She unfolded a prepared list and read to us her extensive changes.
Kellie listened thoughtfully. “You have some lovely pieces of furniture. Once the walls are painted, these dark woods will look much different than they do now. I know an excellent upholsterer who could re-cover your wingback chair and give it a new look.”
“That would be fine. Just so long as none of the colors is pink. Nothing pink.” Opal rose from her chair with surprising agility and reached into her pocketbook. “For what amount should I draft the check?”
“How about if we draw up an agreement first?” Kellie suggested. “It will take me a little time to put together a preliminary proposal. I could return later this week, if you like.”
“Lovely. I will expect you on Friday at the same time. Would that suit you both?”
Kellie and I exchanged glances. I wasn’t part of the arrangement, but I didn’t have a particular reason to bow out at this point.
“Friday would be fine,” Kellie answered for both of us.
And that’s how our regular teatimes with Opal began.
Kellie poured herself into the transformation of Opal’s little nest, and I assisted in small ways. I hit an excellent sale at a fabric store and found the exact material we were after for the cushions on the four straight-backed chairs. I also was able to snag superior quality sheets at an outlet store and a gorgeous pale yellow matelassé bedspread from Portugal.
The entire redecorating process took a little over a month, and the results were stunning. Kellie and I were greeted by name at the front desk whenever we arrived at Sunshine Manor, and Kellie soon had requests for renovations from two other residents.
We were on our way to pay our final official visit to Opal when Kellie pulled into the parking area and said, “You know what I like about doing all this for Opal? I like helping someone who can’t drive around town or pick up a paintbrush and make these changes on her own. It was the same way with my aunt. If this is the last home she’ll have, she needs it to be lovely.”
“I agree. And you know what I’ve loved about this past month? I’ve loved watching your creative side run free. I think it’s time for you to get a business license.”
Kellie’s soft brown eyes always gave away her secrets long before her lips agreed to participate in any sort of confession. “I think so too. I even have a name for the business.”
“Really? Let’s hear it.”
“K & L Interiors.” She watched my reaction closely as we walked toward the entrance of Sunshine Manor.
“It’s a simple name,” I said, doing an on-the-spot evaluation. “It’s easy to remember. K is for Kellie, right? And L is for …”
“You.”
“Me?” I stopped walking. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Liz, we could do this together just like we did for Opal. No one can hunt and gather like you. The bedspread and sheets you found were perfect. And that table lamp was ideal. We’re a team. We’ve always been great together on projects.”
“But this is a business, Kellie.”
Her eyebrows raised in an expression that said, “So?”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, even though I already knew my answer. I didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardize our friendship. Kellie and I had thirty-two years of friendship to our credit. However, two of those years had been absolutely terrible. I didn’t want to be in that terrible place ever again.
“Just think about it, Liz, okay? I talked to Martin, and he thinks it’s great. His actual words were ‘It’s about time.’ Will you talk to Roger and see what he thinks?”
I nodded. My affable husband probably would say it was a good idea. But I knew I wouldn’t join Kellie’s endeavor.
We took the elevator up to Opal’s floor and stood by her front door with a gift basket brimming with new tea towels and a tin of loose-leaf Earl Grey to replace all of Opal’s tea we had drunk during the past few weeks.
Opal let us in with a Mary Poppins sort of efficiency and invited us to have a seat on her reupholstered sofa. She thanked us for the gift basket and then proceeded to hand an envelope to each of us.
“Go ahead and open them.” Opal grinned in her innocent-as-a-lamb way.
This was awkward. I shouldn’t be paid for any of the work. It was Kellie’s gig. “I can’t accept this.” I slid the unopened envelope back across the coffee table. “Thank you, though, for considering me.”
“How can you say you can’t accept it when you don’t even know what’s inside?” Opal was on her feet, rosy faced with excitement. “Open it. Please.”
Kellie and I opened the envelopes in unison. Inside we found airline tickets to what I always had considered the most romantic-sounding airport name in the Western world: Heathrow.
I was holding a ticket to my childhood wish in my hands. Too stunned to cry, I gleamed. That’s what Kellie said later. She said my face was so red and radiant I was shooting gleam-beams all over the room.
Kellie immediately began the string of questions. All the answers from Opal started with yes. Yes, this was for real. Yes, Opal was sure she wanted to do this. Yes, she remembered my saying on our first visit that I had always wanted to go to England. Yes, the tickets were booked for next Monday. And, yes, she knew that we had current passports because she had slipped that question into a conversation two weeks ago.
I calmed down, but my smile stayed at full sail. Opal poured the tea. Kellie sat in sweet, stunned silence. Both of us had just put the china teacups to our lips when Opal pulled out her final surprise of the day.
“We are going to have such a lovely time.”
We″ I echoed slowly lowering my teacup and looking Opal in the eye. “Did you say we are going to have a lovely time?”
Opal didn’t miss a blink. “Yes, I’m going with you. Did I not mention that fact? My sister, Rose, is immensely eager to meet you both.”
Kellie placed her teacup and saucer on the end table. “What exactly did you have in mind for this trip, Opal?”
“I plan to stay in Olney with my sister, of course. I’m sure the two of you will have lots of sights you’ll want to see.”
Apparently the relief in our expressions was evident because Opal dipped her chin in her childlike way and asked, “Oh, me. Did you suppose I was inviting myself along for the tour?”
Kellie and I offered slight nods.
Opal chuckled. “I’ve thought about this so much that I forget you haven’t been privy to all the details in my little head. I do confess I was so overcome with the thought of surprising you that I didn’t fully consider how my presentation might appear.”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “We just want to be clear on the expectations.”
Opal’s only request was that we assist her to and from the airport and get her safely to her sister’s home in Olney. Kellie and I felt confident we could accommodate her request, so we accepted the generous invitation enthusiastically.
That afternoon Kellie and I made hotel arrangements for London. Kellie’s husband, Martin, worked for one of the large resorts in Orlando and constantly was accumulating free nights at partner hotels. Since Opal had contacted him a week and a half earlier with her happy idea, Martin already had pulled together a list of London hotels that would honor the discount available to his family members. That first step was easy. We booked a honey of a hotel on Oxford Street and clicked on every photo the Web site provided. We would be sleeping like royalty in fourposter beds with puffy down comforters and lounging about in complimentary robes and slippers.
Even though five days is a ridiculously short time to prepare for such a trip, Kellie and I worked like crazy to get everything in place for our big jump across the pond. We are a good team when it comes to focusing on a project.
I went into what Kellie called my “hunt and gather” mode, and for the next two days I kept our computer at home humming as it printed out a ream of sightseeing information from a variety of helpful Web sites.
Roger l
ooked at my research. “Are you going to have enough time to do all this?”
My lighthearted answer was, “If not, we’ll just have to go back.”
He smiled. “Maybe I’ll go with you next time.”
I appreciate my husband. He’s solid, affirming, and strong. His weak spot is that he only likes to try things after someone else has tested the waters, so to speak.
Several years ago Roger’s company sent us on a cruise to the Bahamas. It was the first time either of us had been out of the country and is the reason I have a current passport. At every buffet on the ship, Roger waited until I sampled the food before trying it himself. It took him three days before he was acclimated and relaxed enough to enjoy the final day and a half at sea.
I was glad I was going into this uncharted British territory with Kellie. If I ever did return to England with Roger, it would be a much easier trip once he knew I already had tried the underground system and tested a few restaurants.
This position of being the first to take the risk felt more empowering than I would have imagined. My husband called me “a brave woman,” and I liked that he thought of me that way after thirty-one years of our sedate life together.
The only detail Roger said he was concerned about was the agreed-upon responsibility of driving Miss Opal to her sister’s house. I showed him on a map that the town of Olney was located in Buckinghamshire north of London and estimated to be an hour-and-twenty-minute drive from the airport.
“You’re planning to rent a car?”
I nodded.
“Which one of you wants to drive on the opposite side of the road?”
My empowerment high wobbled and waned with his question. Not to be daunted by the challenge, I set up an appointment with a travel agent for the next morning. Kellie met me there.
The travel agent put us at ease, saying she had been to England many times and had rented a car on her last visit. “Renting a car is certainly an option, but you’ll find the train and bus systems to be easy and efficient. In many cases public transportation is much less expensive than gas and parking.”
“What about taxis?” Kellie asked.
“Taxis are readily available. They can be expensive, but they’re just as much a part of the London experience as the double-decker buses and the underground. You should have no trouble getting around.”
The travel agent provided us with helpful maps and brochures. We left her office feeling more confident about how all this was going to work. Our plan was that after getting Opal to her sister’s, Kellie and I would head right back to London on the bus and check into our luxury hotel. We might even catch a play later that night if everything ran smoothly. The list of options was long.
With a round of hearty blessings from our husbands, extended limits on our credit cards—just in case—and our passports tucked in thin fabric pouches hung around our necks, we headed for the Orlando airport on February 23. I couldn’t stop smiling. My childhood wish was about to come true.
“I would prefer the center seat,” Opal said sweetly as we boarded the red-eye flight to Heathrow. “I have heard the window seat can be drafty, and I don’t care for the aisle seat because of all the movement and bumping about.”
“I’ll take the aisle,” Kellie said. “I had three sons, so I got used to a lot of movement and bumping about a long time ago.”
I gladly took the window seat, excited out of my skin over the possibility of having a first peek at England’s grassy hillsides as we approached our destination.
Before the plane had left the runway, Opal was asleep. Her middle position made it impossible for Kellie and me to do what we had planned during the flight. We were going to put our heads together and look through all the info I had compiled on what to see in England.
“Why don’t I look over the information now?” Kellie suggested once we were in the air. “We still have the bus ride to Olney when we can go over details together.”
I handed over the prized binder to her. She plugged in her earphones and contentedly listened to in-flight music while going over the tome of options. The front section had a list of all the theater performances scheduled during our time in London. Many of the theaters offered their unsold seats through discount ticket booths in Leicester Square, which wasn’t far from our hotel. I loved the idea of starting off with a play our first night in London and hoped Kellie agreed.
One thing we had decided was that we would let the days come at their own pace. We would see all we wanted to see, when we wanted to see it, without turning into sightseeing maniacs. At least that’s the way Kellie had worded it two days before we left. I told her I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t embarrass her at some point with my enthusiasm. She said that was fine as long as we made sure we stopped every day at four for what she already was calling “a proper spot of tea.”
I had no problem agreeing to that. Opal had gotten us into a very enjoyable little habit with her four o’clock teatimes.
“Something for you to drink?” the flight attendant asked as her cart blocked the aisle.
I almost said “tea” since her timing coincided so perfectly with my thoughts. But then I remembered from my travel research how extra vitamin C helps fight jet lag. I had also read it is best to avoid caffeine until you have time to adjust to the sleep rhythm in a new time zone.
“Orange juice,” I said, feeling like a savvy traveler, even though this was my first trip across the Atlantic. The tea would wait.
“Something to drink for your mother?”
“Oh, she’s not my … she’s …” Opal was sleeping and didn’t rouse even though I was talking over her. “I think she’s fine for now.”
“Do you know if she would like the chicken or the pasta when we serve the meal?” the flight attendant asked.
I looked at Kellie, who had removed the earphones and tuned in to what I was saying to the flight attendant. Neither of us had any idea what Opal’s preferences were in food or in anything else, for that matter. We had spent weeks with her, and yet we knew very little about her. She liked her newly painted yellow walls and her new ceiling fan. And she liked gingersnaps with her tea. Aside from that we were both at a loss.
“Chicken?” I guessed.
Kellie nodded. It was a fairly logical choice. Who didn’t like chicken?
Apparently Opal didn’t.
She woke a short time later when the enticing fragrance of hot food reached our aisle. I noticed she ate the roll, the salad without dressing, the green beans, and all five of the miniature white potatoes. Her chicken went untouched.
“You must not be a big fan of chicken,” the flight attendant commented as she cleared Opal’s tray.
“Never have cared much for the foul fowl.” Opal’s soft smile and little play on words managed to evoke a chuckle from the previously somber flight attendant.
“Did you get enough to eat?” the attendant asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Opal,” I said, waiting for her to turn my direction before making my small confession. “I was the one who ordered the chicken for you. I didn’t know what you liked. Are you sure you got enough to eat?”
“I’m quite content, really. If I know my Rose, she will have tea ready for us. We should be arriving at just about teatime.”
“Tell me about your sister,” I said.
“There’s not much to tell, really. Rose lost her William a year ago. She lives in the same house we grew up in. Olney is a lovely town. It was a lace-making village, you know. All the best lace for the British royalty came from Olney.” Opal covered her mouth as a kitten-sized yawn escaped.
“We should probably nap while we can.” I nodded at Kellie, who had already given in to the drowsiness that followed the meal. Opal closed her eyes and seemed to drift off immediately.
I flexed and unflexed my cold toes. Opal was right about the draft next to the window. It was chilly. I closed my eyes and tried to think warm thoughts. I didn’t sleep, but resting in sync with
the airplane motor’s hum was nice.
Several hours later the tip of my cold nose touched the airplane window as we made our descent. All I could see below was what looked like a batch of peach and white cotton balls. We continued to descend through the clouds, then clouds, then more clouds, and then suddenly there was a break. All I saw was the approaching black strip of the runway. Our arrival was in a London fog, but we were here! And I was about to set foot on English soil.
Opal kept up just fine as we followed the lines through to customs at Heathrow Airport. She had a U.S. passport, apparently because of her husband’s dual citizenship, and calmly pulled it from her purse.
Kellie and I had to do an odd sort of twisting and tugging to release our passport pouches from their safe hiding places under our shirts. A woman behind me in line said, “Trust me, you’ll draw more attention to yourself as a tourist with those pouches than if you keep your passports in a safe place in your purse. Just make sure your purse is close to your body at all times. You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a quick glance. She looked streamlined with her shoulder bag and walking shoes. She must travel a lot.
The corridors we had to walk through after customs were long. I wished I had worn more comfortable shoes. Kellie and I offered to locate a wheelchair for Opal if she was growing weary. She turned down the offer and kept on truckin’ right beside us all the way to baggage claim.
Our suitcases arrived, and we loaded them onto what the sign referred to as a “trolley” instead of a “cart.” That’s when I realized how challenging this part of the trip would have been for petite Opal to manage by herself. While the charming little imp had creatively bamboozled us into escorting her on this journey, clearly she would have had difficulty navigating it on her own. I felt a funny sort of admiration for clever Opal as well as a gathering sympathy for the limitations that come with aging.
Sisterchicks Go Brit! Page 2
