Remy Hughes 2042 Aged 80
Remy Hughes
Elio shut the passenger door. He was a wonderful young man, popping in often to her little flat overlooking the river in Salisbury, not far from where Harper lived with her boyfriend, Frank, and their three dogs.
Harper, who had, in recent years, found a certain peace, and thankfully now had more good days than bad.
Elio was a wonder, her rock, who didn’t talk to Remy like she was deaf or daft.
His partner, Pia, also a doctor, was about to give birth to Remy’s first great-grandchild. She couldn’t wait.
She wished Bertie and Sophie would take a leaf out of Elio’s book, her wonderful son and daughter, who she had to remind, ‘I’m eighty, kids, not deaf or stupid. My body might be a little slow, but my mind isn’t.’
She wished this were true, but actually, she had got a little slower, as well as forgetful.
It was allowed. A brain that had done its best for eight decades to juggle the never-ending stream of information that bombarded it twenty-four hours a day.
A brain that had known love, laughter, loss – a brain that had lived!
‘How are you doing, Nan?’
‘I’m fine, darling.’ She smiled at her handsome grandson, who drove slowly, no doubt because she was in the car.
‘Feels weird, knowing this time next month, Pia will have had the baby. I’ll be a dad!’
She watched his slow exhale, the only suggestion of nerves.
‘You’ll be a great dad, Elio.’
‘I hope so. So, come on, what advice would you give me?’ He turned briefly to smile at her.
‘Advice?’ She took her time. ‘Treasure every second. No one really tells you just how quickly it goes by. But it does! We all need to appreciate the now and waste less time!’
‘Waste less time on what?’
‘On everything!’ she replied quickly, her eyes, for a second, bright again.
‘Less time worrying about all the rubbish that doesn’t matter.
All the small stuff that occupies your mind – and don’t get me started on slowly squashing your joy with the twin knives of comparison and regret.
If a thought starts with “if only” or “I wish” then strike it through and don’t dwell on it.
Enjoy the moment, the air in your lungs, pain-free movement, movement at all!
The changing seasons, a belly laugh, the sound of your children’s voices, birdsong, sunshine on your face, the shade of a tree!
And books – read all the books. All the books!
And above all, be thankful for every day that you see a rising sun, for one day it will be your last, and in that moment you’ll understand one thing – how very quickly it has all passed.
’ She paused then. ‘Listen to me going on. Bet you wish you hadn’t asked. ’
‘No, I’m glad I did, but it certainly took a turn. I was hoping for something a bit more upbeat!’ He made her laugh, not an easy task on a day like this, and she was thankful for it.
‘My old mum, your great-gran, Ruthie, always used to say, “time flies, no more than a blink!” They were just words to me really. But not now. I’m better at it, I think, better at appreciating it all, now I’m waiting for my timer to ping!’
‘Oh, don’t say that.’ Elio shook his head.
‘We should talk about it more, love. At least I think so. I do hate the frailty of this chapter in my life. I prefer to think about the younger, stronger me. When I could race around in trainers and rely on my body in a way that I thought would last forever. Now, I walk like a newborn lamb for fear of falling. And even the slightest knock will see me landed with an almighty bruise, as if I’ve gone ten rounds with Tyson Fury!
I don’t expect you know who that is. He was a boxer, a heavyweight boxer, back in the day. ’
‘I’ve heard of him.’
‘It’s true though. One minute you’re a child at the start of the summer holidays, playing with your Cindys and eating Arctic Roll, freewheeling through sun-filled days, sharing a bedroom with your sister and thinking it will be that way for always, and the next minute you’re a teenager, being moulded and influenced in ways you can’t even begin to imagine by all that comes your way.
Then suddenly you’re in love and you build a life, share a home, kids.
And you think of all the chances you had not to meet that person and how odd it is that of all the people on this planet, you chose each other.
Then you grow older together if you’re very lucky, and POW!
Just like that you are not just older, but old! And that’s that. Off you pop.’
‘Who knows what comes next?’ Her grandson spoke with something close to encouragement.
‘I suspect nothing at all, my love. My guess is that it really will be just a big old sleep, like before I was born.’
Born special, one egg, split in two . . .
‘But, I have to admit, Elio, that just the smallest possibility that there might be more, now wouldn’t that be something.’ Something Remy daren’t hope for.
‘I see a lot of death, Nan.’
‘Of course you do, darling.’ It was still a wonder to her, how this little boy was a doctor! Helping to save lives.
‘It doesn’t scare me, not at all. But what does amaze me, every time, is how small the margins are between life and death, paper thin. The difference between that last but one breath and the very last, no more than a second.’ He snapped his fingers. It made her jump.
‘I look back on my life and see it like a giant lake. Even the most spontaneous of decisions, the simplest and seemingly most matter-of-fact choices, all caused ripples that had the power to change the course and rhythm of my life in ways I could never have imagined. Ripples that got bigger and bigger as they travelled. And so, actually, that would probably be my advice: make good choices if you can, darling.’
‘I’ll try, Nan, I promise. Here we are.’ He parked the car.
She felt the usual tremor of trepidation as she climbed from his very low vehicle, taking an age to hook first one leg over the lip of the passenger door and then the other.
‘I fear one day I’m going to get in and am never going to be able to get back out!’ She smiled at the handsome boy. ‘You’ll have to let me sleep in it!’
Elio offered her his arm, which she grabbed, as he comically hoicked her upwards.
It might be a devil to get in and out of, but she had to admit, it was as comfortable as it was quiet, almost gliding over the roads.
She didn’t drive anymore. She could, was perfectly capable in her opinion, but the new road rules, the complexity of junctions, slip roads and intersections where traffic control systems were paired with the dashboard, made her feel less than in control.
Yet more technology that had very much left her behind.
It was to be expected, and she accepted it with a certain fatality, knowing for a fact that she had enjoyed the very best era, a time when everything had felt a little calmer, a little easier to grasp.
Her heart lurched in pity for the youngsters, Topsy, Clementine, Netty, and all like them who it seemed worked so hard just to stand still.
Hers had felt like a world of opportunity that seemed to be lacking nowadays.
She liked to tell her grandchildren about the stick shift in cars that had meant you had to clunk, clunk up and down the gears while depressing the clutch with your foot, as the car sped up and slowed, at every corner, every bend, every junction.
On her old . . . What was the make of that car .
. . Corona, no . . . Corn . . . Corp . .
. Corsa! That was it, a Vauxhall Corsa! It was with the usual flare of delight that she remembered something that had not yet fallen through the ever-widening fissures in her memory.
They would laugh, quite unable to imagine it.
‘You had to do it with one hand, and what, the other hand on the wheel?’
‘Yes, pretty much . . . and there was nothing to help you park – no camera, no sensor, no beeps . . .’
‘How did you manage?’
‘We just did!’
‘Vauxhall Corsa!’ she said out loud, before realising she had done so.
‘You all right?’
Elio gave her a tight-mouthed smile that smacked of concern.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll take it easy. No rush.’
He linked arms with her, and they set off from the car park at a slow pace.
It suited her, and she was grateful for it.
He was smart enough to know not to rush her, with her milky eyes, and not to steer her, as that could lead to unsteadiness.
She thanked goodness for her comfy shoes.
He seemed happy to meander with her, seeking out the flatter surfaces of the path, avoiding the little tufts of grass and weeds that had sprung in the gaps between the stones.
It was a winter-blue-sky day, and the air was crisp, the kind of weather that was invigorating, restorative and happy-making, if she ignored the chill that tore through her shoulder like a knife, slicing through her very flesh, cutting her to the bone.
That darned shoulder that had insisted, year on year, on reminding her of that terrible night a long, long time ago.
It was funny the way time worked.
How she would have loved to hold so many other thoughts with the same clarity.
Like the first time Midge had kissed her or one of the nights they had laughed until they cried.
The births of her three beautiful babies – so many things.
They were still all there, of course, in the crevices of her memory, but were now a little worn, a little fuzzy, a little faded.
Precious things, pasted into the honeycomb of her mind which she liked, on occasion, to dust off and recollect.
‘You okay, Nan?’ Elio pulled her arm tightly, checking on her again, as was his habit.