by Karen Aldous
As horrified as I was, I carried determination around with me, eager to take on the challenge and stay upbeat. My friends cared enough to think of me. That was fundamental and I couldn’t disappoint them. We had, after all, managed to get through so much together, those troubling baby-rearing and parental stages, supporting one another through the deaths of our parents. We could manage a ski holiday surely? And the build-up and preparation Angie had organised had distracted me to some extent. A fitness programme, diet, five dry-ski lessons. Overtly, I was cheering, skiing at sixty with my Flowers, covertly a faker and betrayer. As for Mike, he would be turning in his grave if he knew I was skiing.
Flowers, by the way, was the name that us girls gave ourselves, because we are still girls at heart. We each had two navy sweatshirts with our own emblem of salmon pink roses. In fact, we had them on now. The idea came about quite accidently when Cathy declared one night that we were Fun-Loving Older Women Embracing life, and we completed it with a Renaissance of Spirit, which is exactly our philosophy.
As Angie focused on the driving and Lou touched up her make-up, I kept the phone clutched in my hand, but then felt my chest lurch in panic. ‘Oh, God, I can’t remember if I put my thermals in. I remember putting in my big knickers in but …’
‘Stop worrying,’ chuckled Lou. ‘We’ll share if we have to. I’m sure we’ll have plenty between us.’
Cathy pulled a face. ‘Urgh. No. They’re not the sort of things I’d want to share. It would be like sharing underwear.’
Lou leant forward and frowned, her hand gripping a steel stem of Cathy’s headrest. ‘I know you’re getting on a bit, Cath, but you know, there’s this stuff they have nowadays called washing powder. It washes clothes. You can buy it in these places called shops, which they have even in the mountains. Correct me if I’m wrong, Ang?’
The car shook with laughter. Cath’s shoulder blade collided with her ear as she lowered her head. Her tight lips then burst into laughter too.
‘Oh, mock me, why don’t you. Charming. I suppose I will have this all week. I love you all, my darlings, but I’m sorry. No. I’m not sharing my knickers or thermals with anyone.’
Swiping a tear from her eye, Angie peered at me again through the rear-view mirror. ‘There are shops that sell them if you prefer your own, Ginny.’
‘Goodness.’ Cathy turned to face me. ‘Don’t we have it easy! I wonder what our grandmothers would make of us. Can you imagine your grandmothers skiing? My granny looked about eighty when I was a little girl. She could have only been in her fifties, forties possibly.’
‘Mine too,’ Lou said, chuckling, ‘but I bet they would share their knickers. A bar of carbolic and a scrubbing brush would soon sort them. Nan skiing, though. Not an image I can conjure.’
‘Lucky for us, we don’t have to revert to carbolic soap.’ Cathy let out a sigh. ‘Gosh, what they went through. All for our benefit. Two world wars to secure our future.’
‘And the other battles.’ I instantly recalled tales my gran told me. ‘Old aunt Minnie, not my real aunt, but a close friend of Gran’s and my mother’s when they were younger, was a militant campaigner for so many rights we all take for granted, like voting, equality, free healthcare, not to mention pensions.’
‘It is amazing what they did. So sad they didn’t benefit.’ Lou’s jaw crooked to one side. ‘We owe them so much. Imagine travelling back in a time machine, a hundred years. A war. Women pining for dead husbands, sons, brothers and fathers. Housing conditions damp and cramped. No work. Little food. Filthy streets. Not even a bath or toilet! And, unless you had serious money, you would never holiday, let alone go abroad. Poor mites. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go back and thank all those who fought for us? We baby boomers live like royalty in comparison: our own homes, we choose where to live, work where we please, including abroad.’
I clutched my chest. ‘Makes you feel guilty, doesn’t it, that they didn’t reap the rewards. We’ve been such a blessed generation. I’m so grateful to have been in a position to be near my children, share their lives and to enjoy our grandchildren.’ A mix of emotions circled in me. ‘And with spare time to have some fun. My one regret is that Mike’s gone.’
Angie blew out a large sigh. ‘Flowers, please. They did us proud, they led the way; let’s be fucking happy.’
Cathy
‘Language, Angie.’ I scowled sideways disapprovingly as she mouthed a ‘sorry’. I folded my arms as the sniggers silenced. Poor Ginny was sinking again.
‘So, Ginny, what’s the plan for the week?’ I asked, attempting a different angle at getting her to talk, thinking I’d posed an open question.
‘Skiing,’ she answered bluntly.
Oh dear, this wasn’t going well. The elephant in the car was enormous. Whilst our foremothers were interesting and commendable, we were simply so backwards in coming forward. I sighed. So much babble when what we really wished to know was how Ginny was feeling, what she was thinking. It had been the hardest thing to prise Ginny open. I wasn’t one to pussyfoot around usually but in all honesty, apart from my parents, I’d never dealt the death of someone so close to me. Mike was so young. Only sixty-one. Anthony and I still couldn’t believe he has gone. A dear, dear friend who was such a mammoth part of our lives. Like a brother to us both. And Ginny. All we wanted was our friend back, but we didn’t know how to unwrap her from her cocoon. And, as far as I knew, she’d refused bereavement counselling or any help after losing her job.
I popped another almond into my mouth to stave off hunger.
In our own ways, we’ve tried to get Ginny to share her thoughts, and maybe Kim was the only one who’d managed it, having had some success in Australia earlier in the year, but Ginny’s been a closed book since. I was never sure how to broach the subject. In fact, not one of us has yet managed to tap into her heart since. Naturally, we’ve asked but all we got back from Ginny was ‘Stop worrying. I’m fine,’ when we knew she wasn’t.
I was hoping to sit in the back with her on the journey from Geneva, try and have a chat to find out more about what her plans were for the trip, particularly as it was twelve months on and the perfect opportunity now that we were all together. Even if we could discover what she wanted to get out of this week and whether she wanted to have a memorial on the twenty-eighth. It had all been guesswork so far. Communication with her had been sparse these last few months and she shut herself away at home, refusing to socialise even one-to-one. I understood that she might feel it’s difficult with couples, but apart from our preparation sessions at the gym, and a weekend at a spa, she hadn’t been anywhere but her new workplace. And, frustratingly, any time I rang to say I’d pop in with a bottle of wine, she told me she had things to do or work to finish. It wasn’t right.
Hearing her today, she sounded perfectly normal, joining in the conversation, but I wanted nothing more than to hear her open up and talk about everything she’d gone through this year. We all did. Saying she’s fine told us nothing. Even her daughter, Rachel, who I rang with my concerns, said I shouldn’t worry; her mum would talk about it when she was ready. Anthony thought along those lines too. Don’t press her, Cathy, he told me. But Ginny was like a sister, and it broke my heart that she wouldn’t confide in me.
I dug my finger into my little pot again and fished out a crispy chickpea. Then another. ‘Do you want some, Ang?’ I asked.
‘No, I’ve got my beans and an apple here, thank you.’
I had always confided in Ginny. She was always there for me through the early years when Anthony and I were trying for a family. She probably knew my menstrual cycle better than me at times, despite her busy life with her children. Every month she would turn up with a book or a bottle of wine, or if Mike was at the Rotary Club or pub, she’d insist I go to her instead so that she could put Ross and Rachel – then babies – to bed before we settled down for a chat. We’d sit with our legs curled under us, at either end of her settee. Sometimes Lou, Angie or Kim would join us.
My mobile rang, and I knew it could only be one person.
‘Hello, darling.’ As expected, it was Anthony.
‘I checked and saw that you had landed. Why didn’t you ring?’
I sighed. ‘Because we haven’t arrived yet.’
‘I did ask you to call,’ Anthony slurred down the phone. It wasn’t even lunchtime.
‘Darling, you said, and I’ll paraphrase, ring me when you get there. We are about twenty minutes, half an hour away yet. It’s stunning, lots of mountains and snow. Look, I’ll send you a text when we get to the ski resort. Is that OK?’
‘OK. Is it snowing?’
‘No. No snow and the roads are fine. I’ll text you. Bye, darling.’
‘I love you.’
‘Love you too, darling; bye.’
I fumbled to switch it off.
So, where was I?
Kim and Will had still been in England and they too had been trying, like Anthony and me. It was Kim who suggested I try the new test-tube method, now what we refer to as IVF, as they were considering it. The whole idea horrified me of course. Being a Catholic I could never have conceived that way. It wasn’t at all natural, or moral. Anthony respected my faith despite his willingness to provide the cash for the ground-breaking treatment. He was also willing to adopt, seeking out lots of pamphlets about it, but I was convinced I would fall pregnant eventually.
Ginny supported my decisions no matter what, even when Kim argued – a few years after Avril and Mai were born – that her twins had provided her far more joy than any faith could have brought her. Ginny was comforting, despite the joy she had for Kim and Will. ‘We all have to do what’s right for us, follow our own heart,’ she had said. And, I couldn’t be bitter with Kim. Her twins were little angels and Anthony and I loved to shower them with kisses and gifts when we saw them, just as we had with Ginny’s, Lou’s and Angie’s children when they were small. Kim so deserved them after having such a difficult family life as a child herself. I was really looking forward to seeing Kim again – much more than I was looking forward to the skiing. Sport had never been my forte.
My phone rang again.
‘Is that Anthony again?’ Angie asked.
I puffed and picked the damn thing up and switched it off.
‘He’s probably sat on it again or slid it in his pocket and hit the button. I’ll text him when we get there.’ I groaned.
Ginny
I jumped suddenly as a head of caramel blonde hair flashed in front of my face.
‘Aren’t they stunning?’ Lou said, leaning across to my side of the car and peering up.
‘They look beautiful from here,’ I agreed, following her gaze to the halos of light gleaming from the mountaintops against the cobalt sky; but my gut remained apprehensive.
Lou laid a relaxed hand on my wrist. ‘I’m sure it’ll be great. We’ll make sure it is. Maybe our grans are watching over us, making sure we damn well enjoy ourselves. I can’t wait to get on that snow.’
Lou was fearless to the point of recklessness and I loved that about her. She was the person you’d want around if a bullet or missile was heading your way. She would try to catch it. Throw herself on top of you, at worst. Unlike me, ever cautious and full of self-doubt. Lou would take to skiing like a bird took to the sky.
I heard the indicator clicking. My heart rate soared as Angie, whose wonderful idea this was, the only skier among us, took the slip road and crossed the motorway towards towering rocks. The road narrowed and inclined steeply. Angie struggled for a low gear to make a sharp turn. Already, we must have been a hundred feet up. My breathing became short as the car climbed, and Angie’s expression was one of deep concentration. I closed my eyes. One mistake and we could drop off the edge. Cathy, in the front passenger seat, squealed as we rounded another hairpin and as I opened my eyes, her anxiety glared into mine.
‘I feel sick,’ she said, shielding her eyes.
‘It’s always daunting, the last bit, but it’s not far now,’ Angie tried to assure us while brushing a thicket of black curls from her face with her right hand.
Lou slapped and squeezed my knee, making me lurch forward. ‘Yep, this time tomorrow we’ll be up there at the top of one of those peaks and ploughing downhill.’
I forced a smile. I didn’t want to harass Angie any more than necessary, but I was also beginning to experience nauseous waves and my head was all over the place. Like my life. The thought invaded my head. No. Stop it! I speedily corrected my brain. Only positive thoughts allowed. That was the promise, the condition, and exactly why the girls had made such an effort; why they had abandoned their husbands and families for the remainder of Christmas and the New Year. They wanted to ensure I escaped my grief, my job redundancy – that had been a big shock so soon after Mike’s death too – and that I would be facing my future alone.
I lifted the corners of my mouth. ‘We’re going to have a blast,’ I said. ‘We’ll soon lose our fear, especially once we have some alcohol inside us.’
Angie turned her head round to look at us. ‘That’s probably my worst fear. Please don’t overdo it. It won’t be so bad on the nursery slopes, but you’ll have to limit your alcohol when we go on the runs. I don’t want any of you stuffed in a bag and lifted off the mountain, nor ski-doodled off.’
I had no idea what ski-doodled was but … ‘We won’t,’ I squealed, leaning forward in panic and silently urging her to watch the road. The car swung ninety degrees again and somehow my abdomen clambered to catch up. I made the mistake of looking down outside the window. There was barely twenty inches between me and sudden death. We must have been at, I guessed, about two thousand feet up with a sheer drop. I quickly looked up, focusing ahead, attempting to blot out the possible grave scenarios filling my imagination. The car turned again, and instead I was met with steep rock faces reinforced with humungous bolts and draped with relatively skimpy netting. My mind got to work again, fearing gigantic boulders crashing into the car roof.
‘Shall we play I-Spy?’ I asked, desperate for distraction.
‘You can try.’ Angie sniggered as we were suddenly submerged into darkness. We all vanished, and I felt relief wash through me. I could do dark. At least we were safe in a tunnel.
‘Oh, we won’t then,’ I added stupidly.
‘We must be nearly there by now.’ Cathy stated what we were all thinking.
Angie swiped her brow. ‘I think we’ll see the village at the other end. I don’t pay too much attention when I’m in the passenger seat.’
I felt a stab of guilt thinking of poor Angie having to drive us all and listening to our constant gasps and gripes. This was probably a first for her – driving up without Rob and the boys. Ever since their eldest was twelve and had skied with the school, Angie and Rob had taken all three boys on their annual trip to the Alps or Dolomites. They went with a large group stemming from that first school trip. I’d been quite envious but in a different way than Mike had. I’d never had the teeniest inclination to ski, but there was a lovely camaraderie among them, as a family. They all loved it. I figured this trip must be quite daunting for Angie, leading us up instead of Rob leading her.
As we neared the arc of light ahead and felt the anticipation of arrival, my muscles untied themselves and I let my head roll back. I hadn’t felt as tense or as wretched since that day almost two years ago when the consultant oncologist sat in front of Mike and I had confirmed Mike was already in stage four of his cancer. Although the tests and waiting were physically draining, mentally, that day, a switch came on, powering my brain with a huge surge of strength. Instantly, I became wired to fight, to stay upbeat. I was going to shore up every bone, every muscle, every cell in his body to keep Mike alive. That was my coping mechanism. To stay strong for him, to research everything about his condition, nourish him with the right foods and attitude, seek out that miracle cure – mend him. Even Will, our medical expert, couldn’t do that, however much he tried.
I don’t think I’m bitter anymore.
I was. Not towards Mike, but the situation. My life for thirty months involved never tiring or wavering but taking time off work to be around during and after the op, nursing, battling the brunt of his anger and bitterness, sitting beside him throughout long hours of chemo, the sickness, the loss of appetite, the hair loss and exhaustion of his once strong body as his immune system weakened. Then the radiotherapy and change of chemo drugs because the first weren’t ever going to cure him, just prolong his life, his suffering.
‘No more,’ he’d said, when the next round of chemo was offered. I remember it well. It was the middle of August, a warm, muggy day that was more overcast than sunny. ‘Sorry, love. I really am, but I can’t do this anymore.’ He could have hit me with a cricket bat and I wouldn’t have felt it as much. There was one thing Mike wasn’t and that was a pessimist. It was why I was with him in the first place.
Feeling hot with all the twisting and turning of the car. I picked up my water bottle and took a large swig. We’d be there soon.
I switched my mind back to Mike, to the fonder days of our youth. I could picture him now, caramel hair on a side parting, blond hairs on his warm cheeks, eyes that would eat you up. Apparently, he’d seen me before we first met at the school end-of-term disco. He told me he’d watched me play netball at a rally in our nearest town and fell in love with my peachy-skinned face and long blonde pigtails and made up his mind I was one day going to be his wife.
So confident I would be at that disco, he had it all planned. Soon after I arrived with my friends at he approached the DJ, gave him a list of slow songs to play: ‘The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face’, Roberta Flack; ‘Got to Be There’, Michael Jackson; ‘Have You Seen Her’, The Chi-lites; ‘Without You’, Neilson; ‘Let’s Stay Together’, Al Green – that was how optimistic he was. And how could a girl resist? Michael Watts was striking. This tall, athletic, blond boy leading me, plain little Virginia Matthews, to the dance floor, never to let go, until that day.
