Fran began to cry again. ‘I don’t know. But I agree, let’s go home before something dreadful happens. If you hadn’t realised she’d gone …’
Rose nodded. ‘I know. We nearly lost her, Frannie.’
As Rose lay awake waiting for sleep, that phrase became a constant refrain. She kept going over and over the events of that evening. Almost as disturbing as Maggie going into the lake was the way she had let them put her to bed, like a child, as if she didn’t really understand what she had done. What if Rose hadn’t noticed she’d gone? How would they have got help? How would she have broken that news to Kristo? How could she and Fran have lived with the consequences? They could have both drowned. Rose tried to calm and comfort herself. All was well. They were all safe now. Maggie was right beside her and sleeping peacefully.
Chapter Sixteen
Fran woke to find the van doors wide open, Rose asleep beside her, and Maggie gone. She sat bolt upright to see Maggie sitting on the grass, peacefully eating an apple and gazing out at the lake.
Rose opened her eyes and looked around in alarm.
‘It’s okay, she’s fine,’ said Fran. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Jesus, what a night. Puts the earring incident into perspective. Could it even get any worse? We’re sticking to the plan, right? Straight to Rome.’
Fran nodded her agreement. She shuffled off the mattress and stepped out into the bright morning. Rose got out behind her. Maggie turned to them with a smile. ‘Morning. Beautiful day.’
‘So, how are you feeling? After last night,’ Rose asked.
Maggie nodded cheerfully. ‘Good. Feeling actually really good.’
Fran and Rose exchanged perplexed looks.
‘So, what was the story with the midnight swim?’ asked Rose.
Maggie’s smile faded. ‘What? What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you tried to drown yourself in the lake.’
Maggie’s hand flew to her mouth. She turned to look accusingly at the lake, which continued to sparkle innocently. ‘I thought that was a nightmare. It really happened? I don’t remember anything clearly … it’s all sort of fragmented …’
‘It really happened,’ Fran assured her. ‘Rose saved your life, Mag.’
‘Shit, I thought … I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. That must have been horrible for you. For you both. Thank you.’
‘It’s okay. We didn’t have anything else on last night,’ said Rose.
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I do feel much better today. Better than I’ve felt in a while.’ Maggie smiled at them both reassuringly. ‘I feel … lighter.’
Fran couldn’t think of what to say. ‘That’s good, Maggie. Look, we were thinking —’
‘Sorry, before we get onto plans,’ interrupted Maggie. ‘I wondered if you would cut my hair for me? I’m sick of it.’
Fran had no idea what to make of this request. ‘Me? I don’t have any skills in that area, and we don’t have proper scissors.’
‘It’ll be very simple. Snip. Snip. Take it all off.’ As if it was all agreed, Maggie got up and went over to the van.
‘I thought we were going to tell her it’s all over,’ hissed Rose. ‘Now she’s on a post-suicidal high. Far out. What next?’
Fran watched Maggie disappear inside the van. ‘Let’s wait and see where this goes.’
Maggie returned a few minutes later with a small pair of scissors, handed them to Fran and sat down on the grass. Fran knelt down behind her. ‘I’m not sure about —’
‘Just take it all off. I’m done with it,’ said Maggie. ‘It looks so tatty, and the grey’s all coming through.’
‘You’ll be a platinum blonde like me,’ said Rose. Sitting down beside Maggie, she got an apple out of the food box and munched on it noisily.
Maggie laughed. She lifted her hair up with her hands and let it drop, as if saying goodbye.
Fran glanced at Rose for support, but got a helpless shrug in return.
‘Are you absolutely sure about this, Mag?’
Maggie nodded and Fran began to nervously lift handfuls of hair and snip them off. She kept on trimming, trying to get it as even as she could. When it was done, it was short and ragged, but could almost pass for an urchin cut. Rose knelt down in front of Maggie to assess the situation. She lifted the hair with her fingers, fluffed it up and sat back on her heels to assess the final effect. ‘Holy shit,’ she said. ‘The cheekbones are back.’
Fran saw Rose was right. Maggie had lost some of the puffiness in her face and the cut looked much better than Fran could have imagined. It brought out the structure of Maggie’s face.
Maggie checked out her haircut in the rear-view mirror and was delighted. Although, it seemed to Fran, she was delighted about everything today and it was impossible to know if she had actually turned a corner or would come crashing down to earth any time.
They sat on the grass, ate apples and strawberries for breakfast and discussed their travel plans. ‘I don’t think we can cope with any more excitement, quite frankly,’ said Rose. ‘Fran and I think we should head straight to Rome, and call it a day.’
‘What would we do with the Beast?’ asked Fran.
‘We can leave it somewhere with the keys, as far as I’m concerned. Someone will want it for scrap,’ said Maggie. ‘I know that’s what Kristo would want, for me to give up and go home. It’s just we’ve come so far —’
‘Maggie,’ began Rose. ‘I’m still confused about last night … you had no idea what you were doing?’
Maggie paused. ‘I felt very spaced out yesterday. Nothing seemed real. I remember having a realisation that I was a burden to everyone. I felt certain that everyone would be relieved if I … just disappeared. I can only think that I must have unconsciously acted on that belief. I actually thought I could disappear without anyone noticing.’ She shrugged apologetically, her expression pained. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been in a bad way.’
Fran’s throat felt choked. It was hard to get your head around. Even Rose was speechless. Fran leaned over and put her arms around Maggie. Rose took Maggie’s hand and held it in hers. There was nothing else to say.
‘We don’t need to talk about this again,’ said Fran. ‘Let’s try to put it behind us.’
Rose agreed. ‘We could stop somewhere else on the way to Rome. On the original trip we went to Rome, Naples and then Brindisi and over to Corfu —’
Maggie held up her hand majestically. ‘Corfu. That’s where I want to go.’
‘What? That is a bloody long drive,’ objected Rose.
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Fran, opening up the map. ‘If we take the Autostrade, we could be in Brindisi tonight. But the petrol will cut into our funds. Then there’s the cost of the ferry. I have no idea what that would be. It could clean us out.’
‘We could go to Rome and get our credit cards,’ suggested Maggie. ‘But it would add a couple of days to the trip.’
‘So let’s say we get to Corfu, and then what?’ asked Rose.
Maggie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Isn’t that the whole idea?’
‘I agree,’ said Fran. ‘Venturing into the unknown was the objective. Isn’t that the place that holds the happiest memories for us? It does for me.’
‘What if it’s changed so much, it cancels out the good memories we have of it?’ asked Rose.
‘Who’d have thought that you’d end up being the negative one?’ said Maggie. ‘Come on. Nothing can cancel out those weeks living on the beach at Agios Papadakis …’
‘Sitting out on the terrace of the Blue Moon taverna having Greek yoghurt and fruit salad and chocolate for breakfast,’ Fran reminded them.
Rose still looked sceptical. ‘Well, if we’re talking chocolate, I could probably be persuaded.’
‘The beach and that turquoise water,’ said Maggie. ‘I doubt it’s changed that much.’
‘Yes, all right – you’re sounding like a tourist ad now.’
‘Let’s take a vote. Tho
se in favour?’ Maggie raised her hand. Fran voted in favour. She felt a bit sorry for Rose, who had been so upbeat and determined. Her optimistic outlook had taken a battering.
Rose reluctantly lifted her hand. ‘Unanimous, I guess. Probably the Beast will have the last word and cark it halfway there.’
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘We will have the last word. We will get there, somehow.’
It took an hour to get onto the Autostrada Adriatica, which would take them virtually all the way to Brindisi. Now they were committed, Fran could see that the idea had grown on Rose.
They moved between shadow and sun, as clouds gathered and dispersed, scudding across the sky. They drove past long stretches of green and ploughed fields, clusters of factories and distant villages. They took a break every hour or two and swapped drivers. The slot for the radio was empty, apart from a few loose wires, but Rose got them singing. Her memory for lyrics was faultless and her voice, if anything, was richer and more resonant than Fran remembered. They worked their way through Fleetwood Mac and the Pretenders’ hits and were critiqued and directed by Rose. They followed her in an uplifting rendition of ‘Hymn to Her’.
‘That’s our anthem, a hymn to us,’ said Fran. ‘We’re losing things and finding things. We’re carrying on …’
‘And we want more,’ agreed Maggie, who was driving. ‘It is our song, you’re right. All we needed was an anthem!’
‘That’s who I really wanted to be,’ said Rose. ‘Chrissie Hynde.’
‘So not Barbarella, then?’ asked Fran with a smile. ‘Make up your mind, Rose.’
‘You don’t have the fringe to be a Chrissie,’ said Maggie. ‘You do sound a bit like her, though. Anyway, I remember back then you wanted to be Rula Lenska’s character in that show Rock Follies.’
Rose laughed out loud. ‘Hah! I’d forgotten Rock Follies. Her name was Q – I remember we thought having a single-letter name was so cool. And Fran looked a bit like the Julie Covington character.’
Fran glanced over at Rose fondly. ‘Ever since I’ve known you, there have been so many people you’ve wanted to be, but the only person I ever wanted to be was you.’
She enjoyed watching Rose blush pink. That didn’t happen very often. She was almost impossible to embarrass.
‘That’s nice of you to say, Frannie. I can’t imagine why, but feel free to enumerate my admirable qualities.’
‘It’s mainly just one. That you don’t give a fuck. You don’t worry about what people think of you. Or whether people like you. I can’t imagine how liberating that must be.’
Rose dipped her head in modest acknowledgement. ‘Maybe it was all those hours spent reflecting in detention. I was showing off to be popular and everyone thought I was an idiot. At some point, I realised my mistake was trying to be liked. It makes no sense. You can never be yourself.’ After a moment she added, ‘Still, I’ve made plenty of bigger mistakes since then.’
‘Go on then,’ said Fran. ‘What would you do differently? Be honest.’
‘What happens in the Beast stays in the Beast,’ Maggie assured her.
‘Okay, the truth will come as no surprise – I shouldn’t have married Peter. That was the mistake of my life …’
‘Oh no, Rose, really?’ Maggie sounded dismayed. ‘He has his faults but he does love you. No marriage is perfect. You’ve had a good life with him and the boys, and now you have a grandson. You have financial security …’
‘Do you want an honest appraisal from me? Or just some crap like, “Ohhh, I wish I’d done more sit-ups”?’
‘Have you done any sit-ups?’ asked Maggie.
‘I did one back in the eighties, but it hurt,’ said Rose. ‘I would have preferred a more itinerant life. Meeting crazy people, singing for my supper, writing songs. I wanted to live on the edge: a few drugs, tattoos, doomed love affairs. But I got pregnant and stuffed it up.’
‘As an authority on the doomed love affair, it’s all very well in novels and movies,’ said Fran. ‘It wouldn’t be my first choice.’
‘And right now, you’d be wishing you had a retirement fund,’ added Maggie.
‘It’s the fact that I’ve become middle-class, middle-aged and middle-of-the-road that kind of sickens me. Our generation dreamed of peace and freedom, then we got selfish and greedy. We were going to save the world, then did nothing but mess it up. Now we’re the generation that moans endlessly about having to treat other people with respect. If I hear that phrase “political correctness gone mad” one more time, I will actually go mad.’
‘Okay, Rose, I agree – but getting back to your situation, the fact is that even rock’n’roll chicks end up middle-aged. It’s unavoidable,’ Maggie pointed out.
‘I’ve become the sort of person I always despised,’ continued Rose. ‘I can’t put it down to the mistake of getting pregnant. That was a classic case of self-sabotage.’
‘You could still have had a singing career,’ said Fran. ‘After you had Elliot.’
‘Seriously? Living with Peter is like having two extra children. I couldn’t leave Elliot with him in the evenings without worrying he’d put the baby outside instead of the cat. We couldn’t afford sitters. At that stage, Mum and Dad were still getting pissed every night; I didn’t trust them.’
Rose pondered the idea for a while. ‘I don’t like it being my own fault but … it’s true. I lacked the commitment, and the discipline.’
‘We did believe that things would magically happen for us back then,’ said Fran. ‘That our talent would be “discovered” – you know, like Twiggy or Marianne Faithfull. That was how women became successful. They were discovered by men.’
‘Conquered and colonised like a foreign nation,’ agreed Rose. ‘And how many times did it destroy those women?’
‘Would I have married Kristo, if I knew then what I know now? I’m not sure. I saw myself with three or four children, house, garden, dogs. Living in the country. Just the usual things everyone hopes for – apart from Rose. I never wanted to be an accountant. Dad pushed that agenda. I wanted a simple life and ended up with a horribly complicated one.’
‘Fifty-nine years on this earth and life’s bound to get messy,’ said Rose. ‘When you say the “country” I think you mean more trees and fewer neighbours. People who do actually live in the country work their butts off to survive – or are poor – or both. There’s no geographical shortcut.’
‘My life isn’t complicated,’ said Fran. ‘It’s empty and boring. And lonely. At least you have people you can subtract from the equation. Additions are harder to arrange. People tell me I’m too fussy, but, if anything, I haven’t been fussy enough.’
Maggie nodded. ‘We make decisions in the moment that we end up regretting down the track.’
‘Oh, my giddy aunt. Let’s lighten up. Do you know what I really wish?’ asked Rose. ‘I wish I’d done more than one sit-up.’
Fran laughed. ‘I wish I hadn’t plucked my eyebrows when I was young. Who knew they’d come back into fashion?’
‘You could get the full Frida tattooed on now if you want,’ suggested Rose. ‘With sideburns to match.’
‘I wish I hadn’t spent so much time worrying about my appearance,’ said Maggie. ‘Living up to my reputation as the glamorous one. It’s made getting old even harder, now I’m losing that battle.’
Rose glanced across at her with a smile. ‘You haven’t lost the battle yet, baby.’
Maggie laughed out loud. ‘In the eye of the beholder, but thank you.’
By early evening, they were lost in industrial car parks, following a confusing array of signs to Porto di Brindisi in search of the ferry terminal. Caught up in the spirit of adventure, it only now occurred to them that the ferries might be booked out for weeks ahead. In any case, they didn’t hold out much hope of buying tickets today but, as it turned out, the terminal office was open until late in the evening. The ferry evidently wasn’t as popular as it had been before the days of cheap flights, and they managed to get tickets
for themselves and the Beast for the midday sailing the next day. They were giddy with relief that things were going their way.
There was a bar in the terminal, but the cost of the tickets meant they were down to their last hundred euros, so there were no funds for dinner or even a celebratory drink. Instead, they sat side by side along the back of the van and ate the last of the apples, carrots and tomatoes for dinner. They used the terminal bathroom for their evening ablutions and found a spot in the parking area between two semitrailers to park the Beast for the night.
While Maggie slept in the back of the van, Fran and Rose sat up front and discussed the money situation, which was now looking grim.
‘I think we should just soldier on and, if we really get stuck, I could have Peter send money by Western Union.’ Rose paused, thinking about that plan for a few minutes. ‘Probably not Peter, but Kristo might be able to do that for us. Or, absolute worst-case scenario, Elliot. Anyway, we’ll sort something out.’
‘So … do you think she’s over the worst?’ whispered Fran, with a nod towards Maggie. ‘She seems fine now. Better than ever. Like she’s come through the fire.’
‘Bright as a bloody button. I don’t know what to say. I’m just relieved.’
‘Do you think we should do this?’ asked Fran. ‘Once we take the ferry, it’s a point of no return. It will be much harder to get back.’
‘I suppose we could still drive to Rome while she’s asleep,’ said Rose. ‘No. Let’s chance it. Oh, Fran, what a horrible mess this trip has been. If I’d had any idea … I am such an idiot. I actually thought we would go off and find ourselves, like Eat Pray Love – the trilogy. Instead it’s been more like Drink Fight Drown.’
‘Nearly drown,’ corrected Fran gently. ‘Don’t give up hope yet, Rosie. Something good can still come out of it.’
Sixty Summers Page 23