Chapter Fifty-Two
When Saturday morning rolled around, I awoke with a huge sense of anticipation. I had no wedding work to oversee. The day had yet to get underway. Right now it was warm, golden, and full of possibilities.
Thiswas the day that Dylan and I were – finally – taking our relationship to the next level. Or whatever one called it when you were a sixty-one-year-old having a second chance at romance.
Once again, I walked Bess early, before the temperature rose. A thorough vacuuming of the house then took place. Finally, I stripped my bed.
Fresh sheets, Maggie, I chortled to myself.
As I bundled up the old linen, I caught sight of Greg’s photographs on the dressing table. I froze.
‘Sorry, darling,’ I apologised. ‘But I’m going to have to put you away.’ My late husband remained silent as I gathered up the various frames. ‘You see, I can’t have you staring at me and Dylan later on.’
The silence prevailed.
I carefully stashed the photographs in a drawer, then instantly felt disloyal.
Don’t be daft, Maggie, said my inner voice. You’re a widow. You’ve already established that you’re allowed to move on.
Absolutely.
Nonetheless, something felt off.
I paused; my arms still full of the bundled-up linen. I looked at the bed. The marital bed. No man, other than Greg, had ever slept on that bed alongside me. I wasn’t entirely sure I could let Dylan sleep in this room. It felt … wrong. No, not wrong. More… weird. Perhaps, later, I’d lead Dylan into one of the kids’ bedrooms instead.
Back in the day, when the children were growing up, they’d all had their own bedrooms. Each room had been big enough to take a small double bed.
I now opened the door to Tim’s old bedroom. It had long been emptied of childhood things, but his old duvet remained the same. A no-nonsense navy-and-white affair.
I stared at Tim’s bed. In the corner of my mind, I could picture my son. Standing over there. Wagging a finger with disapproval. Nope. I couldn’t bring Dylan in here.
It was the same when I went into the girls’ old bedrooms. There was Ruby. Hovering like Moaning Myrtle, the Muggle-born witch at Hogwarts.
Oooooh, Motherrrr! Put your clothes on NOWWWWW!
Ella too.
Mum! Why can’t you take up crocheting like other wrinklies?
I reversed out onto the landing. Took stock. Returned to the marital bedroom. Dumping the dirty linen, on impulse I rearranged everything within.
That was better! Now the bed was on this wall instead of that wall. The dressing table was here instead of there. And the wardrobes… well, the wardrobes had to stay put due to them being fitted. But at least the room looked different. Less like the room I’d shared with my late husband.
I then removed all the prints on the wall and, on a whim, nipped off to Bluewater shopping mall. I returned home with brand new linen and complimentary artwork for the walls.
By the time I’d finished, hours and hours had passed. However, the bedroom was transformed. Perhaps I should, at some point, repaint it too? But at least, psychologically, I could now handle bringing Dylan in here.
I glanced at the new clock over the dressing table. It was time to get ready for my dinner date.
I disappeared into the shower, washed my hair, and soaped myself from head to toe. Afterwards, I covered myself in a hideously expensive body lotion used only for special occasions. Mm. Lovely. I rubbed some of it into my cheeks too, taking care to avoid my eyes. In which case, would that be moist-your-eyes?
I gave my pits a double dose of body spray and then, sneezing violently, got to work with the hairdryer. Twenty minutes later, my red mop had been transformed into a waterfall of titian waves. They curled over my shoulders and down my back.
Finally, I put on new lacy lingerie that I’d also grabbed while at Bluewater. After three pregnancies, my knickers had more elastic than my belly. Distraction strategies were therefore required.
Oh yes, I was pulling out all the stops. New bedroom. New bedding. New undies. New dress. And all for the new man in my life. I made some overexcited squeaking noises, then told myself to calm down.
With a slightly trembling hand, I applied my makeup, then zipped myself into a new dress – yes, something else I’d impulsively bought. The garment was easy to get off. A case of it slithering to the floor, rather than hopping about with a foot caught up in clothing. Tonight was all about seduction.
The fact that I was horribly out of practice was neither here nor there.