Chapter Five
‘I’ve done it,’ I said to Greg.
We were in the lounge. I was scoffing a mid-morning sandwich, suddenly ravenous. Talking to the Old People’s Team had been liberating.
I brought Greg up to date. Told him what Irene had advised. He listened to me patiently. Also, silently. The air positively vibrated with all my words tumbling out. But still he didn’t respond. At length, I burbled myself to a standstill.
I couldn’t go on like this. It was getting me down. For a moment I didn’t say anything. I licked my finger. Dabbed up some crumbs. Then took a deep breath.
‘Look,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘I know things have changed. Between us.’ I licked my lips nervously. ‘And I accept that. But I’m finding it hard, Greg.’ I spread my hands wide. My eyes momentarily brimmed. I blinked rapidly. Willed the tears back into their ducts. ‘Anyway,’ I said, chin jutting slightly. Defiance. ‘I want a dog. I know you’re not into animals. You’ve said they’re a tie. A liability.’ My chin jutted further. I’d be looking like Bruce Forsyth shortly. ‘But I don’t care. I’m prepared to take full responsibility. Pay any vet’s bills. Clean up any muddy paw prints. I’ll make sure your precious lawn isn’t wrecked. Pick up the whoopsies.’ I looked my husband in the eye and, at the same time, squared my shoulders. ‘Anyway, my mind’s made up. I don’t want a row about it, okay?’
After mentioning the row word, I found my heart beating rather fast. I didn’t like verbally asserting myself. It was uncomfortable.
Scooping up my empty plate and cup, I hurried out to the kitchen. The plate and cup clattered down on the worktop. I realised I was shaking.
Well done for speaking up, girl, said my inner voice. One down, one to go.
Yes, there was still my father to deal with. I wouldn’t telephone him with the news about a care assessment. These things were better done face to face. Even if it meant another round of stony silence.
As I rinsed the mug and washed the plate, I determined to get the visit over and done with. Picking up my car keys, I went out to the hallway. I grabbed my jacket and handbag from where they’d been hanging over the banister.
‘I’m off,’ I called to Greg. ‘See you later.’
I didn’t bother waiting for a reply and let myself out.
I reversed off the driveway and set off to Mum and Dad’s. As I drove through the village of Little Waterlow, I allowed the pretty scenery to distract me. So many trees were in blossom. It reminded me of pink and white candy floss. A whole riot of new foliage was going on. Spring had sprung and summer was just around the corner. My heart lifted at the thought.
Greg and I had lived in this village all our married life. Little Waterlow was a small hamlet perched high on the North Downs of Kent. This was a place where everyone knew everybody – and that included everybody’s business. It was for this reason that I hadn’t cultivated any deep friendships here. Yes, I knew everyone. But not everyone knew me. I was a private person. I didn’t want people knowing what was going on within my four walls.
Only a handful of people knew the details about what had happened between me and Greg. Lyn, from school days, who now lived on the other side of the Dartford Bridge. Also, Nell, Vicky, and Bette. They’d been on the same ward as me when I’d gone into hospital to give birth to Tim. Despite everyone now being scattered around the London Boroughs, these friendships had held. Greg had once jokingly referred to us all as the Witches of Feastwick. This on account of how we all ate cake and cackled with laughter whenever we got together.
But there was none of that camaraderie with the folks of Little Waterlow. You wouldn’t find me gossiping with the village’s oldest resident. Mabel Plaistow held the crown for being top busybody. Nor would you catch me gassing away at the local village store – always a hotbed of regurgitated gossip.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t rude to people. Just… a little aloof as I went about my business. I didn’t stop – when driving past fields full of sheep and cows – to talk to the farmer who’d pulled over on his tractor. I didn’t tell Cathy, the landlady at our local pub, all about my new kitchen while sharing a meal with Greg. Nor did I make idle chatter with the postmistress who’d worked for thirty years on the old-fashioned high street, with its quaint shops and bow windows.
I braked and negotiated a truck coming towards me. Squeezed into a hedgerow to let it pass, then moved off again.
Eventually, I picked up the M20 and accelerated into the outside lane. As the car ate up the miles, my heart began to bang about. Adrenalin. God, and I hadn’t even arrived at Mum and Dad’s yet. I needed to distract myself. Think of something good.
I’d already decided – after having that firm chat with the Golden Oldies – to detour home via the local animal rescue centre. I wanted to make a new friend. Of the four-legged variety. To have a companion. Someone to walk with me. Exercise with me. Yes, that would be wonderful. Perhaps I could start jogging again. Through Trosley Woods.
The last time I’d gone there, I’d been alone. Greg had stayed at home. I’d suddenly found the woods creepy, especially with its early morning fog. A thick mist had shrouded the trees, turning them into monsters with outstretched arms. However, with a dog by my side, I’d no longer feel twitchy.
As I overtook a lorry, I smiled to myself. My heart had now stopped banging about, and my brain was positively buzzing. A pooch. How exciting. Someone to chat to. A dog could talk in so many ways. A wag of the tail. A panting grin – and a smattering of halitosis. Eyes that lit up the moment you opened the biscuit tin. Sharing a shortbread – oh, too much sugar. Make that a Bonio. For the dog, not me. A slobbery kiss. The dog, again. Oh, and a hug. Even if its body was more hirsute than Greg’s.
And dammit, I soooo wanted a hug.