by Ann MacLaren
On Monday, Doreen sat on their large balcony sunbathing until the heat defeated her. Robert, who had enjoyed a few lengths of the pool, suggested a swim to cool her down, but she was put off by the few insects and leaves floating on top. Instead they had a walk around the air conditioned shopping centre. In the afternoon a boat trip on the lake went fairly smoothly – apart from the incident with a German tourist who had the audacity to try to board the ferry in front of Doreen.
“There’s a queue,” she told him indignantly, indicating the crowd behind them with one arm and elbowing him in the ribs with the other while encouraging her husband: “Come on Robert! Just push them out the way. Give them a taste of their own medicine.”
Robert was relieved she didn’t mention the war.
On Tuesday morning Doreen persuaded Fabio to let her use his phone to make an urgent call, because mobile coverage in the hotel was “disgraceful”. She wanted to speak urgently to her friend Myra, who had promised to find out for her who was going to judge the baking at the County Show on Saturday. She needed to know, because she had to think about whether to enter the Victoria sponge category (always a safe bet if a woman was judging), or concentrate on her famous Dundee cake if the judge was male. Myra hadn’t managed to find out, which put Doreen into a tizz for the rest of the day.
At dinner she complained to the waiter about the excess of pasta on the menu.
“It’s not healthy, you know. All that carbohydrate.”
They had planned a bus trip to the Dolomites on Wednesday, but Doreen had heard from another guest that it was freezing cold up in the mountains, and that they’d only managed one comfort stop on the four hour journey to get there, so they cancelled. Doreen spent most of the day fretting over the Dundee cake or Victoria sponge decision.
“If I lose on points this year it’ll be Myra’s fault,” she said.
“Why not make both?” said Robert, reasonably. “We’ll be home early enough. You’ll have plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time? Huh! That’s just like a man! You’ve no idea, have you?”
“Try to stop worrying,” said Robert. “Relax. You’re on holiday. Enjoy yourself.”
“I am enjoying myself,” Doreen yelled.
Thursday was “Gala Night” – a farewell dinner for the many guests who, like Doreen and Robert, would leave the following morning. Drinks and nibbles were served in the garden, and this was followed by a very generous six course meal with wine. There was a singer to entertain them.
“This prosecco’s too fizzy,” said Doreen.
“I think it’s quite delicious,” said Robert.
Doreen frowned and swatted at the air in front of her face.
“Mosquitoes! You’d think the Italians would have learned how to deal with them by now. They’ve had them long enough.”
“They’re part of the food chain,” said Robert, bravely. “Like our midges. You see, if you get rid of them, what will the...”
“That’s right. Take their side. Why must you be so contrary?”
“Let’s go in and have dinner,” said Robert.
As they worked their way through the delicious meal, Robert’s attention was drawn to the number of couples, probably married couples, who sat at their meal not speaking. He wondered if this was because they had long since run out of things to say to one another, or if they were just so comfortable in each other’s company that they could sit happily in mutual silence. He didn’t have that luxury; Doreen’s voice was like a wasp in his ear:
“I don’t know why he’s singing Neapolitan songs. This isn’t Naples.”
“More pasta! Can’t they think of anything else for a second course.”
“That music’s far too loud. I can’t hear myself speak.”
Robert lay awake that night, sorry that the holiday had come to an end, but glad too because he’d found the week quite stressful. He knew that Doreen couldn’t help herself. She had always been a glass half empty person. In the early days of their relationship he thought he’d be able to fill that other half, and he had succeeded, up to a point. He had made her happy for a time, and she hadn’t always expected the worst. Until the worst happened. Three times. Baby after baby lost before the pregnancy was established. The realisation that there would be no children. Thirty years, and Doreen hadn’t really got over it. He still tried sometimes to refill her glass – but she always managed to knock it over, spill the contents. Now he mostly just tried to take care of his own glass.
He must try to clear his mind, he thought, and get off to sleep; their flight wasn’t until lunchtime, but they would get up for an early breakfast then pack before heading to the airport. He was remembering that he would have to ask Fabio to organise a taxi when he felt a sharp pain shooting across his chest. This subsided quickly, but was replaced by a heaviness, as if a weight had been placed on top of him; but this too subsided and he was left with a general feeling of discomfort. Realising he was now sweating profusely, he threw off the sheet that covered him. The pain came back, this time spreading out across his left shoulder.
“Doreen,” he called weakly. Then louder: “Doreen!”
“Oh for goodness sake, what is it? I’ve just managed to get off to sleep, and you know we’ve got to...”
He grasped her arm tightly, to shut her up.
“I think I’m having a heart attack.”
The ambulance whisked him off to hospital where wires attached him to various machines. Doreen was allowed a few minutes with him, then was asked to wait in a side room with Fabio, who had very kindly driven her to the hospital. Robert hoped she hadn’t spent the journey complaining about his driving.
An hour later the doctor was able to tell Robert that his heart was in perfect working order – so far.
“You are suffering from indigestion, probably compounded by stress. I spoke with your friend Fabio. He tells me your stay has not been a restful one. What you really need, Signore, is a holiday.”
“But I am on holiday, Doctor.”
“Mmm... well I think to be on the safe side we need to keep you here for observation. Stress can lead to a heart attack, and I would not like to let you go home too quickly.”
“But our flight’s due to leave...”
“You see, you are becoming overwrought. Please calm down. Everything will be taken care of.”
The doctor explained to Robert exactly what the week’s observation would entail.
Robert slept for a few minutes. When he woke, a slightly subdued Doreen was sitting beside him. It had all been arranged, she told him. Fabio would take her to the airport in the morning. She’d be home in time to bake both cakes for the competition.
“You don’t mind, do you Robert? Only they said you would be fine, not a heart attack anyway, but they want you to stay for a while, the doctor says it’s for the best. Fabio says he’ll make sure you’re looked after.” She paused, thoughtful. “That was kind of him, wasn’t it?”
For a moment Robert saw a glimpse of the old Doreen. No point in telling her that on his way back from the airport Fabio would call into the hospital to collect him, take him back to the Hotel Riposo where, it had been agreed, he would spend a week of rest and relaxation. Recovering his equilibrium, as the doctor so quaintly put it.
He kissed Doreen goodbye and wished her luck with the competition. Not that she needed luck, he added, since she was the best baker in the village.
“I hope you’ll be okay without me,” she said.
Robert gave her a reassuring smile.
“Of course I will. I’ll be just fine. Really.”
And he really would.
Nevertheless
“I have decided,” said Julia, clasping her book to her chest, “to embrace death.”
Charlie lowered his newspaper slightly and looked at her over the top of his glasses.
“Is there
something I should know?”
“Just that death is our only certainty.” She paused for effect. “It could come calling at any time.”
“You’ve only sprained your ankle,” said Charlie, going back to his reading. “And I’m feeling just dandy, thank you very much.”
“We don’t think enough about death, “said Julia, as she lifted her good leg up onto the settee and wriggled into a more comfortable position.
“Oh, I know you don’t have to dwell on it all the time, or get depressed about it. Nevertheless, you should be aware that your time on this earth is limited; and if you keep that to the forefront of your mind, you’ll do things now instead of putting them off till later. Because later might just be too late.”
“Is that you as in me?”
“Don’t be facetious, Charlie. It’s you as in all of us. Everybody.”
“Did you read that in that book?”
“Not in those words exactly.” Julia examined the front cover of the little volume, as if to check, then hugged it again. “It was about a man who spent most of his time working.” She paused to see if this had hit its mark, but the newspaper didn’t so much as flicker. “He didn’t spend much time with his family because he was working hard to save up for his retirement...”
“Very admirable.”
“... so he didn’t get to see all the places he and his wife had talked about visiting. He kept promising they’d do these things once he retired.”
“Very sensible.”
“Only, on the very day he gave up work he was diagnosed with a brain tumour and told he only had weeks to live.”
“That was bad luck.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? He died with lots of regrets: all the people he hadn’t kept in touch with, all the places he and his wife hadn’t visited...”
“Are you angling for a holiday?” Charlie folded up the paper he wasn’t being allowed to read. “Is that what this is about?”
A holiday would be nice, thought Julia.
“I’m just pointing out that life is short,” she said, struggling up to a standing position. “And I’m going to keep that thought at the front of my mind, so that I do all the things I want to do before it’s too late.” She hobbled towards the door clutching her book. “And you should do the same.”
Julia was glad she’d had that little conversation with Charlie, because only a week later he began having problems in the trouser department. It was unlikely to be anything serious because Charlie had a medical at work every year, and the last one was only two months before. Nevertheless, Julia made an appointment for him with their GP, who recommended further investigations.
It took two weeks for Charlie to be called to the hospital. Julia thought this had been a reasonable time to wait, given the problems of the NHS, but Charlie had complained daily; and it had given him time to worry, allowing his hypochondria mode to kick in and produce all sorts of side effects from his yet undiagnosed condition. After the biopsy he complained of a headache, a backache, and he “felt a bit dizzy”. He thought he might spend the rest of the day in bed.
“It was worse than childbirth that examination,” said Charlie.
“How would you know?” said Julia. “Don’t be such a wimp.”
Nevertheless, she put a hot water bottle in the bed for him and brought him a couple of paracetamols and some tea and toast.
The nevertheless rule loomed large in Julia’s life. She liked to weigh up the alternatives, keep her options open; it was a sort of emotional insurance policy. She’d recently read that one of her favourite authors had converted to Catholicism on the nevertheless principle. Julia was impressed.
Charlie was a more resolute sort of person; he made his decisions and rarely wavered. But now, as he waited for the results of the biopsy, he seemed to do nothing but think. Never talkative at the best of times, he was even quieter than usual. He didn’t attend to the garden or go to the golf club; he hardly looked at the newspaper – said he couldn’t concentrate. He spent most of his time in front of the television, not really seeing what was on the screen. Julia knew he was worrying, but he wouldn’t talk to her about it. She was glad her ankle had healed; she wouldn’t have been able to rely on him to help around the house or do the shopping. One afternoon she found him watching a repeat of Masterchef; Charlie had no interest in cookery.
“You’re wasting your life,” said Julia. “You can’t recover time. Once the day is gone that’s it – you can’t get it back.”
“When did you become such a bloody philosopher?” Charlie replied.
But he knew she was right. His life was seeping away as he sat there. And what if the biopsy result was okay? He’d wasted all those days. But what if it wasn’t okay? What then? What would he want to do with his last years? He couldn’t think of anything special. And what would be the point of doing anything at all? He wouldn’t remember it. He’d be dead.
He changed channels a few times and stopped at a wildlife programme. It was about Africa, about the wild animals that were in danger of dying out there because of illegal hunting. He’d seen some of these animals in the zoo, but never in their natural habitat. He’d probably never get the chance now. Maybe they should go on holiday to Africa. A safari. Julia would love that, he supposed. He’d always fancied a safari but thought they were too expensive to consider. They had more than enough money in the bank – what was he saving up for anyway? So that the kids could go on safari with their inheritance?
Julia was rather taken aback when Charlie suggested it to her. It was the last kind of holiday she would have considered – all that sleeping in tents, the insects, the danger. Nevertheless, it was a holiday. Gift horse and all that. And the idea seemed to be lifting him from his depressed fug. He became quite animated about the prospect of seeing elephants and rhinoceros and lions in the wild.
“I’ll have a look online tomorrow” she said.
It was almost by chance that Julia came upon the luxury version of the safari holiday. She had trawled through dozens of websites promising ‘unique’ experiences. They all sounded much the same to her – and not very tempting. She shuddered at the thought of sleeping in a tent surrounded by claustrophobic netting; nor did she fancy fighting for position in a convoy of uncomfortable jeeps. But she didn’t want to let Charlie down. She wondered if there was a better kind of safari experience, and typed this into Google. Up popped ten nights in South Africa, in a well-appointed lodge, overlooking a private lake in the grounds of a five star hotel, complete with swimming pool and spa – and with private tours of the Kruger. It was ridiculously expensive.
Julia clicked through the pages of the hotel admiring the dining areas, the lodges with their pristine looking bed linen, the lake surrounded by flowers and trees, the comfortable pop-top 4x4s. It would cost more than they’d ever paid for a holiday.
Nevertheless, it would be the most amazing experience, the holiday of a lifetime, just what the doctor ordered, so to speak. She was sure she could conjure up a few more clichés that might persuade her husband to her way of thinking. She went downstairs and made him a cup of his favourite coffee.
Charlie listened attentively as Julia, emphasising the top end transport arrangements, tried to sell him the luxury safari. To her amazement he seemed to be nodding in agreement.
“So, all things considered,” she finished, “I think it would be money well spent. No pockets in a shroud.”
“You’re right,” said Charlie. “We don’t want to be the richest...”
He was interrupted by the doorbell. It was the postman with a package too large for the letterbox, and a long white envelope. A letter from the hospital.
Charlie tore it open.
“Enlarged Prostate. Benign,” he shouted, hugging Julia. “Blood tests negative. There’s nothing wrong with me! Can you believe it?”
“All that worrying for nothing,” Julia said a
s she hugged him back. “I’m so glad. You still want to go on that holiday though, don’t you?”
The pause was just a few seconds too long.
“There’s no rush now,” said Charlie.
Nevertheless... thought Julia, as she headed back upstairs to switch on the computer.
The Kiss
I am not a silly old woman. I want you to know that, because what I am about to tell you will seem so unbelievable you will probably think I have made it all up; but I can assure you it is true. At my age it is not necessary to tell lies. And although the incident occurred at a time when my state of mind could be described as fragile, I have no difficulty in recalling every detail of that strange morning last summer.
I was in Oslo, and was nearing the end of a stay at the Hotel Continental. I remember that I had overslept that morning, and when I arrived in the small breakfast room there was only one other guest still eating – a tall, white-haired gentleman with whom I had exchanged polite good mornings since my arrival a few days before.
I helped myself to some fruit juice and a small bread roll and chose a seat by the window, close enough to my fellow guest so as to appear companionable if he wished to strike up a conversation, but far enough away to allow him the opportunity to enjoy his breakfast in silence. I do not mind eating alone, but I find that other solitary diners often feel the need to invite themselves to join you, to join forces so that you both seem less conspicuous. I like the company of handsome men, and this one was singularly attractive and very well dressed. And if I had read the signals correctly – I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to body language – my fellow diner would welcome an opportunity to introduce himself.
As I sat down the man looked up from his plate and gave me a warm smile, which I returned, wished me good morning then went back to his coffee and newspaper. I noticed, as I ate, that he was giving me long appraising looks over the top of his paper, but whenever I inadvertently caught his eye he just smiled again and returned to his reading. I thought that perhaps he was shy, and wondered whether I myself should make the first move to strike up a conversation.
