Chapter 3
THREE
MARK
Mark was sitting in his neat lounge in Wisteria House reading the sports section whilst sipping a mug of tea.
He’d walked down the tree-lined avenue to the Co-op for his newspaper and was now thinking about having the chocolate muffin he had bought.
He resisted, though, as he’d already had a bowl of cereal.
He was trying to lose a little weight, but it was difficult in your mid-sixties.
Besides, it was only a small paunch, and at six feet two he carried any extra weight quite well.
He knew he would have to up his exercise to keep fit with the advancing years, though.
Maybe he ought to leave the car behind and walk the couple of miles to the marina where he often spent his days on his sailing boat that was moored up there.
He was definitely more conscious of his health than his looks, though he was grateful to still have a full head of sandy-coloured hair that had only greyed at the temples.
There were one or two women at the sailing club who had shown an obvious interest in him lately, but romance was the last thing on his mind.
He flicked the television on and found himself watching a repeat of an American sitcom that always put a smile on his face. Until he thought about Diane. His wife wasn’t keen on American comedy and used to spend that time reading or watering the potted plants and shrubs in the garden outside.
He missed her terribly.
They had sold their three-bedroomed house and downsized with the intention of travelling the world.
They had rented the apartment as a base, and on the days when they were not away somewhere, they might stroll down to the beach, taking a rug and a flask of coffee with them if the weather wasn’t too blustery.
If it was, they would have coffee at the Marina Café.
Life was good. They did thankfully get some travelling in before she became ill.
And then she was gone, the late diagnosis of her cancer giving her so little time.
Their daughter had come over from Australia then, asking Mark to move over there with her so she could look after him.
She was a good daughter, but his life was here, along with all his memories, and her life was there.
Mark was comforted by the fact that Diane had visited all the places she had dreamt of visiting before she became ill, a highlight being the Taj Mahal. She loved how the emperor had built the mausoleum for his favourite wife, such was his love for her.
‘Would you do that for me?’ she had asked him as she rested her head on his shoulder and took in the view of the mesmerising palace. He had reminded her that he once built her a bookcase and she’d laughed, telling him an IKEA flat-pack didn’t really count.
They laughed a lot together, even after thirty-five years of marriage. It was one of the things he missed most, the sound of her infectious laughter. They just got each other, and he could not imagine how anyone else could ever take her place.
He tried to turn his thoughts to the present. It was a good day to go to the marina, but he was in a restless mood and toyed with the idea of heading into town and maybe catching a train somewhere. He’d gone off before, just randomly picking a place and taking off.
Last time he had ended up in York where he spent a thoroughly enjoyable three days, having to nip into a department store and buy a couple of items of new clothing as he had only intended it to be an overnight stay.
He had tried to ignore the hammer blows that occasionally hit him in the chest when he was out sightseeing and saw something that he knew Diane would have loved.
They had never been to York together, which he regretted, especially when he wandered along The Shambles, an historic, narrow street full of timber-framed medieval buildings that faced each other across the cobbled street.
He was pondering his next move when he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, a smartly dressed old lady stood in front of him on the landing.
‘Hi,’ said Mark, smiling. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Forgive me for knocking, but may I introduce myself,’ said the woman. ‘My name is Alice and I have recently moved into the ground-floor flat.’
‘Oh right, yes, hello. Good to meet you,’ he replied.
Damn, he had forgotten to reply to the invitation he had received in the little red envelope that had landed on his mat yesterday.
‘Nice to meet you too.’ She smiled.
‘Sorry, my name is Mark.’ He extended his hand then, and warmly shook Alice’s thin, papery hand.
‘I just wondered, before I write my shopping list, whether you will you be coming to dinner on Friday evening?’ enquired Alice.
Feeling put on the spot, Mark hesitated before he responded, wondering if she might be lonely.
‘Yes, sure, why not? Sounds good. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal,’ he confessed.
He thought of his sister Lynn’s Sunday lunches then, the smell of roast chicken filling the house and the afternoons spent playing board games with his nephew, but pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.
‘Splendid.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, and you’re not vegetarian, are you?’ she asked.
‘No. I don’t mind the odd veggie curry, but I’m not a vegetarian.’
‘Right. See you Friday,’ said Alice, before she turned and headed across the hall to her flat.
‘Looking forward to it,’ Mark called out, realising he actually might be. He would take a couple of bottles of decent wine. He knew a thing about USA wines, after he and Diane had toured a winery in the Napa Valley.
As Alice left, Mark heard the strains of another episode of Frasier starting on the television, so that was his mind made up. He would settle down and watch several episodes that were showing on a loop.
He found himself mulling over Alice’s invitation, and wondered whether he had been a little hasty in accepting it. His life was ticking over nicely without the company of neighbours, although he occasionally wondered if it was healthy to distance himself from those who lived nearby.
In his old neighbourhood, he and Diane would sometimes socialise with neighbours, especially around Christmas time when it was open house, Diane welcoming everybody inside for a drink and a mince pie.
She had been the driving force, the one who found events to attend, circling things on the calendar.
Left to his own devices he would never have sought out company.
The invites from friends still came after Diane passed away, but over time they stopped, and he would instead receive the occasional text asking after his well-being.
He was comfortable being alone these days. Too comfortable maybe.
Mark eyed the crime novel on the coffee table that he kept meaning to start, so perhaps he would do that this afternoon.
He had had a poor sleep last night, so despite his slightly restless mood, a day taking it easy was probably on the cards.
Tomorrow he might venture down to the marina and take the boat out.