Chapter 16 #3
‘Oh, it was great fun,’ I said, remembering how it felt to be smacked in the face by a lot of seawater, almost have my arms wrenched from their sockets and pay for the privilege. ‘You should try it.’
The waiter came up at that point, balancing a round tray on his fingertips. Will ordered a lemonade like mine after asking me if I needed anything else.
‘It’s lovely here, isn’t it,’ I said. ‘I’ve enjoyed it far more than I thought I would, even if I haven’t really joined in with the group activities.’
‘Nor have I, I’m afraid,’ he said, and grinned. ‘I’ve never been much of a conformer. I was the same at school; not one for team games.’
‘Nor me,’ I said. ‘And it was no good picking me for a side. I had the co-ordination skills of a panda. Have you seen the clips on Facebook? They are always falling off things and tumbling out of trees, aren’t they?’
He laughed. ‘Cute cubs though.’
‘Absolutely, although I think I would prefer a quokka. They have such smiley faces. I’d love to see one of those.’
‘In which case you need to go to Rottnest Island near Perth. It’s well worth a visit.’
Australia. Yes, that would be a good place to see, and they drove on the proper side of the road too.
I could almost see myself in a broad-brimmed hat, and one of those rather unattractive t-shirts which claim to ‘wick moisture away’.
Which is rather an unpleasant thought as the moisture surely has to go somewhere?
So the only drawback would be the length of the journey to get there.
Not to mention the cost because there was no way I was going to spend hours and hours on a plane in an economy seat with not enough room and my feet shuffling about in all the debris a long-haul plane flight produces.
Horrible blankets and bits of plastic and possibly someone else’s feet poking through on my armrest.
How marvellous it would be to go in the posh seats just for once.
To be welcomed into one of the nice lounges at the airport instead of someone frowning at my boarding pass and waving me away, as had happened once when Malcolm and I were travelling to Austria for one of his tedious financial conferences and he had wrongly assumed he had been upgraded.
‘Maybe I will one day,’ I said. ‘Go to Australia, I mean.’
‘So where next after this?’ Will said, sipping his lemonade.
‘Home,’ I said, pulling a face. ‘Do the washing, mow the lawn, try and get my cat to talk to me again.’
He laughed. ‘Same thing.’
This little interaction was making me bold. ‘Where do you live now?’
‘In the Cotswolds. A little village not far from Bicester.’
‘Ah, the big outlet shopping experience.’
‘Never been, although I did get a really great kitchen installed by a firm there. I can recommend them if you ever want one.’
‘I’ve just had a bathroom refitted,’ I said. ‘I need to get over one mess and muddle before I start on another.’
I wondered then about him having a kitchen fitted, and how he had dealt with it.
Had he made countless cups of tea and bought special biscuits for the builders as I had?
Did he pore over his spreadsheets and costings and question every decision and tap and door latch? Or had he just let them get on with it?
‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow evening,’ he said. ‘Our meal out at the vineyard.’
‘Me too,’ I said, ‘and this time it’s on me.’
‘Oh, I don’t know—’
I interrupted his protests. ‘We agreed when we had dinner last time that the next time I would pay, so don’t argue.’
He held up his hands in submission. ‘Okay, whatever you say.’
I thought about my bank balance then. It was all very well being firm and independent, but how much would a meal in that place cost? How much was the wine? How much was the taxi?
No, I was sure it would be fine. My pension had just gone into my bank account, and if the worst came to the worst I had a credit card.
We sat in companionable silence for a while, looking out at the sea, the children playing on the rather gritty beach, four young men playing volleyball at one of the nets set up there.
I gave a deep sigh, pleased to be seeing all these things, knowing that this would not be the last time I went somewhere different and looked out on new places. It was a very liberating sensation. I wondered how Will was feeling. Had this week brought him a new sense of freedom too?
I suppose I had always thought that men like him lived their lives and dealt with changes and losses and doubts very differently from the way women did.
Women were able to confide more in their closest friends, draw support from each other.
They could sympathise without feeling they needed to provide a solution.
Men on the other hand didn’t seem to do that. He had friends, he already said as much, but were they the sort of people he would split a bottle of prosecco with and to whom he could unburden himself? Where did men get their support mechanism when they needed one?
I’d always assumed the male of the species had things easier than women, but now I wasn’t so sure.
I suddenly felt rather sorry for him, which wasn’t an emotion I had ever felt for a man before.
Certainly not for my ex-husband, who had managed to turn each success into a personal victory and every failure into someone else’s fault.
I wanted to learn so much more about Will, to discover what made him tick and perhaps more importantly, why a man like him, who had been successful, was good-looking and well-mannered, sometimes had such a look of sadness in his eyes.
‘It sounds as though you have travelled far more than I have,’ I said. ‘Where’s the best place you’ve ever been?’
He took another sip of his lemonade and pursed his lips thoughtfully.
‘Australia is great. But then so is Italy. And France for that matter. But if I think about it, and if I had to choose, I went skiing once, a few years ago with a couple who are still really good friends. They had helped me get through a difficult time and I needed to get away. It was unforgettable. We rented a glorious log cabin overlooking a wonderful view of endless hills and valleys. There was a broad wooden balcony all around the first floor and one night I stood out there, just looking out at the moon shining on the mountains. I felt at peace for the first time in ages. It had been snowing and everywhere was so crisp and clear, and there was a bright, full moon that seemed so close it almost felt as though I could reach out and touch it. Vermont,’ he said. ‘That’s my favourite place.’
Gosh. What a coincidence. How marvellous.
* * *
I encouraged him then, to talk about small, everyday things. The way he spent his leisure hours, what sort of food he enjoyed, did he support a particular football team (no, thank heavens).
His nearest neighbour was an elderly woman called Mrs Haliburton, who had apparently owned ten cats over the years, all called Fluffy.
Will shared the company of the latest Fluffy, a cat who took advantage of both of them, pleading hunger and settling down comfortably on its own blanket next to Will’s wood burner on cold winter nights while its other owner called fruitlessly at her back door and rattled bags of treats to try to lure Fluffy back.
‘I like cats,’ he said, reinforcing my earlier view that men who were cat-lovers either were or became more attractive as a result. ‘I think I would like Ivan from what you tell me of him. He sounds the independent type.’
‘Irascible might be a better word,’ I said. ‘He has only sat on my lap once, and I have never shown that cat anything but kindness. Still, he does bring me gifts from time to time. Mice and a couple of shrews as a treat.’
‘I think Fluffy is too fat and lazy to catch anything, and why should she when she has two of us feeding her?’
‘What about cooking? Are you a maestro in your new kitchen?’
He laughed. ‘Hardly. And now I have a new one, I don’t know how much of it works, but occasionally when my sister comes to visit with her family, it’s nice to try. But then she will shove me out of the way and take over, as all much younger sisters do, I think.’
So, he had a much younger sister.
‘Nephews and nieces?’ I asked.
‘Twin nephews. Emlyn and Huw. They are in the middle of their A levels. What about you?’
‘I have one sister who works for the World Bank in Washington. Bridget is married to an American called Cole, and they have a son called Newt, after Sir Isaac Newton, not the amphibian, and I have one daughter. She doesn’t have any children yet, although I remain hopeful.
Nicky is a librarian, but her library is in danger of being closed at the moment, and there doesn’t seem to be anything they can do about it. ’
He shook his head. ‘It’s such a shame; libraries are important places for so many people. Is there nothing that can be done?’
‘They are planning a protest or a sit-in.’
‘Oh dear, you know things are bad if librarians are protesting.’
‘That’s exactly what Beryl said.’
We sat in easy silence then and watched the sea.
People were packing up their picnic bags and young children and obviously getting ready to go back to their houses or hotels.
Groups of teenagers were gathering instead, the girls lithe and pretty in their skimpy clothes, the boys loud and yet cautious around them. A tale as old as time.
I felt a surge of frustration. Make the most of it, I wanted to say to them; don’t take this freedom, this confidence, for granted. Never doubt yourselves. Be the best you can be.
And yet those same thoughts were dominating my mind.
I wanted to stop thinking of myself as abandoned to old age, gradually feeling my usefulness decline.
I should seize my newfound self-reliance and run with it as far and as fast as I could.
Which at my age with a dodgy knee would not be particularly fast or far.
I looked at my watch; it was three thirty and I needed time to get a shower and put on some fresh clothes ready for the evening’s outing. Added to this, I had the feeling that if I kept on asking questions and probing him for information, he might clam up again and I would be back to square one.
‘Right then, I’d better go back to the hotel and freshen up.’
He looked a little disappointed. ‘Must you? I was enjoying this.’
I wavered for a moment and then stuck to my guns. What had P.T. Barnum said? Always leave then wanting more.
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I’m looking forward to this evening. Did you book a taxi? You said you would ask Costas and after seeing him in his thong, I didn’t feel quite up to it to be honest.’
He laughed. ‘I did. It will be outside at six o’clock. I’m going to stay here and finish my lemonade and do a bit more thinking, but I could see you safely back to the hotel if you want me to?’
Very gentlemanly, I thought, but I didn’t think anything was likely to happen in the hundred yards between the café and Hotel Costas.
‘No need, I’ll be fine and I’ll see you later,’ I said.
Walking back, I felt quite optimistic and pleased with the way things had gone.
Unlike most men I had known, he didn’t want to talk about himself all the time, which was refreshing but also slightly annoying, because just like Fifi in Manchester, there were things I wanted to know.
Why had he left his blossoming career and where had he gone anyway?
What had he been doing to fill those years, and with whom?