If the Shoes Fit

by Pauline Lawless

  “Great news,” Eileen announced, as she cooked up a big fry for her daughter. “Niamh applied for a job today. It sounds great.”

  “What kind of job?” Val asked, already munching on her mother’s brown bread.

  “It’s a part-time job, selling designer shoes. She saw an ad in a magazine. It’s there in the drawer.” Eileen nodded towards the dresser.

  “Let’s have a look at it,” Val said, full of curiosity.

  Eileen dished up the bacon, egg and sausages and when she’d poured them both a cup of tea, she found the ad and handed it to her daughter.

  “Mmm . . . interesting,” Val remarked as she read it.

  When she’d finished eating and her mother had left the room to answer the phone, Val slipped the magazine page into her pocket.

  Chapter 2

  Rosie woke sleepily, reaching over for Jack as she did every morning. The empty bed and the realisation that he was gone drove a dagger through her heart. It was ten months since he’d died but she still couldn’t come to terms with it. They’d had thirty wonderful years together and now here she was, alone, facing her fifty-third birthday, not knowing how she would be able to go on without him. Her daughter, Gail, was constantly on at her to get back to her old hobbies, but how could she? She and Jack had been so close and had done everything together. She just couldn’t face the bridge and golf clubs without him.

  “It gets easier with time,” everyone kept saying, but it wasn’t getting any easier. If anything, it was getting harder and sometimes she panicked when she couldn’t remember his face clearly and would have to look at his photo to recall it. She couldn’t pray any more, except to Jack. She spoke to him constantly and felt he was listening to her. Every day she prayed to him to help her.

  Gail, who lived nearby, arrived at lunch-time with her adorable baby girl, Holly, and was shocked to see her mother still in her dressing-gown. Seeing her daughter’s look of disapproval, Rosie sighed.

  “Don’t be cross with me, Gail. I took a sleeping pill last night and overslept. Anyway, I’m not going out today so why bother getting dressed?” She shrugged her shoulders.

  Gail felt the tears prick her eyes and the anger bubble up inside her. She couldn’t keep it in any longer, so she let her mother have it.

  “Mum, you know how much I adored dad. Don’t you think it’s hard enough on me that I’ve lost him, without losing my mother too? You’re not here any more. I know how much you miss him but I miss him too and I need you now.” Gail was pacing up and down the kitchen floor. “Dad had so much zest for life. He must be going crazy up there watching you wasting yours. He would be very unhappy to see you like this.” Seeing the tears in her mother’s eyes, she spoke more gently. “Mum, you owe it to him, and to me and Holly, to start living again.”

  Rosie was crying now. She knew what Gail said was true and that Jack would be furious with her, seeing her like this, but somehow she couldn’t get back into the real world. She couldn’t let go of him.

  “Mum, whether you like it or not, I’m going to make an appointment for you with the bereavement counsellor. She even offered to come and visit you here in the house, if you preferred.”

  Sighing, Rosie reluctantly agreed. She knew Gail was right. Life had to go on, but how?

  Gail reached for the box of tissues and handed them to her mother. “By the way, Mum, I saw a job advertised in this magazine, which would suit you down to the ground,” she remarked casually. “Please take a look at it. It might be just what you need.”

  “Job? How on earth could I cope with a job, the state I’m in?” Rosie asked, ignoring the magazine Gail held out to her.

  Gail left it on the coffee table, open at the If the Shoes Fit ad, in the hope that it might rouse her mother out of this limbo that she was in.

  When her daughter had left, Rosie glanced idly at it. Sounds interesting and fun, she thought, as she read down through it, but I could never do it. But she understood why Gail thought that it would suit her.

  She had to admit that her big passion was shoes. When she had accumulated all the jewellery that she would ever need, Jack, knowing how much she adored them, had started buying her beautiful shoes, for birthdays and anniversaries, or whenever he was abroad on business. It had never ceased to amaze her, or her friends, that he knew exactly what to choose and that they always fitted perfectly. He never got it wrong and she had quite a collection now. Since he’d died, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to wear any of them.

  Gail was as good as her word and later that week, Sheila, the bereavement counsellor, came to visit. Rosie was surprised to find her so understanding and non-judgemental. She spent the whole hour talking about Jack and, somehow, it was easier to talk about their life together with a total stranger than with any of her old friends.

  “Jack took early retirement so that we could travel the world together and do all the things that we’d missed out on because of his work commitments,” she explained to Sheila. “Then the day after his retirement party, just one week short of his sixtieth birthday, he had a massive stroke and that was the beginning of the end.”

  “Oh, that must have been awful for him, and you,” Sheila said, her voice full of sympathy.

  “It was,” Rosie said. “We had to cancel the round-the-world trip, of course, and Jack, being the kind of man he was, was more concerned about me missing that than he was about himself.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “He went downhill fast and it was horrible watching helplessly as he lay immobile, unable to do anything for himself.”

  “That’s the worst thing, that feeling of helplessness as you watch your loved one suffer,” Sheila said softly.

  “Yes, it was. He so wanted to communicate with us, but was unable to, and I couldn’t bear to see the tears in his eyes as he tried to make the effort.” Rosie had a faraway look in her eyes as she relived it. “He’d always been such a virile man, full of energy and fun and now he lay wasted, waiting to die. The end, when it came, was a merciful release for him and I was happy that he was in a better place,” her voice sank to a whisper, “but the bottom fell out of my world.”

  “I do understand, my dear,” Sheila said kindly, patting her hand. “It seems so unfair. Life is very cruel sometimes.”

  Rosie found it easy to talk to this gentle woman who seemed to understand. She’d kept it all bottled up inside her for so long that now she found it a great relief to let it out. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shared her memories.

  “I think you’re very lucky that you had such a wonderful husband who obviously loved you very much,” Sheila said, handing her a tissue from the box on the table. “Let’s dwell on that for the moment and be grateful for the years you had together.” She smiled at Rosie, taking her hands. “Not every woman is so lucky, you know.”

  Gail arrived later that evening to see how things had gone and was delighted to see her mother smiling and in better form.

  “She’s a lovely lady and understands completely,” Rosie told her.

  “Well, that’s what she’s there for,” Gail replied. “So you found it a help to talk to her?”

  Rosie smiled. “Absolutely. I feel much better after our chat.”

  Gail hugged her mother, delighted with what Sheila had achieved in just one visit.

  “By the way, did you do anything about that ad?” she asked, looking around for the magazine.

  “The shoe one? God, no! I’d be much too old,” Rosie grimaced.

  “It says no age limit,” Gail persisted.

  “I know but I’m sure they don’t mean over fifty!”

  “No age limit means no age limit,” insisted Gail. “Anyway, you’re only fifty-two and they say fifty is the new thirty. Please think about it, Mum.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it,” said Rosie resignedly. When Gail got the bit between her teeth, she just wouldn’t let go.

  The counselling session with Sheila, early the following week, went even better.

  As they sipped thei
r tea, Rosie told her about the job Gail was on about.

  “You know how you told me that you talk to Jack all the time and feel he is watching over you?” Sheila remarked, looking thoughtful. “Well, why not ask him about this?”

  When Sheila had left, Rosie did just that. She took out the ad and, reading it again, said a quiet prayer to him asking what she should do. She felt a sense of peace come over her and could just imagine him laughing heartily. She could almost hear his voice.

  “Selling shoes? My God girl, you’re the expert there. Only thing is, you’ll probably buy more than you sell – and sure why not? You deserve it!”

  When Gail dropped in later, she found her mother smiling gently to herself. She hugged her tightly.

  “Mum, you’re looking great! It’s good to see you wearing make-up again. But why are you smiling to yourself like that?”

  “Well, I was just thinking what your father would say if he heard I was thinking of applying for a job selling shoes,” Rosie chuckled, as she lifted Holly out of the buggy and gave her a big kiss.

  “He’d say you’d be your own best customer!” Gail laughed.

  “Exactly what he did say!”

  Rosie laughed and Gail’s heart lifted to see her mother’s old smile light up her face again.

  “Mum, will you seriously consider this? It would suit you down to the ground!” Gail pleaded with her.

  “Well, I suppose you won’t let up till I do, so I may as well give it a go. But I don’t have much of a CV.” Rosie bit her lip.

  “It’s only selling shoes, Mum – not lecturing in university. Here, let me help you with it, now.” Gail was nothing if not determined.

  “You know, you’re as relentless as your father when you want something,” Rosie smiled, shaking her head. Putting Holly down on the rug, she went to put the kettle on, while Gail got out a pen and paper.

  “I can’t say I’m fifty-two,” Rosie said. “They’d never even consider me.” She frowned as she set out the cups and saucers for the tea.

  “We’re not going to say you’re fifty-two. We’ll say you’re forty-four. You could easily pass for that. Everyone says so.”

  “Oh God! What if they find out?” Rosie looked at her daughter nervously.

  “How can they?” said Gail, brooking no argument. “And anyway, according to you they won’t even call you for an interview – so you’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “I suppose,” Rosie replied, unconvinced.

  It took some time to do out her CV because they had to change all the dates, due to the fact that she was now saying she was eight years younger. Rosie took Holly on her knee and, dipping a biscuit in her tea, gave it to the baby who rewarded her with a big smile. All the while, she marvelled at her daughter’s determination.

  Rosie heaved a sigh of relief as they finally finished the CV. “Thank God that’s done,” she said, as she handed Holly back to Gail.

  “I’ll take it with me and do it up on the computer,” Gail said, “and then I’ll post it off tomorrow.” She was afraid Rosie would chicken out. This way, she couldn’t.

  “God, but you have your dad’s drive and determination,” Rosie laughed as she handed it over. She didn’t hold out much hope of getting a reply.

  Chapter 3

  Tessa heard the door close behind George and heaved a sigh of relief. She waited as he drove down the drive and out the gate before fetching Napoleon, her golden Labrador, into the kitchen. There, he snuggled down in front of the Aga, showing his appreciation by practically licking her hand away. George wouldn’t allow him in the house, which Tessa thought was ridiculous. She then put on her favourite Juliet Turner album and, flinging off her shoes, danced around the kitchen, singing loudly along with it. Her delight when George had to go to Dublin for the day made her feel a little guilty but never for very long.

  She loved these days to herself when she could walk around barefoot, play her own music, read a book, soak in a bath for hours, eat lunch in front of the telly or gossip with her friends. George didn’t approve of any of these things – he considered them trivial and frivolous. Napoleon’s pleasure at being allowed into the house added to hers and increased her sense of freedom. This was the only time that she could really be herself. The more she enjoyed these days, the more she realised just how restricted her life with George had become. It hadn’t always been like this. When they’d met, six years before, her free spirit had enchanted him and he’d fallen in love with her, faults and all.

  When Tessa was only sixteen, she was spotted in Grafton Street by an agent from Storm Models, who whisked her off to London where she’d become a highly successful model. She was a canny businesswoman, and at the age of thirty, tired of posing for the camera and knowing that it wouldn’t last forever, she had started up her own modelling agency. In the meantime, she’d managed to get herself married and then divorced from Isaac, a highly successful New York fashion photographer. She’d been crazy about him, but too late she’d discovered that he was a serial shagger and his philandering had finally caught up with him when his photo was splashed all over the tabloids, cavorting with a famous young actress. They say the wife is always the last to know, and Tessa still cringed at the fact that half of London had known about it before she did. A leopard doesn’t change his spots and her ex-husband had subsequently cheated on the actress. He was now on his fourth wife and still up to his old tricks. Tessa wondered if the girl knew about it. Probably not!

  Her self-confidence had taken a nosedive after this and she’d found it very hard to trust men after Isaac. It was George who’d finally won her round. They’d met at a dinner party in London, shortly after she’d started the business, and she’d found him a breath of fresh air after all the luvvies of the fashion world. They became close friends and for five years they regularly spent weekends and holidays together, commuting between Dublin and London. George had restored her self-confidence and was a welcome respite from the manic world she lived in.

  He was fifty-one to her thirty when they’d met, but the age difference hadn’t bothered her. He’d made her feel safe which was a nice change from her boyish, immature husband. After the roller-coaster ride that had been her life with Isaac, the stability George offered had seemed very attractive. George had never been married and lived in a small town in Ireland. He was a property dealer and his home was a magnificent Georgian house, less than an hour’s drive from Dublin.

  She was quite happy with their arrangement when, out of the blue, Tessa’s whole world, and she herself – quite literally – collapsed. Right in the midst of London Fashion Week, she’d suffered a heart attack and was very lucky to have come out alive, with the words of her surgeon ringing in her ears: “Unless you change your lifestyle, Tessa, you’re quite likely to have another one and next time you might not be so lucky.” That had been her wake-up call. She’d taken stock of her life and realised it would have to change. The stress and pace of life in London, the madness that was the modelling world, the partying and drugs, had all been too much and she’d had enough. She wanted out. She had no choice but to sell the agency.

  George – nice dependable George – had flown over and stayed by her bedside throughout her ordeal. When he heard what the doctor had said, he’d taken her hands in his.

  “Marry me, Tessa. Come and live with me in Ballyfern,” he’d said softly. “It’s so quiet and peaceful there. It’s just what you need.” His eyes had pleaded with her.

  She’d been tempted. He’d asked her many times before but she’d always said no – citing her business as an excuse – but the real reason was that although she was very, very fond of him, she didn’t love him the way she felt she should. She wasn’t in love with him. Mind you, she’d been madly in love with Isaac and what a disaster that had turned out to be!

  “Oh George, that’s sweet of you but I’m not sure I want to be married again,” she’d told him, trying to let him down gently.

  “I know your first marriage has left a bad tas
te in your mouth,” George had said, “but I love you, Tessa, and would never be unfaithful to you.”

  “I know that, but it’s just that we’re both pretty set in our ways, and let’s face it we’re not exactly young things,” she’d replied, smiling.

  “I’m not anyway, whatever about you,” he’d replied. “People laugh about long Irish courtships and look at us! It’s been five years since we started going out together. Don’t you think it’s time?” He was being very persuasive. “We’re not getting any younger and it will be nice to grow old together,” he’d added. “That can be a very lonely place if you’re on your own.”

  She had to agree with him there. He was now fifty-six and she thirty-five and she’d been working for almost twenty years in the crazy world of fashion. She was tired of it all and, still frightened by the doctor’s words, she compromised and agreed to come and live with him, but to hold off on marriage for a while.

  That, she realised now, was the most sensible decision she’d ever made because things were not working out between them. She wondered why she hadn’t seen it before now.

  She and George were total opposites. Tessa had always been full of life. Flighty, the nuns used to call it – she preferred to think of it as joie de vivre! George, on the other hand, could best be described as serious and conservative. This glaring difference in their personalities hadn’t been so obvious when she’d been living in London but had become much more apparent since she’d come to live with him in Ireland. She remembered her father’s old adage: “If you want to know me, come and live with me.” How right he was! She’d often wondered if he’d been referring to her stepmother, Claudia.

  Tessa’s father, Edward, was a very wealthy landowner in County Galway, whose photo was constantly in the newspapers and social columns. He owned a large stud farm and a string of racehorses. He’d met her mother at the Dublin Horse Show when he’d been a member of the Irish international show-jumping team and she’d been a member of the Italian team. They’d fallen madly in love and, three months later, were married. Tessa was their only child. Her mother was the daughter of an Italian count, hence the name they’d given her, Contessa. Both her parents had been high achievers and, as a child, Tessa had always had the feeling that she somehow hadn’t come up to scratch, although both her parents adored her.