by Jane Gilley
***
Marjorie was surprised and a little saddened that there were only eight people at Lou’s funeral: Derek and his wife and son, herself, Lou’s brother, another friend and two neighbours who used to pop round and check up on Lou periodically.
‘—and so to conclude. Lou was my best friend and confidante for over seventy-five years and she helped me when I was living through some very unhappy times. I don’t know what I’d’ve done without her, in those days. And she never shied away from saying what she thought. It often got her into bother, though. But that was my L-Lou – I’m sorry, just give me a minute. Gosh, this is hard. I’ll, um, I’ll really miss her. She was my last and greatest friend. You’re in God’s care now, Lou. Sleep tight!’
Tears streamed down Marjorie’s face as she took out her tissue and dabbed at her pink teary eyes. She then gathered herself and moved slowly from the lectern, as Derek mouthed a heartfelt ‘Thank you.’
Marjorie wasn’t only weeping because it was the end of an era for her and her best friend. It was also the end of the safe closeness she’d had living together with her daughter for so long. Gracie had already been gone five long days. Oh, Marjorie had busied herself doing the things she’d needed to do. She’d even forced herself to take the bus into town for a mooch around. But it wasn’t the same as when her daughter had been at her side. Yes, she realised, she had spent long periods by herself whilst Gracie was teaching at school. But it didn’t feel the same; it wasn’t the same. She always knew Gracie would be back by the end of the day, when they lived together, and they’d have dinner and cosy chats into the night, unless Gracie had to mark the children’s exercise books.
Yet despite the strange noises she’d noticed now she was living alone again the silence sometimes seemed deafening. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, worrying about everything but it had made her face puffy this morning when she’d wanted to be more presentable for Lou’s funeral. She knew she had to get to grips with this. Hundreds of people found themselves alone as they got older. She knew she would have to learn to accept it.
Derek gave Marjorie a little parcel at the gathering afterwards. They’d just gone to a nearby pub to have sandwiches and a few drinks. Marjorie would have laid out a much nicer spread for her dear old best friend. But it wasn’t her place to do that. Nor was it her place to say anything. She was getting better at holding her tongue, these days. Thank you, Dr Baxley.
She sat and opened the parcel and the first photo that fell out was the first primary school photo they’d had taken together. A fresh wave of tears then assaulted Marjorie as the memory ricocheted her back – back before Oliver, back before Gracie, back to times of laughter and childhood happiness in a playground in a Bournemouth school; seeing who could do the best handstands against the school wall, or hands crossed twizzling around, or doing needlework. Times were very hard during the Second World War years, according to her parents, but as children she and Lou never really noticed that. They were evacuated to Bournemouth when the bombs started dropping, because the port of Southampton was strategic to the Luftwaffe. But to Lou and Marjorie those times were full of naïve childhood adventures, despite what the adults had to endure.
Yet shouldn’t old age bring the promise of idle days; safely wrapped up in the knowledge that I’m secure and loved into my twilight years, with the care of my family around me? Why, now, am I having to worry about where to put the rubbish or how to get to the doctor’s if Gracie can’t take me? And why, now, did my one and only best friend have to leave this world when I’m lonely and needed her most? Marjorie thought, her face buried in her hands.
Why, now, had life suddenly become so challenging?
Chapter 24
The day of the coach trip to Bournemouth had been put back until the last week of September, due to Taynor being off sick and Eileen going to the Isle of Wight for the weekend with her family. The previous day there’d been a downpour but it had cleared to give the day trippers lovely blue skies and an enticing temperature of nineteen degrees for their day out.
The coach had dropped them off by the lower gardens on Westover Road and everyone had padded down through the pine trees, delighting at the little squirrels, into the gardens below.
When Raymond had spotted the sea, he’d shouted, ‘Last one in the sea buys drinks at lunch!’
And the crowd had yelled raucously and taken off as fast as their legs or walking frames and walking sticks would carry them. Some were tottery. Some couldn’t stop laughing. Even Michael had made the coach trip and he was wheeling as fast as he could with a whoop and a holler, his helpers trying to keep up with him, shouting directions if he was veering off course. ‘Left, left not right! Left, Michael!’ Others helped each other as best they could since they were ALL determined to, at least, reach the water’s edge even if they didn’t go in.
‘Oh, it’s so champion to be getting out and havin’ some fun for a change!’ someone had cried.
Marjorie, Stacy and Dora had linked arms and were just taking their time, looking around themselves, drinking everything in: the aquarium, the pier amusements, people still out and about enjoying the September sunshine and eating ice creams. They could almost see as far as Poole Harbour entrance in the distance to the right and almost make out the Isle of Wight to the left.
‘Never been to Bournemouth,’ Stacy said.
‘Really?’ said Marjorie, incredulous.
‘Might have told you, we went up north, once when we were kids. To Mablethorpe, near to where Dad’s family are from. But I don’t remember it. We were never taken anywhere else though. You’ve been everywhere, though, haven’t you, Dora?’
‘I have, love. Everywhere. And it was fun whilst it lasted. But anyways, are we going to dabble our tootsies in the English Channel or what?’
‘Oh yeah!’ screamed Stacy, taking off after the others. She kicked off her sandals when she got to the beach and ran through the sand to where Raymond and some of the others were already paddling and laughing, near the pier. Then everyone started splashing each other and squealing in delight.
‘Child’s play!’ scoffed Dora, as she rolled her jeans up to her knees, tentatively put a foot in the chilly water and then chuckled as she happily kicked the water about with the others. Marjorie smiled at her. It was rare to see Dora looking as happy as she was today.
Even on the coach journey to Bournemouth the atmosphere had been one of abandoning one’s problems at the door of the bus, like Eva was fond of saying, and then everyone joining in with songs like ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ or ‘Summer Holidays’.
Michael’s wife, Janice, was here with him, too, chatting to a group of people, when Marjorie approached them.
‘When was the last time you went on the beach, Michael?’ Marjorie asked softly.
He shrugged and sighed. ‘When I was a kid I think. But I must say being here, knowing the pier and the gardens and the sea are all around me is great. I can smell a bit of the sea air too. We don’t get away much the wife and I. So this has been a real treat. And it’s marvellous they’ve allowed my helpers to come, too.’
‘Yes, well, what if we get your helpers to get you onto the beach, so you can wriggle your fingers in the sand?’
Michael’s wife widened her eyes. ‘Oh, what an incredible idea, Marjorie. Oh, yes let’s, Michael! We’ve never sat on a beach together, have we? Right. Summon the troops!’
So the two carers Michael had been allowed to bring with him lifted him out of his wheelchair and placed him down on the sand where he sat with Janice, and they laughed and joined in with the rest of the group’s enjoyment down on the beachfront.
‘Wow … sand!’ Michael exclaimed, picking up handful after handful of it and letting it run through his fingers whilst his wife laughed and laughed. Marjorie took a photo of them as they shared a kiss and sent it to Janice’s phone. Then she took a couple more of them both larking about, just for good measure.
‘Oh wow. That’s cool of you, Marjorie. T
hanks so much for that.’ He grinned. ‘Do we look good, Janice?’
‘Oh it’s brilliant, Michael. We haven’t got many photos have we? I’ll get them framed. It’ll be a lovely memory.’
‘Right, guys,’ Eileen called, clapping her hands. ‘Who’s for lunch?’
A few people said, ‘NO!’
Everyone else yelled, ‘YES!’
‘Right, so we’re going back the way we came and then it’ll be a short coach journey to the hotel we’re having lunch in. Yes, please go back through the gardens to where the coach dropped you off. He’ll be back there. Have you all got towels to wipe your feet and whatnot?’
Everybody had something or found something to wipe their feet on.
***
‘So how’s life with you, Marjorie, since your daughter moved out?’ Raymond said as they ate their fish pie, cauliflower and green beans. Their first course had been a large bowl of roast tomato and red pepper soup with bread and butter.
‘Well, it’s only been a few weeks but was very hard for me at first. I kept ringing her, probably because I was very anxious and unsure of things. I mean she usually put the rubbish out. But where did she put it? She had a special medicine cabinet but did she need any of the things that were still in there? Stuff like that. Bits of non-essential stuff that becomes essential when you can’t find or can’t do something, you know?’
Raymond nodded, chewing his food carefully in case there were any tiny fish bones in it, although they’d been assured there weren’t.
‘Same for me when my wife died. She’d done everything before. So it was like starting from scratch for me too. I guess I’m like most blokes. The wife takes over and does tasks because they are more efficient at doing things that seem to either take us ages or we don’t want to do. It is very hard learning to live by yourself again. Lonely too. Plus you notice strange background noises you never heard before. Have you noticed that?’
‘Oh yes, Raymond. I couldn’t sleep at first wondering if someone was breaking in all the time or whatever, even though I have lived on my own before. But even before I moved in with my daughter I knew one day circumstances would change for her. It’s just that as the years went by I started getting settled and comfortable with the idea of it just being me and her. But, well, everything happened so fast once she’d met Steven. I suppose I’d envisaged a scenario whereby she met someone and went out for at least a year before they got married. That way I’d have had plenty of time to get used to the idea and prepare myself for her leaving. But she’s only really known Steven a couple of months now and they’ve already moved in together!’
‘Ah, but didn’t you say she was in her late forties?’
‘I did and yes, you’re right, I was always encouraging her to get a move on with things. So it’s my own fault – I hold my hands up! I should’ve kept my mouth shut.’
‘Life is difficult, though, Marjorie, whatever choices you make.’
‘I agree. But from today I’m doing a little experiment. I’ve decided I’m not going to call her if I get stuck with something or have a query. I’m going to make do and mend, as my dear old mother used to say. In fact I’m not going to call her for at least five days to see if I can finally start to cope being on my own. To be honest I bet they’re thoroughly fed up of me calling. I heard irritation in her voice the last time I rang.’
‘Or why don’t you ring me, Marjorie?’ Raymond suggested. ‘After all, friends should help each other out, shouldn’t they? Then she won’t need to worry so much. I reckon she’s probably worried sick about you. She must realise that her choices are affecting your happiness and that must be a huge burden on her shoulders.’
Marjorie sighed and pushed her plate to one side. A waiter, hovering nearby, scooped it up and arranged her dessert spoon and fork either side, in preparation for her pudding.
‘I think you’re probably right, Raymond. It’s very selfish of me to keep ringing her. But if you really don’t mind, I think it’d be much better if I rang you next time I get stuck. Thank you for your kind offer.’
***
‘So how’re things with you, Dora?’ said Stacy taking a sip of water. ‘Has that detective chap found anything out about your daughter? Or have you made contact with her yet?’
The long table they were all sitting on was in the process of being cleared so the diners could have their pudding of Eton mess or jelly and vanilla ice cream.
‘Yes, well, I’ve had a phone call from Tony, the detective chappie. I wanted to see if he could contact my daughter with a view to me possibly meeting her, being as Andy and his mother won’t let me see her. And, failing that, my main concern was to find out if she’d received all the letters and whatnot I sent her, telling her my side of the story, in case Andy told her something different. Anyway, he’s been monitoring her movements to try and get close to her. And a couple of days ago he waited outside a bistro where she was meeting friends for an evening out and he made contact with her there, as she was leaving. She said she didn’t want to meet up with someone she had never known and especially didn’t want to meet up with someone who’d done the things I’d done and also abandoned her – whatever that means. The answer was also “oh” when he asked about the letters because she told him she’d never received anything from me. She wouldn’t tell him why she didn’t want to meet me but it might be that she’s been hurt by all of this, of course.’ Dora paused and took a long swig of the red wine she was drinking. ‘You see, this is why I wanted to meet her! Because I just don’t know what Andy has said about me over the years. He could’ve told her something that painted me in a dim light for all I know.’
‘Do you think the detective guy told you everything Lauren said?’
‘What do you mean, Stacy? Tony Gallagher used to be a family friend, so I’m sure he’d’ve done right by me. So I have to believe what he told me.’
‘But I’ve seen those programmes where people meet up with their long-lost relatives. They always want to meet them. Or they’re at least curious.’
‘Ah! The programmes always show you the ones who want to meet up with their relatives. Not the ones who don’t want to. And some don’t, apparently. Anyway, I’ve lived without her this long. I guess if she ever wants to come find me there are ways and means, even though I’ve moved about quite a bit.’
Stacy wasn’t so sure that Dora felt as dismissive as she sounded. She must’ve been very hurt that her daughter wanted nothing to do with her. She’s probably acting as if it doesn’t matter, to hide her disappointment, Stacy thought. That has to be it.
Puddings had been served and everyone was eating quietly. It was gone 2.30 p.m. when they’d finished their lunch and teas and coffees. Some people looked sleepy. A good meal always made Raymond feel sleepy, he’d told Marjorie.
‘Don’t think I’ll be going shopping now. Could do with a kip if truth be told. Oh the joys of getting old!’
‘Well I wouldn’t mind having a dash around. Anyone fancy coming with me?’ said Stacy. She hadn’t managed to get any new clothes sorted out for herself yet and it would be a real treat shopping somewhere she’d never been before.
‘Well, before everyone goes off every which way,’ said Michael. ‘I’d just like to say thank you to Eileen and Taynor for setting this trip up for us. You’ve all made us feel exceptionally welcome and it’s been absolutely bloody great. Excuse the swearing. But it has. Janice and me don’t get to have holidays. Neither of us drive. And we’ve not got kids who could drive us anywhere. So this has been an absolute blast. So thank you for that. And a big thank you, also, to Marjorie for getting me and Janice down on the sand. Oh God. That sounds bad! But my wife has got a couple of fantastic photos of me and her enjoying our day out, now. Something to show our mates and her parents. So thanks for that, too, Marjorie. Thanks, guys!’
He started clapping and everyone joined in. Marjorie went red.
‘You’re a motivator,’ Raymond whispered to her. ‘I think you’re starting to c
ome into your own, now, my dear. So you can allow Gracie to have her new life because I think yours has just started again, too.’
Chapter 25
Raymond was standing, sipping a glass of red wine, lost in thought, gazing out of Marjorie’s lounge window that overlooked the bird table in the communal yard. Lights were on in ground-floor flat windows, highlighting the bird table, reminding him of Dianne. The iPlayer was on low, crooning out tunes from the Sixties. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been invited to a party on a Friday night. Simon had dropped him off and said he’d pick him up at any time, later on. Marjorie had filled her dining table with all sorts of M&S nibbles, which looked deliciously tempting. The décor was restful with soft tones of cream and beige.
The doorbell had rung and Marjorie was welcoming Dora into her flat and asking what she’d like to drink.
‘Oh, red wine if you’ve got it. It’s my go-to tipple for any celebration,’ Dora said with a smile. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’
‘Thanks. I’m starting to like it now I’m getting used to being on my own. It’s on a good bus route for town and near to the community centre, which is great.’
The doorbell had been abandoned and someone was knocking on Marjorie’s door for all they were worth; loud, banging thumps!
Marjorie yanked the door open in alarm and there stood Stacy in a flattering pale grey jumper and black jeans. Stacy was certainly starting to look a lot better than when they’d first met. She no longer looked slightly odd and manic and even her hair and clothes seemed to have arrived in twenty-first-century Britain.
‘Are you all right?’ Marjorie asked her.
‘Oh, Marjorie! You simply wouldn’t believe it, would you! I’ve been bursting to tell you since you invited me to your house-warming party but I thought I’d wait. You’ll just never guess – oh hi, Dora, Raymond. Gosh, I might as well tell you all. Well, you and I, Marjorie, we live in the same block of flats! There! Incredible, isn’t it? I’m on the second floor. And here you are on the first!’
