Seven Days There

by Ruth Hay

  The effort left him depleted and the pain returned with a vengeance. Valerie recognized the signs and left quickly to summon the nurse to his bedside.

  David Westwood never regained consciousness.

  The weeks that followed were a blur. Brian took over the funeral arrangements that his father had carefully organized. People came and went from the house. Food and cards were left.

  Days and nights passed. She was deep in a dark place, silent and alone but it was, in the end, a place of healing. So much of her life had been devoted to David’s recovery that she had lost the ability to recognize her own needs.

  It was not until she awoke one winter morning with deep snow on the ground and that peculiar stillness that indicates everything in the city has come to a halt, that she finally acknowledged the fact that she, Valerie Westwood, was still alive in the midst of the silence.

  She had immediately craved sound and life around her. She turned on the radio and switched on the gas fire. She went around the bedroom and picked up discarded clothes from the floor, dropping them in a hamper as she went.

  Then she tackled the living room and laughed out loud. Not much living had been happening in that room for weeks. There were cups floating with dregs of tea and coffee, a few plates with the remains of casseroles left by well-meaning neighbours, and a scattering of empty cookie and chip bags. She could not remember how these had got there or what the contents had tasted like.

  The kitchen was remarkably clean but the refrigerator was stuffed with uneaten food, most of which would have to be thrown out.

  On the hall table, the phone pulsed with a red light signalling messages unanswered. A pile of cards and notes had overbalanced and tumbled onto the floor. Had she taken this mail inside the house then ignored it? For how long?

  On her way back into the living room she caught sight of a stranger in the mirror and staggered back in shock. Who was this woman with straggling grey hair, sunken eyes and a haunted face? The woman raised her hand to cover her mouth and Valerie saw her own wedding rings on that hand.

  This was the final jolt that catapulted her into the bathroom and a hot shower. No one had ever seen her in this unkempt condition. She shivered to think what her sons or daughters-in-law would have thought had they found her like this. She was grateful that none of them lived close enough to pop over for a quick visit.

  As the soothing water ran down her body, she wept the salt tears that washed away the pain and sorrow and brought her back to the realization that she was still alive and she had a mission.

  David’s final words to her demanded a response.

  Move on. Find happiness. Think of yourself. Go where you want.

  Winter had melted into an early spring before she was ready to act. There had been a backlog of phone calls and letters and visits to the boys and their families to reassure them she was, indeed, coping.

  There were offers of dinners and days away and cottages to share but most of these she had politely turned down. Figuring out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life demanded a great deal of quiet thinking time.

  First, there was the house. After the boys married, the house outside London, in Kilworth, that had sheltered four for so many happy years seemed empty and echoing. Superimposed on good memories were others tainted by Dave’s cancer treatments and their aftermath. For too long there had been no energy left over for household repairs or the replacements and the renovations that the old house required.

  Halfway through carpet removal, painting work and the disposal of outmoded furniture, drapes, clothing and decorative items, Valerie came to the conclusion that she was, in effect, preparing her home for sale.

  This surprising discovery revitalized her energies and she set to the task of emptying shelves of ancient books and clearing out the stored basement boxes. She took photos of china sets and souvenirs of boyhood treasures and sent them to her children. It was no surprise when the response was to give these to a charity as they were not required. She did as requested and soon found the clearer, more spacious look of the house was both calming and invigorating.

  Second, came the personal overhaul. All the hard work in the house had worn away the pounds accumulated during the years of nursing duties. The hair that she had pinned out of her way while she scrubbed floors and washed cupboard shelves, now demanded some attention.

  A trip to a well-advertised local spa resolved the question of what improvements in her appearance might be possible. The beautiful, young girls who inhabited the various departments of the spa, did not seem fazed by the middle-aged body and neglected skin and hair she presented to them. They gently cleansed, buffed, moisturized and applied a series of potions and pastes while praising any positive feature they could find in their protégé.

  Valerie learned she had lovely pale hands and nails and her hair was fine-textured and naturally wavy. According to these experts, she had somehow acquired a well-proportioned figure.

  The new woman who emerged from a series of spa sessions, was almost unrecognizable to herself.

  Valerie’s confidence rose as she saw in her own mirror, (not as forgiving as the ones she had used in the spa but flattering nevertheless), a slender attractive person with short, fair hair, polished nails and skin that glowed with the application of careful make-up. Her brows were plucked into submission, her eyelashes darkened and her lips had been enlarged by a lipstick that somehow supplied colour with added volume. Massage had even improved the skin of her neck and chest remarkably.

  It would have been ungrateful and uncharitable to refuse to make use of this newly-refurbished Valerie.

  It was part of what Dave had wished for her. Move on. Find happiness.

  Happiness was a far-off goal for now, but satisfaction could be found in the new clothes she needed to complement her updated image. At first this seemed like a simple task. Buying clothes was something in which she had definitely had prior experience. But time had passed since then and she found herself bemused by the different styles and colours she saw everywhere.

  What would suit her now? Where should she shop? Some stores she had formerly patronized had actually disappeared from the retail scene. Eaton’s was long gone and Sears’ stores were vanishing.

  Even Zellers, where she had once found good bargains, had been replaces by a giant Target which now seemed to cater exclusively to very young shoppers.

  She was wandering around the downtown streets looking for inspiration when rain began to fall and she stepped back into a doorway to shelter until the shower had passed. The rain pursued her there and threatened to soak a new pair of shoes, the one item she had felt confident enough to buy. Entering the store was a convenient way to keep dry and pass the time.

  It was a narrow shop receding into the back area but the colourful mannequins made up for the lack of space. She walked forward to the first display and saw at once that the entire outfit was exactly what she had been hoping to find. There was a soft jacket in a plum colour matched to a draped skirt with a reasonable length instead of the miniskirts she had been seeing everywhere. The scarf around the mannequin’s neck was delightful and the purse with a long strap complemented the entire outfit. It was perfect!

  The reason was soon evident. A mature woman emerged from the back of the store and enquired if she could be of some help. One glance demonstrated that the owner’s own clothing was the model for her displays.

  Valerie left the store, some hours later, with several bags of new clothes and an invitation to call any time for a consultation or delivery. She knew she had made a new friend and ally.

  With the outer transformation completed, Valerie Westwood had to tackle the next step.

  Where did she want to go?

  This decision was much more difficult. Having recently visited her sons and their families, she knew she was not needed in their lives. Her two lovely daughters-in-law were good wives and mothers. Each of them had a mother of her own nearby to call upon in emergencies. To her sons’ chil
dren, Valerie was ‘your Gran from Ontario. Your Dad’s mother, remember?’ The truth was that she had been isolated by David’s medical needs for so long that she had missed the vital early years of her grandchildren’s childhoods. It was too late to catch up now. Perhaps when they were older she could try again.

  So, where did she want to be in the meantime?

  The family home was not yet up for sale but finding somewhere new in the town should not be a problem. There were condo complexes of every size and shape popping up all over the place.

  Is that what she wanted? A simpler life?

  One beautiful May evening as she sat on the front porch with a glass of wine in hand and a cashmere shawl around her shoulders, she thought about where she had felt the most happy. She had already excluded the years with the babies around her knees in this home and later when she took up teaching again. The important thing now was to look forward.

  And yet, a memory emerged that had a powerful link to both the past and to David. When the boys were in college and busy with work and their friends in the summer months, she and David had gone back to Britain for holidays. It was always so reassuring to travel to places they had once known so well. Places where there were no language problems or strange money to deal with; where there were family members to visit if they chose to, or new areas to explore on their own.

  They had started in Scotland and revisited the scenes of their respective childhoods and the early days of their marriage. Inevitably, there were disappointments. They say you can never go home again. The church where they were wed had been demolished. The old school, once such an imposing building seemed small, old and shabby now. Rows of shops that, in memory required a long walk, were reduced to nothing from a car trip. All was changed.

  So they followed the tourist routes around the coastal towns. They found castles and glens, vast moors and spectacular mountains. They got lost a few times but laughed at their mistakes and often discovered quiet places off the beaten track they would never had seen otherwise.

  David was a seeker of unusual crafts and jewellery. She used to joke that he could smell out craft shops from miles away and he was seldom wrong.

  Before the airlines lowered the boom on luggage allowances, many treasures, large and small, were flown back to Canada to decorate their home.

  It was on one of their trips to the Borders that they had decided to take a detour to the Lake District in the north-west of England, not far from the Scottish town of Carlisle. They had heard tales of the wonders of this part of England. In fact, so many recommendations and fervid comments along the lines of ‘Oh, you must go there!’, that they had felt reluctant to add to the songs of praise.

  How could any place be so wonderful? It was sure to be another disappointment.

  Of course, they could not have been more wrong. From the first moment when they saw the mountains rising into the sky above them, they were hooked. Not that the mountains in Scotland were any less magnificent. Those northern rugged peaks were forbidding and largely inaccessible to the casual walker. In the Lake District, fells and mountains were threaded by well-maintained paths. Signs denoting Public Footpaths would lead through woods to hillsides and then ever upward to grand and glorious peaks. Achieving the climb was satisfying and so was the knowledge that by following the path downward, flat ground would safely be found again.

  Valerie was enchanted. Every time she stopped to catch her breath, by simply turning her head she would see amazing views over lakes and into the far distance. It was truly a magical place.

  Best of all, she thought, those adventures had been shared by David; a younger version of her husband who had then been fit and energetic. The fresh air gave them both an appetite for food, for love, for life itself. They returned home to Canada renewed and invigorated.

  That was then.

  Valerie wondered why the memories had come to her with such vivid impact. Then she realized these were happy times in a happy place. So, was this where she should be?

  Immediately, she retreated from the idea. Holidays were not real life. Summer days were not the same as winter months. A year in the mountains where the towns were spread apart and facilities could be scarce in bad weather would be stepping back to an environment that had originally driven her and David to leave for Canada. Their lives were in Canada. Their children and grandchildren were here.

  She could not abandon all that. Those links may be fragile at the moment but they were vital links.

  She knew no one in that beautiful part of England. Being alone there would be worse than wandering around in this empty mausoleum of a house.

  But why be alone there?

  Life consisted of many links. Family was one, but there were important links to old friends.

  Why not invite Sandra and Corinne, and even Zoe, to join her in the Lake District? They were all living in Scotland or England. Not far for them to travel and a chance for Valerie to revisit a happier time in her life.

  The idea caught fire in her mind. It could be wonderful to spend a week together renewing old memories and getting caught up with all that she had missed. She would use the money Dave had left her to find a place large enough for all of them.

  Once decided, the plan went swiftly forward. Letters were written and sent to the addresses she had used last Christmas. She would follow up with phone calls if necessary, but she wanted each of the women to have time to consider her invitation without the pressure of having to provide an instant reply.

  Using the internet to survey the many holiday rental options she soon found a suitable apartment with ample space for four. It was situated on a steep hillside in Ambleside, a town she was familiar with from the old days. More research produced a car rental firm whose associates assured her they had a ‘people carrier’ sufficient in size to accommodate ‘her party’. She had a moment of dismay thinking of the many times David had taken on this task for her and driven her everywhere she requested. Now it was all up to her. The next thought passing through her mind was that both the car and the self-catering apartment might prove to be more spaces much too large for one, should none of her old friends accept her offer.

  Defying the odds that presented themselves, she packed a case and booked a hotel for three days before the designated week so she could get oriented to the area again and look for restaurants, food stores and interesting locations for the group to visit.

  Everything was in place.

  Who would be joining her?

  Four.

  Another week went by before the first letter arrived.

  Predictably, it was from Sandra. Her oldest and dearest friend began by apologizing profusely for her neglect of the last few years and Valerie had to read fast through this part until she reached the important information. Yes, Sandra would be joining her for the week. She ended by writing she did not think Corinne would be available but hoped Valerie would not be too upset if it was only the two of them.

  The very thought of time alone with Sandra made Valerie’s heart sing. They knew each other so well. Years between their meetings meant nothing compared to the years they had spent together while their lives and careers were forming. Marriage and children were shared experiences. Valerie’s two boys and Sandra’s three girls were a constant source of comment between them. They had even speculated about the possibility that one of the boys might marry one of the girls and so cement the families together forever.

  That was not to be. When Valerie and David made the decision to emigrate, the distance severed the children’s prior closeness and the lives of all five went in different directions.

  This thought made Valerie return to the boxes in her house labelled, ‘To be kept’. She found the one containing family photographs and extracted the most recent ones of her boys and the grandkids which she had printed from her camera after her recent visits.

  She made a note to ask Sandra to do the same for her girls and their families. Photographs were not the same as the frequent occasions to share
her grandkids’ lives that Sandra had always been blessed with, but they were an excellent way to start conversations about how things changed over time and Valerie wondered if those conversations would provide a way for her to accept this disappointment in her own life. Did her friends also have areas of dissatisfaction? Places where things had not turned out as expected? Surely everyone had sorrows of this type. She thought about the comfort of sharing sorrows and the possible solutions that might present themselves when two, or three, female minds worked together. It might be an idea to make preparations for this in the same way as she had planned to survey the places to visit in the Lake District.

  She set out to make a list of questions to promote discussion then wondered if that could be perceived as intrusive. And yet, it would be an opportunity to move conversation onto a different level; a deeper stratum where truths and secrets could be mined.

  After all, if it turned out that Corinne could join them, it would make a fund of information about three long-term marriages and the peaks and pitfalls of such unusual unions. These days ‘starter’ marriages of only a few years seemed to be acceptable.

  She struggled with this dilemma for three more days and then decided to make a list but to reserve it until, and unless, the perfect opportunity arose.

  The List.

  If you could talk to your teenage self, what advice would you offer her?

  Did you marry the right man?

  What kept you going during the rough patches?

  What is your biggest fear?

  She put the list in her luggage together with the photographs and a few pairs of shoes. At this point she discovered two things. First, the case was already feeling heavy. Second, she would need light climbing boots and an expandable walking stick, or two. Although she was aware the heights she had once scaled with David would now be beyond her capacity, she was determined to try for some of the more modest climbs, if only to give her friend, or friends, a chance to feel that liberating sense of exhilaration and achievement when released from the confines of earthbound civilization for a brief time.