by Moira Murphy
I watched him walk away. I watched the way he had his hands in his trouser pockets allowing his coat to blow about behind him. I watched the swagger of his walk. Not arrogant, just purposeful, capable, dependable. The walk of a man a woman could rely on. The fact that his head was closely shaven and he was stockily built with fine black hairs poking through the neck of his tee shirt and on his arms and on the back of his hands and apart from a bit of a dark shadow he was clean shaven and not my type at all; just didn’t matter.
But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to be getting out there, getting a life, getting in with the In-Crowd, going where the In-Crowd go. That’s where this sort of thing was supposed to happen. Not in a respite care unit, among elderly people and my poorly mother.
I returned to the annex feeling floaty and light headed. Not at all the moody, hormonal, stroppy bitch that had left. I wanted to turn a corner and bump into him and get that tingling feeling again, just to make sure I hadn’t dreamt it.
My mother could see I’d returned in a much better mood. “Can we go onto the veranda, Joanne, I’ve some news which I want to tell you in private?”
We walked slowly, with the aid of her Zimmer frame until she said, “I can’t be doing with this thing, Joanne. It hunches me up and makes me feel like an old woman. Can’t we just leave it somewhere and you can hold onto my arm, I’m sure I’ll manage.” We dumped the frame and with a bit of support she managed fine.
The veranda was a suntrap, walled as it was on three sides. I made my mother comfortable then I went to the vending machine for some drinks. Although a brisk breeze was still blowing, we hardly felt it seated as we were in a sheltered corner amongst the pots of Cordylines and Geraniums. Opposite, a man was smoking and muttering to himself, too pre-occupied with what was on his mind to take any notice of us.
“Come on then, Mam, what’s with all this cloak and dagger stuff?”
“Well Joanne, Doctor Singh came round while you were away, and she told me that all being well I should be able to go home by the end of next week.”
“Oh, Mam, that’s great news. I’ll have the spare bed brought downstairs and I’ve already made enquiries about the hospital hire equipment, we should have no problem hiring a commode, you can’t possibly climb the stairs for the toilet, not just yet, and…”
She interrupted, “There’s something else, Joanne. This is what I wanted to tell you in private. I’ll be going home to the bungalow.”
“But that’s not possible, Mam. You’ll never be able to manage on your own, not just yet. What if you were to take ill again…”
“Well that’s what I wanted to tell you, Joanne, you see I won’t be on my own, Sam and I have talked about it and he’s going to move in until I’m properly on my feet.”
“Oh.”
“Then, all being well, rather than continue to co-habit, because you know what the gossips will say, Sam has asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes.”
“Marry him!”
“I know what you’re thinking, Joanne.”
She really didn’t. I was thinking Bloody hell! Just my luck to end up with a dad with a pony tail and tattoos.
She went on, “But Sam says eighty-three is the new sixty -three and we’re both free agents and we’ve lost so many years already we just want to make the most of the time we have left”
I stretched a smile. “Well Mam, what can I say? I hope you will both be very happy.”
And she looked so flushed and content that when I hugged her, I suddenly realised I meant every word of that, with all my heart.
“Will you give me away, Joanne?”
Give her away! I’d only just got her back. I felt the tears welling. “Course I will.”
40
WHAT’S IN A NAME
The work on my house was complete, the cleaning had been done, everything was great and it was time for the workmen to pack up for the last time. They had been brilliant, nothing had been too much trouble, the finished job was fantastic and I said I would contact their boss to tell him that. They gathered up their tools while debating who was to drive the van, but again, Dale hung back. He was fishing about in his bag on some pretence of having mislaid something. But I kind of knew better. He let the others go and when we were on our own, he said, “Is there any point in asking you again, Jo, or will the answer be the same?”
There was no point in him asking again. Although I was struggling with the notion, I knew my heart had set its sights elsewhere.
I shook my head. “Sorry, Dale.”
He handed me a company card. “My mobile number is on the back in case you change your mind.” He gave me a sad little look and a quick kiss on the cheek, picked up his bag and left.
My insides were fluttering like a bird in its cage, because sweet and dishy though Dale was, I now knew for certain it wasn’t him I wanted.
My mother always said God works in mysterious ways. Her illness was connected to so many of the things that had happened to us lately. Me and Jesus becoming thick as thieves (so to speak), Josh having to walk the dog which had led to him meeting Leo and consequently Leo becoming the love (at the moment) of Lucy’s life and all of us now involved in the lives of Mandy and Arnie. Ian McAllister being shown in a completely different light (which reminded me, I had to get back to work at some point; he wasn’t that full of joie de vivre). Me being asked out by someone like Dale who I hadn’t, in my wildest dreams, thought would have even given me a second glance and my mother getting together again with Sam Pickles, who was now my prospective dad! (Must try harder to drop the ‘Pickles’) and Millie becoming a patting dog, of sorts, which had led me to Nick King!
I played around with the name; Nicholas King – nice, Nick King – hmmm, sounds a bit like nicking. Joanne King, Jo King, ‘You must be Jo King’, Joking! Damn and blast, I knew there’d be a catch somewhere. I could hear Alison now, “Bloody hell, Jo, it could only happen to you.”
41
WITNESS THIS
Later that afternoon, Arnie and Mandy came round. They came in giggling like a pair of teenagers, Mandy pushing Arnie through the door first.
“Well you two look pleased with yourselves,” I said, laughing with them.
“We are and we’ve something to ask you, Jo. A favour like,” said Arnie.
I waited while they took it in turns to nudge each other.
“Well, ask her then,” said Mandy.
“You ask her, it was your daft idea.”
“It’s not a daft idea, it’s dead romantic.”
“Well ask her then.”
“Ask me what?” I laughed. Their silliness was infectious.
Mandy took a deep breath. “We’ve decided to renew our marriage vows and we wondered if you would stand as witness.”
Arnie held up his hands. “Her idea Jo, nowt to do with me.”
Mandy punched him playfully. “That’s not what you said in bed last night.”
“Whoa, too much information,” said Arnie, blushing.
“I think that’s a lovely idea, Mandy. It is dead romantic and I would love to, when?”
“We haven’t arranged anything for definite yet, but possibly sometime in September.”
I was happy for them. Love was in the air. Was it possible I might breath some of it?
42
PARTY PREPARATIONS
The next day, Sadie was telling my mother that Percy, from two doors down, had noticed through the garden railings that my mother’s Alchemilla Mollis, was spreading like a Chinese whisper among the cracks in her crazy paving, and he wondered, while she was incapacitated, if he should use a spot of weed killer in the cracks, just to curb its enthusiasm. My mother was all for it. “It’s a nice enough plant, Alchemilla Mollis,” she said, “but give it an inch and it’ll take a mile.”
&nb
sp; Christ! I thought. I should be out there doing Salsa or Zumba or getting that Life I promised myself instead of in here listening to this stuff.
There was an old lady, Maud, who was to have her ninetieth birthday in The Laurels the day before my mother was to leave. The theatre and the dining room were being festooned with balloons and bunting. The plan was to have a tea party in the dining room then music and dancing (although dancing could be stretching that concept a bit), in the theatre. Everyone was looking forward to it. Even the grumpy old men seemed tolerably pleased with the idea, in their own grudging way.
“It’ll mek a change, if nowt else,” I’d heard one of them say.
“Suppose it’s summat to do afore we’re boxed up and carted off to the crem,” another one said.
Nurse Khamal came in asking if anybody had any special requests for music.
“Well, ‘O-Sole-Mia’, by Mario Lanza, has always been a great favourite of mine,” said my mother.
“Anything by Elvis will do me,” said Bella. “Preferably, ‘One Night With You’, it’s so sexy, gets me going every time that does. Just make sure it’s not that soppy Wooden Heart rubbish.”
‘Whatever Will be Will be’, by Doris Day, was Nell’s choice.
“And you Ruth?” Ruth was thinking about it.
“Well, I’ve always liked, ‘The Windmill in old Amsterdam’, by Max Bygraves.”
“You what!!” said Bella, “That’s for kids!”
“No it isn’t, we always sing it when we go on the bus trip to Morecombe with the Perennials, that and, ‘Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor’.”
“A word of advice, Ruth. When you get out of here you really need to ditch them Perennials,” Bella said, shaking her head.
“Thank you, ladies, I’ve made a note of your requests,” said Nurse Khamal, “we’ll see what we can do.”
“Would you put us a bit of make-up on for the party, Joanne?” asked Bella. “I would do it myself but with my eyes the way they are, I’d probably end up looking like Bette Davis in ‘Whatever happened to Baby Jane’, or else poor old Nora Batty from along the corridor in room two. Poor soul had some lipstick on the other day, all over the place it was. She thought she looked the business what with that lipstick and her stockings wrinkled round her ankles, fluttering her lashes and eyeing up the men; but there were no takers. Old Bill thought she’d been eating beetroot and had missed her mouth. He went to the kitchens demanding to know why he hadn’t been offered beetroot. Honestly, you have to laugh.”
“Course I will, Bella. Anybody else want to be made up for the party?”
“I might think about that, Joanne,” Ruth said, “but what I would prefer, if you don’t mind, is to have some curlers put in. The hairdresser will probably be too busy for an appointment because such is life in the big city.”
“I won’t bother if you don’t mind, Joanne,” said Nell. “I’ve used nothing more than a bit of powder and a wet finger over my eyebrows since Joe passed away. It does me.”
My mother said she would make do with her usual touch of lipstick and pat of pressed powder, but she would also like her hair done if she couldn’t get an appointment with the hairdresser.
Bella produced the blue top she had worn when she’d come into hospital and asked if I thought it would do for the party?
“It’s been around the block a few times with me in it and it’s a bit on the big side now but it’s comfortable, Joanne. You cannot beat a nice bit of Crimplene and I’ve always suited this shade of blue.” She held it up to her face. I said I thought it would be fine for the party.
My mother asked me to bring in her pink blouse with the mother of pearl buttons and her string of pearls and matching earrings.
The excitement was mounting. I had my work cut out. But at the front of my mind was Nick. My mother would be leaving the day after the party and that would be that. No more tingling, no more living for that chance meeting around a corridor, just a distance memory of something that didn’t quite happen.
43
WEDDING BELLES
That night, Alison rang. She had been on an IT course in Manchester for four days; the company she worked for were upgrading their systems. She wondered how my mother was doing and if the builders were finished and if I had any news. I told her I had a bedroom and bathroom to die for; pity they showed the rest of the house up. I said my mother was doing fine and that all being well she would be coming home on Friday but I kept quiet about my mother’s impending state of dissoluteness (as in living in sin with Sam Pickles). That was a revelation I was still getting used to myself (must learn to drop the Pickles). I told her about Dale. She thought I was mad. And I told her about Nick, she thought I was even more mad. She said a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush. I said perhaps she needed to rephrase that and we laughed. She said men! They’re just like the buses, none for ages then along comes two together. But then she had some surprising news herself.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“Guess!”
“You’ve won a prize for a night on the tiles with David Beckham.”
“I wish.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“Not yet.”
“Huh!” I was joking. This was Alison, baby-phobic Alison, “I give in.”
“Okay. Well what will you be doing the week before Christmas?”
“Hmmm let me think. Running round like a headless chicken, wishing Christmas could be done away with, panicking like mad about the state of my credit card, you know, the usual stuff.”
“Just if you’ve nothing better to do, I’d like you to be my maid of honour.”
“Sorry!”
“And I’d like Lucy to be bridesmaid. We’ll all be in sumptuous velvet in gorgeous colours with fur trimmed capes, imitation of course. I’ll be in royal purple, like the Queen. You’ll be in emerald green; green being your colour. Lucy will be in rustic red and little Sophie, Nigel’s niece will be in midnight blue. We’ll have holly and ivy headdresses and we’ll carry holly and ivy bouquets, imitation holly naturally, because of the thorns. All very Christmassy. So what do you say?”
I yelled something like, “Alison. My God! What can I say? Congratulations. When did all this happen? And why aren’t you here so I can give you a hug?”
She apologised for telling me all this over the phone, but she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. She said Nigel had proposed – again – and this time she had accepted because after all she was pushing forty – well thirty-nine anyway, – they had been together for four years and she couldn’t imagine life without him. She’d binned his cycle shorts and bum-bag and anyway it was possible he might be Prime Minister one day and she might be the next Cherie Blair – albeit with a better smile and more style – and last but not least, she loved him and her biological clock was ticking.
Hel-lo, Alison’s biological clock ticking! My world was in a constant state of turmoil.
“Tell you what,” she said, “as you’re home now I’ll pop round for a cuppa and you can give me that hug. Be about an hour.”
Lucy was thrilled to be bridesmaid, although she had reservations about rustic red.
“I’m sure to blush, Mam, and if I do, I’ll be the same colour as the dress. Do you think I could swop colours with Sophie?”
“Alison’s coming round, you can ask her.”
Alison looked radiant and happy and flashing a not insignificant three-stone diamond engagement ring. She had no problems with Lucy swapping colours with Sophie as Sophie hadn’t been consulted yet and we all hugged and laughed and discussed the impending wedding.
44
A FLASH IN THE PAN
Upon visiting my mother next day, I was alarmed to see the bamboo screen pulled across her corner of the room with, it seemed, my
mother behind it. Bella saw I was concerned and she beckoned me over.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Joanne, your mam’s fine. Just there’s been a bit of bother. Old Aggie Oliver died during the night and as they think Flash Gordon had something to do with it, they’re interviewing all the women. It’s so silly. I mean Aggie had had heart problems for years and was recovering from pneumonia so it was probably that that put an end to her, not Flash’s shenanigans which nobody took any notice of anyway. Still, I suppose they have to go through the ropes. They’ve already asked me. Was it flaccid or erectile they said. I said it looked nothing like a plastic reptile. Did I need counselling, they said? What for? I said. For the trauma. Trauma! I said it made my day. I sometimes gave it a little flick on passing and that made Flash’s day. After all, we’re not dead yet, I told them. So they ticked the no box. Anyway, it seems Flash has been sent packing and as they’re concerned in case somebody else might drop down dead, they’re offering this counselling malarkey.”
Just then the screen went back and Nurse Ali emerged, along with a lady in a suit holding a clipboard and pen. My mother was in her easy chair. She smiled when she saw me and didn’t seem at all put out.
I waited until Nurse Ali and the clipboard lady went out, “Are you okay, Mam? Bella has told me all about it.”
“Yes, Joanne, I’m fine. A storm in a teacup that’s all. Shame about poor Aggie, but after all she was eighty seven and it seems she was never in the best of health. I told them Mr Gordon always seemed to me to be the perfect gentleman. He always stood to attention and saluted when I passed him in the corridor. Of course, I didn’t always wear my glasses so it’s possible I might have missed something, but there we are.”
