Chapter 3
3
It was 8a.m. and Gwen had already been up for three hours. Putting the coffee on her husband’s bedside table, she sat down with a thud, hoping that might be enough to wake him up. Barry groaned a bit, but didn’t open his eyes. Slipping an ice-cold hand under the cover, she heard him gasp when it made contact with his thigh. March had lived up to its promise to come in like a lion and it showed no sign of letting up even though there were only a few days left of the month. The wind outside was threatening to whip the heads off the daffodils that had turned the garden into a sea of yellow. It was the only part of the garden Gwen could stake a claim to. She had planted the bulbs years before and had then left them to their own devices. It was up to them whether they decided to grow or not. She loved having a pretty garden, but she hated gardening itself. It was too slow for her and required far too much patience. Thankfully Barry loved it.
‘Keep your hands to yourself woman, I’m not in the mood.’ Barry finally opened one eye.
‘If I move my hand a few inches upwards, I guarantee you’ll change your tune.’ She raised her eyebrows, and he smiled.
‘Why don’t you give it a go?’
‘I’ve got to get to work, sorry.’ She shrugged, but she was glad to see disappointment flit across her husband’s eyes. Even after more than forty-five years together, that side of their relationship had always been strong, and she knew from some of her much younger friends that lots of couples slid into companionship far earlier in their relationships. That was fine, if you were both happy with it, but she was convinced it was one of the things that kept her and Barry young. She got a kick out of giving near-the-knuckle advice to others, and forcing them to revise their opinion of people in their seventies. Except the truth was, just lately, it felt as if she was merely going through the motions. She was hoping the feeling would pass, just as it had during the menopause, but she was secretly relieved to have a reason to turn Barry down, rather than having to admit she didn’t have the desire at all just lately.
‘You do know you’re retired, don’t you? I thought this stage of our lives was going to be all about long, lazy lie-ins and breakfast with the papers.’
‘Have you forgotten who you’re married to?’ Gwen pulled a face. She couldn’t think of anything worse than slowing down; she’d always been a whirlwind and Barry had seemed to enjoy being caught up in the vortex. She’d been a midwife for five decades, had raised a family, and got involved in every community project she could find, as well as enough hobbies to mean that down time wasn’t an option. All the activity had helped her stay as slim as she’d been in her twenties, and she made an effort with her appearance, her ash-blonde hair cut into a sleek bob, subtle make-up, and a carefully chosen range of outfits that brought out the blue of her eyes. She and Barry squeezed in grandparenting duties when they could, but they didn’t offer regular childcare cover while their children worked, because they were just too busy. Running the hospital shop at St Piran’s Hospital and coordinating the volunteers was just the latest in a long line of responsibilities she’d taken on. Lately she had to admit it was taking its toll, but if the alternative for her was knitting, and a pipe and slippers for Barry, she’d grit her teeth and keep going.
‘How could I ever forget who I’m married to Gee, when it’s the best thing I ever did?’ He squeezed her hand. He was the only person who’d ever called her Gee, a nickname he’d given her years ago. Despite their busy lives, Barry had been the one constant. He was her best friend, co-adventurer and partner in crime, but just lately he’d begun to change, saying that maybe they shouldn’t be out of the house quite as much, or have so many hobbies. He’d recently suggested swapping dancing for golf, the idea of which had horrified Gwen, because it would have meant she had to admit to losing some of her get up and go too, and she was still hoping that would pass. Instead, her reaction had been to double down and volunteer for more shifts at the hospital, even though some days it felt like she was wading through treacle.
Barry’s eyes were still fixed on hers when he spoke again. ‘I just wish we could spend a bit more time together.’
‘We spend loads of time together, we’ve got the dance show coming up and?—’
‘I meant here, at home. Just the two of us.’
‘I thought we’d talked all this through. Did you make an appointment to see the doctor?’ Gwen’s tone was tight, but she couldn’t help herself. She was worried. Her friend Caroline’s husband had started wanting to do less and less, and it turned out he had prostate cancer. Deep down, she knew the situation wasn’t comparable and that the anxiety she was feeling was misplaced. Barry was still active and kept far busier than many men twenty years younger, but there was a deeply entrenched reason for her not wanting to slow down. It was something that terrified her and she wasn’t ready to admit, even to herself, that there’d been one or two warning signs just lately.
‘I’ll make an appointment to see the doctor if you do too.’ Barry’s eyes still hadn’t left her face. He could read her far too easily, but she shook her head so hard it hurt.
‘I don’t need to see a doctor.’
‘Gwen.’ His tone was forceful and his use of her full name added emphasis, but he wasn’t finished yet. ‘You’re exhausted, but you’re not sleeping, you’re losing weight and you’re pushing yourself to do stuff it’s obvious you don’t have the energy to do.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she snapped, unable now to silence the voice inside her head that was telling her Barry was right. Some of the symptoms he’d listed were so similar to the ones her mum had suffered. No. She couldn’t go there. She wouldn’t. ‘Maybe you’re right, maybe we both just need a little break and some time on our own together. They’re doing a pre-season deal at the hotel on the Sisters of Agnes Island. Could I persuade you to join me?’
Gwen slipped her hands under the covers again, her hand reconnecting with his thigh, but she felt him tense.
‘You’re not getting out of this conversation by changing the subject.’
‘I can’t win, can I!’ Gwen snatched her hand away. ‘One minute you’re asking me to spend more time with you and the next you’re turning down a night away. If you want to slow down to a stop, Barry, that’s up to you, but I refuse to get old before my time.’
‘Not even you can stop the ageing progress, Gee, and I know why you’re scared.’ Suddenly his tone was far softer, but all it did was fan the flames of her anger.
‘I’m not scared. I’m just sick to death of you trying to make me take things easy when you know how much I hate that.’ Getting to her feet, Gwen ignored his outstretched hand and his plea that all he was trying to do was help. Stalking out of the bedroom she slammed the door behind her. She hated rowing with Barry, and it felt so unfamiliar, because they’d always been able to talk about anything. But recently things had been tense, and his determination to make her revisit a place she didn’t want to go to was probably why she felt so unlike her normal self just lately. It had to be that, because the alternative was far too awful to contemplate.
Gwen knew some of her friends were scared of getting older, but that had never bothered her because the opportunity was a privilege denied to so many. She’d spent years convincing herself that it was her attitude to ageing that mattered, not the number of candles on her next birthday cake. Except now things were happening that were forcing her to confront what she already knew to be true: sometimes it didn’t matter how positive or young at heart people were, ill health could still seek them out. The thing that scared Gwen far more than ageing itself, was the possibility that the disease which had taken her mother from her, had finally caught up with her too. She’d spent decades desperately trying to outrun it, and so much of who she was had been shaped by her determination to seize the day because of what she’d witnessed during her mother’s illness. But if Gwen was going to suffer the same fate, no amount of twirling around the dance floor or jumping out of aeroplanes would change the outcome. She was so terrified she couldn’t bring herself to voice her fears out loud, even to Barry, and she’d never felt more alone in her life.