Polaris by Fay Weldon

Author:Fay Weldon [Weldon, Fay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781781858042
Publisher: Head of Zeus

Birthday!

They met on their birthday, at a party, and discovered that they had been born on the same day twenty-eight years earlier. He in the morning, she in the evening. On 19 June: Gemini – the Twins. Over the cusp and you were into Cancer, which meant you were home-loving, and Molly was if anything a little more home-loving than Mark, which was as it should be.

Molly and Mark. Two Ms. M for mother, morality, meanness, martyrdom, mine. Except for mother, M isn’t the warmest of initials, but then mother makes up for a lot. Molly craved warmth, and enclosure and security, and acknowledgment, and Mark craved approval, and love. Well, everyone craves love. To love is almost more important than to be loved. Molly thought that; Mark tended to think the other way round. But then their natal moons were in different Houses – Molly’s in the fourth, the House of the Home, Mark’s in the tenth, the House of Occupation. Molly’s moon was in Capricorn and Mark’s in Taurus. Capricorn is a rather sorrowful sign: Taurus just plain sexy.

Molly’s mother and Mark’s mother were both careful people and had kept an accurate note, in their respective diaries, of their children’s hour of birth. That was why both Molly and Mark could be so sure of their natures, as defined at any rate by astrologers, and the old-fashioned kind of astrologer, at that, who works out charts in detail and by tables – not the new-fashioned kind who uses a silicon chip computer, and disregards the moon.

The moon is a strong influence on anyone’s character, in particular anyone female, and should not be disregarded.

Molly and Mark were united in dislike of their mothers. It was their unholy bond. They had never admitted it to anyone before. Oh, but it is the worst bond of all. If you are to love your life you must love your mother. Somehow. It is the stuff from which you spring. Deny the good in that and you deny the good of everything.

Mark’s mother had grand relatives and a fluty voice and other sons who rose in the ranks of the army and the church and married nice young girls in churches full of flowers. Mark was expelled from school, failed to get to Sandhurst or even university, lived by odd carpentry jobs and married Molly, who was no one, in a Register Office full of plastic roses. Mark’s mother was there, but looked rather unhappy. Mark’s father was in Uganda, as usual.

Molly’s real father lived a Bohemian life with a famous lady artist on whose money he lived. Molly longed to be owned by them, but feared, rightly enough, that they found her boring. Nervousness in their company made her voice hard and her remarks edgy and she knew she was never at her best when she was with them. Her father and stepmother had a row on their way to her wedding, and never got there. Their rows were like that – they would stop the traffic for miles around.

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