by Ruth Hay
She knew she had been able to put all these worries aside during the ten days or so in England and now was not the time to burden Brian with them. Instead she chose another tactic.
“Tell me Brian, is this about money?”
She heard his quick intake of breath at the unexpected question so close to the mark, reminding him his mother was not in any way a fool. He quickly chose honesty over bluster in respect to her keen perceptiveness but it was a minute before he replied. The road flew by under the car and Valerie watched the green fields and roadside trees blur away as she waited, breathing lightly as she could, so as not to reveal the tension she felt.
“Well, there is some truth in that, Mother. I won’t deny the move to the townhouse was expensive but Vicky needed to be closer to her work and Lynn’s future school and parks, and so on.”
Valerie could just imagine how many ‘so ons’ Victoria must have come up with.
She waited, knowing he would get to the point if she were patient.
“Toronto is not a cheap place to live, of course, and we have a mortgage and two cars to run. I know you will say these are all choices we have made as a couple but it is worrying to be faced with bills every month and I would really be happier if I knew I had a nest egg to fall back on.”
There, it was out at last! Valerie interpreted Brian’s statements as a plea for her to maintain the family home as a valuable asset which could be divided between the brothers on her death. If she chose to sell the house now, she would have to buy somewhere else to live and that could be detrimental to the future lump sum in the present housing market.
“You know your father made investments, Brian, and you also know how adamant he was that I should not place the management of these stocks and shares into the hands of an advisor, or accountant, or whatever they call themselves. He had no faith in the ability of such people to choose wisely to benefit the client more than to enrich their own business.”
“Ha! He made that abundantly clear on my final visit. He said he had locked the investments into secure holdings so that they would accrue value over the years without intervention.”
Valerie was glad to hear a note of humour in her son’s voice.
“Isn’t that your nest egg, Brian? I have no intention of altering your father’s plan, even if I could.
Your family, and John’s, of course, will inherit that money on my death. For the time being, my major asset is the Kilworth house.”
Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat and adjusted the A/C to a higher level.
During this pause in conversation, Valerie suddenly thought Brian’s money problems might be of a more urgent nature than could be solved by a future nest egg that could be many decades away from access.
She decided to keep her own counsel on this issue unless Brian brought up the subject directly.
“You do have a good pension, Mother, although it will be some years before you are eligible for the Old Age pension. I suppose it all depends on what you mean to do with your time now Dad has gone?”
“I haven’t made many decisions about that as yet, Brian. The holiday in the Lake District certainly gave me some ideas about my future and you should be prepared for changes. You must realize that I have been trapped inside the Kilworth house for two years and more and I do not want to waste any more of my life waiting. Death does concentrate the mind, you know.”
“Oh, Mum, I do know you bore the brunt of Dad’s illness and all that implies. I don’t want to dictate anything to you. I can see you are more than capable of making your own decisions. Just keep me in the loop about things and I won’t worry any more. I am glad we had this chance to straighten things out.”
He looked over to Valerie and gave her a smile, as if to say all was well.
“There is one more thing that concerns me, Brian.”
She could see his eyebrows raise in surprise and, possibly, with a little trepidation about what would come next. She put him out of his misery speedily. She had been mulling over how to approach this topic since before dawn.
“I have to tell you how disappointed I am at not seeing Lynn. It feels as if Victoria deliberately chose to keep her away from me.”
She let that comment sit. There was more she could say but she had to see what Brian’s response would be to this criticism of his wife. His answer came after a deep inhalation of breath and a corresponding deep exhalation.
“Right! I can see that was a mistake although, in our defence, I thought it was for your benefit when Victoria originally suggested the idea. Lynn is a sweet little girl and I do want you two to be closer. If I promise to bring her to London in the fall, would that help?”
“Of course it would and thank you for suggesting it. I’ll look forward to your visit, my dear.”
“That’s settled then. Look, we’re almost at Woodstock and there’s time before the London bus arrives at the Holiday Inn. Let’s have a coffee and put all this behind us. You can tell me about your holiday with your friends. I must say it has done you some good Mum. You look years younger.”
Valerie was pleased with the compliment and also with the concessions she had wrung from Brian without causing an actual argument about his relationship to Victoria. She was under no illusions about that young woman’s influence on her Brian. Because of it, there was never likely to be much real affection between Valerie and her daughter-in-law but, at least, she had calmed the waters for now and both Valerie and her son were aware of possible future pitfalls.
For now, it was a good resolution, and one she could be content with.
Valerie Westwood’s good spirits lasted until she stepped off the taxi at her front door.
In a way it was a relief to finally be home but it was also a burden that had, once more to be acknowledged. The relief disappeared as soon as she saw the large lawn sign declaring
HOUSE FOR SALE
There was a red banner across the sign reading: SOLD. The decision had been taken out of her hands while she was in England. Like it or not, she was moving.
The house that was no longer hers, smelled stale and warm. There was a pile of mail inside the front door and it was dark, with drapes drawn to keep out the sunlight. She threw down her cases and went around from room to room opening drapes and windows and turning on the A/C to bring the temperature under control.
The first letter she opened was from the realtor informing her of the sale price. After the usual deductions it was still a sizable sum and she felt it was generous considering the number of items in the home that needed updating. The agent had stated it was a matter of location, location, location.
“People will pay to have an address like Kilworth, Mrs. Westwood. The kind of people who aspire to live in this neighbourhood will likely rip out much of what is here, so it’s not worth your time and trouble to do a complete reno. The property is clean and tidy and now you have put some of the personal items into storage, it’s quite ready to be shown.”
Valerie guessed he knew his business. He had been correct on all points so far.
She looked around and wondered what was to be done with all the furniture, carpeting and remaining small items. It was near the end of a very long day but she felt impelled to make a start.
No time like the present.
The first thing was to change out of her travel clothes and into something more comfortable. Upstairs in the master bedroom she pulled on some old sweat pants and a short-sleeved cotton top. Then she splashed cool water on her face and pinned back her hair with clasps. When she had found sheets of paper from the printer tray in the office, clipped them to a board, and added a pen she liked, she was ready to begin.
The first page was headed; To Keep. She decided not to worry about disposing of items at the moment. If she could identify what was essential to her new life, she would have made a good start.
The master bedroom had originally been decorated in a style that suited David. He was averse to an overly feminine look in colour and furnishings so th
e mood of the room was neutral and plain and had remained so. Valerie looked around and rejected everything. There was little that represented her emotions or desires other than some framed photographs of the boys and David in happier times. The few mementos she had brought across the Atlantic after her mother’s death had already been placed in storage. She ignored the walk-in closet for now. She had pared down her own clothing and David’s clothes had been sent to the Men’s Mission in London.
The office had some older computer systems and printer. She would donate these and buy new technology that occupied less space.
Two more bedrooms had belonged to the boys, and had been used only rarely since they married and moved away. She had photographed their old treasure trophies and posters and sent them to the boys after their father died. They had wanted everything disposed of. She could not imagine any of the teenage furniture fitting into Victoria’s décor, for example.
That wasn’t too bad. This shouldn’t take long.
The main floor furnishings were newer and of a smaller scale suitable for a future smaller home.
She liked the lighter wood tone of the teak, now coming back into fashion, and the oatmeal colour of the sectional sofa with its bright cushions. If the buyer did not want these items she would happily store them until she had decided where to live. Given what the realtor had told her, it was unlikely much of the present furnishings would be required by the purchaser.
She wondered who these people were and if she would get the chance to meet them.
The dining room contained the rented furniture arranged for her by the realtor so it would be removed soon. The china service in the display cabinets was hardly ever used. She picked up a delicate cup and saucer and tried to remember the last time she had set a table for company with these lovely things. Like much of a previous generation’s valuables, china sets were now obsolete. She considered searching for a place that still served tea in the old style, and donating the china there, keeping only a few pieces for herself. Perhaps a seniors’ home or historical old Eldon House would appreciate such a gift.
The kitchen had been renovated a decade earlier before David’s condition became much worse. She cast a critical eye over it. It was a workable space for a cook but the island might be too small and the countertops too dark for current fashion. From what she had seen on television, most people preferred the open plan living area. Probably a wall or two would be removed from the kitchen and the cupboards might then go also. She looked out of the window over the kitchen sink and admired the view of the garden. The flower beds were still in full bloom. Would she want a garden in her new home? The process of listing items she wanted to save was serving to define what she might want in the future.
Not a bad thing. I’ll have to think about it sooner rather than later. The closing date is mid-August. The buyer could be a family with children going to school in September.
This thought caused Valerie put the list to one side and head out to the garage to look for old newspapers. After scrabbling around for a minute or two she unearthed the real estate section of the local paper and turned to the maps of London and area showing the newer subdivisions. She went back to the kitchen to get better light and to revive her flagging energy with tea and biscuits from her limited supply of food.
When the map pages were spread out in front of her, she realized there was a considerable amount of new building in London. The north side had a vast number of housing estates now surrounding what had once been the private conclave of the Sunningdale Country Club and the area around the Masonville Shopping Centre was a mess of shops, restaurants and services for the entire Fanshawe Road section.
She considered being that close to the university on Richmond Street to be a disadvantage to someone looking for a quieter life. Her recent experience in a new Toronto townhouse also coloured her view. Brian and Victoria’s home was part of a row of similar dwellings and there was no space between them.
The list of items to keep was now converted to a series of questions in an attempt to define her future needs.
Country town or London?
West or South?
House, condo, townhouse or apartment?
Old or new build?
Parking?
Large or small community?
Location?
Vital services?
The list was getting longer as more choices had to be considered. All at once, Valerie’s brain quit.
She dropped the pen and cradled her head in her hands. Too many decisions to be made in a day already far too long. She needed food and sleep before this project could be undertaken. She was also going to need help and advice.
A quick glance in the freezer revealed nothing fast enough to suit her mood. She consulted the drawer with take-out menus and called the nearest Chinese restaurant, asking for immediate delivery of her order…….dinner for two with extra egg rolls and sauce.
In the intervening time she summoned enough mental energy to scroll through the single friends on her phone and wonder who might be the best person for this adventure.
By the time the doorbell rang, she had selected the best candidate, an old teacher colleague with just the right amount of positive energy to enjoy the challenge of traipsing around multiple locations looking for the one perfect place. Rhonda also had once sold property in the London area. If she had not learned a trick or two from that job, Valerie would be very surprised.
Food. Sleep. Contact Rhonda. Get started tomorrow.
A new day awaited.
Three.
Monday.
Sandra Halder had arrived in Glasgow late on Friday night. The train from Oxenholme had been delayed somewhere around Carlisle by a cow on the line. She had felt flustered worrying about who had come to meet her and what they would be thinking.
This feeling of dislocation had persisted over the weekend. Joanne was not happy having to wait in the busy, noisy station on a Friday night in the centre of a town well-known for its heavy weekend drinkers.
She had hustled her mother and her luggage into the family SUV with scarcely a word of welcome and driven madly through the city complaining that her babysitter would be charging the earth and Don had booked a restaurant for them and he would be mad if they missed their reservation.
“You should have sent me a text and left for home,” said Sandra.
“The station people would not give out any information about your train’s arrival time, so I waited.”
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to disrupt your evening plans.”
Joanne thought she had detected an unusual note of irony in her mother’s voice. She glanced over to the passenger seat but her mother’s bland expression seemed the same as usual. There might have been a touch of make-up on that face but she did not have time to investigate further with the speed she was driving. All her attention needed to be on the road ahead.
Things had not improved when Sandra arrived at her West-end bungalow and bid Joanne a hasty farewell. Her oldest daughter was reversing out of the driveway when she stuck her head out of the window and shouted to her mother.
“Don’t worry about Monday, Mum. The kids are on a day’s outing with Merle and her boys. I’ll call you!” With that she was gone in a cloud of dust from the road.
That girl was always in a rush. She arrived in a rush and it’s been the same ever since.
When no one answered Sandra’s knock, she had searched in her handbag to find the house keys and finally opened the door to what appeared to be an empty house. It had that air of neglect over several days and she wondered how long Ian had been absent this time. At least there would not be much housework to do. Everything looked as she had left it; tidy, clean and cozy. It occurred to her that she must have spent years just doing the housewifely things. Did anyone really care? Did Ian notice? Perhaps a little comfortable mess would be an incentive to him to stay home more. After all, he saw the inside of many austere hotel rooms in his travels around the country. She m
ade a mental note to think about this later. It was one of a long mental list she had been compiling over the last week in the Lake District.
She had opened the doors of the conservatory and stood for a moment contemplating the garden. It was spacious and surrounded the house on all four sides, the result of more generous building codes of former decades. It was really too much space for a couple although the grandchildren always enjoyed the chance to run around freely. The pale moonlight shone on a stone path and on the roof of a toolshed almost hidden by overgrown bushes.
What had she done to improve the garden in the last years? She could not remember when she had last filled a tub with summer flowers or made a window box display to brighten the front windows. Had she really given up on the house; on herself; and on her marriage?
She had gone to bed with these unanswered questions and the determination to try to seek answers over the weekend.
By Monday morning, Sandra Halder had made several changes.
She ignored her former constant companion sitting dark and neglected in the corner of the living room offering the same mindless distractions that had previously gobbled up untold hours of her days. Instead of slumping down on the couch that was imprinted with her body shape and far too accessible to a table on which she spread her TV- watching snacks, she took the couch cushions outdoors and gave them a good shaking to restore their contours and on returning to the living room she moved the furniture so that the view now became the garden and the outdoors.
This seemed to provide a new, and welcome, point of view. The garden beckoned in the summer sunlight and she walked out through the conservatory doors and decided to walk around the house viewing it with these new eyes. She could not compare her modest dwelling to the glories she had seen in Blackwell House but she remembered the sun-filled, white room and how that had affected her spirits. What could she do to brighten up the exterior and the interior of her own home?
