by Jane Gilley
Her next-door neighbour, John, was standing on the mat in front of her.
‘Oh, hi, Stace. Sorry. You just up? Sorry!’
‘Um, yes I’m just up. So what did you want? I’ve got lots to do today.’
Stacy felt highly uncomfortable standing in front of a stranger when she wasn’t ready to receive guests or otherwise. Besides, what did he want now? All he’d ever done in the past was moan about her cats and complain. She had no time for Moaning Minnies, even though he had contacted her parents about her fall.
‘Um, well I just wanted to say thanks for the card you gave me. Didn’t spot it till this morning. It went under the mat, you see. Not that I’m saying I don’t clean up much. But I rarely move that mat unless I’m having a real good clean throughout. You didn’t need to give me a card, though. I only did what anyone would’ve done. But thanks anyway. Er, and you’re okay now, are you?’
Stacy didn’t like the fact that he was dressed but smelt as though he hadn’t showered recently. She tried not to turn her nose up in disgust. But it happened anyway.
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she managed. ‘Thanks for saving me. But I’ve, um, got stuff to do now. So I’ll see you later. Right, bye then!’
She didn’t wait for his reply but turned and closed the door. At least she hadn’t slammed it.
Her breakfast eggs were boiling away in the pan on the hob, with two minutes to go. Stacy had never even been able to have her favourite brekkie of six-minute boiled eggs and toast soldiers because there were always so many other things to do first thing in the mornings, when she had the cats. Things like having to get up really early to sort out all the cat food and change their cat litter plus giving them all a little pat or cuddle every single day. Melanie, especially, had loved lots of little cuddles. Breakfast, for herself, used to be a snatched banana or yoghurt because it was easiest. She didn’t know herself now, sitting down to what her mother would call a proper breakfast of cereal followed by eggs of some sort, toast and tea or coffee. It felt luxurious to actually have the time to do that, for once.
That said, she was missing her little kitties. She wondered how Pooch, Rover and Chater were faring now. They had socialisation problems and how would anyone know about all that unless they took the time to find out? She wanted to ring Cats Protection to see if they’d housed them yet. But, like her mother said, they would only probably reassure her they were okay, no matter what was going on with them, whether they’d managed to secure new homes for them, or not.
She had to stop thinking about all these unpleasant things. But what else was there to do, now, either side of work? She’d lied to John when she’d told him she had lots to do. It was Saturday and she had nothing to do now her kitties were elsewhere. Maybe she should get the bus and go to one of the supermarkets instead of the corner shop? Yes. She could do that. She’d always wanted to have the freedom to do that. Oh well, that was worth drying off for and getting dressed, instead of mooching around the flat or watching morning TV. But she promised herself that morning TV was going to be a special treat for later in the week.
Goodness, she wouldn’t know herself!
***
‘Okay, Mum, sit down. I’ve, er, I’ve got something to tell you,’ Gracie began after they’d put the breakfast things in the dishwasher and before they went to do their weekly shop at Waitrose, as they usually did every Saturday morning.
Marjorie always felt worried when anyone said they had something to tell her. It was especially worrying if they also added that they wanted her to sit down, as if preparing her for something awful. But Marjorie already had an inkling what was coming; she’d been waiting for this particular conversation for a while now, despite Gracie always telling her she was happy they were living together.
‘You’ve met someone!’ Marjorie said, folding her arms, leaning against the sink.
Her daughter looked surprised. ‘Well, um, yes! I have actually.’
Marjorie’s tut slipped out before she could restrain it.
She hadn’t meant to tut. Well, maybe deep down she had. But she hadn’t thought it would escape quite so successfully. What she’d really wanted to say was, ‘Oh, that’s great news!’ She wouldn’t have meant that, either, but it’s what she should have said.
Trouble was, it meant things were moving at a speedier pace than she’d hoped they would. She still hadn’t managed to pick up the phone and speak to someone about the devastating impact Oliver had had on her life and she certainly needed to speak to someone about that. Otherwise how could she move forward? She also wanted to make friends at the Afternoon Tea Club because it was the most likely of places for that to happen. But things like that rarely happened quickly; they happened at their own pace. And even though Marjorie had sort of wanted these things to happen, for both their sakes, she hadn’t wanted them to happen until she was ready.
So even though she thought she’d mentally prepared herself for it, Gracie’s news had still taken Marjorie by surprise. Plus Gracie had recently pooh-poohed the idea of finding love again. At least if Gracie had informed her she was ready to look for love, rather than saying she’d already met someone, it would’ve given Marjorie the time she needed to fully adjust to that idea.
She shook her head by way of an apology. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Didn’t you?’ said Gracie, crossing her own arms defensively.
Marjorie then took her daughter’s face in her hands and stared deeply into her eyes.
‘That tut was for me. Don’t you understand, darling? Look, I wanted you to find someone else way before you and Harry started divorce proceedings, once you told me what he’d done. But since moving in with you – since being with my precious, wonderful, funny daughter on a day-to-day basis – well …’ Marjorie felt tears pricking. ‘Since then I’ve known no other life. I’ve wanted no other life. Yet despite all that, I’ve always known that one day you’d fly the nest, for a second time. And me? Well, I’ve realised two things. One, I need to get over Oliver. I need to talk to someone about that time and move on. And two, I want you to find some happiness with someone who is wonderful and completely right for you. And so that tut was me realising that everything has to happen a lot faster than it has been. So I’m going to ring my doctor this very minute and go talk to her. Not before time, I know. I might also see if she can prescribe me something for my anxiety.’
‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry,’ Gracie whispered, stepping forward and hugging her mother, as their tears started to flow.
They were both lamenting the passage of time, Marjorie thought, despite realising the future would very probably bring a hopeful new and exciting beginning for them both.
Chapter 14
Marjorie was looking at the timetable she’d got Gracie to type out for her before she went along to the art class that afternoon. She was quite excited about the prospect of possibly meeting some new and interesting people at a learning event like this. She’d always liked to dabble at drawing as a girl and she’d liked doing trees. So she was hoping she might excel at something like that today.
The Afternoon Tea Club
Monthly Activities
Day Of Month Activities – mainly afternoons
Afternoon Tea CC1 Afternoon Tea GC Computers CL Swimming (local pool) (Mornings) Painting (P) & Drawing (D) CC2
1st Sat
2nd Sat
4th Sat
1st Fri
2nd Fri
3rd Fri (D)
4th Fri (P)
CC1 – Usual Community Centre; CC2 – Art Classes, Community Centre 2
GC – Garden Centre; CL – Local College
‘Right, class!’
Class? Marjorie wondered. There were only four of them! Stacy had come and she looked completely different. Well, her hair was a lot better, she smelt a lot nicer and she was wearing jeans instead of the fuddy skirt she’d worn on previous occasions. Raymond was here. Was art even his thing? And there was also the woman with the wonky lips, who she’d
seen at the community centre before. But hadn’t someone told her that Dora lived miles away? So what was she doing here? She did look a bit stern, though. Or maybe she was worried about her choice of art class – drawing.
Marjorie was happy to be trying something new but she was very disappointed that there were no new people in the class. She had rather hoped an art class might attract a certain type of person – people she could start making friends with or someone of a similar age, who liked similar things to herself. She never for one moment thought people like Raymond, Stacy and Dora would join!
‘Right, so my name is Eva,’ the girl at the front was saying. She had very short blonde hair, brown eyes and she was small, stick-thin and waif-like. She certainly didn’t look old enough to be knowledgeably teaching anything to anybody in Marjorie’s eyes. ‘And I’m going to be here on the third Friday of each month for those of you who wish to try your hand at drawing like the mighty greats. People like Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo or even artists like George Stubbs who was a famous painter, known best for his paintings of horses. Right, so you’ve all tackled drawing or sketching before, I presume?’
Eva, Marjorie thought, was one of those people who clearly knew her stuff. Probably fresh out of college or university with all sorts of highfalutin’ ideas. Yet she would probably have no notion what it felt like to be confronted with the bravado and confidence she was spouting to the four uncertain people in her class, that Friday afternoon.
Raymond and Stacy shook their heads. Dora looked thoughtfully at Eva.
‘We’re here to learn, love, so we’re not gonna be a clever clogs like you just yet. Obviously.’
‘A-ha! Well, you don’t know what you can do until you put your mind to it. And this is certainly not going to be any kind of class where you hold yourselves back. It’s not “Drawing for the Terrified” because I don’t do anything terrifying. Now, you might all have lived with terror and fears and worries in your past. But please leave that kind of thing at the door before you come in. We don’t want anything to cramp your abilities here. So art – any form of art – is about self-expression. And there’s no particular right or wrong way with art because whatever you choose to create, be it a sculpture or a painting, for example, is something that comes solely from yourselves. So no two people can create the exact same art, unless they’re very skilled forgers. But we’re not doing forgery in this class today; we’re doing copying,’ she said, grinning.
Her students exchanged anxious glances.
‘Right, so I want you to step up and self-express, people. I don’t want you to be maudlin about all your worries, whilst we try to work! And, after you’ve all written your names on the pieces of card in front of you, so I don’t forget you, and after we’ve run through the fire drill, which is a necessity, the way we’re going to do this is to start by taking up your pencils. Yep, that’s the way. They’re all nicely sharpened and ready to go. So pop your names on the card right now please. Lovely, that’s the way. Right, well, we won’t worry about whether you’re using the correct pencil for the type of drawing you’re going to be doing, at this stage. You may know that pencils are classed as graphite and commercially they mainly range in hardness from 9H to 9B, although you can occasionally pick up others, like a 10. H means Hard and B means Black and softer. So an HB pencil is sort of the middle of the range and that’s the pencil you’ve got in front of you today. There’s a fine art to knowing what each one’s suitable for – in fact, it’s almost a subject that can be studied by itself. But for this class, we’re simply going to use these HB pencils and put something down on the paper in front of you. But we’re going to do it together because it’s easier than everyone doing their own thing and then getting lost in the process or thinking that someone is better than you and going home early because you feel like failures. Got it?’
She stared eagle-eyed at the four of them as they nodded vigorously, surprised by her ferocity. Bit like a madwoman, Marjorie would tell Gracie later. But after Eva had showed them the fire exits and ran through the fire drill they returned to the art room.
‘Right! Now I’m going to draw something on the blackboard in chalk and I want to you to copy exactly what I’ve done on your piece of paper and in the exact same spot. Got it?’
Everybody nodded obediently and Dora had started to smile. Marjorie thought she heard her say the word ‘nuts’ under her breath but she couldn’t be sure.
Eva drew a circle at the top of the blackboard in the middle and she had to stretch up to do that. She checked her four students did the same. Then she drew a line from the bottom edge of the circle straight down. Everybody did the same. Next came the stick arms and stick legs.
‘Right, so what have you got, guys?’
‘Stick people!’ said Stacy happily. ‘I can do stick people, though.’
‘Correct! Now everybody can do stick people. So what does that very simple fact convey?’
Dora sniggered. ‘It means everybody can draw stick people, love. Heh, heh!’
That made Marjorie smile.
‘No, wrong!’ Eva cried.
She glared at the students, willing them to answer. She was obviously very passionate about her subject, Marjorie thought.
‘What it means, people, is that everyone CAN DRAW!’ she said, triumphantly.
‘Oh, rubbish!’ snorted Dora. ‘Well, I can’t ruddy well draw! That’s why I thought I’d come here today, to give it a go!’
‘Me too,’ said Marjorie.
Eva clapped her hands.
‘Okay, well look at it this way then. Everything in life – everything on the planet – is made up of either straight lines or curves. Correct? Don’t shake your head, Dora! Okay, let me explain. So there’s architecture or buildings. They’re made of straight lines and curves; a cup – straight lines and curves; the moon, obvious; a donkey – wonky lines but even its mane is made up of straight bits and curved bits. And the sea is connected by its undulating waves or rather its curves. Think about a forest of trees. But it’s not a forest of complicated trees – it’s merely shapes with some dark detail and lighter bits. Simplistically, it’s just a matter of getting the curls and squiggles and straight bits into a certain likeness with the subject you’re drawing. So to recap, even the most complicated of structures has either curves or straight lines connecting them, making them what they are. And art is one of those things in life that you can see the results of straight away. That’s one of the reasons it’s so satisfying. So therefore, guys, what have you just done on that piece of paper?’
Raymond was nodding slowly and answered her with a smile.
‘We’ve just drawn a picture!’
‘Correct! Now, who said they couldn’t draw?’
***
Eva had gone outside to use her phone in the refreshment break.
‘So what do you think about our first drawing lesson?’ Stacy said to Marjorie.
Marjorie grinned. ‘Well, the tutor is completely nuts for starters, of course. But I like her. She knows her stuff and she’s not worried about our concerns about not being able to draw, which is probably helpful. I’ve always liked drawing but I really fancy being able to draw properly and now I’m older I certainly need something to do in my spare time. So, yes, I fancy learning to draw the Eva way as a hobby. What about you?’
‘Well, I’ve changed a bit since I was last at the Afternoon Tea Club. I’ve had a few issues to deal with. But yeah, I think this is my way of giving myself a bit of time out if you see what I mean.’
‘Yes I do, dear. And isn’t this nice being able to have a chat in between lessons, too?’
‘Yes, it is. And, so I was wondering, Marjorie, could we be friends? I don’t have many friends and I’d like to mingle and, um, maybe make some new friends through the Afternoon Tea Club, like they said. I mean, don’t worry if not. You might be thinking I’m too young or we’re too different or whatever. But I would really like to start to get to know people, you see. If that’s okay?
’
Instant derogatory thoughts flew into Marjorie’s brain. Make friends with Stacy? Well, no, she certainly didn’t think so! She wanted to meet people of her own age. But, but, but! She took a deep breath. What had Dr Baxley said?
She’d recently booked a double appointment and been to see her doctor to finally start discussing the far-reaching implications of her life with Oliver. The doctor had wanted her to see a psychiatrist but Marjorie had refused point blank. However, Dr Baxley spoke to her at length and gave her medication for her anxiety. But the one thing Marjorie had tried to take from this first meeting and fix inside her head was that if someone riled her, say nothing.
‘It’s about changing the way you’ve been thinking about Oliver. So the technique is this: you think of a happy thought or word and you replace all negative or stressful thoughts with said happy thought or word. So, if your husband pops into your mind, for example, you’d replace him with a happy memory about your daughter, say. Or you’d just say the word “Gracie”. You just need to replace Oliver’s image or whatever stressful situation you’re in with something more powerful. But you need to have this happy thought in your mind before you go out to mix with friends or acquaintances, because it might need to be used instantly,’ Dr Baxley had told her.
Marjorie’s hands had immediately got sticky as she wondered whether she’d be able to do that or not.
‘Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card. So the minute someone says something you don’t want to hear or don’t like, you take yourself away from them with your special word or thought. Just try it, anyway, and then come and see me next week to let me know how you’ve coped. Oliver was a bully. Don’t play into his hands by replicating his behaviour. You’re so much better than all of that!’
Marjorie could have hugged her doctor when she said that. She’d made it sound so easy.
So that one piece of advice she’d been given – change your thought pattern by replacing it with something positive – had meant that today when Stacy had asked Marjorie her rather irksome question, the happy joyful word that sprang into Marjorie’s mind was, of course, ‘Gracie’, because Gracie certainly conjured up everything that was beautiful within her life. Gracie was the only thing that was beautiful in Marjorie’s life.
