The Runaway Wife: A laugh out loud feel good novel about second chances

by Dee MacDonald

  ‘Don’t settle for a second-rate life, Connie.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Did I tell you it’s my birthday next week?’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘I’ll be ninety.’

  ‘I know. We must celebrate,’ Connie said.

  ‘If I’m still here I’d like you to get me some champagne. I used to drink champagne all the time.’

  ‘You shall have champagne.’

  ‘Now, in the meantime there’s one or two things I need to wind up so I wonder if you could ring Huw Davies – he’s my solicitor. You’ll find his number in the book over there.’

  The following day there were three visitors. The first was Huw Davies, the solicitor, ruddy-faced, Welsh and a large, untidy sort of a man, but absolutely charming. He beamed at Connie as he emerged from the bedroom, his tie askew and his briefcase open.

  ‘Well, we’ve sorted out a few things about her will and all that. She should have done this years ago. I’ll need to call again in a few days, Mrs er…’

  ‘Connie.’

  ‘Oh, right, Connie. And it might be an idea if I had your particulars, please.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Just in case I need to contact you about anything: the funeral, for instance. You may want to come to the funeral?’

  ‘I most definitely will.’

  The next visitor was the doctor. Dr Ryan was young and brisk, and he tut-tutted as he emerged from Jeannie’s bedroom. ‘She should be in the hospice, you know,’ he informed Connie as he packed away his things. ‘It’s a lovely place and she’d get first-class treatment.’

  ‘I know she would,’ Connie said, ‘but she wants to pass away here.’

  He looked around, but said nothing for a minute. ‘I understand you’ll be looking after her?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Well, that’s very noble of you but it’s going to become more difficult. She’s going downhill fast and she’s becoming incontinent, as no doubt you’re aware. I’ve arranged for a commode to be delivered this afternoon, so hopefully that may help.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, doctor. And she hardly eats, you know, so there can’t be much to come out.’

  ‘Well, the nurse will call each morning to give her a jab, and I’ve already increased the dosage of the other painkillers.’

  ‘She never complains,’ Connie said. ‘I’ve heard her moan to herself, but she never complains.’

  The third visitor knocked on the door in the middle of the afternoon; a tall, formidable-looking woman, wearing a long floral dress and a wide-brimmed sun hat.

  She looked at Connie with some surprise. ‘Oh, good!’ she exclaimed. ‘She’s decided to get a home help at long last! I’ve been nagging her for months, you know. Do you do her shopping as well? I do hope so! I can now be relieved at last of my neighbourly duties.’

  ‘I’m Jeannie’s friend,’ Connie replied. ‘And I shall be doing everything from now on.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely that she thinks of you as a friend! Makes your job so much easier, I’m sure! Anyway, I must be off, but do tell her that Audrey called and send her my best.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ said Connie, noticing with some satisfaction that the woman’s dress was caught up in her knickers at the back as she walked away.

  By the end of the week Connie knew that Jeannie wouldn’t be getting out of bed again. She slept a lot and, on one occasion, she woke up and said, ‘Oh, hello, Emma! I thought you were dead!’ At other times she was still completely lucid.

  ‘Connie,’ she said on one occasion, ‘don’t forget the champagne for my birthday, will you? And do you know what else I’d like? I’d like a packet of fags. I used to smoke like a chimney – all us girls did.’

  ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ Connie was aware of the wheezing in her lungs. Then, seeing Jeannie becoming agitated, she added, ‘Yes, of course, I’ll get you some cigarettes.’

  The following morning Jeannie had soiled the bed and, as Connie grappled with the laundry, the nurse appeared for her morning visit, complete with syringe and incontinence pads. ‘Comes to us all!’ she said cheerfully.

  Jeannie was now deteriorating very quickly, and most of the time she was in a world of her own. And then there was the awful moaning when her pain became unbearable, and which often went on all night. Connie felt lucky if she got more than a couple of hours’ sleep at a time, and often that was all she got. She’d hold Jeannie’s hand, wipe her brow with a cool cloth, and wished she knew what else to do. And Connie could feel her own eyes welling up, feeling she should be doing more, but what? She’d given up trying to get Jeannie to eat, but kept her as hydrated as possible with sips of water. She begged the doctor for more painkillers but was told that Jeannie was already on the maximum dosage of morphine. So what, Connie wondered, would happen if she exceeded the dose? Would she die? Would that be so terrible?

  But Jeannie wanted to be ninety and, somehow or the other, Connie wanted her to achieve her aim. She’d have surely done this for her own mother, who’d been denied the chance of becoming thirty, never mind ninety. And she began to think of Jeannie as the mother she hardly remembered, as she struggled daily with the commode, the washing, the worrying and the lack of sleep.

  The roses, which had been delivered on the first of September, were still looking fresh and Connie transported them through to Jeannie’s bedside, at an angle where she’d be able to see them. Roses! Red roses! And then it came to her. Kath! Kath would know what she should do. Hadn’t Kath worked as a carer? Surely Kath would have some tips on how to care for the dying, and manage the pain.

  Please be at home, Kath, she thought as she looked round for her phone. Please don’t be on holiday or something. Or visiting that wayward son of yours.

  Kath was at home.

  ‘Bleedin’ hell, Connie! Where are you now?’

  ‘Listen carefully, Kath, and I’ll tell you.’ Connie then proceeded to give her a summary of the past few days: Jeannie’s pain, the endless laundry, the lack of sleep. ‘And I really just need some advice, Kath.’

  ‘Connie, she should be in hospital!’

  ‘I know that, but she wants to die at home. And I’m going to see that she does. But it’s hard going, Kath, and I desperately want to do the right thing. Not only that, she’s ninety in a few days’ time and she’s asking for champagne, and a cigarette! Would that be so wrong?’

  Kath snorted. ‘Of course it wouldn’t be wrong! Good luck to her! But Connie, I’m worried about you. You sound knackered.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, really.’ Connie tried to keep the wobble out of her voice. ‘Sorry, Kath, I’m just a bit over-emotional through lack of sleep. Pay no attention to me!’

  Kath was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘Know what, Connie? I’m coming up to help you. Newcastle, did you say?’

  ‘But, Kath—’

  ‘No buts! You need help, and I like helping. I’m coming, and that’s that. I’ll get a bus from here first thing in the morning, but I’ll need picking up from the bus depot at your end.’

  ‘Kath, I didn’t mean for you to—’

  ‘I know, I know. But I’m coming, OK? I’ll phone you in the morning when I know the bus times.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘Aw, sod off, Connie! Ain’t that what mates are for?’

  Connie felt an enormous wave of relief wash over her worried body. What a gem Kath was! After all, she didn’t know Connie that well, and she didn’t know Jeannie at all. Here, surely, was a true friend.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  DAUGHTERS’ DECISIONS

  From: Diana McColl

  To: Connie McColl

  Hi, Mum,

  I’ve lost track of where you might be, but rather hope you’re on the way home – if only because I’m busting a gut to know what you’ve been up to!

  I’m moving in with Mark this weekend, so everything is in a state of chaos. And don’t forget the bed is still available here for any time you want
to use it.

  I really love this guy – he’s lovely and I think you’ll like him. He’s certainly fascinated by you!

  Not much in the way of family news: Tess has finally decided to do two night shifts nursing a week, so that lets you off the hook for babysitting (poor old Nick!) and Lou’s little horror has finally stopped squalling all night and they’re all a bit better tempered as a result. Dad says the woman next door is trying to woo him with coffee and walnut cake! Did you know he was crazy about coffee and walnut cake – if not the woman next door?

  Hope all is well with you, Mum, and I’m longing to see you again. We all are.

  Look after yourself, and come home soon.

  Much love,

  Di xxxx

  Di’s new paramour sounded nice. Connie hoped that her daughter was doing the right thing, and felt incredibly guilty that she hadn’t been around to talk things over. But, hey, Di was forty! She was quite old enough to make up her own mind! But, still… perhaps she should have been around… everyone needs their mum from time to time. Not that she’d had that choice. Nevertheless it might be time to give them some idea of when she might be coming home.

  From: Connie McColl

  To: Roger, Di, Nick, Lou

  Hi, Everyone!

  You must all be wondering if I’m ever coming home, and I am, but not just yet. In fact I’m not sure when, so bear with me. I am on the way back but have stopped off to help a friend in need, so it could be a few weeks yet.

  Thanks for your email, Di – your new man sounds nice and I look forward to meeting him.

  It certainly sounds as if you’re all getting along just fine and, to a certain extent, sorted yourselves out too.

  And, Tess, two night shifts a week seem much more suitable than day shifts. And probably better paid.

  I’m so pleased little Charlotte’s colic seems be on the wane at long last!

  And yes, Roger, I have finally sorted myself out. Every mile of this trip has opened up my eyes and my heart. We all need to do that sometimes.

  With much love to you all.

  Xxxxxxx

  At last, Lou thought, there was some prospect that her mother might finally be heading back. Hopefully she’d sorted herself out and would be content to be at home and enjoy her family, like most women of her age. But perhaps she, Lou, had been a bit hard on her and, much as she hated to admit it, her father wasn’t the easiest person to get along with.

  From: Louise Morrison

  To: Connie McColl

  Hi, Mum,

  Sorry if I’ve been sounding off a bit in my last few emails. I was in a bit of a ‘low’, but shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Things have improved greatly since Charlotte’s now sleeping soundly through the night (Hallelujah, fingers crossed and all that!!), and we’ve all caught up on our shut-eye and are a lot less tetchy. And I think she’s going to be walking soon!

  I suppose there’s no point in asking the exact day/week you might be planning to get back now that you’re such a free spirit. But it’s good to know that you are on your way back.

  Apparently Tess has given up on the idea of working during the day and is going to do a couple of nights instead. I wonder why she didn’t think of that in the first place? Probably because you were available so much.

  I realise I often ask a lot of you, Mum, and I’m sorry. I miss you so much. I love Andy to bits but you know what he’s like: everything’s a joke and he doesn’t listen. I’m told that most men don’t, so perhaps he’s not so unusual. And I realise Dad wasn’t all that easy to live with either. I go over a couple of times a week but he makes no effort to keep the place tidy and wouldn’t dream of saying ‘thank you’, even though I do his laundry and everything. Not that he’s ever at home to say anything.

  I’m so looking forward to seeing you, and soon, I hope, although I’m still not sure why you took off in the first place. Never mind!

  Lots of love,

  Lou xxxx

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

  ‘Blimey!’ Kath said as she laid down her small suitcase and looked round Jeannie’s lounge. ‘It’s like going into a bleedin’ theatre!’

  ‘She was a dancer,’ Connie explained. ‘She danced all over the world. And she was really lovely – just look at some of these pictures.’

  ‘Well, sounds like she’s going to be dancing with death shortly. When did you say this birthday of hers is?’

  ‘In three days’ time, and I honestly don’t know if she’ll make it or not as she’s so weak. She’s asleep now, but I’ll take you in there as soon as she wakes up. Now, what can I get you?’

  Kath glanced at her watch. ‘I suppose it’s a bit early for gin, but that was a long bleedin’ journey with the bus stopping everywhere.’

  Connie laughed. ‘You shall have gin! But I don’t have orange, I’m afraid, so it’ll have to be tonic.’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Kath said, plonking herself in an armchair. ‘How are you coping with the toilet and all that?’

  ‘Well, she’s light as a feather, and I’ve been doing my best to get her to the commode on time. But the nurse has given me some incontinence pads now, so there’s not so many accidents. I’ve actually had to go out and get some extra sheets.’

  ‘Oh, Connie! You’re a star! But I’m here now, so no worries, we can do this together!’

  Connie had, of course, worried about leaving Jeannie for the half hour it had taken to collect Kath; she’d worried about finding the bus station and she worried about where Kath was going to sleep. But Kath assured her she’d be fine on the sofa. All Connie could feel now was relief. Someone to share the responsibility with, someone to talk to, someone to laugh with. Because here was Kath, with her hennaed hair, her bejewelled kaftan and her purple trousers, happily slurping a gin and tonic.

  Just then a little voice called out from the bedroom. ‘She’s awake,’ Connie said.

  Kath put down her glass. ‘She might have waited till I finished me gin!’

  The room was warm and Jeannie lay propped up on pillows, covered only by a sheet, her emaciated body cruelly outlined.

  ‘Blimey!’ said Kath matter-of-factly.

  ‘Jeannie, this is—’

  ‘PETRONELLA!’ Jeannie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased to see you again. I’d know that hair anywhere!’

  Kath was taken aback for a split second. ‘That’s me!’ she said, winking at Connie.

  ‘Were you dancing last night?’ Jeannie asked. ‘I wasn’t allowed to, you see, because Connie here keeps me in bed.’

  ‘Oh, she’s like that,’ Kath said. ‘Yeah, I danced all last night. Wondered why you didn’t show up.’

  ‘I’ll be there tonight,’ Jeannie said. ‘But right now I need a pee.’

  Kath took over. She gave Jeannie a bed bath, she hoisted her on and off the commode, and she chatted away about the dancing she knew nothing of.

  When Connie entered the bedroom, Jeannie said, ‘I’m so glad you brought Petronella along! Wherever did you find her?’

  Just then the doorbell rang. Huw Davies, tousled as usual, was accompanied by two young people.

  ‘I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time,’ he said breezily, ‘but we were on our way to a conference in Gateshead and this was on our route. There’s one or two things I need to sort out with Miss Jarman.’ Seeing Connie looking at his two companions, he said, ‘Ah, yes, Clare here’s my secretary, and young Norman is learning the trade, so to speak. I need them as witnesses to her will, you see.’

  Connie and Kath waited in the kitchen until they heard the three leave the bedroom.

  Huw Davies handed Connie his card. ‘Please phone me,’ he said, ‘if anything happens. I’ll be arranging everything.’

  ‘Thanks, I will,’ Connie said.

  ‘She’s looking quite perky today,’ was Huw Davies’s parting shot, as she closed the door behind them.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Kath asked.

&nbs
p; ‘She’s leaving all this lot to some theatrical charity,’ said Connie. ‘They look after aged actors.’

  ‘So why aren’t they looking after her?’

  Kath settled very happily on the sofa, so much so that she snored loudly and continuously all night. Connie took herself, the mat and the Miracle into the tiny hallway, where she camped outside Jeannie’s door.

  Jeannie was sleeping most of the time now, but tomorrow was The Birthday, and it looked like she was going to make the big nine-o after all. At times she was still fairly lucid, looking rather quizzically at Kath, and at other times she was in the world of Petronella and Paris and Paul. Paul was waiting for her, she informed Connie. He was right there, with his hand outstretched, but she couldn’t quite reach it.

  ‘When’s my birthday?’ she asked Connie.

  ‘It’s tomorrow, Jeannie.’

  ‘Oh, good. Have you got my champagne? And my cigarettes?’

  Connie couldn’t get her head round the fact that, no matter how confused Jeannie became (‘away with the fairies’, as Kath described it), she never seemed to forget about the champagne or the damn cigarettes.

  So they bought a bottle of Bollinger and a packet of Silk Cut. They decided to buy a top-notch fizzy because, after all, it was a special birthday, and they’d be drinking most of it themselves anyway. And they surely deserved a treat.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Kath said. ‘I’ve got a friend who’ll see off these fags.’

  It was mid-morning before Jeannie awoke.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ Connie said, bending down to kiss her wrinkled cheek. ‘You’re ninety today!’

  ‘And I’m still here.’

  ‘You’re still here. And, if you could manage a few spoonfuls of porridge, we’ll bring in the champagne later.’

  ‘And my cigarette?’

  ‘And your cigarette.’

  Jeannie obediently but reluctantly agreed to a couple of spoonfuls, pulling a face each time. Connie could remember exactly the same process years ago with a tiny Nick. (‘Yes,’ she’d said. ‘Just a few more mouthfuls and we will go to the swings.’)