Never Too Old for Love

by Rosie Harris

  Yes, she was a plucky little woman he thought admiringly. She was quite attractive as well. He imagined that at one time she had been something of a beauty. She still had good features and a thick head of hair even though it was grey. He judged that she must be in her mid-seventies which was about his own age. Yes, he’d enjoyed meeting her and he hoped taking her to the pictures would be the start of a long-term friendship. He’d wait and see how their next meeting turned out before making any further plans.

  Suddenly he remembered they hadn’t fixed the time or place. He automatically decided on the Odeon in Maidenhead. That was where he usually went on the few occasions that he had been to the pictures since Lydia died. Well, he’d have to ring her up and tell her. Then with a shock he realised he didn’t know her telephone number. He hoped she was in the phonebook; if not then he wondered if she was on the Internet. He hadn’t seen a computer, but then he’d only been in her sitting room and she didn’t seem to be the type of woman who would keep her desktop sitting in the middle of her lounge.

  There were so many things he didn’t know about her it was like a voyage of discovery. He was pretty sure she would have a computer and that she would be able to use it efficiently, therefore they would be able to email each other. It was a much better way of making contact. When you phoned someone or they phoned you then you had to think on the spot; with an email you could consider what you wanted to say before you committed yourself. However, since he didn’t know for certain if she was in the phone book or had a computer, he would have to walk round to her house again to let her know the details of where they were going once he had made the necessary arrangements.

  He wondered if a matinee would be a better idea than an evening show. Somehow she didn’t look like the sort of woman who went out at night. She would probably be nervous about doing so in the dark, especially with someone who was more or less a complete stranger. No, since this was their first time it would be far better to take her to a matinee, and then afterwards they could have a cup of tea perhaps at a nearby café before they returned home.

  He toyed with the alternatives for the rest of the day. First thing next morning he went into Maidenhead to check what was on at the Odeon and on what days there would be a matinee. Armed with this knowledge, he went back home and wrote a short note telling her that he would pick her up at two o’clock the following Tuesday. He put his own phone number on the sheet of paper with his address, and then he waited until it was dark, walked round and slipped it through her letterbox. Now, he told himself, it was up to her to acknowledge it and to confirm that they would be meeting.

  As she put away the used cups and saucers Mary Wilson thought about her visitor. It was the first time she had entertained a man on his own since Sam died. In fact, she had entertained very few people in the three years since he’d died. Now, for the first time, she realised how much she missed adult company – not that they had ever been in the habit of entertaining very often.

  In the early days of their marriage, it had been his profession as a schoolmaster that had made this difficult. They had avoided socialising with the parents of any of the children Sam taught, because usually the entire conversation centred on the achievements or otherwise of their children.

  Sometimes this was quite embarrassing because the parent concerned, usually the mother, either thought that her child was brilliant and not being recognised as a little genius, or – if the child was not doing too well – that the teaching was not of the right kind to bring out the best in her child. Either way Mary had found that it was embarrassing to listen to Sam being criticised and equally embarrassing for him, as he tried to explain the situation to the parent.

  As she went back into the sitting room and picked up the photograph of Richard and George, she looked at it with a smile on her face. Richard was very considerate. He made a point of visiting her at least once a week, as well as phoning from time to time in between to make sure she was all right.

  She wasn’t too sure how she felt about his wife, Megan.

  Megan was tall, beautiful and always looked elegant. She was a very clever career woman. She had gone on working after she and Richard married and continued to do so even after George was born. She had put him into a nursery when he was two months old. Her job at a leading London fashion house sometimes kept her away from home for days at a time, so she had installed an au pair and expected her to look after George. This had not been successful. Mary had deplored what was happening because this meant that, whenever Megan was away from home, George was neglected and so she had tentatively offered to look after him.

  ‘At your age!’ Megan had said, raising a pencilled eyebrow and giving her a supercilious smile. ‘I don’t think so. He’s far too much of a handful for you to be able to cope with.’

  Mary hadn’t offered again. She had felt humiliated.

  Megan had solved the problem by installing a housekeeper. Lucia was an Italian woman in her mid-thirties. She had not long been widowed and Megan had met her on one of her business trips abroad. Lucia was eager to get away from her home and sad memories, and she had settled in well. She had taken to little George, mothering him as if he was her own. George thrived on her attention and they soon became inseparable. Mary liked her and trusted her, and was happy that George was being so well looked after. She was also delighted that Lucia secretly brought George to see her at least once a week. After the first time, Megan had told Lucia that it wasn’t necessary.

  ‘Surely it’s a duty to do so, you are his grandmother,’ Lucia had declared to Mary and continued the visits without Megan knowing.

  Mary sighed. She was sure that Megan not only disliked her but also resented the attention she received from Richard. Megan was possessive and wanted both Richard and George all to herself. She rarely let Richard bring George with him when he came to see her and often, while Richard was visiting, Megan would phone to ask when he was coming home. There was always some pretence or another but Mary saw through it every time.

  Even so, Mary reflected, she still had a good relationship with him and with her grandson. She was a very lucky woman. She might be seventy-five but she was still fit and well enough to look after herself, to do her own shopping and to live the way she wanted.

  For the first time, she realised that her world was extremely restricted. True, she read the papers each day, listened to the news on the television or radio and so she was well acquainted with what was going on in the world, even though she was playing no part in it.

  Mary sighed. When Sam had been alive he had enjoyed a wide-ranging group of friends, but most of them had been people Sam had known from the gliding club, where after his retirement he spent a good deal of his leisure time. They were very nice people and very interesting, but they had really been his friends, not hers. She had never cultivated women friends. Again, this had been partly because of Sam being a schoolteacher and all those mothers wanted to talk about was their children’s education.

  Since he had retired she and Sam had spent more and more time in each other’s company. When he became too old to fly solo, he had joined the local golf club but it had not been a serious commitment. He had never become overly friendly with any of the other members, nor accepted any invitations to their homes or to meet their families. As a consequence, she hadn’t got to know their wives and, as she never attended golf club functions, she only knew the men he had played with by name. After Richard left home she and Sam had been quite self-sufficient and neither of them felt that they needed outside stimulus.

  Now, having spent an hour in the company of a complete stranger, she wondered if she had been remiss in not making friends. She had found it extremely interesting talking to Bill Thompson and hearing his views on life and things in general. It was a funny thing, she mused, that men looked at most things in a different way to women. To get a balanced perspective it was necessary to have both points of view, she reflected.

  The idea of going to the pictures with him intrigued he
r. She hadn’t been to the pictures for years. Sam hadn’t been very interested in doing so. He preferred to sit at home at night and watch television, and she had never dreamed of going on her own. Somehow it didn’t seem right to do so.

  As she finished tidying up, she suddenly thought that they hadn’t fixed a time or a place where they would meet. Perhaps she should meet him at the cinema? That might be the best choice, then she was under no commitment. But which cinema? He hadn’t said and she hadn’t asked. Well that meant phoning him, but she didn’t know his phone number. It was all so ridiculous she thought with a wry smile. I really am out of practice in making friends and being with other people. That’s got to end and going to the pictures with Bill Thompson will be a start.

  Or would it?

  Suddenly she was filled with doubt. Had it all been a lot of talk on his part? Had he deliberately not said a time or place?

  THREE

  As she carefully applied her lipstick, Mary Wilson studied her reflection critically in the dressing-table mirror. For her age she supposed she didn’t look too bad, but even so, it was the face of an elderly woman.

  Still, Bill Thompson was no chicken himself, she thought with an inward smile. They probably suited each other. No one would give them a second look, although they might have done if one of them had been twenty years younger than the other. Especially if it had been him; people would have laughed behind her back and said she had a toy boy.

  Ever since Bill’s letter had arrived saying he would come and pick her up at two o’clock on Tuesday the sixth, she had been planning what she would wear and how she would look.

  She’d immediately booked a morning appointment at the hairdressers, so that her hair at least would be at its best. Now, as she patted it into place and used a tail comb to slightly lift it at one side – to give more fullness to it – she decided that her eyebrows needed touching up. Nervously she used a black eyebrow pencil to define them. With a sigh, she put down the pencil, studied her mouth and then picked up a tissue and blotted it. She didn’t want too much lipstick on; she didn’t want to look overly made-up.

  There was nothing she could do about the wrinkles, she reflected uneasily, turning her head to study her profile. There seem to be more and more of them every day and she couldn’t understand why because she wasn’t worried about anything. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Ever since Bill’s letter had arrived she had been worrying about what to wear and how to look her best.

  Standing up, she smoothed down the red and black patterned dress, and slipped on the loose white jacket that she intended to wear over it. She turned to study her herself in the mirror, adjusting the shoulders of the jacket so that it fitted more smoothly. She looked as good as she was able to look. Anyway, she didn’t know what she was worrying about since they would be in the dark most of the time. Now it was just a case of waiting for Bill to arrive.

  She had barely finished tidying up her dressing table when the doorbell rang. As she hurried downstairs to open it she could feel her heart pounding. What on earth was the matter with her? Anyone would think she was a schoolgirl on a first date, she told herself crossly.

  When she opened the door, she found Bill there waiting patiently and looking over his shoulder she could see a rather ancient Ford Capri parked outside the gate.

  ‘Is that your car?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes, it’s my car. Rather an old banger but not quite as old as I am.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to sound so surprised,’ Mary said contritely, ‘but I never thought you still had a car because you never mentioned it.’

  ‘There are lots of things we didn’t mention. I can see we need to have another long chat but not at the moment.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We don’t want to be late. The matinee starts at three o’clock promptly and we want to be in our seats before then.’

  ‘Well I’m ready.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that and very nice you look too. I’m beginning to wonder if I should have put on a suit.’

  He was wearing very light grey slacks, a pale blue shirt with a dark blue tie and a smooth, worsted, well-tailored, navy blue jacket.

  ‘You look very smart just as you are,’ she told him.

  ‘Thank you and we will be sitting in the dark anyway for most of the time.’

  She nodded thinking how she had had the same thought only a few minutes earlier. She locked the front door and they walked down the garden path together. He closed the gate behind them and then quickly moved forward to open the passenger door of the Capri for her. Bill waited until she was comfortably seated, made sure the skirt of her dress was clear of the door and then pulled out the seatbelt and handed it to her to fix around herself. When she’d done this he slammed the car door shut, walked round to the other side and got in behind the steering wheel.

  It was only a short journey, less than five miles, to the Odeon cinema in Maidenhead but they encountered holdups with heavy traffic along the A4. She saw him once or twice look anxiously at his watch. He was a man who didn’t like to be late for things, she thought with an inward smile. She assumed that it was because of his time in the army. She had once been told that you were never late for anything in the army, because if you were then you received a punishment; excuses were never accepted.

  Sam hadn’t liked being late either. She thought fondly of him as they drove the short distance in fits and starts. Sam had been a really good driver, although in the later years he had done very little.

  She had never taken the wheel since he’d retired. In fact, she reflected, it was almost twenty years since she had driven a car. She was so out of practice that when Sam had died she had sold their Mercedes. The general traffic had increased so much that, after one attempt to drive it, she’d been so nervous and unsure of herself that she felt she would be a danger on the road.

  There was a short queue at the pay desk and, although she fully intended that they would go Dutch, she made no protest when Bill went up to the pay desk and bought the tickets. They could settle things afterwards she decided. Why spoil the occasion with an argument over money? Anyway, she thought, he wanted the pleasure of her company or he wouldn’t have invited her.

  They found their seats and had just settled comfortably when the lights went down. For the next two hours, she kept her eyes focused on the big screen. The picture was set in some unknown European city and was basically a thriller of a very mild nature, with a great deal of love interest woven in.

  Mary enjoyed it. Once or twice she cast a surreptitious glance at Bill to see how he was taking it, because she was not at all sure if it was his type of picture or not. He seemed to be as utterly absorbed in what was happening on the big screen as she was. When the picture ended and they left the cinema and came out into the late afternoon sunshine, she screwed up her eyes in protest and grabbed his arm.

  ‘Bright isn’t it,’ he commented, tightening his arm to give her better support.

  He noticed that she was still clutching the box of chocolates, which he had bought for her.

  ‘Here, let me throw that empty box away,’ he said reaching out to take it from her hand.

  ‘No, I’ve only eaten two of them and I’m taking the rest home.’

  ‘Only two! I had four!’

  Mary gave a little sigh. ‘I know, they were delicious but I have to be careful.’

  ‘Careful!’ He laughed derisively. ‘You ladies and your dieting! You don’t need to worry, you look very trim,’ he told her gallantly.

  ‘I’m afraid it is far more serious than my weight or shape. I’m diabetic,’ Mary explained. ‘I have to be very careful about eating chocolate, cakes and pastries or anything very sweet,’ she said.

  ‘So I should have bought you a bacon butty then, should I?’ he joked.

  ‘No, that would have been equally bad for me, too much starch in the bread and starch turns to sugar after you’ve consumed it.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know that!’

/>   ‘Not many people do or if they do they don’t think it’s very important. In my case it is. Too much starch or sugar and my blood sugar goes dangerously high.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything you can do to stop that happening? Pills you can take?’ he asked, his brow furrowing anxiously.

  ‘I do take pills; special ones of course. I take them regularly twice a day.’

  ‘I see.’

  There was silence between them for a minute or so and then he gave a resigned sigh.

  ‘I’m sorry about the chocolates, I must try and remember to bring you flowers next time,’ he said as they reached the car. He opened the passenger door and waited for her to get settled before walking round and taking the driver’s seat.

  ‘It doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate what you bought me,’ Mary told him as he started the engine. ‘They were lovely and I shall eat all the others in due course.’

  ‘One a day for the next two weeks?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘And what about drink?’ he frowned as they drove out of the car park.

  ‘I have to be careful. I usually have a small glass of red wine or a small dry sherry, but I never drink sweet wines like port or sweet sherry.’

  ‘Do you drink spirits?’

  ‘A small whiskey with lots of soda or a small vodka with lots of sugar-free tonic.’

  ‘Is that better than orange squash or something like that?’

  ‘It is certainly safer when you’re drinking out. You can never be sure in a pub or restaurant if they are giving you the diabetic version which is supposed to be sugar free. If they say it is you still have to be careful because it may use artificial sweeteners which can affect you in other ways,’ she said with a laugh.