by Sue Watson
No one knew about the pregnancy except Margaret, who amazed me with her motherliness and love and during this time we grew closer. I learned to respect her, and appreciate her wisdom which in turn softened her towards me.
I knew now that her meddling and controlling wasn’t about hurting me or spoiling my life – quite the opposite: she’d known more about life and people and could see what was coming. Whereas I, in my youth and naivety, couldn’t.
I was now dealing with the fallout, the terrible loss of my baby and wondering if I’d ever come to terms with that. How do you say goodbye to someone you’ve never even said hello to?
Peter is holding me now as I tell him about that night. He’s lying next to me, tears streaming down his face, and I finally feel released; in acknowledging the grief, he’s acknowledging the existence of his child. But sharing the loss with Peter after all this time brings a fresh splash of grief. I realise I have never fully come to terms with what happened because I needed him to know too. I needed him to feel this loss as keenly as I have, as I still do because there’s no headstone, no little blanket, no life to celebrate. And I cry along with him for our baby, who never knew what it was to feel sunshine on her face.
Later, we talk about the baby that might have been and Peter asks if I think it was a boy or a girl.
‘A girl,’ I say. I’ve always thought of the baby as a girl. ‘And her name would have been Daisy.’ I smile.
‘Our own little flower in the rubble,’ he says.
‘Daisy gave me so much,’ I say. ‘She showed me how it felt to be a mum, and made me realise that’s what I wanted – a family and children. All my teenage talk about painting pyramids and running around the world showing my pictures was real at the time, but it wouldn’t have been right for me back then. Becoming pregnant made me realise that all this was meant to be, I had found my role at last, and this was what I needed and wanted. I just hadn’t realised until Daisy came along and showed me the right path to take.’
I think about Mike and how he also taught me that it was okay to love again and I know he was my fate and helped me move on.
‘The day I married Camille all I could think about was you,’ says Peter.
We are both silent. Cars pass outside, a police siren screams in the distance; I’m not used to the sounds of the city. I see a chink of light through the curtains – it must be almost morning, we must have been talking for hours.
‘Why did you think of me on your wedding day?’ I say, remembering how I had spilt mascara tears on my cream suit just wishing it was Peter waiting for me at the registry office.
‘I wished I was marrying you. I hadn’t seen you for more than ten years, but I imagined you in a white veil and when I lifted the veil to kiss Camille I was filled with an overwhelming sadness . . . and it was my own stupid fault.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be, Peter, we were both with the people we needed then.’
He sits up slightly, on one elbow, resting his head on his hand. Even in the darkness I’m aware he is running his fingers through his hair. I know him so well, this stranger.
‘You chose your path, Peter.’
‘I’m not making excuses, but I feel like I’m apologising on behalf of someone else. I hear you now and I agree, and I hate that stupid, arrogant boy who wanted it all. But believe me when I say I’m different now.’
‘Do people really change?’ I ask, probably sounding cynical but it’s a genuine question. After all that happened can I ever trust him enough to really love him again?
‘I probably had to live a little before I became me,’ he says. ‘I never had to try too hard for anything and when the sea got a little rough I let you go, I wanted to ride my own waves. I made the biggest mistake of my life – but that was the beginning of me growing up and it changed me. I had houses, cars, a beautiful wife and a great career – and every day I would wake up and my heart would sink a little, because all I ever wanted was you.’
Oh, how I wished he’d said that forty-odd years ago. And why do I suddenly feel so guilty for feeling that? I loved Mike and always will.
‘Are we really meant to be together now, or is it the great tragedy that we were meant for each other once, but missed our way? Is it too late for us, Peter?’
‘No, it isn’t. As I’m beginning to know you again I feel like I’m coming back to life. My feelings for you are as strong as they ever were.’ He turns his head to look at me.
‘I didn’t expect to ever feel like this again . . . not at my age,’ I say.
We lie in silence for a while, both thinking; apart, yet together. Then, eventually he pushes on through the silence.
‘Thank you for telling me, Rosie, I needed to know what happened.’
‘And I needed you to know,’ I say, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted, glad I’ve finally been able to share this with him.
‘What about you? How do you feel?’ he suddenly asks in the darkness.
‘I feel better. I feel like everything happened for a reason and though things don’t always make sense to us at the time, we sometimes realise that they were meant to be.’
‘Life has a way of working out,’ he says.
‘Yes, you often said that, and you are right.’
‘So, let’s talk about tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that,’ he says. ‘If you could have anything happen, what would it be? What’s your greatest wish?’
‘I wouldn’t want to change the past, but I do wish you’d known me at twenty-five, I wish you’d waited long enough to love me in my thirties and forties. I wish you’d seen how good I still looked then and how my breasts stayed pert and my waist stayed trim. I wish you’d held my hand and those of our children when my skin was fresh and I was young and vital with energy and still had so much life to live. But that’s just fantasy and it wouldn’t have worked, and it’s better that you waited until now to come back.’
‘I think we’re both ready for this. I was never a great believer in fate, but what were the chances that Pamela would choose your florist and we’d meet that day at my niece’s wedding?’
‘I know, I’ve been wondering recently if Mike set us up. I think he’d want me to be happy again and he’d want me to have a man in my life, if only to take me out for lunch and treat me well, make me happy – and you do.’
‘I’ve never been happier. I feel like I’ve been looking for something all my life and I’ve finally found it and at the ripe old age of sixty-five I’m in love again with my first love, for a second time,’ he says.
My heart softens when I hear this. I’m not ready yet to say I love him, but in a teenage way I’m delighted he said it first.
‘This is different from the first time though,’ he says. ‘The only way I can describe it is that it feels like home.’
‘That’s so lovely, I know what you mean. It’s calmer, we’re both older, more accepting. But I do wonder what my kids would say about me lying in a hotel room with you – “At your age, Mum?” I can hear them now. I should be babysitting grandchildren and sucking on boiled sweets with a copy of The People’s Friend.’ We both laugh and I think how lucky I am that he’s come along and saved me at a time in my life when I needed something else, someone just for me.
‘I think we should give ourselves another chance, let’s take this a little further and see where it goes,’ he says. ‘Let’s go to the cinema this weekend and if you want to come back to my hotel again . . . ?’
‘Okay, that sounds good. But I have to warn you I’m too old to worry about racy underwear and ageing cellulite and as exciting as it may be, the thought of having sex with someone new frightens me to death.’
‘That’s okay, I don’t care about racy cellulite or ageing underwear.’ He smiles.
‘Oh, I have those too.’
We laugh, like we always did. I have a feeling we have a lot more laughter to come.
Just a few hours later my mobile alarm wakes me and I’m amazed not to be in my own bed a
lone. I reach out and there he is, smiling. ‘I always longed to watch you sleeping, but never had the chance until now,’ he says, his hand on my cheek. I stir slightly and smile back, aware my mascara must be blurry and the rest of my beautifully applied make-up long gone. ‘You okay?’ he asks.
‘Yes. I’m sorry, I have to get up. My granddaughter . . . ’
‘So, the cinema?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘And we’re going to start seeing each other? You want this?’
I feel happy, but a little shaky. I think about Mike and the girls and I wonder if I’m doing the right thing, but if I don’t do this now I never will.
‘Yes, I do – if you do?’
‘Of course.’
I dress in the bathroom. I still want to keep a little bit of me to myself and I’m worried how my sixty-something body will look in the cold light of morning to my old lover’s eyes. Last night was a watershed, we talked openly and honestly and shared something very deep. I finally feel like I’m coming out of the darkness of the past, of all the grief and loss, and moving forward. And now we’ve talked I feel ready to take things further with Peter and perhaps become something more than just old friends.
I catch myself in the mirror and smile at the woman looking back. She’s not too bad for her age and on closer inspection, there’s definitely a little more light in those eyes than yesterday. And as we leave the room we kiss in the doorway and my tummy is filled with apple blossom again.
Chapter Sixteen
It’s hard to imagine being without Peter in my life now, but then I suppose he’s always been around in some form. His return has reminded me of Rosie – not the mum, the grandmother, or the widow – just Rosie.
Customers in the shop have been remarking on how well I’m looking and Anna just asked me if I’m using a different moisturiser. I want to tell everyone why I’m looking and feeling younger, why I’m walking with a spring in my step and why I’ve joined the gym and had my hair highlighted. Corrine has been telling me for years I need to ‘go blonder’. ‘Blondes have more fun, love,’ she said last week as she slapped on acres of nose-stinging bright blue bleach. I hope she’s right. I don’t say anything to anyone other than Corrine, but I know it’s because of Peter, he’s put the light back in my eyes, the colour back in my life and I’m beginning to believe in myself again. I’m excited by him like I used to be, and hearing him talk about the things he’s done, the places he’s been doesn’t make me sad or envious, it makes me want to do it for myself. I’ve no regrets about the way my life’s turned out, my family mean everything to me and I wouldn’t change my time with them for the world, but I’ve never done anything my granddaughters would post on their Facebook pages or tweet about.
Recently I’ve been thinking perhaps now is the time to do these things. Since Peter has swept back into my life it feels like I am slowly opening up like a flower. I want to leap into oceans and ride waves, to climb on a clapped-out lorry and journey through India, trek the Himalayas. I want to see all the places I once dreamed of, but never arrived at.
I don’t say too much to the girls about Peter, they know he’s a friend and they make jokes about ‘Mum’s new man’, but they don’t for a minute think it’s anything more than a rekindling of an old friendship. And that’s all it was initially: a few lunches, some nice times talking about how the world once was. But now it’s much more than friendship, we’ve shared the pain of the past and I feel we’ve come through it together. I am interested in the possibility of much more with Peter, but it’s never going to be just about what I want. I have to see how things go before I start making announcements and calling him ‘my partner’. I’m older and it’s so different from before because whether I like it or not more people will be involved in this relationship. I now come with a whole heap of baggage! For the moment perhaps I’ll keep Peter’s involvement in my life vague. I’ll tell them soon – when it feels right. I’ll hold him close to my chest, like a bridesmaid with a fragrant posy – my delicious secret.
I’m not sure my girls are ready for me to have a ‘boyfriend’. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready. I know they’re grown-ups, but Mike was their dad and introducing Peter as something significant will be changing the dynamic of our family.
Initially it may only be a slight shift, but it will exist, and it will be impossible to go back from that point. I’m terrified they may feel he’s taking the role of their dad, something Peter could never do. He and Mike are like passing ships . . . Peter gave me the thrill, the passion, showed me a world I’d never seen before; he taught me so much about life and art and people – and he was the love of my life, always will be. But I came to love Mike as much, in a different way, he was the calm after the storm, and he stepped in and loved me selflessly. The girls both know Peter once broke my heart and who’s to say he won’t again? But this time I’m older and wiser and I can look after myself. This time around I’m going into this with my eyes wide open.
If I’m honest, the young Rosie that still lives somewhere inside me is a little scared of entering into this relationship. I suppose I’m also worried if I tell everyone then real life will intrude and the magic will end, like it did before, and I don’t want that – I want to escape hand in hand with Peter into our past, and that summer when life was simple and my heart was intact.
I am always honest with the girls and tell them when I’m seeing Peter, but I usually invent a reason: ‘He wants me to help him choose some plant bulbs for his garden,’ or ‘He’s passing through Manchester and we’re meeting for a quick coffee.’ I don’t tell them the reason he’s in Manchester is because he wants to see me and kiss me with a passion that takes my breath away – and that garden bulbs are the last thing on either of our minds.
It doesn’t occur to my daughters that I might be having more than just a coffee or a nice lunch with an old friend. And when I look into his eyes I know my thoughts are quite inappropriate for a lady of a certain age with two grandchildren.
‘Have you tried the new wine bar on Deansgate?’ Isobel asks as we prepare flowers for a funeral. Anna’s doing the big floral tribute and Isobel and I are making up the smaller ones.
‘No, I hear it’s really trendy though. Apparently the Man United players go there. I’d love to go, but I’d feel old up against all those WAGs in their miniskirts and hair extensions,’ Anna remarks.
Neither of them ask me if I’ve been and both look at me open-mouthed when I say, ‘It’s not that bad, the tapas is lovely and the wine’s not overpriced.’
‘How do you know?’ Anna asks, looking at Isobel.
‘I was there on Friday night.’
‘Who with?’
‘Peter. I did say I was going out with him.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t realise you meant you were going out at night. That’s the second time you’ve been out late with him.’
‘Fourth actually . . . or is it fifth? Terrible, isn’t it? We should really be indoors after six p.m., but sometimes we meet up in our zimmer frames after dark for a Horlicks,’ I joke.
Anna is looking at me. ‘But you never said.’
‘But you never asked.’
‘Mum, you should tell us where and when you’re going out – what if something happened?’
‘Then Peter would be with me. Anyway, you two go out and you don’t always tell me where and when and who with.’
‘That’s different . . . ’
‘Not really, I worry about you as much as you worry about me. The only difference is I’ve been worrying about you two a lot longer.’
‘Well from now on I want you to text me when you arrive somewhere.’
‘No, I’m not texting you every time I go to the bloody toilet. You’re not my mother and I’m not sixteen, Anna.’
‘I’m not asking you to text me all the time . . . I’m just saying you should let us know your whereabouts.’
‘Okay, I shall furnish you with a laminated wall chart covering my social activities for
the next month,’ I say.
‘I bet it would fill a wall chart too. You’re never home these days, unlike me. I wish I could have one night out. I’m fed up of ferrying kids to dancing classes and back, and now Emma wants to go to parties – and they always seem to be on my weekend,’ Anna starts. ‘I told her, no more parties, you’ve got exams and I’m not spending another Saturday night sober, so she’s going over to her friend Chloe’s to revise.’
‘Oh, don’t talk to me about Saturday nights,’ Isobel says. ‘All Richard wants to do is hammer nails in walls and sit gazing at his Screwfix catalogue. And when I say screw . . . I don’t mean . . . ’
‘Well, it’s all relative, looking at DIY screws probably is porn to Richard,’ I say, feeling slightly outrageous.
‘Mother!’ Anna laughs and gives me a mock disapproving look. ‘When did you get so raunchy?’
‘Ah, you’d be surprised,’ I say.
They both laugh and I count my blessings they assume that on the whole I’m living a chaste life of garden centres and light lunches with another OAP. I suppose that’s how the rest of the world sees us two older people – but when we’re together, it isn’t like that. With him I feel young again with the world at my feet. If the girls only knew the adventures we have in our heads they would be amazed. We talk of travelling the world and of course of living in Paris and I’m beginning to think the dream isn’t dead after all. One day perhaps . . .
So while Anna’s worrying about Emma and Isobel’s complaining about Richard’s latest screw obsession, my life is not on their radar. This is a huge relief as it means they don’t ask too many searching questions about what I’m up to, and I can have fun without explaining myself to anyone – for the first time in my life.
