years of hardship together in exile and Eleanors heartfelt apologies.
The star of this falsefriend troupe was Molly Hart. Molly appeared in their secondgrade class and slipped into the group like a shadow. She was short and plump, hair a mass of tight curls braided into a thick plait. Where she lacked conventional beauty, she made up with boundless energy, selfconfidence, and a laugh that some called contagious, others likened to a donkeys bray.
The girls bonded quickly; they lived nearby and rode the underground home together. They started a ritual: each day on the way to the station they bought a wafflecone icecream with a pink swirl from a stall. Eleanor usually footed the bill, as Mollys mother handed her just £1 a week with the instruction, Heres your allowancedont deny yourself anything. Eleanor believed friends shouldnt keep score over trifles.
Daily scoops hardened the oncesickly girls; colds no longer lingered, and their parents even signed them up for a swimming club they attended together after lessons.
They did everything side by side: cinema, theatre, exhibitions (if Eleanor disliked a painter, Molly would declare, You just havent grown into it yet), pioneer camps, dance and drawing circles. Eleanor liked painting but quit after Molly scolded her rendition of a quail, which resembled a cow more than a bird but was rendered in oil, which Molly claimed made it superior.
Both fell for the same boy in primary school, lost interest simultaneously, or so Eleanor thoughtuntil she discovered Molly still harboured secret hopes for him.
Parents were preoccupied, and Grandma would shake her head, Stay away from that Molly, shell be jealous. Eleanor would retort, You dont understand, were true friends! She was ready to cede leadership, accept unassailable judgments, tolerate perpetual tardinesstrifles compared with the certainty that a friend would be a mountain if needed.
Molly once took it upon herself to tell a classmate who was courting Eleanor that he wasnt right for her, branding it as overprotective meddling. Later, when Eleanors mother, a psychologist, launched a tirade about her close bond with a fellow student, Molly soothed the crying Eleanor and boldly defended her.
Their friendship survived university splits, temptations, weddings where each stood as the others witness, and the birth of first children. Then they scattered: Eleanor to America, Molly to Israel, and contact faded for years.
They reunited by chance on neutral groundin Amsterdam. The initial euphoria turned to bewilderment when Eleanor learned Molly had visited America several times over the years yet never mentioned it. Molly bragged about a fling with Eleanors most devoted admirer, trying to spill intimate details Eleanor dreaded hearing.
The sting lingered, but the Amsterdam air was sweet: a Moscowarrived Clara joined them, and soon all grudges, if not forgotten, were buried deep. A few more years passed with lazy correspondence and occasional meetups. Molly divorced and chased new partners; Eleanors marriage faltered, though children grew, and they both thought they could simply endure.
Eventually it became unbearable. An old acquaintance resurfaced, letters turned to meetings when he came to a medical conference in her city. They reminisced, indulged, and the affair ended predictablyin bed.
A romance blossomed. Eleanor felt ashamed yet the world brightened, and she couldntor didnt want tostop it. Meetings were rare: sometimes she escaped to a conference, sometimes he was on a business trip.
One day the lover proposed a perfect planmeet in Israel, where both had relatives, with Molly covering the rear. The scheme was shaky from the start, but they took the risk. Molly cheered, Thats what you need, not that bloke you married! She even tried to sneak into his apartment while Eleanor was out, but was dismissed.
She accompanied them to chic galleries, pricey restaurants (she chose the place, he paid). Everything went smoothly, so the lovers booked a threeday seaside escape to Eilat. Molly packed a suitcase, hoping to be invited, yet the lover refused to fund her travel.
Why do we need a blacksmith? he asked rationally, and left Molly in Jerusalem, inventing excuses for his wifes calls.
Three days flashed like a single breath. When the sunkissed lovers returned to Jerusalem, Eleanors phone rang.
It was your husband who called me last night, Molly babbled. He caught me off guard, I was flustered, tried all night to calm him, but he seemed to know everything already. Better that way, or youd never have decided.
Then came the homecoming, a dreamlike slog of strained talks with her husband, a marriage patched together for a few more years
And the friend? What of the friend? She never admitted guilt, perhaps believing shed done Eleanor a favor. Eleanor never revisited the painful episode.
They still exchange messages now and then, but never invited each other to repeat weddings, and they never met again. A phone buzzed, a notification from Google Photosa fresh collage of Eleanor, Clara, and herself over years of trips and gatherings.
Theyre reading our thoughts, Eleanor mused, a hint of annoyance, yet she lingered over the pictures, smiling at the memories.
Yes, true friendship does exist, she whispered, relief washing over her like a gentle tide.
