Never Too Old for Love

by Rosie Harris

  When the will had been read, Richard had said pleadingly to Megan, ‘Dad probably thought that I was earning enough to stand on my own two feet and that Mum needed it more than I did. He also knew that I had a wealthy wife,’ he added teasingly, trying to calm her down. That remark had infuriated her and she had resolved that she would make sure he could never touch a penny piece of what she earned. Every penny she had would go to George; that was if there was anything left in her bank balance apart from an overdraft.

  She worked hard, she spent hard. She liked the good life and she was a career woman, not a dull shadow of her husband, no matter what his career might be. She had worked and schemed to achieve the professional standard she now enjoyed. It took money to hold onto her glamorous reputation, but she was determined to do so. That was one of the reasons why she had gone on working after she had married Richard, even though at that time she had been nowhere as high on the ladder as she was now. It was why she had refused to give up working when George was born.

  She knew she had pleased Richard by giving him a son, but George wasn’t the be-all of her life. She had a career that was taking her to dizzy heights and she had no intention of giving up before she absolutely had to do so. She intended to live life to the full. If Richard couldn’t find the time to join in then she’d do it on her own. Within months of being married, she had decided that the dull uneventful life of a schoolmaster’s wife was not to her liking.

  ‘You’ve met him,’ Richard went on, cutting into her thoughts but ignoring her acid comment, ‘what did you say his name was?’

  ‘Thompson, Bill Thompson.’

  ‘Did he look respectable?’

  ‘He was reasonably well dressed but that doesn’t mean a thing. Con men are usually careful to give the impressions of being well dressed and polite.’

  ‘Any idea what he did for a living?’

  ‘Your mother said something about him being in the army.’

  ‘A professional soldier eh! Well, that’s a very admirable occupation.’

  ‘Not one where you end up well off though.’

  ‘No, but he must have been retired for a good many years if he is about Mum’s age, so he may have had some sort of career or profession after he left the army. If he was a professional soldier then he will also have quite a good pension.’

  ‘All the same, he appears to be looking for a comfortable billet. If he gets too friendly with your mother he may even scheme to marry her and take over her house and persuade her to change her will in his favour.’

  Richard laughed. ‘You must think that everyone is as materialistic and scheming as you are!’

  Colour stained Megan’s face at his jibe but she made no attempt to withdraw what she had said.

  ‘Richard, I know you don’t think that this Bill Thompson is a threat, but I do. We may not need your inheritance from your mother, but we have little George to think about. That child is going to cost us a fortune. Think about it, there will be school fees, university, a car and an allowance after university until he gets established. I don’t see why we have to spend our money providing these, when it’s all there waiting for him when your mother dies.’

  ‘My mother is only in her seventies. She’s healthy and fit and may live for another twenty years, by then George should be able to look after himself.’

  ‘Maybe, but we will have spent a great deal of our money getting him to that point and your inheritance would recover our loss.’

  Richard looked at Megan with disdain written all over his face. ‘I hope by then she will have spent whatever money she has enjoying her life or at least making it comfortable,’ he said acidly. ‘Anyway,’ he added without stopping for breath, ‘she may leave her money to a cats’ home.’

  ‘Not if that old dog who has latched onto her has his way,’ Megan said tartly.

  ‘You don’t know that and neither do I. If she is happy in his company, having him for a friend, then as far as I’m concerned good luck to her. I know she won’t do anything foolish.’

  Megan knew when she had been beaten, but inwardly she was furious. Richard might accept the situation but she didn’t. She’d keep a watchful eye on what was going on, she resolved.

  Although Richard had been dismissive about Megan’s suspicions and accusations, he was worried. He was well aware that his mother was lonely and to some extent he knew that he and Megan were to blame. Megan rarely went to see her and, although he endeavoured to do so once a week, there were times when his visits were so fleeting that he barely had time to say more than hello.

  He encouraged Lucia to take George to see her, even though he knew that this annoyed Megan. He ignored her complaints because he knew his mother derived so much pleasure from seeing George that he thought it was essential that she should do so and George liked visiting her. He knew she always had time to listen to his prattle, to ask him questions and that she rarely reprimanded him, told him what he ought to be doing or criticized him in any way. George also loved going to see her because she kept a stack of the biscuits he liked and other little treats that Megan frowned on.

  Lucia too seemed to enjoy his mother’s company. She and Lucia appeared to have long discussions about Lucia’s family and her childhood, comparing the differences in their two countries. For Lucia, his mother in some ways compensated for the family she had left behind in Italy. Her house was where Lucia could relax and be herself, not the nanny who had to insist on making sure that George was always doing and saying the correct things.

  Richard sensed that it was anger more than concern that was making Megan so annoyed with his mother. Although he professed to be in favour of what she was doing, deep down he was equally worried. He must try and find a way of meeting this man and making sure, in his own mind, that it was simply a matter of two old people befriending each other because they were lonely and not anything sinister going on.

  SIX

  With the coming of autumn and the darker evenings after the clocks went back an hour, Mary didn’t feel at all confident about Bill driving them home from the cinema. True, the Bath Road was well lit, but it was also very busy with cars and lorries in both directions. She found that many of the headlights dazzled her and she was pretty sure that they affected Bill because his driving was slightly erratic at times.

  ‘I don’t think it is just the headlights …’ he said when she tactfully broached the subject. ‘… It’s my eyes. I’m not seeing as well as I did. I find it is getting more and more difficult to read the newspaper. The words seem to dance around on the page.’

  ‘Have you been to the optician?’ Mary asked.

  ‘No, I suppose I should. It may be that I need new glasses.’

  ‘Can you see what’s on the screen when we go to the pictures?’

  ‘Well the screen is exceptionally large and once you are into the story then I think the brain takes over and I seem to be able to see all right. I’ve never really thought about it.’

  ‘When you’re driving it bothers you though?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘Then the sooner you make an appointment to have your eyes tested the better. It certainly sounds as though you need to have your glasses changed,’ she added as she refilled his cup and held out the plate of ginger biscuits that she knew were his favourite. Mentally, she made a note that she would check up with Bill, when he came for lunch the following week, to make sure that he had taken the trouble to go and see the optician.

  The rest of the week she spent preparing for winter. Now that the clocks had gone back the sun seemed to have less warmth in it. She busied herself putting away her summer clothes and getting out her winter ones, making sure that they were crease-free before she hung them up in her wardrobe.

  Mary didn’t like the winter. She felt the cold more and more each year and, although she kept her home warm and cosy, going out troubled her. When it became frosty and the roads were covered with ice, she was always scared of slipping. A broken leg or hip meant a stay in hospita
l, most likely followed by several weeks in a nursing home, and she knew that the cost of that would bite sharply into her savings.

  At the moment, that weather was far away, she hoped. Although it was several degrees colder there was no sign of frost or snow. The trees were glorious as the leaves changed from green to gold or red, especially when the sunshine transformed them into glowing beacons. This year the hedgerows seemed to be bright with berries and she hoped this didn’t mean that there was going to be a hard winter ahead.

  No, the only disadvantage so far, she consoled herself, was that it was dark by four o’clock and that meant long evenings. It also meant less time to get the garden tidied up. At the moment, there was pruning to be done and fallen leaves to be swept up so she had better get on and do it, she told herself. Bill had offered to give her a hand but she didn’t want to be one of those women who had to lean on a man to do the jobs she didn’t want to do. Anyway, the exercise would be good for her and much better than sitting here contemplating the drawbacks of the coming winter. If she didn’t want Bill doing it then the best thing was for her to get it done before he came for lunch the following week.

  When Bill did come for lunch the following Thursday the state of the garden was of little concern to either of them. He arrived white-faced and agitated.

  ‘Whatever is the matter, Bill? Are you ill?’ Mary asked worriedly.

  He was shaking like a leaf when the wind catches a branch. He shook his head as if unable to speak.

  ‘Come and sit down, you look as if you need a drink.’

  He nodded and clutched at her arm for support.

  Frowning, she went to the cupboard and found the small bottle of brandy she kept there for emergencies. She poured some into a glass and handed it to Bill. His hand was trembling so much that he could hardly take it. He took a deep gulp, shook himself and then drained the glass and sat back in the armchair closing his eyes. She left him for a moment then she touched him on the arm.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

  He opened his eyes and stared at her. His eyes, normally a light blue, were dark with fear.

  ‘I … I had an accident. I … I hit a dog on the way here. I didn’t see it!’

  He buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook.

  ‘Is the dog all right?’ Mary asked squeezing his arm in a comforting gesture.

  Bill shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It squealed a terrible cry so I know it was hurt, but it had disappeared before I could get out of the car.’

  ‘It probably ran home,’ Mary said in a reassuring voice. ‘It shouldn’t have been out on the road running free. It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘It was,’ Bill argued. ‘I should have seen it and braked or swerved. I think I am supposed to report it to the police.’

  Mary frowned. ‘I think that is only if you kill it,’ she told him.

  ‘I may have killed it,’ he pointed out in a shaky voice. ‘It ran off somewhere … perhaps to die.’

  ‘I hope not and, even so, there’s nothing you can do about it,’ Mary told him in a practical tone.

  ‘Supposing it had been a child!’

  ‘It wasn’t; it was a dog!’

  ‘Even so, the police might follow it up if the owners report it and then trace it back to me.’

  ‘Yes, so you had better report it. Explain that it ran out in front of you, you tried to break but it was too late and that, because it ran away, you think it is probably all right.’

  Bill stared at her. ‘What if they make me have an eyesight test? They’ll know I can’t see properly.’

  ‘Have you been to the opticians?’ Mary asked sharply.

  Bill shook his head. ‘I haven’t got round to doing so yet.’

  Mary’s lips tightened. She went over to where she kept the phone, checked through the telephone numbers and made a call.

  ‘Come on, your meal is all ready,’ she said when she came back to where Bill was still sitting in the armchair. ‘As soon as we’ve eaten you’re going to see the optician and have your eyes checked.’

  ‘Today? Just like that!’

  ‘Yes, just like that and I’m coming with you.’

  ‘I thought I would have to wait weeks to get an appointment,’ Bill protested.

  ‘Normally you would, but I know them quite well and said it was important that they should see you right away.’

  Bill started to argue but Mary was having none of it. She served up their meal, sat down and began eating hers. After a minute Bill followed suit. The moment their meal was finished Mary stacked the dishes in the sink.

  ‘I’ll do those when we get back. Come on.’ She handed him his overcoat. ‘We don’t want to be late.’

  While Bill was in the optometrist’s consulting room, Mary sat in the waiting room flicking through the latest edition of Homes and Gardens magazine. Though she couldn’t concentrate, she was too anxious about what was happening.

  When Bill finally emerged she could tell from the shocked look on his face that it hadn’t been good news, but she waited patiently until they were outside and back on the village High Street before asking what the result was.

  ‘I’ve got to go the eye hospital in Windsor,’ he said in a shaky voice.

  ‘When? Today?’

  He shook his head. ‘No I will be getting an appointment letter from them in a few days’ time. The optician I’ve just seen was very thorough. She sat me in front of some sort of machine and said she was taking pictures of the back of my eye and that was why I had to go to the hospital. She said I needed treatment for Macular Degeneration, whatever that is.’

  ‘It’s bleeding behind the eye,’ Mary said quietly. ‘That’s why your sight is not as good as it once was.’

  ‘Really!’ Bill looked at her in surprise. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘They will give you an injection to stop it bleeding,’ she told him ignoring his question.

  ‘An injection in my eye!’ Bill said in a dubious voice. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘A mere pin prick and it will be over in minutes.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Yes, but you can confirm it after you’ve had the injection.’ They walked in silence for a few minutes and then Mary asked, ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘Would you?’ His response was so quick that she suspected he was somewhat apprehensive about going.

  ‘Of course I will. We’ll have to go by taxi.’

  ‘So you don’t trust me to drive?’ he said in a slightly bitter tone.

  ‘It’s not that, but you won’t be able to see to drive afterwards. They put drops in your eyes and it will be several hours before you can see properly. It’s like a haze or seeing through a fog for about four hours afterwards.’

  ‘You seem to know an awful lot about this Macular Degeneration,’ he commented frowning at her.

  ‘I should do, Sam had it. He didn’t get treatment early enough and he went almost blind in one eye. He was stopped from driving.’

  Bill let out a low whistle. ‘I can see from what you are saying that the sooner I get it put right the better,’ he muttered.

  ‘Too true!’ Mary agreed. The memory of the shock it had been to them both, when Sam had been diagnosed, came back vividly to her mind. He had scoffed at the idea of going to the hospital for treatment and felt resentful when he was told that he had left it too late.

  ‘Nobody tells you these things,’ he had grumbled. ‘When you find it more and more difficult to read or see things clearly, you think it is because you are getting older. I thought it might be a cataract,’ he admitted, ‘but I knew you had to wait until they were what they called “ripe” before they would do anything about it. I was quite sure that it hadn’t reached that stage, because my mother had had hers attended to. She was almost blind before they operated, but afterwards she claimed it was marvellous. She could see birds in the sky, leaves on the trees and everything was bright and new. I w
onder how long they will take to let me know about an appointment,’ Bill said worriedly. ‘I hope they don’t keep me hanging about for weeks and weeks.’

  ‘You are a new patient so I’m sure they will see you as soon as possible,’ she consoled.

  ‘Well, you’ve been right about everything else so let’s hope you are right about that,’ he said with a forced laugh. ‘I am grateful to you, Mary, that you made that appointment and made me go along to the optician,’ he added, reaching out and taking her hand and squeezing it.

  ‘That’s what friends are for,’ she told him with a smile.

  ‘Can I take you out for a coffee or a pot of tea?’ he asked.

  ‘I think that might be what we both need,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve been as concerned as you have about what the optician was going to say. I rather suspected that it was going to be more than merely new glasses.’

  SEVEN

  Four days later, Mary received a phone call from Bill to say that he had heard from Windsor and he had an appointment at the Prince Charles Eye Unit at King Edward VII Hospital.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Mary exclaimed. ‘When is it?’

  ‘That’s the problem. It’s the day I normally take you to the pictures.’

  ‘Well, this is far more important than going to the pictures,’ Mary said briskly. ‘What time do we have to be there?’

  ‘Eleven thirty in the morning.’

  ‘Right, then I’ll order a taxi for a quarter to eleven. Can you walk round here or shall I ask the taxi to collect you?’

  ‘I’ll come to your house,’ Bill said quickly. ‘I’ll order the taxi though.’

  ‘No you won’t, I’ll do it,’ Mary said firmly. ‘Be here for half ten. OK?’

  ‘Very well.’ He hung up without another word and Mary immediately checked her phone list and arranged for the taxi for the next morning.

  Throughout the rest of the day she wondered if she ought to phone him and try and reassure him, but decided against it. Less said the better, she thought sagely, time enough to commiserate when he had had his injection.