Chapter Six The Bucket List
I’ve barely opened my eyes when I hear someone pressing the front door bell and calling out our names as if they’re a contender in the annual town crier competition. I roll onto my back and lie for a moment in the vain hope that Patty will get up to answer the door. Not a sound. I might have guessed — she’ll sleep through the last days of earth. Although, given how traumatic that would be, managing to dream your way through the apocalypse is probably a good option.
I fling my legs out of bed, push my feet into slippers and my arms into a robe then plod downstairs. Last night wasn’t a particularly drunken one but we were late back and after such a busy start to the year, I could have done with a lie in. Maybe it’s just a delivery and I can go back to bed soon. Reaching the door, I peer through the spyhole and groan. It’s my mother looking rather too animated for this time of day — no lie-in today then.
‘You took your time,’ she says when I open the door. ‘I was about to call the fire brigade in case you’d caught that monoxide thing and fallen into a coma.’
I sigh in despair but step aside and let her in.
‘A more sensible possibility is that we were both having a lie-in on a Sunday morning as it’s not even eight,’ I reply grumpily.
She checks her watch and shrugs.
‘I’m a bit fast, it’s a minute past on my watch.’
We head to the kitchen and I get some fresh coffee beans out — a day that starts like this really does need an extra caffeine boost. I hold a cup up to her and she nods; the act of grinding the beans and inhaling the delicious aromas helps to wake me. I fill the cafetière and place it with cups and milk on the table.
‘No breakfast?’ says Mum.
‘No,’ I reply sternly. I do not want her to take up residency. ‘Now, what is so urgent that you’ve disturbed my beauty sleep?’
‘Sorry,’ she says with a hint of mischief. ‘And I know how much you need it.’
I give her a little punch on the arm and ask her again what’s up.
‘I’ve done my bucket list and wanted you to be the first to hear it,’ she says.
At that moment a bleary-eyed Patty walks through the door.
‘Good Lord, was that you? How can someone so small make so much noise?’
‘You can talk,’ replies my mother. ‘About the noise bit, not the . . . small . . . bit.’
Her voice drifts off towards the end as Patty puts her hand on her hip and purses her lips at Mum.
‘An early wake-up and insults — this had better be good,’ says Patty.
‘She’s written her bucket list.’ I can see that I’ve immediately got Patty’s attention.
‘Now this I have to see,’ she says, going via the cupboard and pulling out a packet of croissants and a jar of jam. ‘But it needs sustenance.’
‘You said there wasn’t anything,’ Mum protests, looking accusingly at me.
‘I was hoping to go back to bed if I didn’t feed you,’ I confess. I’m really not awake enough to make something up. Mercifully, she accepts that without comment.
We all help ourselves to breakfast and Mum lays out a fairly short written list on the table, smoothing out the folds. She begins eating so I pick it up and start reading the first item on it out loud.
‘Number one, “Do that 10 Years Younger thing”.’ I look to Mum for an explanation.
‘You know, that TV programme where they take someone who looks a bit of a mess and transform them,’ she muffles through some shreds of croissant. ‘They’ve usually had a hard life or something and their family don’t even recognise them when they’re done.’
I know the programme well; Patty and I often indulge guessing how old the contestants are and speculating whether they’ll keep up any of the grooming after the show ends. After all, if you look old because you’ve twenty children, you’ll still have them when the cameras stop rolling.
‘I like that one,’ says Patty. ‘I might do it with you — not that I need to look ten years younger, but a couple knocked off might be handy.’
‘There’s usually surgery involved — new teeth implants and sometimes even facelifts,’ I say with a little trepidation. ‘Surely you don’t want that, Mum.’
‘Oh no, nothing that might hurt,’ she replies, much to my relief. ‘Just the other bits — the hair, the clothes, make-up and maybe that Botox stuff.’
‘Botox stops the wrinkles forming.’ Patty laughs. ‘I think that ship has sailed, Mrs S.’
‘Pots and black kettles,’ murmurs my mum, reaching for the final croissant. Patty slaps her hand and takes it for herself. I rap the table with a teaspoon and call everyone to order.
‘Okay, Mum,’ I say. ‘This would be a really nice thing to do with Zoe too and I think I can start to organise it, if you like.’
Mum is delighted with that and I’m cheering up after my rude awakening, imagining all three generations enjoying a bit of a pamper and makeover. I look at the next item on the list.
‘“Ride a motorbike,”’ I read out. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’ve never been on one and it used to look so exciting when I was a teenager — all those rockers in their leather jackets taking off down the highway. I always fancied James Dean and Marlon Brando. Your dad could never be persuaded to give it a go but this is my list and I want to try it.’
She’s emphatic and I can completely understand her point. How many times did I give up on doing something just because my ex-husband didn’t want to do it? Not necessarily something huge, but films I never saw, holiday destinations I didn’t get to visit or food I didn’t try because it was a dish for two and he didn’t fancy it. Since the divorce I’ve gone for it, but if he hadn’t run off with another woman, I’d still be dancing to someone else’s tune.
‘Your friend Ed might be able to help with that,’ says Patty. ‘Didn’t you go out with his bike gang once?’
I did and it was exhilarating. I also discovered that his Harley Davidson chapter is comprised of mainly older gentlemen who’ve returned to biking as empty nesters. They were charming, and despite the leather-clad image, totally harmless. Again, I tell Mum I’ll ask him about it; I seem to be getting rather a lot of action points from Mum’s list.
‘Number three.’ Patty has taken the list from me and reads out the next one. ‘“Learn to waltz.”’
‘Like they do on Strictly,’ says Mum. ‘It’s always the most beautiful dance with lovely flowing dresses.’
‘Will Dad do this one with you?’ I ask, wondering whether we also have to find a partner for her. She replies that he might do but she’s going to learn with or without him.
I remember the customer who came into our shop to book the Flamenco trip and my thoughts instantly turn to whether this bucket list item could actually be an opportunity for the Mercury Travel Club. Learning to waltz in Vienna — what could be more magical? Despite not really wanting any more action points from Mum’s list, I tell her to leave that one with me and I’ll see what I can do.
‘I knew you two would be able to help.’ Mum is beaming. I can see now that this list means a lot to her and I have to do what I can to make it happen. Well, most of it.
As I’m getting warm and fuzzy feelings about supporting my aged parent satisfy her deepest desires, Patty looks at the next item on the list and gives a little gasp.
‘Wow, you saved the best till last, didn’t you?’ she says. ‘Lulling us into a false sense of security with the waltzing and the makeover — now I know why.’
‘What is it, Patty?’
‘Do you want to tell her or should I?’ Patty continues.
‘You do it,’ Mum says sheepishly.
Patty sits up straight and clears her throat.
‘Okay, here we go.’ She looks directly at me. ‘The final item on your mother’s bucket list is... “Have an affair”.’
My jaw drops now, so Patty reaches over and closes it for me. It’s just as well we’re that familiar with each other or there’d be drool all over the table. I can’t speak so just spread my hands out in question.
‘Are you and Mr S not getting on?’ asks Patty.
‘Oh, we’re fine,’ Mum says. ‘And it’s not as if I want to leave him. We’re in for the long haul — till death do us part — but it can get a bit... samey.’
‘Have you tried date nights?’ I ask, remembering the advice she once gave me. Mum dismisses my suggestion with a wave of the hand.
‘They work for so long but you always know who’s turning up and the conversation always ends up being about the garden or the shopping. I want to be swept off my feet.’
She says this last sentence flicking her hair back.
‘I cannot help you have an affair, Mum,’ I protest. ‘He’s my dad and I’d never do anything to hurt him.’
‘He needn’t know — this is my list,’ replies Mum. ‘And as I’ve just said, I don’t want to leave him, just have a bit of excitement. Like in that TV series, Apple Tree Yard.’
I know the one she’s talking about and it’s really quite steamy. A woman meets a man in a bar and he seduces her without her even knowing his name. It’s quite erotic and not at all how I picture my mother.
‘Blimey,’ says Patty. ‘I think I can safely say, on behalf of your dear daughter and myself, that we’re relieved you haven’t seen Fifty Shades of Grey.’
She laughs, trying to make light of the moment, but I’m still suffering a melee of emotions. Shock and horror that this is on her list but also anger and outrage that my mum thought she could bring something to me that would involve me betraying my dad. I love them both dearly, and while I’ll help Mum, I won’t hurt Dad in the process.
‘It sounds like you’re not going to help with this one,’ says Mum, taking the list from Patty and folding it up again.
‘Of course I’m not!’ I exclaim, but Patty puts her hand calmly on top of mine.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she says, giving my hand a discreet squeeze.
‘And I’d rather not take too long over all of these,’ adds Mum. ‘None of us are getting any younger.’
I think I’m still dumbfounded when she eventually leaves the house — it’s barely nine o’clock and my best friend has promised to help my mother have an affair. I have to pinch myself to check that this all really happened and I’m not simply having a nightmare.