‘Do what?’
‘Groan when I try to talk to you.’
Matt was about to groan again but stopped himself. ‘OK. I’m listening.’
‘OK, well … are you happy?’
‘Happy? What does that even mean?’
‘It means are you happy? Fulfilled?’
‘God, I don’t know, Cait. I don’t ever think about it.’ He was about to turn the TV back on.
‘Are you happy with me?’
‘With you? What kind of question is that?’
‘What I asked. I was thinking, we take each other for granted a little … a lot. We’ve stopped making an effort. I mean, are you still happy being married to me?’
‘Cait, of course I’m happy to be married to you. I’m here, aren’t I? Have been for years. It’s not something I think about. That’s good surely? I think of us as solid. Forever. OK, everything else around us might be changing, but you and I, we’re the base, the foundation.’
‘Yes, but a lot’s changed lately.’
‘Like what? Apart from losing my job.’
‘OK. Top of the list—’
‘List? You have a list for this?’
‘Yes. Finances. How long can we last? We should do the figures properly; we’ve both been putting it off. Will doing Airbnb be enough to keep us going?’
‘Oh not now, Cait. Can’t we talk about it tomorrow?’
‘It’s always tomorrow with you, Matt.’
‘OK, just not now.’
‘Why? What’s more important? Star Trek reruns?’
‘Below the belt.’
‘Debs has suggested we try counselling; she’s even given us some vouchers to use at her centre.’
‘Marriage counselling?’
‘Yes, early anniversary present.’
‘What a cheek. Christ, you’ve been discussing our relationship with Debs?’ He looked horrified.
‘No, not exactly, but she’s known us a long time. I think she’s picked up that things aren’t great with us.’
‘No way, Cait. I’m not talking about private matters in front of a stranger.’
‘So what do you propose I do with the vouchers?’
Matt gave me a look to suggest exactly what I could do with them. ‘We’re fine, Cait. We’ll muddle on. We always have.’
‘I think we should at least consider it.’
‘Not with one of Debs’s people, never. She or he would talk to Debs about it. How would you like that? I know I wouldn’t.’
‘I’m sure they have client confidentiality.’
Matt scoffed. ‘How many times has Debs sat around our table and entertained us with tales from the spa? She’s about as discreet as the Sun newspaper.’
‘Fair point. OK. So how about we find our own therapist?’
‘We live in a small place. People gossip.’
‘OK, out of town then. We could go to Frome, or Bradford on Avon.’
‘Or Glastonbury. That’s only forty minutes away. We could go the whole hippie hog and wear beads and sandals.’
‘Now you’re being unreasonable. I’m trying to help us. If we carry on like we have been, we might lose each other.’
Matt looked shocked. ‘Lose each other? What do you mean by that? Cait, where’s this coming from? I can’t believe you’d even say such a thing.’
‘If I look into finding us a therapist, will you at least consider it?’
Matt sighed wearily. ‘Do I have a choice? I don’t get it. Has something happened today to trigger all this? Did your meeting with Lizzie go badly?’
‘No. No. It was fine – good, in fact. I just got to thinking about us on the train coming home.’
‘Thinking what?’
‘OK, do you remember the last time we had sex, for instance?’
Matt groaned again, then there was an awkward silence. ‘I don’t keep a diary,’ he said finally, ‘so no, I don’t.’
‘Months ago, and then months before that.’ I didn’t add, and it was disappointing, which was probably the reason neither of us had been in a rush to repeat the experience.
There was another painful silence. ‘There’s more to marriage than sex,’ Matt said eventually. ‘Companionship, that’s more important.’
‘Sex is important to me. I miss the intimacy that came afterwards, that feeling of us against the world, curled up in the safe, warm bubble of our bed. Now you come to bed after I’ve gone up and we sleep on opposite sides. I miss the closeness, the cuddling, the easy affection that came in the aftermath and I feel us growing more and more distant.’
Matt looked like a dog that had taken a kicking. He got up and headed for the door. ‘Bad timing Cait,’ he said, ‘it’s late and you’ve only just got home.’
‘It’s always bad timing,’ I called after him as he left the room. ‘I’ll add sex to the list of things we can’t talk about. Sex, money, work.’ I followed him out into the hall. ‘Sometimes it feels as though we don’t even speak the same language, and I don’t know if I can go on unless we make some major adjustments.’
‘But why? We’re OK, or at least we were before my redundancy.’
‘But that’s just it, we weren’t OK. We just plastered over the cuts by keeping busy.’
‘You’re the one who’s always busy.’
‘I’m trying to make the most of life. I don’t know – maybe being in my sixties, having joined the saga louts, I don’t want to waste precious years when things could be better. We have to seize the day and all that.’
‘Noted,’ he said and headed up the stairs.
‘Walking away won’t help,’ I called after him, but this time I didn’t follow. I went and sat on the sofa in the sitting room.
Is it me? I wondered. Is it the fact I’m aware that time may be running out? My mother used to call me a divine discontent when I was younger, always questioning everything; so maybe I am the problem. Or was it having lunch with Tom Lewis? A few hours with a man who made me feel alive again. Or maybe I’m tired and I just need one good night’s sleep.
I heard Matt come back down stairs. He came into the sitting room and sat down with a heavy sigh, like a boy who’d resigned himself to punishment. ‘OK, say what you need to.’
‘Oh god, Matt, just … we’re not getting any younger. Who knows how long we have left? I want to live life to the full.’ I paused and looked out of the window. ‘Lately I have a heightened sense of my own mortality, and not because I’m morbid. Mum going, Eve soon after, Alistair – another of our oldest pals, gone.’
Matt nodded. ‘I know.’ His face softened. ‘It’s been a tough time for you, Cait. Is that what’s been upsetting you? Your mum dying? Eve’s death? I can understand that.’
‘Partly. No doubt, their deaths were a reminder that life can be short. Everyone says it: don’t waste your time, you don’t know how long you’ve got. Like you, at sixty-three, you’ve already outlived your father. I think it’s important to make the most of the next chapter, make the right choices, see what the golden years have to offer.’
‘So what are you proposing?’
‘Maybe the counselling …’ I turned to look at him and noticed that he had his jacket on. ‘Are you going out?’
‘Thought I might take a walk, clear my head.’
‘At this time of night? I thought you’d come back down to talk.’
‘Oh. There’s more?’ He got up and sighed heavily. ‘You’re right, Cait. You’re always right, and maybe we do need to talk more but, thing is, I have nothing to say.’
‘That’s not helpful.’
‘All I can do at the moment. I’m sorry.’ A few minutes later, I heard the front door close.
17
Cait
Senior moment 1: Dialled a number on my phone. Seconds later, I completely forgot who I’d called.
‘Er … who are you?’ I asked when someone picked up.
‘Kara at Solis hairdressers,’ came the reply. ‘But you called us, who are you?’
&nb
sp; *
I decided to skip my walking group again and dropped in to see Debs instead on my way back from the supermarket. ‘Just popped in to say I can’t make our New Age night tomorrow, so thought I’d come and see you now,’ I said when she opened the door. ‘Matt and I are starting the decorating.’
‘No problem. Come on through, I’m in my study. I’m checking the Internet dating sites. Want to have a look?’
‘Sure,’ I said, and followed her into the small room at the back of the house where she had her desk. She pulled up a chair for me and then sat in front of the screen, which showed the photo of a man with a beard.
‘I don’t think so, Mike from Bristol,’ said Debs as she clicked away from his photo then began to scroll down to show a list of different men. Mark from Trowbridge.
‘Looks like an axe murderer,’ I commented.
Geoffrey from Weymouth. ‘Hmm. Probably a nice man but he really ought to have put some teeth in for his profile shot,’ said Debs.
Eric from Kelston – he’d used a photo of George Clooney. ‘Yeah right, Eric, who are you trying to kid?’ I said.
Jake from Bathford. ‘Looks like an extra from Lord of the Rings,’ said Debs. ‘I know looks aren’t everything, but hobbits just aren’t my type.
Liam from Corston. ‘Now he looks cute. Have a look at what he’s said about himself. Oh. He’s seeking a woman twenty to thirty years old. No way could I pass for that, even by candlelight. You’re missing out on the delights of an older woman, Liam,’ Debs said to the screen, ‘I’ve done a weekend of Tantra. OK, so I managed to lose my husband on the course, but I have skills to blow your mind, just no one to practise them on.’
‘Carry on,’ I said. ‘There has to be someone decent on here.’
Debs continued to scroll down. ‘Arghhh. How am I supposed to know who to pick,’ she said as we continued to look at the site. ‘Dave from Saltford – nah. Jake from Barnstaple – nah. Richard from Plymouth – nah. Am I too fussy, Cait?’
‘Not at all. Let me see what you’ve written on your profile.’
Debs found the section describing her and clicked it up so I could see. ‘Middle-aged lady,’ she read from the screen. ‘Does that make me sound ancient?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I don’t feel middle aged but I’m forty-seven. Mature?’
‘No. Sounds like a cheese.’
‘Immature? Childish. Daft as a brush. God, this is hard. I’d put that I am curvy but would men read fat? Dark hair, brown eyes.’
‘That sounds OK, and what have you written that you’re looking for?’
‘Someone loyal, faithful, likes walks in the country, enthusiastic about life. Surely that’s not asking too much?’
‘Sounds reasonable to me, Debs.’ I felt a pang of guilt. Tom was in a different league to these men on the website. Debs would love him and he’d probably like her if he met her. They were both single, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
‘What about the men you’ve seen so far? Have any of them been in touch since you met them?’
‘All disasters and no, they haven’t been back in touch, and neither have I with them.’
‘Why?’
‘Ralph from Bath asked if I’d always been a big girl? The cheek of him. I’m only a size sixteen and he was hardly Mr Perfect, but I’ve learnt fast that many of the men online want a slim young babe, and for a different sort of exercise than a walk in the country.’
‘What about that Arthur chap? He sounded as if he was OK.’
‘The one from Rudloe? Absolutely not. We sat in silence through most of the date then he insisted we split the bill. “I didn’t have a second glass of wine,” he said as he totted up every item on his calculator. “So yours is more.”’
‘Tight bastard.’
‘Exactly. Although I believe in equal rights, I do have a romantic notion that it’s nice to be paid for on a first date; in fact generosity was one of the qualities I put down that I was looking for. The man before that, Jonathan from Corsham, spent the whole evening telling me about his late wife. I was sympathetic but, after an hour, I just wanted to escape. Bereavement counsellor wasn’t the role I was hoping for in a new relationship.’
‘What do you really want?’ I asked.
‘Someone who adores me, loves me unconditionally, and whose face lights up whenever he sees me. If I put that online, men would run a mile. It sounds too needy. My horoscope in this morning’s paper said that I need to broaden my horizons. Maybe that’s what I should do.’
‘OK. I know a site that might be the one for you. Move over, let me find it.’
Debs and I swapped places and I clicked on a few links until I found the one I wanted and scrolled down. ‘Right. Try this site, and if we don’t find anyone then you can give up, but maybe it’s time to take a last chance.’
Debs looked at the page I had brought up and smiled. ‘OK. Alfie – cute, ditto Ben,’ she said as I scrolled down through the choices. ‘Bruno, hmm? He looks mischievous. Fred? Says he’s lively and fun. A maybe for him. But so far, so good, Cait. Go onto the next page. George.’ A handsome face stared out of the screen at us. ‘Hey, I like the look of him.’
‘Me too,’ I said as I clicked on his profile and began to read. ‘A bit older than the others. It says he’s been alone for six months, since his family moved abroad.’
‘I know how that feels,’ said Debs. ‘With Orlando in the States with his dad at the moment, I miss him so much. Although we Skype, it’s no substitute for being in the same room.’
‘I know. I feel like that with Sam and Jed being away and I know Lorna does with her three gone. We all miss our kids. Gone are the days when families all lived within a few streets of each other, hey?’
Debs nodded and looked back at George’s face. ‘He has a hint of sadness in his eyes, as if he’s lost someone and been lonely too. But it couldn’t work, Cait. George is a Labrador on an animal rescue site. It wouldn’t be fair to take him if I can’t look after him properly, and I have too many work commitments to do that at present.’
‘Don’t look at me like that, George,’ I said as I closed down the site. ‘You’ll get a home soon. I’m sure you will.’
‘You take him,’ said Debs.
‘I’d love to, but Yoda would leave home.’
‘So … what about hooking me up with your long-lost lover?’
‘Long-lost lover?’ I knew exactly who she meant.
‘The one on Facebook.’
‘Oh him? Tom?’
‘Yes.’
‘I told you, he lives in LA.’
‘I could fly.’
‘Last thing you need is a long-distance lover. I told you, Debs, he’s not the one for you. He was a player when I knew him, so not what you need after Fabio.’
She sighed. ‘You’re so lucky to have a man like Matt. I do hope you appreciate that.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘Of course I do.’ Mentally, I scratched off the list any option of a heart-to-heart with Debs about the true state of my marriage.
‘Did you mention the idea of counselling to him?’
‘I did and, as I thought he would, he said no way.’
‘Want me to talk to him?’
‘You? No!’
‘So who does he talk to?’
‘His brother Duncan.’
‘Isn’t he a stoner?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean they can’t talk to each other.’
‘Well, let me know if I can do anything.’
‘I will,’ I said. I won’t, I thought. I needed to change the subject away from Matt, and Debs could always be distracted by my offering to indulge in one of her therapies. ‘OK. How about this? We do a bit of Gestalt to get all your rage about Fabio out and see what you really want.’
‘Great idea,’ she said.
‘Right, you know what to do, pick two cushions,’ I said. ‘A light one to represent your positive side, a dark one to represent your negative side. Then let it all out,
Debs, the good and bad.’
‘Will do.’ She picked up a dark purple velvet cushion and a light silk sand one. She sat on the purple one. ‘OK, so here I am, in my forties, on my own, not had sex for yonks and my partner left me. I feel like a love loser.’
‘OK, now your positive side,’ I said.
She moved to sit on the light cushion. ‘So, Debs, you must take responsibility and move forward. What do I want? You want? We want? Hmm. I want a man who is emotionally intelligent, sexy as hell, well read, generous of mind, body and spirit and … must have nice hands.’
She moved back over to the dark cushion. ‘And no way does he exist, you stupid idiot. You’re so naïve. Grow up, get in the real world. You have to compromise. Prince Charming, Mr Darcy: the perfect man does not exist except in movies.’
She went back to the light cushion. ‘God, you’re negative oh you, me, when on the purple cushion. Seek and you will find. Trust and it will come to you. Don’t give up. Life is what you make it. Stay positive.’
Back to the dark cushion. ‘Give up, Debs, you’ll never find the kind of man you want. Get a cat or a dog as Lorna and Cait keep suggesting. Only they will love you unconditionally, and actually the cat won’t, they are independent buggers, only dogs love totally. And you can’t get a dog because you’re out all day, still like to travel and any dog you owned would die of loneliness. Basically, you’re fucked.’
Back to the light cushion. ‘That’s not nice, so you can fuck off yourself and anyway, you’re only a cushion. What do you know?’
I was laughing so hard, I almost choked. ‘Oh no, your light and dark sides are fighting.’
‘I know. It’s not going well is it? It’s been a while since I’ve done the cushion therapy. How about a bit of primal screaming to get out all the negativity? We have to scream as loud and as long as possible, right from deep down within.’
‘What about your neighbours?’ I asked.
She picked up the purple cushion, put her face in it to muffle the sound and let rip. ‘Warghhhhhhhhhhh.’ She came up for breath then went down again. ‘Warghhhhhhhhhhh.’
She indicated that I should do the same so I picked up a red cushion. Why not? I thought, and had a good scream into it.
It did make me feel marginally better.
Dancing Over the Hill Page 13
