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224 pages, Paperback
First published September 16, 1996
Back then in the cathedral town, she was an expert on child time. She knew with precision just how many hours could be consumed by an excursion to the park, by the shopping, by sleep, by a visit to a friend. Now she wants to explain to Teresa that it is all an illusion, that in fact the months are racing by and Luke with them, an irretrievable succession of Lukes, but she knows that this would make no sense to Teresa, who is in the thick of it.Contrast this with another mother-daughter moment about sixty pages later, superficially similar, but utterly different:
There is a silence—a silence in which a wordless conversation takes place, the product of years of intimacy and of intuitive interpretation of the set of a mouth, of the flavour of a glance—the undertow of all that is unspoken. "Look," says Pauline, "I know. Don't think I don't know because I say nothing." And Teresa tells her "I know you know, and I don't want you to say anything. If you said anything I would get up and walk away. Because I can't stand to talk about it, least of all with you."What has happened is that Pauline is no longer making common cause with her daughter in the role of mother, but that of wife. We learn early on (and the book jacket will tell us) that Pauline feels she stayed far too long with Teresa's father Harry, a media-darling academic and a serial philanderer, and now she fears that Teresa is about to get the same treatment from Maurice. At one point, Pailine describes herself as an expert on jealousy, but what we have here is even harder to deal with: vicarious jealousy, felt on behalf of her daughter, impotently and in silence. Pethaps Lively made too much of the flashbacks of Pauline with Harry; we get the picture early and the details don't add much. But her treatment of the slowly deteriorating state of affairs in the adjoining cottage is pitch-perfect in its alternation of doubt and remission, leading to a decisive (but arguably excessive) climax when the hot weather finally breaks.