by Jane Gilley
‘Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe somewhere near reception?’
Marjorie sidled away. Oliver had always hated her talking to other men. Yet, despite him no longer being alive, she still couldn’t seem to get out of the habit of making her excuses and leaving men when they approached her. Gracie got mad about it sometimes.
‘I wish you’d see how rude it sounds to people when you’re abrupt like that. They’re not Daddy. So can’t you learn how to let them down more gently instead of just saying “no” to everyone? My God, you’re lucky to be approached at all. Some women never experience the charm of a man and there you are turning them away at eighty-two!’
Marjorie hated it when Gracie got angry with her but she could do nothing to change her behaviour. It was in-built from too many years of constant abuse. Even though Gracie had pulled her up about this unsavoury aspect of her personality and even though she’d tried to watch what she said to people, sometimes things just popped out unchecked. Unfortunately, it usually hit her that she was saying the wrong thing after she’d said it.
So she decided to stay in the toilets until she felt sure Raymond would have found a seat somewhere else. Then she went back and ordered tea and a piece of chocolate cake from the helpers.
‘Oh and here’s your name sticker. It’s Marjorie, isn’t it?’ said Eileen coming up to her.
Marjorie turned in puzzled surprise. She’d told no one her name.
‘The girl in the yellow cardigan, over there, overheard your daughter calling you Marjorie last week. Her name is Stacy,’ Eileen said.
‘Oh right. Thanks!’ Marjorie said, relieved, but then nearly jumped out of her skin as Eileen positioned the sticker just below Marjorie’s left shoulder and pressed lightly.
Marjorie already felt flustered by this week’s experiences in the community centre. And she felt out of sorts at Eileen’s easy manner as she stuck the name tag on her. Well, sure, Marjorie’s hands were full, so it made sense, and it had been done with care, but it made her realise that the only person who ever really touched her, these days, was her daughter, when they hugged. Marjorie wasn’t even one for hugging her own friends when she chanced to see them. It was behaviour she was not used to.
A tear pricked her eye. Everyone here was being really nice to her. It was a new experience for her and she was finding it difficult to accept.
‘Hi, Marjorie!’ called the girl in the yellow cardigan, loudly enough for Raymond to now know who she was, Marjorie realised. ‘Come and sit over here with me.’
As Marjorie sat down with her tea and cake, she studied Stacy. In a way it was infuriating that she couldn’t remember where she knew her from. But did the girl want to be her friend, like Eileen or Taynor had suggested they could if they wanted to, last week? Goodness, there was at least a sixty-year age gap between them! The thought made her chuckle as she placed her tea and cake on the table. She took a large mouthful of the cake to stifle her laugh and it was so delicious it made her sigh instead, which elicited a remark from Stacy.
‘Good, isn’t it? Everyone’s saying they’ll come every week if we get chocolate cake. It’s a real treat isn’t it? I don’t get to eat cake much,’ Stacy said with a sad smile. ‘So did you make any suggestions? Did you put them in the box or just tell Eileen? I just told Eileen I’d like to go to the sea for the day. I’m a country girl you see. My parents have always worked the land. Mum said we stayed in a caravan in Mablethorpe when we were little. We went there to see our cousins, but I don’t remember it. So I’d really like to go to the seaside proper. I work in a library near here. Don’t mind it – it’s a bit boring sometimes but it’s near where I live and it means I can keep an eye on my cats. I’ve got eight cats, you know. They’re a bit rowdy and I got scratched recently but I do love them. So what do you usually do with your time or do you—’
‘Good grief! Please stop!’ hissed Marjorie, covering her ears.
The other women around the table gasped, their mouths opening ever so slightly in shock at Marjorie’s response. Marjorie glanced about herself nervously. Oh no, I’m doing it again! she thought in dismay, judging by the way the other women were scowling at her. Stacy’s eyes dropped to the table. The poor thing suddenly looked as if she was about to cry.
One of the women with the name Doreen on her chest took hold of Stacy’s hand.
‘It’s okay, love. I think this woman probably has a headache or something. I’m sure she wouldn’t have meant to be rude to you otherwise, would you, Marjorie!’ the woman said, glaring at Marjorie.
Marjorie felt flustered. Well, that had all come out wrong! She had wanted the silly young woman to shut up, of course, but she shouldn’t have said anything. She should have simply moved tables when she’d started annoying her – that much was clear. So she mouthed a ‘Sorry’ to everyone on the table and then gathered her tea and cake and moved to a different table – a table where there was just one other little old lady sitting there, eating her cake with a fork, and who seemed much more civilised.
However, whilst Marjorie munched her cake, she suddenly felt tearful. She was sure she didn’t really belong here, amongst these people, despite the delicious chocolate cake. No, this experiment wasn’t working for her. Perhaps she’d persuade Gracie to take her out for proper afternoon tea in an upmarket hotel somewhere instead of having to deal with these unbearable people, here, with their funny ways.
Then to top it all off, Stacy approached her table with two paracetamols in her hand.
‘I’m sorry you’ve got a headache, Marjorie. Here! Take these with a glass of water. You’ll soon feel better!’
Chapter 5
Gracie stood, with her hands on her hips – just like she used to do when she was a little girl, trying to stop her mother and father fighting, Marjorie thought wryly.
‘So when this girl approached you, you got up and left. Is that what you’re telling me, Mother? After what you said, which was totally rude and nasty, and then the sweet little thing gave you tablets because she thought you were ill? How can you ever face her again, after that?’
Marjorie didn’t want to row with Gracie today. And it irked her that Gracie used the kind of language that only someone who looked after schoolchildren would use when the students needed reprimanding. Not that Gracie reprimanded anyone at school. She only scolded her mother, which made Marjorie feel like a naughty schoolchild.
‘But she was so annoying; so needy. All her words were tumbling out and running into each other. There was no “off” button. It was like she hadn’t spoken to anyone in years and it was all just dribbling out of her!’
‘So that was enough to make you tell her off? This poor young woman’s manner? I thought the organisers said they wanted you all to make friends with each other?’
Marjorie buried her face in the tea towel she was using to dry their dinner plates.
‘But I don’t want to make friends with all those people down there. They’re a funny bunch of characters. And some of them don’t seem right in the head.’
‘Well, now I’ve heard everything! Have you heard yourself? You’re starting to sound like my father!’
‘Well now you’re talking rubbish. I’m nothing like Oliver,’ Marjorie snapped.
‘But we all know that the abused often become the abusers, Mother,’ Gracie said quietly. ‘You’ve let yourself down at that place and I must say I’m disappointed by your behaviour.’
Marjorie bit back the tears that threatened to overflow. Saddened by her daughter’s comments and unable to justify herself, she stomped out of the kitchen and snatched her coat off the banister, intending to go for a walk to calm herself.
A light drizzle accompanied her down the street. She found a wet bench in the little park nearby, and sat down. A man threw a stick for his dog. The dog kept retrieving it delightedly and running back for the man to throw it again and then they left. Marjorie let her tears stream down her face unchecked whilst no one was around. She sat there deep in thought until the rain matted her hair and
she didn’t even flinch when a slow trickle wound its way down her neck.
She didn’t understand herself but, more importantly, she didn’t understand others. Their behaviour was different to hers. Sure, she knew they all had challenging lives; they’d seen and done numerous things and that made them speak and act differently to her. Horses for courses! She’d had a horrid life with Oliver apart from their wondrous gift of her dear Gracie and maybe some of those people at the community centre had lived through horrid lives too. That said, Marjorie could see there was something wrong with Stacy in a way that there was also something wrong with herself; loneliness being at the heart of it. But she couldn’t deal with other people’s problems – didn’t want to deal with other people’s complications – when she didn’t know how to deal with her own problem of coming to terms with what she’d suffered. The isolation, loneliness and fear she’d lived in because of Oliver had been debilitating. She was aware that the way he had treated her was probably the main reason she dealt with other people the way she did.
Because that’s all she had known for so many years.
She didn’t intend to go around hurting people but she expected them to understand when she felt annoyed about things or when she felt justified in pointing things out that needed saying. Problem was, people seemed to easily take offence at her words.
She’d often wondered if she’d spoken to someone in a professional capacity about how Oliver’s terrible behaviour had affected and hurt her over the years, would she have been able to put the past behind her and move forward in a more positive light? She knew that abused people didn’t always become abusers themselves, as Gracie had said.
Part of the problem was that she’d never managed to fathom why Oliver had been so angry towards her. His own mother had never understood it or been able to explain it, when she’d witnessed it first-hand and she’d refused to discuss it with Marjorie – just like Marjorie’s own mother. Perhaps the older generation preferred to sweep things, like that, under the mat.
When she’d sat and conferred with Gracie, years later, they’d realised Oliver’s problems couldn’t have simply stemmed from his stint in the army. Maybe his problems had started before that. Maybe there were things she’d never known about him, before they’d met? She’d known he’d never been a particularly warm and caring soul and even though she’d found out he’d been in prison for grievous bodily harm she just thought that was part and parcel of his ‘macho’ image – something she’d probably been attracted to in the first place, if she was honest. When she’d met him in her late teens he’d seemed exciting in a way that the other boys in her village never were. Of course, Marjorie also realised that preferring men with a ‘bad boy’ image had been many a woman’s downfall.
Or had his problems been the reason he’d left the army in a dubious way?
Marjorie sniffed miserably and tightened her coat around her. The drizzle was starting to make her feel cold. And now that she was thinking about things, she realised she hadn’t been happy for a while.
She felt as though she lived on the outskirts of other people’s lives. Sure, Oliver’s behaviour had initially alienated her from her friends and family. She’d felt so alone back then and she knew her ‘people skills’ were somewhat lacking. And, yes, his manner and the way he’d dealt with everything in his destructive, derogatory way had rubbed off on her, even to the point of her being rude to people, the way she had in the community centre with Raymond and Stacy today. But Marjorie also knew that if she didn’t come to terms with this unsavoury element about herself and do something about her behaviour, she might end up completely alone. Even her darling daughter might withdraw from her.
She shivered, partly because of the weather, partly because of that dreadful thought.
‘Oh, Gracie!’
She couldn’t bear to be without Gracie, now her life was entwined with her daughter’s. But what if Gracie asked her to move out or find somewhere else to live? She might do that for lots of reasons, one being her mother’s inability to be kind to others. Or, even more worrying, what if Gracie acted on her mother’s advice and found someone else to love and they got married? Her new husband might not want Marjorie living in their midst.
Wake up, Marjorie! Of course they wouldn’t want you living in their midst, if Gracie married someone new. Besides, who, these days, invited their mother to live with them?
That was a terrifying new thought to Marjorie. But, whether she liked that thought or not, it was a possibility. It was a possibility that could very easily turn into reality, especially if Marjorie gave it reason to. Falling out with her daughter about this unpleasant aspect of her personality wasn’t an option. Her outbursts had wrecked other possible friendships in the past, so she knew she couldn’t go on being destructive. It had to stop.
But how could she stop the things she said, when her words often popped out, unchecked?
She knew it had a lot to do with her indignation at all things unfair, unjust and unpleasant, zipping straight up to the surface and barrelling out of her. Life with Oliver had been all of those things. Oliver had never let her voice her thoughts, good, bad or indifferent. He liked women to be quiet and respectful of him, even though he’d certainly never been that way with them.
Marjorie’s insecurities probably stemmed from her not knowing how to deal with Oliver’s behaviour. Oh, she’d have liked to have fought back, just once. It would have made her feel a whole lot better about things; she might have even been able to move on, more successfully, if she’d ever had the guts to do that.
Gracie had wanted Marjorie to see someone about her problems with Oliver.
‘Maybe it’ll help you move on,’ she’d suggested.
Yet Marjorie conceded that she hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone about her problems with Oliver because she didn’t want to go over all that hurtful old ground again – especially spilling her guts to someone she didn’t know. And she also didn’t want to keep going back to see a counsellor week after week, forcing her to live through the whole sorry mess over and over again. That period of her life, Marjorie insisted to Gracie, was well and truly over. She didn’t want to keep thinking about it. On the other hand, she’d realised that there was no way she could change her behaviour by herself. She’d tried and failed miserably.
However, the incident at the community centre had brought it home to Marjorie that things had to change and not just because she wanted to be accepted by the wider community.
Primarily she had to change for her daughter. Gracie was young and vibrant in a way that Marjorie had never been allowed to be. And despite Gracie saying she hated men, she didn’t hate them in the same way nor for the same reason that Marjorie hated and mistrusted them. And despite her fear of being asked to move out if Gracie did meet someone new, Marjorie had no intention of standing in Gracie’s way when her daughter found someone to love her again. Gracie deserved to be loved again! The gift of love had never touched – would never touch – Marjorie and she was completely accepting about that. But she wanted Gracie to find that special someone.
Marjorie let out a long sigh. Why is life so darned hard sometimes?
She knew she no longer wanted to continue living as a bitter woman, marred by her past with an abusive husband. Marjorie wanted the chance to live as a woman other people would like to get to know because she was kind and considerate. She certainly realised she would never be classed as a sweet little old lady. But she could start by trying to be better; by trying to unlearn the wrongful message Oliver had taught her with his offensive actions.
She thought back to the situation with Stacy a few hours ago. Marjorie already knew that, deep down, her behaviour towards the nervous young woman had been wrong. Oliver had told their friends he felt justified to treat his wife howsoever he chose and Marjorie realised she’d done the exact same thing to Stacy that afternoon.
But it had made her miserable; it had made her daughter hate her a little and, worst of all, it had made Eilee
n take her to one side and suggest she go home, to have a think about how she treated people because they didn’t want any bullies in their midst. She hadn’t confessed that bit to Gracie. It was too shameful.
She’d been branded a bully! How totally devastating! Luckily, Eileen had been discreet enough to make sure no one overheard what she’d been saying to Marjorie. But even so, Marjorie had been so shocked at Eileen’s words, she’d wanted to shout out: ‘I’m not a bully! Oliver was the bully!’
Pricking tears filled Marjorie’s eyes.
She looked up into the large thunderous clouds that seemed to have made their way over to her side of the park. The day had started by being bright and hot. Yet the sky was now stubbornly dark and ominous and as Marjorie searched the sky for answers, the darkness suddenly broke and emptied its hefty thunderstorm mercilessly down on her heavy heart.
Chapter 6
Raymond’s son Simon was stirring their teas in the kitchen, whilst staring out of the window at his parents’ beautifully kept garden. The lawn was trimmed and weed free, blue-tinged lacecap hydrangeas graced the far hedge, pale pink clematis climbed the garage and brightly coloured perennials sat in a small circular raised bed, towards the bottom of the garden, surrounding the base of the elaborate bird bath.
Raymond had lied about his arthritis to Marjorie. It was getting into all his joints now. He’d argued with his doctor as to whether it was partly hereditary or not.
‘It’s unclear,’ Dr Hien told him. ‘But we think familial concurrence has some bearing, yes.’
Why did professionals always talk in riddles? But when Raymond told his doctor about symptoms he’d found online, pertaining to something he thought he might have, she’d told him she would check him over and assess for herself what may or may not be wrong with him, based on clear medical evidence – not Google say-so!
Raymond knew Dr Hien would argue blue was black if he let her. But the point was, on his recent visit to her she’d told him that his increasing pains were probably his arthritis getting worse. She’d given him some medication, a list of exercises and a squashy ball for his hands that he quite enjoyed using now.