Chapter 10
NETTA
Netta wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, but she was glad of the shade of the oak tree behind her because the sun was high in the sky now.
She’d thought about heading home straight after Blair had left, but instead, she’d stayed, choosing the peace and tranquillity of the cemetery over going home to rattle around in an empty house until it was time to go into work.
She tried Mandy’s phone again, anxious to check that she was okay, but still no reply. So still, she sat.
She tried to cast her mind back to the previous year and her visit to Fergus’s grave on the same date.
The three of them had come together. Blair had organised that, saying that it was the first year without Fergus, so they should make an effort.
Mandy had stayed for ten minutes, then left, declaring that she had a busy day at work.
Netta had accepted it, giving Mandy the space to deal with her grief and her mixed feelings towards her dad. Now she wondered if that was a mistake.
After Fergus had died, and Mandy no longer had a reason to be frustrated with what she perceived as Netta’s tolerance of his domineering ways, Netta had hoped that she and Mandy could get closer again, but that hadn’t happened.
With every month that had passed since then, Mandy had remained distant, and now it was almost impossible to reach her.
That’s why Netta had brought along something she hoped would help.
An invitation that she hoped Mandy would accept.
Just a shame she wasn’t here for Netta to give it to her.
‘Would you mind if I sat here for a moment?’
Netta opened her eyes to see a slight, grey-haired lady around the same age as her, with a kind face that was a bit pink around the edges.
The woman responded to Netta’s pleasant, ‘Of course not – please go ahead,’ by plonking herself down on the bench and pulling a tissue out from the arm of her fine-knit yellow cardigan and blowing her nose.
‘Thank you. This heat is a killer. Honestly, the only place to be on a day like this is on a sun lounger in Tenerife.’
Now that she was closer, Netta could see that the lady’s eyes were red and guessed that she’d been shedding a few tears. Her heart went out to her.
‘Sorry – please ignore me if you don’t want to talk, but are you okay?’
That made the stranger smile. ‘I can honestly say that anyone who knows me would tell you that there’s never been a time in my life when I didn’t want to talk. My Peter used to say that people like me were what gave the genius that invented the remote control the idea for a mute button.’
Netta smiled at the thought. ‘Sounds like your Peter liked to make you laugh.’
The woman nodded. ‘He did, aye. Sorry, I forgot my manners. I’m Nancy. Nancy Jenkins.’
‘Netta McGonigle.’
‘Well, clearly our parents both got stuck on the N page of the baby names book,’ Nancy joked, then Netta watched as Nancy’s gaze went to the headstone they were sitting in front of.
Here lies Fergus McGonigle,
beloved husband of Netta…
And then her gaze went lower, to the date, and she caught the significance.
‘Och, I’m sorry, love – it’s your husband’s anniversary? I can leave you in peace…’
Netta shook her head. ‘No, no, not at all. I’ve been here a while, and I’ve said all the things I came to say.’
It wasn’t really true. The truth was, she’d run out of conversation with Fergus a long time ago.
Today had been more about doing what was right.
Honouring his memory. Acknowledging his life.
Not trying to come to terms with her grief.
She’d done that a long time ago. But, of course, she’d never admit that aloud and definitely not to a stranger.
There was a companionable silence before Nancy answered Netta’s unspoken question. ‘I’m here for a word with my Peter too. Four years he’s been gone now. That’s him just behind us.’
Netta swivelled her head around to see Peter Jenkins’ headstone.
‘I’m sorry.’
Nancy let out a sad, rueful chuckle. ‘I am too. I was hoping for another twenty years with him. But, och, life just bites you on the arse when you least expect it, doesn’t it?’
Netta nodded. ‘It does.’
‘How have you been since your man passed?’ Nancy asked.
Netta was about to give her stock answer of ‘fine’. Or ‘just getting on with it’. But weirdly, it felt like there was something freeing about speaking to a stranger, someone who didn’t know her and that she would never see again. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, ‘Lonely.’
‘That’s a tough thing to deal with, love.
I felt the same for a long time after Peter passed.
There was a huge hole in my heart and I had no idea how to fill it, how to make up for having that person right next to me every day, making me laugh, and sharing my life and wrapping his big lovely arms around me at the end of the night. ’
Netta could just have taken that onboard and pretended to share the sentiment. Agreed. Moved on. Given a few platitudes and kept her thoughts to herself. But it was as if a dam of words and feelings had burst inside her and she couldn’t hold back the waters.
‘The thing is, though, I don’t think I’ve just been lonely since he died. I think I was lonely for the forty years I was married to him too.’
Nancy’s silence and her raised eyebrow of curiosity encouraged Netta to go on.
‘Fergus wasn’t a sociable man. He liked us to keep to ourselves. To live a quiet life. And, somehow, I went along with that. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why.’
Nancy’s response to that was to blow out her cheeks and Netta wasn’t sure if that meant she was disapproving or just working up to her answer. When it came, it was surprisingly kind and sympathetic.
‘It was just what we did back then though, wasn’t it?
I couldn’t throw a stone at my over sixty-fives line dancing class and not hit a dozen women who stayed in unsatisfactory marriages because it was just the done thing.
I mean, I’d also get arrested for throwing the bloody rock in the first place, but you get my point. ’
Netta smiled as she nodded. ‘I do.’ She hadn’t thought about it that way.
Sometimes it had been so easy to feel that she was the only one in that position, not that there was a whole generation of ladies out there that could understand.
Perhaps if she’d maintained her friendships she’d have had more of these kinds of conversations, but Fergus had always preferred them to be alone together, and somewhere in the early years, especially when the kids came along, it had been easier to just go along with it.
Something Nancy said came back into Netta’s mind and she realised she had a question now too. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you said you felt like that for a long time after your husband passed. You don’t now?’
‘Ah, there’s a story,’ Nancy told her with a nod of her head.
‘I was in a sorry way after I lost him, and even now, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss him.
I could barely get my head off the pillow some days.
But there came a point when I realised that I was living all of my days in the past, and I couldn’t go on revisiting the pain of it.
My Peter wouldn’t have wanted that for me either, so I decided to start living again.
It’s really as simple as that. I made plans with my pals.
And then, my toes are curling when I tell you this, believe me, but I arranged to meet an old flame at a school reunion. ’
That made Netta smile. ‘You found love again.’
‘Oh, not with him. Turns out he was a manky old perv, who was deluded about his appeal to women and who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
But that night someone else stepped in to help, and he’s the one I fell in love with.
We got married just last year. It isn’t the same as with Peter, but I think that’s a good thing.
It’s wonderfully different. Happy. I was lucky enough to get one great love of my life, so I count my blessings that I ended up with two.
Today would have been Peter’s birthday, so I popped along to let him know I was thinking about him.
But, in a few months, I’ll celebrate my Eddie’s birthday too.
And I think Peter would be happy about that. ’
‘That’s such a lovely story. Gives me hope,’ Netta admitted.
‘Hope is a good place to start,’ Nancy said, before opening her handbag and fishing a card out of it.
She pressed it into Netta’s hand. ‘My pal, Val, runs a Starting Over group for women just like us. And I know that sounds like a bit of a miserable place to be, but it really isn’t.
I’m not saying we don’t shed a tear, but we have a laugh too.
And there’s something to be said for having someone to talk to. ’
Netta flushed when Nancy said that. Of course, she knew that already.
Didn’t she tell her Listening Line callers that every day?
And yet she’d never taken her own advice, always being more comfortable to be the sympathetic ear or the one that helped others.
Maybe it was time now to do something to help herself.
‘Anyway,’ Nancy went on, ‘it was good to meet you, Netta, but I’d better be going. I hope I see you again. I still go to Val’s group, but really just for the chat and the biscuits now, so if you fancy talking more, please come along. We’d be happy to have you.’
‘I’ll think about that,’ Netta said. ‘And thank you for the chat. It was good to meet you, Nancy.’
‘Bye, love.’
With that, she bustled off down the path towards the gate, leaving Netta to have a silent chat to her husband.
Well, I bet you were uncomfortable for every single second of that, Fergus McGonigle. I can hear you tutting from here.
She thought about sitting for a while longer – she didn’t have to be in work until four o’clock – but more of Nancy’s words were playing back in her mind now.
I was living all of my days in the past.
I decided to start living again.
She wasn’t doing any kind of living, just sitting here, letting her day go by. She got up on to her feet and wound up her chat.
Goodbye, Fergus. I’ll see you same time next year. Sleep well.
As she walked away, she realised that she was singing Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy’ again, quietly, softly. But she still hoped Fergus could hear her.
Time to start living again.
Nancy’s words were back. Netta had no idea if she’d do anything as dramatic as go along to the bereavement group, but there was one thing she knew that she could definitely do right now.
She jumped on the bus back into the city, but instead of staying on until she reached home, she decided to take a detour past Mandy’s office and give her the envelope that she’d tucked into her handbag this morning in case her daughter was at the cemetery.
Nancy had her doubts about whether or not it would be welcome, but after her conversation with Nancy, she’d decided to go for it.
What was the worst that could happen?
Mandy could decline the invitation and they’d be exactly where they were now – like distant relatives who’d lost their connection a long time ago.
She was just passing a café two doors along from Mandy’s office when she saw a familiar face in the window.
Mandy was sitting there, staring into her mug, looking as downcast as Netta had ever seen her.
Netta immediately felt her heart begin to thud.
When Mandy hadn’t answered her call earlier, Netta had assumed it would be because her daughter was rushed off her feet, but she certainly didn’t look frantically busy now.
Netta pushed the door open and went in, moving quickly between the busy tables until she reached the mournful woman in the corner at the window.
‘Mandy?’
Her daughter’s look of horror when she glanced up and saw Netta standing there sent a lump straight to Netta’s throat.
‘Mandy, love, are you okay?’
For the first time since she was a little girl, Netta saw two tears escape Mandy’s eyes and roll down her cheeks.
‘No, Mum, I’m not. I’m really not.’