Chapter 6
NETTA
Netta loved the feeling of the sun on her face as she walked through the gates of the cemetery.
Fergus had never been a fan of the heat, so they’d travelled very little and that would always be a regret.
Not that they’d had the money for lavish holidays, right enough.
Not with the cost of putting Mandy through university and supporting Blair through his apprenticeship.
And after that, well, Fergus had still resisted the idea.
She only had a passport because she’d convinced him to do a fortnight in Spain after the kids left home, but he’d complained about the heat, about the fact that he couldn’t watch his sport on TV, about the food in the hotel.
Netta had spent the whole two weeks placating him, and decided it wasn’t worth it, so after that, they’d stuck to going down south for two weeks in Eastbourne or Great Yarmouth, just as they always had.
Now, she thought about going online and booking somewhere, but…
well, she didn’t know where to start. And did she really want to go abroad on her own?
The pleats of the skirt on her yellow sundress rustled as she walked towards the spot where Fergus lay, in the same village cemetery as his parents and siblings.
This was her best day-dress and used to be reserved for special occasions.
She’d worn it to Mandy’s graduation, almost twenty years ago now, and to Blair and Gayle’s wedding, then their son, Lyle’s christening.
Last summer, she’d decided that there was no point in it hanging in a wardrobe, so now she wore it whenever she felt like dressing up a little.
Making an effort. She just hoped that if Fergus was looking down, he didn’t think the effort was for him, because the truth was, it was for herself.
As she turned on to the path that led to Fergus’s gravestone, she wondered if there would already be flowers there.
Would anyone else have paid their respects?
It wasn’t really a surprise when she reached his grave and saw that it was bare.
He was the youngest of four siblings, but the two older ones had passed on too, and the one closest in age had emigrated to Canada years ago, just as Netta’s only sister had done when they were back in their twenties.
Blair would be at work today. Now that he was his own boss, and living on his own since his divorce, he often grafted late into the night and on the Saturdays and Sundays that he didn’t have Lyle.
As for Mandy, Netta wouldn’t expect her to have time to come here today – that lass was always so busy with her events company that she barely got a day off.
Netta filled the granite vase beside Fergus’s headstone with water from a bottle she’d popped in her bag, then arranged the bunch of sunflowers she’d picked up at a flower shop on the way.
They were her favourite blooms. She loved the optimism of them.
The openness. When she was done, she took a seat on the bench that sat opposite the stone that bore his name.
She always liked to have a silent little chat with him, just in case he was indeed up there somewhere and could hear her thoughts.
Not that she thought he’d have much to say to her.
In fact, he hadn’t had much to say for the last few years of his life.
Netta had hoped that when he retired he’d help out a bit more around the house, but after he stopped working, his waking hours were dedicated to bowling, golfing and gardening – and when the weather wasn’t good enough for going outdoors, he spent all his time in his chair watching videos on bowling, golfing and gardening on the iPad the kids had bought him for his sixty-fifth birthday.
That was just one of the reasons that, contrary to his wishes, she’d continued to work after he’d retired.
In fact, she’d dreaded turning sixty-five, the official retirement age at the school she worked in as a catering assistant.
Or a dinner lady, as they’d been called in the old days.
She’d never said it aloud to anyone, not even herself, but the truth was that the prospect of long days and nights with just Fergus for company had filled her with trepidation.
Her work had always been her happy place, where she got to earn her own money while spending thirty-five hours a week surrounded by other people that she could chat to and care for.
What would she do when she retired? Sit beside him on the sofa all day?
Go hang out at the bowling club? In the end, she’d never found out, because straight after she hung up her apron on her sixty-fifth birthday, they’d gone on a two-week bus tour around Scotland, and he’d died in his sleep the night after they’d got back.
A heart attack. Sudden. Lethal. And the paramedics who’d come racing when she’d called 999 the next morning had assured her that he probably hadn’t suffered.
Netta would always be thankful for that. They hadn’t had a perfect life together, but she couldn’t stand the thought of him being in pain.
That night had changed her life in many respects, but in some ways it was still the same. Same house. Same quiet existence. Same acceptance that this was the cards she’d been dealt, and she just had to make the best of it.
Before she could give that any more thought, her handbag began to ring on the wooden seat beside her, and as she picked it up, she glanced furtively around, ready to apologise to anyone within earshot that the noise was disturbing.
Thankfully, there was no one there, apart from the audience that was resting in peace.
Still, face flushing, she pulled her two mobile phones out of her bag and saw that it was the one for the Listening Line that was ringing.
She didn’t hesitate. She’d said she would be on call today until 4 p.m., and she didn’t want to let anyone down.
‘Hello, this is Netta on the Family Listening Line. I’m here to listen to whatever is on your mind today.’
‘Netta, it’s George McLuskey.’
She’d have known who it was even if he hadn’t said his name.
He had a low raspy voice that sounded like, as he put it, ‘a transit van with a dodgy exhaust’.
He’d been one of her weekly callers since his wife had passed away the year before and he’d needed a bit of advice on what to get one of his four adult daughters for her birthday.
‘It’s the kind of thing our Violet always took care of,’ he’d confessed on that first call.
‘And I don’t want to let her down.’ A piece of Netta’s heart had chipped right off when he’d said it.
Since then, he’d called every couple of weeks, and they’d discussed everything from what was on TV to what he should wear to his youngest girl’s wedding.
He told Netta regularly how much she’d helped him, but the truth was that he’d helped her too – just as all her callers did.
‘Hullo, George. I didn’t expect to hear from you today.’
‘Aye, it’s just a quick one,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry to bother you with it, but I took your advice. I asked Barbara from the doctor’s surgery if she’d maybe like to have a soup and a sandwich one lunchtime and she said yes. I’m meeting her at two o’clock and I’m all in a bit of a fret about it.’
Netta hoped no one could hear her chuckling in the graveyard. It wasn’t exactly normal behaviour, given the circumstances.
‘Ah, that’s lovely that she agreed, George. Tell me what you’re fretting about.’
‘Well, I was watching a programme last night and it said it was offensive these days to offer to pay. In fact, apparently, it’s an offence to hold a door open for a lady now too.
Feels like the world is upside down. I never let my Violet open a door from the day I met her, and she liked that.
You know, that’s just how it was done in our days.
That said, I don’t want to cause offence, because if nothing else, I need to see Barbara every fortnight when I go to get my blood pressure checked. ’
Netta was still smiling as she gave some thought to her reply before speaking.
‘I’m sure Barbara won’t take offence. I would just explain your thoughts to her.
You could tell her that you’d very much like it to be your treat, but if she objects, then you’ll respect that and split it.
Leave it up to her and that way you’ll avoid offence either way. ’
He thought about that for a moment. ‘Aye, aye, you’re right. Thanks, Netta. I appreciate that. Dear Lord, it’s all changed these days, hasn’t it? The things we do for a bit of company.’
‘But you’re doing great, George. I’m proud of you for taking the first step.
’ She meant that. When they’d first spoken, over a year ago now, he couldn’t even hear of the possibility of another relationship and now here he was, taking the plunge and doing something to make his life better.
And no, the irony wasn’t lost on Netta that there she was, supporting him through the process that she didn’t have the courage or the motivation to do for herself.
The Listening Line had taught her that she was great at listening and gave good advice, but that didn’t mean she could apply any of that wisdom to her own life.
If her Fergus was looking down at her right now, he’d be having a good old sneer at her double standard.
‘Aye, I think Violet would be glad. Thanks again, Netta.’
‘Any time, George. You take care of yourself. I look forward to hearing how you get on.’