Corduroy Mansions

16. An Invitation to Bake is Misconstrued

Caroline’s tête-à-tête with her friend James in a coffee bar off Tottenham Court Road proved to take longer than she had anticipated. She had no further lectures to attend that day, but she had thought that she might spend the late morning and afternoon writing an essay that, even if it was not yet overdue, had about it an air of impending tardiness. For the most part, her course assignments went smoothly, but every so often she found herself working on something where her thoughts never seemed to rise above the banal. This essay was one such project.

James, however, wanted to talk, and the claims of friendship were stronger than the promptings of academic obligation. His problem, too, was not something that could be disposed of in a few minutes; it was a matter that could affect the entire direction of his life.

‘Are you sure?’ she said to him. ‘Are you quite sure?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. I really am.’

‘You see,’ she said, ‘this is not something that one normally gets wrong, is it? One either feels a particular way, or one doesn’t. Do you see what I mean?’

He frowned. ‘But if it’s a question of taste, can’t one’s tastes change as one goes through life?’ He warmed to the theme. ‘Think of music. I used to like the Carmina Burana - now I can’t stand it. I can’t take Orff. And Britten - I used to think he was tremendously boring, but now I actually enjoy his music. I saw The Turn of the Screw the other day at the ENO, by the way. I loved it.’

Caroline considered this. Had her own tastes changed? They had, she thought, but she was not sure the analogy was entirely appropriate. ‘I don’t know whether it’s quite the same thing,’ she ventured. ‘It’s not like a preference for red wine over white. I don’t think it’s that simple. It can’t be.’

James looked at her searchingly. ‘But if you read what the developmental psychologists have to say, isn’t it true that people go through stages? I read that it’s standard stuff for boys to be fond of other boys when they’re growing up and then to start liking girls instead. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me. I’m going from one stage to another. Just a little bit later.’

Caroline stared into her cup of coffee. She was not sure whether she should be expressing an opinion on developmental theories. What did she know about all this? Nothing, really. All she knew was that there were people who liked one or the other, and some who liked both. Perhaps that was where James was. He was one who liked both. And if that was the case, then there was not very much that anybody else could do about it, even if they wanted to. James would have to decide what to do.

They rehearsed various possibilities, but forty minutes later they were no further on. ‘Why don’t you wait and see what happens?’ she said eventually. ‘Give it a year. Then if you really are going through some sort of change, you’ll know about it. See how things turn out.’

James looked thoughtful. ‘But if I’m to make a choice - and maybe you’re right, maybe that’s what I should do - then surely I’ll need to try being straight? Which means I’ll need to find a girlfriend.’

Caroline agreed. ‘Fine. No problem with that. Find one.’

‘But that’s hardly fair on the girl,’ said James. ‘Nobody wants to be an experiment.’

That, thought Caroline, is why I like you. You’re so decent, so good. In general, men were only too willing to treat women as experiments.

‘I think you should just tell her,’ she said. ‘You should explain the situation.’

James looked doubtful. ‘But will anybody want me if I say that?’

Caroline knew the answer to this. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘There are hundreds of girls - thousands - who believe that they can win over a man who appears not to be interested. These girls think that they just need to show him what he’s missing. They really do. Such men are seen as projects.’

James laughed. ‘Then they’re wrong.’

‘Misadvised,’ said Caroline.

‘I don’t want you to think that I believe there’s anything wrong about it,’ said James. ‘I suspect I could be equally happy either way. It’s just that I’m not sure which way I am.’

The conversation had come full circle, and Caroline now looked at her watch. ‘I have to go to Blackwell’s,’ she said, ‘and then I want to go back to my flat.’ She hesitated. She did not want to leave him in the coffee bar, uncertain about who he was, but nor did she want to stay too long. She would ask him to accompany her. He was easy company and he would be no bother.

‘Look, James,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come back to Corduroy Mansions with me?’

He gave a start, and spilled a small amount of coffee on the sleeve of his shirt. ‘You mean—?’

Caroline realised that he had misunderstood. ‘Of course not,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you to think that. Oh dear.’

For a moment he looked crestfallen. She swallowed hard. ‘Listen, James,’ she went on, ‘I find you really attractive. And you are, you know. Anybody would find you attractive. But you and I are just friends, aren’t we? There would be no point in changing the nature of our relationship.’

He nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right. But that’s what everybody’s going to think, aren’t they? They will want me as a friend and that’s all. How will I ever know what I want if all I’m going to get is friendship?’

‘Oh come on, don’t talk such rubbish. As I told you, there’ll be plenty of girls wanting to . . . to get to know you better. Plenty.’

‘I hope so.’

She rose to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s go to Blackwell’s. Then, when we get back to Corduroy Mansions, we can bake something together. I want to make some biscuits.’

He looked at her mournfully. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Would any woman ever invite a straight man to cook biscuits with her?’

Caroline was about to dismiss his objection out of hand, but then she thought, yes, he’s right. No woman would ask a completely straight man to cook biscuits with her. It just wouldn’t happen.