Chapter 25
ONE YEAR LATER
I’m in Mallorca, in a house overlooking the sea near Porto Pollenca.
It’s early morning and there is a lovely breeze coming in from the sea. And it’s glorious.
Maybe July is the wrong time of year to come here because it will be hot later and the little streets will be crowded, but I love it.
There are cafés and restaurants along the seafront just starting to open up.
Waiters are unfurling the parasols to provide welcome shade and setting the tables with crisp white cloths.
Later the tourist shops will open and visitors will flock towards them looking for souvenirs and bargains.
Pine trees line the walk along the edge of the Mediterranean, dipping their branches towards the water, and I sit on one of the chairs on my balcony looking out at the sea for ages, just breathing in the morning air and taking time to think.
I like doing that. For such a long time I just ambled on from one day to the next, doing my best, keeping up with things and not really enjoying any of it. Not thinking at all.
But now, my life is different and I can see and appreciate the changes. Not that it was easy; sometimes it wasn’t, and occasionally even now I feel a bit anxious about the choices I have made. But they are my choices and I have made them.
The sun moves around a little as I sit here, and I pull my sunhat a little lower. It’s yellow and patterned with cartoon ducks because I am officially an Old Duck now, a member of a jaunty crew of women like me, and there are few things of which I am prouder.
In the house behind me, the others will be waking up, ready for another day when we will talk and exchange news and ideas and perhaps go to the local supermarkets to buy delicious food which we will cook this evening and eat on the patio behind the house.
I hear a familiar laugh and know that Juliette is awake.
Perhaps she and Matthew will come out onto their balcony soon, to see the new day, and then she will be wanting coffee, and lots of it.
And she will go downstairs and find I have already made some, and then Kim and Vince will appear, slightly bleary after our late night.
He will talk about going to the nature reserve and Rick will want to go too, leaving Anita with us to do whatever we decide will be most fun.
Or maybe we won’t do much at all. Perhaps we will just talk and relax, and just doing that will be marvellous.
I’ve realised that sometimes doing nothing can be fun too, in the right company.
We are planning a barbeque for this evening when the birdwatchers return.
And someone will turn on the fairy lights around the garden and open a bottle of wine and maybe we will raise a glass to each other and I will smile knowing how I have come so far and learned so much over the last year.
How to be comfortable within myself, how to cope, how to have fun.
I’ve managed to see so much more of the world than I ever thought I would over the last year.
I went to Washington to see my sister and then I had a week on my own in a tiny cottage in Brittany where the beams were low and blackened with age.
I even took my car and drove on the wrong side of the road and didn’t get lost at all.
I went to local markets and bought fresh cheeses and croissants.
I even explored some local brocante places in out-of-the-way places where the roads went through villages with unpronounceable names and bought a cute wooden egg rack with Merci Mes Poules stencilled on the side.
Then there was a weekend in Venice where we got lost in those ancient and confusing streets, and where the light sparkled and shone off the canals (which didn’t smell at all) and the busy vaporettos buzzed under our window and the light on those unforgettable buildings turned the stones to gold.
Then we did something that had been on my bucket list for years: we spent Christmas in a place where the snow fell in astounding amounts.
I remember we stood together on the raised deck and looked out over the soft, white folds of the hills and valleys, turned almost blue in the evening light, because it seemed, just for us, there really was ‘Moonlight in Vermont’.
Nicky is looking after Ivan the Terrible this week while I am away, and he seems very content with the arrangement.
She’s busy though; all her ideas for the library meant that instead of closing, they had to take on another part time staff member and they have been given at least another eighteen months to stay open.
The mother and baby social group is well attended, as is the after-school reading group of which Joyce has taken full charge.
There are plans for a second group to open soon.
On top of that, Nicky took my idea about social groups for older mums and retirees and convinced the local council that there really was a need for something.
The Old Ducks Book Group started up on Wednesday mornings six months ago and has been very popular indeed.
There is a Cake Club too, where people bring along their favourite cake each month, and there is a spirited discussion about the recipes and a certificate for the best-tasting one.
There’s even a special shelf in the library for recipe books written by local people.
Who wouldn’t like the sound of that? I’ve been along to see for myself, and it seems there are a lot of jaunty, older women with spirit and enthusiasm for life out there who want to join in. It’s great to see.
Behind me, the door to my room opens, and I turn.
‘Good morning, Mr Mole,’ I say, and he smiles at me, one hand ruffling his hair.
He comes to stand behind my chair and puts his hands on my shoulders, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. He is wearing a white bathrobe after his morning shower, and I catch the drift of his aftershave. Still lemony and delicious.
‘Good morning, Mrs Mole,’ he says, ‘and how are you today?’
‘Happy,’ I say, ‘and hungry.’
‘You’re always hungry,’ he says, and he comes to sit next to me. ‘Churros and chocolate?’
‘The bakery should be open,’ I say. ‘What about ensa?madas?’
‘You and your pastries.’ He gestures to my coffee mug. ‘Need a refill?’
I reach out and take his hand. ‘In a minute.’
We sit there for a while, watching the little delivery trucks come and go. They unload trays of vegetables and fruit, boxes of fish covered in ice, huge cans of olive oil.
There is a man in a blue boiler suit brushing the street below us, whistling through his teeth at a scraggy dog, which follows him.
‘I want to remember this,’ I say at last, ‘this moment, being here, being with you.’
He smiles. ‘That’s all very well but I need coffee, and I think I can hear Juliette is already downstairs, probably thinking the same thing.’
He takes my empty mug and returns a few minutes later with two full ones.
‘Juliette and Matthew want to go on a boat trip later, up the coast to Cap de Formentor. She says she’s done it before and it was excellent.
And you can swim off the boat. I like the sound of that.
The water here is so clear and such a wonderful colour.
She said her friends Denny and Bruno are going to be here mid-morning; I’m looking forward to meeting them. ’
I sip my coffee, hot and sweet, and then rest my head back and close my eyes.
Sunshine, blue skies, a few adventures and good friends.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘that sounds perfect.’