by Sue Watson
It’s been a lovely Christmas so far. Isobel and Richard joined us for lunch at Anna’s yesterday and Peter called me on my mobile in the afternoon to say Happy Christmas. I’m aware I still need to take this gently, for him as much as the girls, and for me too, because Christmas is about memories and family and Mike’s chair is empty. It will get easier, but I know he’s with me. I see him when I look up into the night sky and he tells me I must decide what I want next. I think I’ve finally worked it out. I’m excited and in the words of my granddaughters, I’m ‘going for it’.
Peter has arrived and everyone’s in the living room with drinks and nibbles and Corrine’s turned up with a bottle of bubbly. I’m wearing red lipstick for the first time in for ever and Katie’s just told me I look ‘hot’. I’m feeling like a supermodel. I think I’ll find some high heels in the New Year sales and start strutting my stuff – I always said heels aren’t me, but I’m discovering a new me and I think she’d look hot in heels. I sit on the arm of Peter’s chair as he chats with Greg. I can see the teenager is impressed – Peter’s attained a certain ‘cool’ celebrity status with the younger ones since the last family gathering. Emma is going round with her tablet showing everyone the photo of me when I was seventeen and Peter is beaming. He’s bought gifts for everyone, but as I was busy getting the drinks and nibbles I’m not sure what he’s bought for whom until Anna grabs me when I’m alone in the kitchen chopping cucumber.
‘Mum, did you tell Peter we’re United fans?’
She almost shouts this in my face and I see her neck is mottled, which is a red flag to me. My heart sinks: oh God, what now?
‘Er, I may have told him, why?’
‘Because he’s only gone and booked a box at Old Trafford for all of us – and you and him too.’
‘Oh – is that good?’
‘Yes! I’ve never been in a box before . . . James and the girls are so excited.’
‘Good, good, when is the match?’ I ask.
‘February.’
‘Oh, I might not be able to make it, but you’ll still go with him, won’t you?’
‘Why, you’re not ill, are you?’
‘No . . . and stop asking me if I’m ill. Just because I’m in my sixties don’t assume everything I do revolves around some oncoming ailment. I’m not dead yet.’
‘Sorry, I’ve just been a bit stressed recently, worrying about James, then Isobel, and now you’re behaving weirdly.’
‘What do you mean “worrying about Isobel”?’ My radar is alerted.
‘Oh . . . I just mean the way she left the teaching job and now she doesn’t know if she wants to work in the shop or not.’
I see a flicker and wonder whether that’s really what she meant. I make a mental note to talk to Isobel later.
‘Well, that’s up to Isobel. I’ve said it before, but I really think we should be taking on new staff now.’
‘Can’t you come in a couple of days a week? I know you’re trying to leave, but . . . Oh. Has Peter asked you to marry him?’
I don’t answer her question. ‘You know, Peter only ever wanted to belong. He never had a family. He wanted children, but he and his wife couldn’t have kids,’ I say.
Anna’s face softens. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘He gets on so well with the girls and I know he’s not Dad, but he’d be there for you and Isobel too.’
She half-smiles, which is a big result.
‘I think Peter will be around quite a bit, and I know he’d appreciate some support from everyone,’ I say, taking a platter from the cupboard and laying thick slices of Christmas ham onto a large plate. The ham is laced with zingy orange and aromatic cloves and the fragrance reminds me of my home as a child at Christmas. And I think of Margaret presiding over the turkey, queen of bloody everything, her life swallowed up by disappointment. She wasn’t happy with my father, and she didn’t want her life for me, and I know she only kept Peter’s visit and his letters from me out of love to keep me safe from any more hurt. As mothers we do our best to put our arms around our kids, determined to keep them warm, happy and safe. It’s our job and we all do it in the ways we think best. And sometimes we make flawed decisions, but that’s okay, because those choices are made with love and as long as there’s love everything will work out in the end.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Later, when everyone has almost finished eating, I go into the lounge and find Isobel to interrogate her. I tell her Anna mentioned something about being worried about her and I ask if she’s okay.
‘I’m fine. You know our Anna, she worries about everyone and everything.’ Then she leans in and whispers, ‘Anyway, Mum, is the announcement that you and Peter are getting married?’
‘Ah, you’re about to find out.’ I wink and step out into the middle of the room. ‘Hello, hello, I want to talk to you all,’ I say loudly, addressing everyone around me. I’ve retouched my lipstick and I’m clanging my knife on my glass as they sit around with crammed buffet plates.
‘Okay . . . well, I have some news, but first I just want to say I was married to a wonderful man for forty-six years and I was very, very happy. Dad will always be with us and no one’s ever going to take that away or try to replace him, but recently I met Peter again, and I believe that Peter too will make me very happy.’ I hear a collective gasp, and Anna smiles; she thinks she knows what I’m going to say next.
‘But before I live with another man, I want to live with me first.’
‘You go, girl,’ shouts Emma with a whoop and a tear springs to my eye. She gets me, my granddaughter, she always has.
I smile at her and she raises her glass. I look away before my chin trembles and I start to cry.
‘So, as of next week I’m formally handing the business over to you girls as Dad and I always planned. I’ll sometimes be available to help out if you’re busy, but now it’s time for you to fly and for me to fly too. I’m going to do the things I’ve always wanted to do but thought I’d left too late – like paint and draw and travel.
‘Then I may, at some point in the future, sell the house, and buy something smaller. I might live on a houseboat, erect a tepee in someone’s back garden, live in a hippie commune in Cornwall and call myself Sunflower – who knows? I’m just going to see what happens, because I want to test Peter’s theory that life just has a way of working out.’ I smile again at Peter and he winks at me.
‘So, on Christmas Eve, on Dad’s advice, I booked a world trip. I’m starting in New Zealand then flying to Thailand, on to Vietnam, India and the Middle East. After that I’ll probably go by boat to Italy and then take a train to Paris, where six or seven months into my adventure, I hope to meet up with Peter.’
I hear some gasps and Corrine, always the drama queen, screams.
‘How long will you be away?’ Isobel asks.
I take a large glug of my wine and continue. ‘A few months, perhaps as long as a year, depending on how long my money . . . and my back last,’ I laugh.
Emma’s second whoop is followed swiftly by Katie’s and everyone seems smiley and positive. Even Anna isn’t actually scowling at this, but she looks surprised.
‘I want you all to know that though this trip is the most selfish, stupid, inconsiderate and foolhardy thing I’ve ever done, I have to do it – because if I don’t do it now, I never will. I also want you all to know that the only reason I can be so pigheaded and ridiculous at my age is because I have a wonderful, supportive family who I love very much. Oh, and because Peter’s agreed to look after Lily for me!’
‘See you in Paris,’ Peter says, raising his glass. He’s been behind me all the way with my crazy ‘Grey Gap Year’ plan. He understands it’s my time and I need to do all the things I wanted to back when we were teenagers. Peter also understands that I can’t accept his proposal of marriage – not yet, anyway.
I love him and I’m certainly not ruling marriage out, but before I consider sharing my life with another person again I need to find out ab
out me. I want to know what side of the bed I like to sleep on, whether I prefer planes or trains, boutique hotels or hostels? Champagne or beer? I don’t know because I’ve always lived with other people, from my parents’ home to a life with Mike and the girls. Now I want to see how I fit in the world through my own eyes in my own time.
‘Woohoo! YOLO, Nan!’ Emma is shouting and clapping her hands at my news. I’m not quite sure what YOLO means, but I think it’s good.
Peter is smiling proudly at the side of me. I think I may be a little tipsy but I don’t care, I can’t stop beaming and I look over to see Anna who’s looking at me and saying a silent ‘love you’.
When everyone’s gone home and Peter and I are alone in the aftermath of discarded wrapping paper and goodbye kisses, he pours us both a glass of champagne.
‘That went surprisingly well,’ I say, clinking glasses. This time there was no drama, Anna not only accepted that Peter would be staying the night, she asked us both round for brunch tomorrow. She also suggested they keep in touch while I’m away. ‘You know what she’s like,’ I heard her say. ‘She’ll be sending weird messages with predictive text like “I’ve been taken” when what she meant to say was “I’ve been to the Taj Mahal”. You’ll be calling the Embassy and I’ll be having kittens.’
Peter then told her he was setting up some computer tracking thingy that will follow where I am and if she wanted he would link it to her computer too so she would also know where I was.
‘Our Anna must have LOVED the idea of her computer tracking me all over the world,’ I laugh.
‘Yes, it seemed to bond us even more than the box at United,’ he laughs. He’s doing this for me and I know in his way he’s trying to make it up to me for the past.
We sit together on the sofa, toasting the future while looking through old photos. Our past is never far from our present.
I show him photos of the kids when they were little, and more recent ones of the grandchildren as babies. Every time one of us says ‘ah’, Lily, who’s sitting between us, wags her tail slowly, assuming naturally that we’re talking about her.
‘Me and Lily are going to be best pals,’ he says, tickling her neck. ‘And I’ll keep an eye on everyone else for you while you’re away,’ he adds, gazing at photos of little Anna and Isobel making snowmen.
‘I know you will, and it’s you being here that’s given me the courage to go. I know you feel you let me down, but we were just kids caught up in emotions we didn’t understand and both too young to cope when the grown-up stuff came along. I feel like you waited for your cue and turned up in my life when I needed you – and you were all grown up and helped me find my way back in the dark.’ I sip on my champagne, it’s cold and tingly, and I feel blissfully happy. For the first time in a very long time there are no shadows. We put away the photos and finish our glasses of champagne, both exhausted, invigorated and looking forward to what happens next. My life is opening out onto new horizons, and who knows where they will lead. Peter may not be for ever, but he’s shown me a new happy ending – made me realise that I am capable of anything, regardless of my age.
Finally, Peter and I exchange our Christmas gifts. We chose to save this for when we are alone and I’m glad we did as, along with a beautiful silver necklace that says ‘Bon Voyage’ on a tiny gold heart, Peter gives me the framed picture he drew of me. I love it. If you’d told me that Peter Moreton would finally get to draw me naked one day, I would never have believed it. And if you’d told me I was the one who asked him to do it I’d think you were crazy. I hold the picture on my lap and gaze at it, tracing the lines over the glass frame, seeing myself reflected back, the older Rosie seeing the younger Rosie both finally in sync.
‘This makes me feel so special,’ I say, contemplating the soft, undulating curves, the strong, straight back, the eyes filled with fresh hope and sparkle. ‘I’ll put it on my bedroom wall and when I wake up in the morning with aches and pains and think about how old I am, I’ll only have to look at this and see how beautiful I am.’
My gift to Peter is the Paris map we once pored over together – it’s covered in sticky tape and wrapped in old newspapers from 1968 which Emma searched out on the internet for me.
‘It’s a piece of you and me,’ he says, running his beautiful long, slender fingers slowly from the Arc de Triomphe all the way down to the Gare de Lyon.
He looks up. ‘You know I’d come with you on the whole journey if you wanted me to?’
‘I know, but I have to do this alone. It’s my journey, I have to lay some ghosts, see some stars, sleep under a faraway moon and see a foreign sunset through my own eyes.’
He hugs me and I feel warm and safe and I wonder for a moment if I’m doing the right thing leaving it all behind, even if it is only for six months.
‘Peter – I’m excited, but a bit scared.’
‘Scared is good. There’d be something wrong with you if you weren’t. You’re spending a long time on the other side of the world. You won’t see your family for months . . . ’
‘When you put it like that I want to cancel it all – where’s the phone?’ I half joke.
‘You won’t cancel,’ he says, leaning back to look at me, his fingers forming the square, mentally photographing me. ‘My Rosie’s back, the one with fire in her belly and excitement in her eyes . . . Chase the light, draw everything you see and see everything you possibly can.’ He stops a moment, his eyes are damp, red-rimmed. It will be hell to be apart again. But how can I stay and carry on as I was? Peter has sprinkled his magic again and life is slowly opening out onto new horizons.
He kisses me and I can already see those stars twinkling in that dark sky in New Zealand, the sunset melting over India and a dream coming true in Paris. We’re still in love with the people we once were before life came between us and now it’s time to discover who we are now.
‘Fly away, Rosie,’ Peter says, stroking my face. ‘Go out there and do what you have to do and see what you have to see, and know I’ll be waiting for you in Place Saint-Germain-des-Pres, at our little Parisian coffee shop.’
We’ll visit the Paris we used to dream about long ago as we stood in wet bus stops or in fields looking up at the stars. We’ll sail down the Seine, visit Mona Lisa at her home in the Louvre and hit the top of the Eiffel Tower, then we’ll look down on our city and just take her in. Some days we’ll spend like teenagers staying in bed until noon in our artist’s garret in Montmartre, then Peter will take photos and I’ll sketch on the Parisian streets. We’ll spend the afternoons lying on the grass in the sunshine eating French pastries until we’re fat. Together we’ll have new adventures, make new pictures and new memories. The past is what brought us here – but it won’t hold us back.
Epilogue
Peter and I are enjoying coffee and croissants on a park bench in the sunshine.
The sky is incredibly blue for late autumn and though we’re both wearing woolly jumpers the sun is warm on my face. The croissants are soft and buttery, still warm from the French bakery near the park and I tear mine apart, eating mouth-size morsels, the flakes so light they are melting on my tongue.
‘These are the best I ever tasted,’ Peter says.
‘Me too, that’s because they are made by a Frenchman,’ I say, sipping my coffee.
It’s wonderful to finally be together again. In the past few months I’ve been to places I’d only read about and seen things I thought I’d never see. I relished it all and appreciate the world far more than I did as a younger woman because on this trip I took nothing for granted. Every moment was a gift.
‘Your emails from New Zealand were quite beautiful,’ Peter says. ‘I hope you did Mike proud?’
I smile. ‘I hope so. The vast blackness of the night sky took my breath away.’ I stayed in a hotel with windows in the roof and lay in bed under an infinite black canopy alive with shimmering stars. I felt like Mike was with me and helping me put everything into perspective. We live these lives with such big e
motions, oceans of love and turmoil go into our existence and yet we’re so small. We are such a minuscule part of the bigger picture and it could all be over in a moment, so we have to keep going, we must never stop chasing the light or gazing at the stars. ‘I just felt this awe, a powerlessness in the presence of what looked like eternity. And I suddenly thought, it’s all going to be okay, nature’s got this, and I let go. You can’t fight it – whatever will be, will be,’ I say.
He nods, listening intently as I relive every second.
Then I tell him about a Sunday afternoon, on a train trundling past Goan beaches, children splashing in the sea, the smoke from late-afternoon cooking floating through the carriages. I share with him my memory of Phang Nga Bay at sunset, water the colour of burnt orange pooling into dense turquoise as the day dipped. And I describe the bliss of cold beer on a hot day on the café terrace of the Uffizi art gallery, looking out over the Florence skyline.
‘Sorry we didn’t get to meet in Paris, darling,’ I say, leaning against him, my head on his shoulder.
‘Not this time, but we could hardly have missed the birth of your new grandson.’ At the very mention of baby Michael my heart fills with something like warm strawberry jam.
Given her history it was a lovely but scary surprise learning about Isobel’s pregnancy. I had a feeling there was something the girls weren’t telling me when Anna slipped up about Isobel’s ‘appointment’, despite Isobel saying all was fine. Anyway, Isobel and Richard had decided to try one last time for a baby and the appointments were Isobel visiting the hospital for treatment.
They didn’t tell me because Isobel didn’t want me to hold off going away on my trip of a lifetime and she didn’t want me to go through the trauma if things didn’t work out. We always protect each other, us Carter girls.
