Chapter 32
Tranquillity was the word that sprung to my mind as I took in the scene below me. The countryside was so beautiful from up here and apart from the occasional sound of the burner it was peaceful too. Half an hour into our flight I’d finally loosened my grip on the edge and decided that I was up here now and should just enjoy the experience. Dorothy was sitting across the basket from me sipping from a glass of champagne, her face was a picture of happiness.
‘Is it how you imagined it would be, your first flight in a hot-air balloon?’
‘It’s wonderful,’ Dorothy said. ‘Even better than I expected.’
I had to admit I was thoroughly enjoying myself now, although I wasn’t keen when Dorothy first suggested it. I loved watching balloons flying over our house in the summer months, but never imagined I’d have the guts to go up in one. After a serious talking-to from Dorothy and then myself, I had made the decision that I needed to challenge myself more. Certainly the week in Norfolk had proved that I had more gumption than I thought. It really is something when an eighty-nine-year-old woman has to talk you into doing something adventurous.
I leaned my elbows on the edge of the basket now and watched the villages go past far below me. It was a beautifully clear day and we’d set off from a field outside Canterbury just after dawn. When choosing her flight, Dorothy had said, what would be better than flying over the Garden of England. Looking down now, I could only agree with her.
Our pilot, Amanda, had taken us through a safety briefing, shown us around the balloon and basket, poured us champagne and offered us a plate of lovely canapés, then left us to watch in wonder at the world below us.
‘We should do more things like this,’ Dorothy said.
‘More gentle, sedate things?’ I asked.
‘Well, more experiences all round. Perhaps bungee jumping or paragliding?’ Dorothy said with a glint in her eye. Amanda chuckled beside me. She’d seen me gripping onto the edge of the basket as if my life depended on it as we first took off. She’d be surprised at me doing anything more fast-paced than walking, I would imagine.
‘You can do whatever you like,’ I said. ‘I’ll drive you and wait in the car for you to come back down to earth.’
Dorothy laughed and then sighed deeply in the most contented and relaxed way. She then raised her glass.
‘Here’s to you, Gina. Before you arrived at my house that day, I had nothing to look forward to and now everything is completely different. I feel as if the whole world is open and available to me, and you have given me that.’
I felt a little choked all of a sudden and swallowed down a lump in my throat.
‘And do you know what else? I think you’re on your way too,’ she said.
Later, back in the boathouse, I opened the doors out onto the balcony and took a cup of coffee with me to the little table in the corner. I realised that from here, on the far edge, I could see into Erik’s garden and to where he was stretched out on his lounger with a book and what looked like a glass of wine. I moved away, keen for him not to see me watching him and pulled a chair over to the other side, then I settled myself down and watched the boats sailing past on the river.
I needed to make sense of the life that I was living now and try to claim it as my own, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt very much as if I had stepped into someone else’s life, thrown on their clothes and climbed into their bed. I knew it would take time.
I had a sudden urge to record what I was doing and thought I might buy a journal and keep one like I used to do when I worked with my mother. Then I thought about Juliet and her voice recordings and wondered if that might be a better way to do it. After all, I used to do much the same at work. Tentatively I picked up my phone and opened the voice memo app. I had no idea what to say and considered turning it off again, but then changed my mind and pressed record.
‘I am on the balcony of my new home. It’s a boathouse on the Thames at Hampton and I can see Ash Island from where I sit. It’s September now and those hot and endless summer days are gone. I long for crisp autumn mornings where the sunlight tones itself down to a pale amber.’
I pressed pause on my recording for a moment and thought about what I really wanted to say. I was talking, but what was I really saying? What was I doing? What was my role now?
I’d thought I was no longer needed. I’d been the centre of my children’s existence, but they had grown up and even my granddaughters, Lou and Meg, didn’t need me any more. They loved me, loved seeing me, but they didn’t need me.
Douglas had once told me, many years ago and admittedly postcoital, that he’d die rather than lose me. But there he was living in his flat in Maidenhead, very much without me, and the last time I’d seen him he was still breathing.
But Dorothy had needed me and it sounded from the advertisements in The Lady that others might too. I drank what was left of my coffee and then pressed record again.
‘My name is Gina Knight. I’m seventy-one years old and somewhat surprisingly find myself in the autumn of my life. I have always said that September is my favourite time of the year and here I am heading into the season of bonfires and cardigans, of fiery trees and homemade soup, of squirrels digging in the lawn and spiders moving into the bathroom.
‘I am here and I need to find a way to embrace this glorious time while it is still available to me. I need to prove that September is, indeed, my favourite month.
‘Recently I became a companion to an elderly woman and it turned out I was pretty good at it. It seems that I’m a problem solver?—’
‘Gina?’
I pressed stop on my recording as Dorothy’s voice carried up to me from the garden. Jumping up from my seat I called out for her to come up and met her at the top of the steps.
‘Can I gate-crash your boathouse for a bit?’ she asked, and I noticed she had a plate of biscuits in her hand.
‘Of course you can and it’s your boathouse, you know.’
‘Not at the minute it’s not. Honestly, Gina, I’m here as a neighbour. Actually, I’ve just got off the phone with my friend and there’s a bit of a problem. I thought I could talk it through with you if you’re free.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said and invited her in.
I walked over to the sink and filled the kettle while Dorothy made herself comfortable on the sofa and put the plate of biscuits on the table. It was the first time she’d been in here as a guest since I moved in and I tried hard not to feel awkward about it. It would take time.
‘Tea?’ I asked her and she nodded. ‘What’s happening with your friend?’
‘I’ve known Gerald and Meredith for years. He was an architect and has many prestigious projects to his name. Sadly, now he has dementia and all that is lost.’
‘That is sad,’ I said pouring milk into our mugs. ‘It affects so many people now.’
‘It certainly affects Meredith as she has to look after him. She adores him, though, always has and she’s losing that lovely man of hers.’
I stopped stirring for a moment and wondered what it was like to adore your husband as Dorothy did Philip and Meredith does Gerald. I felt a pang of regret and then pulled the teabags from the mugs and dropped them into the food caddy in the cupboard under the sink.
‘She has help, usually, because they’ve just moved in with their daughter and son-in-law. Anyway, Meredith has broken her arm and is in plaster, which is an issue for her because she’s a novelist.’
‘So, she’s looking for someone to help her type?’ I asked.
‘Well, yes, but not only that, she’s going to struggle with Gerald until her arm is healed.’
‘You said they’d moved close to their daughter? Won’t she help them?’
‘They’re flying out to New Zealand in a couple of days. Their son has been in a terrible car accident and they need to be with him as he comes out of hospital. They had someone lined up to help Meredith and Gerald, but he’s let them down at the last minute and Meredith is very choosy.’
‘Well, that does sound like a bit of a pickle,’ I said, handing Dorothy her tea and sinking down onto the sofa next to her. I blew some of the steam from the top of mine and took a sip, then watched as Dorothy’s eyes slid to mine and rested there for a moment longer than was comfortable. ‘You’re thinking of me, aren’t you?’
‘The thought did cross my mind, yes.’
‘Well, I was looking at jobs, to be fair, especially as you’re going to be away for three weeks, but I haven’t found anything imminent.’
‘This is pretty imminent.’
‘I don’t know much about dementia, to be honest.’
‘You don’t really need to. They just need someone to help them get used to being in a new town, do a bit of typing for Meredith, be a companion. We both know you’re excellent at that.’
‘Right,’ I said slowly, feeling as if I was already on my way to the job. Dorothy could be very persuasive.
I watched Dorothy’s face for a moment. She seemed more animated than I’d expect. After all, she was talking about one friend with dementia and the other with a broken arm.
‘What’s the real story?’ I asked her, and watched as she picked her words carefully.
‘Okay, the thing is, Meredith and I go back many years, have quite some history together and I’ve heard that she’s writing her memoir.’
‘Right, and?’
‘Well, there are some things in our past that I’d rather not come out.’
‘Ooh, Dorothy, you dark horse. Can’t you just ask her not to put them in?’
‘We haven’t spoken in years, we fell out.’
‘What? You just said you’d got off the phone from her.’
‘No, I said I got off the phone with a friend. Actually, a mutual friend.’
‘And what is it you’re really asking me to do?’ I said, feeling a little wary all of a sudden.
‘Just to be a companion and to… well, find out what she writing.’
‘Oh, Dorothy, I don’t think I can do that.’
‘Of course you can! You didn’t think you could find a missing painting but you did.’
I narrowed my eyes at her and put my tea down on the table, suddenly losing my appetite for it.
‘What makes you think I’d even get the job? She’d hardly choose me knowing that I know you.’
‘Yes, well, that’s why she won’t know and the introduction will come through our mutual friend. You’d be brilliant, Gina, you are brilliant.’
There was no way I was going to take on another companion job under false pretences. Dorothy was definitely barking up the wrong tree.
‘You haven’t asked me where they live, it is relevant.’
I sighed and then decided to humour her.
‘And where is it that Gerald and Meredith live?’ I asked in a sing-song voice.
‘Well, that’s the most wonderful thing,’ she said with a large smile. ‘They live in a beautiful chateau in the South of France.’
Despite the fact I had no intention of taking on the role and that Dorothy was most definitely asking too much of me again, I couldn’t help but suddenly find my interest piqued.