by Jane Gilley
‘Then I turn the dial to Intensive 60 if it’s all our jeans and things, or Quick 30 if it’s stuff that’s not so dirty. And you tell me that the LG we’ve got is easier to use than some of the other washing machines out there. Thank God for that!’
His grandmother nodded, trying to suppress a smile.
‘Very good, my boy. Right, now go find me some of your dirty washing. Troy, do you think there’s a better way of keeping your dirty laundry together or do you think dropping it all over the house is acceptable?’ she said, turning her attention to Troy.
‘Ha, ha, Gran. You and your trick questions.’
Marcus slouched off upstairs looking for dirty washing and finding some in every room; he came downstairs, his arms full. He stared at Troy, now positioned behind his grandmother, pulling a face at Marcus.
‘Piss off, Troy. Can’t wait to see how you fare, cooking breakfast next. God help us; that should be a real laugh!’
‘Yeah, well. If it wasn’t for the fact Gran’s giving us fifty quid each for getting this right I wouldn’t be doing it. But I s’pose it’d be useful knowing how to cook breakfast for some bird on a sleepover?’
‘Oi,’ Veronica said. ‘Language. I don’t like you disrespecting the female of the species. That’s the way your father carried on. But it won’t be the way you two carry on under my roof. Do you hear? Right, now, Marcus. Is all that washing going in together or do you think you should separate the whites from the colours first?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sure you’ve seen your mother separating the clothes, so the dye from strong or dark colours doesn’t run or seep into the white or lighter clothes? No?’
‘Oh, you’re such a dorkbrain, Marcus. Even I know that!’
Veronica smiled to herself. So now they were even competing for bragging rights as to who could do better than the other.
Now we’re getting somewhere, she thought to herself.
***
Dora slammed the phone into its cradle, then jumped up to get a tumbler out of the cupboard. She liked the sound of alcohol glugging into her glass. She took a long swig. Ah, yes that felt much better, but boy, was she mad.
Nine phone calls in two days, just to get one simple answer. Someone was certainly giving her the runaround.
She returned to her list with a sigh and then crossed a few more names off the sheet. Frustration and aggravation etched her face. Nothing would shift that, she knew. Not even Botox. When would she get her answers? No wonder she needed quick fixes via alcohol, she thought, as she looked at the whisky in her hand. It wasn’t everyone’s tipple. She’d grown accustomed to it, after finding nothing else in the drinks cabinet one time. But it was a hard drink, scorching her throat every time she took a mouthful.
She was getting nowhere fast, doing this. But who the hell else could she call to help her? Or was there someone she could pull in a favour from? Unless— Ah, yes! Tony Gallagher. Well, why not? That might work. Her father used to trust him implicitly and it was one phone call she might just get a positive answer from.
But at least one other nagging problem had been solved at the Arts & Crafts Hotel. Richmond had finally been dismissed. He’d taken one sabbatical too many for her mother’s liking. Dora rang her brother to tell him their good news. Then Stuart had rung his mother to say he was pleased she’d finally done something about him. Dora had overheard them on the phone, as she downed her whisky.
‘Thanks, son,’ Yvonne had replied, sounding relieved at her own decision. ‘But I don’t find it easy firing people, as you well know. Your dad was best at that when he was alive. Anyway, our other news is that I think I might’ve found a buyer for the hotel. Yes, it’s all happening. Well, I rang Roger – oh, you know, Roger – who bought the Hen & Stags? No, he’s not buying it. Well, I knew he wouldn’t be interested, Stuart. It’s not his sort of thing at all. But he’s given me the number of a lady who I hope is. So that’s uplifting news. Oh and Philippa and I are going to try living together. I might just start packing some stuff off to her because I’ve already decided – Dora knows, before you ask – but I’ve already decided if the hotel doesn’t sell for some reason I’ll move out and put a manager in and sign it over to you. I’m too old for all the shenanigans now. And Dora wants out too. Yes, I think she’s going to look for a flat in the city centre and get a little part-time job somewhere. Could be the making of her. Anyway, I want to start putting my feet up and enjoying life. That’s what your dad always used to say, wasn’t it, and he was right. It’s time for that now. In fact, I think Philippa and I might go visit your dad’s sister Emily in Melbourne for a month. She’s always asking us to come and stay with her and we’ve never had the time nor the inclination before. So things are looking up, son. We’ll speak again soon. Love to the family. Bye for now, darling!’
Chapter 17
‘Well, how nice to see you all again! I really didn’t think any of you would be coming on the painting course after your experiences with the drawing course last week,’ said Eva, with a wicked smile, as she handed out empty jam jars, small paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic paint.
‘If we’d have known it was going to be you on this course, I doubt we’d have come!’ Dora grinned, nodding at the others.
Although it was quite a hike for Dora to keep coming down to Southampton for the occasional afternoon tea and various classes that Eileen offered the community, she was pleased she’d made the effort. It wasn’t a long drive over, at any rate – a couple of hours, tops. But each time she came, she’d bring yet more of her mother’s belongings down to Philippa and then stay over at her aunt’s after the classes; going back to their hotel the following day.
Marjorie chuckled at Dora. She was hilarious sometimes. But she was right. She’d have expected there to be a different tutor for each course. But then art was art, she suspected, in all its forms. So why shouldn’t Eva be the one to do both? Anyway, she didn’t particularly mind. Eva was a lively, uplifting character; a bit of a rogue, too, despite her youth. But, primarily, she was clever and genial too. Marjorie could see that Dora wasn’t particularly enamoured. But then Dora hadn’t mastered any of the courses yet and Marjorie could see she was feeling out of sorts.
‘Okay, people. Well, sitting next to you here, today, is Michael. Say hello Michael.’
‘Hello, Michael!’ he sniggered.
‘Now, I can see from your expressions that you’re wondering why Michael is here, aren’t you? Well just because Michael’s in a wheelchair and almost totally blind doesn’t mean he can’t draw or paint, does it, Michael?’
‘No, miss,’ he said, grinning. ‘Probably better than the ruddy lot of you, actually.’
Marjorie sucked in her breath with a wheeze. Stacy gasped and Dora just tutted, saying, ‘Well this I gotta see!’
Eva chuckled to herself.
‘Okay, folks. Well, following on from our class last week, I’m going to test exactly who can do what here before we progress onto colour and paint. So I’m going to level the playing field. And the scarves in front of you will certainly do just that!’
Everyone looked at each other. Michael sniggered again.
‘Right, people. We’re all going to be doing some drawing again first and I’d like you to draw what I ask you to draw. The only difference, this time, is that you’ll all be singing from the same hymn sheet, as everyone bar Michael puts a scarf over their eyes!’
‘Eh?’ spluttered Raymond. ‘Is this some kind of joke, Miss Eva? I just came here to do some painting. Thought it might relax me after the awful week I’ve had.’
‘Ah, well, remember what I said about leaving all your worries at the door before you come in? Can you do that please, Raymond. We don’t want to be hindered by the chaos of your mind. We’re just here for enjoyable artistic sessions, as you know!’
Raymond scowled. Marjorie raised her eyebrows. She certainly didn’t stand for any nonsense, the young Eva.
‘Now as you’re all part of the community prog
ramme I wanted to see how you fared if I forced you to walk in the shoes of a different person for a change. So I’m giving you the opportunity for a couple of hours to understand just how tricky it is to paint and draw if you can no longer see. I want to see if your other senses kick in and guide you through this very difficult task. To help you out, I’m giving you a piece of paper with a balsa wood border, so you don’t drift off the edge of the page. You can actually buy this sort of thing but I find it quite restrictive because you have to follow the makers’ guidelines and I prefer free artistic licence. Michael tells me he does too.’
‘Yeah I do because this way I can create a more sizeable painting and paint anything I want.’
‘Right, folks. Now keeping all things equal Michael will have the same edged sheet. So you’ll all be able to feel where the edge of the paper is and you’ll know the subject I give you to draw. You simply have to do your best by keeping within the frame and working out, to a certain extent, how you’ll be able to complete the drawing. Are you all up for it? I know Michael will be. It stops him feeling the odd one out for a change. That okay?’
There was an initial silence, followed by an uncomfortable shuffling of feet and further anxious stares at each other.
‘Sure, I’ll give it a go,’ said Dora.
‘Yes why not. It’s a bit of fun,’ said Stacy.
‘It’s not fun for me. I’ve got Type 2 diabetes,’ said Michael. ‘Welcome to my world.’
Stacy reddened. ‘I, er, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, Michael. I’m not being flippant.’
‘Sure don’t worry about it. It’s cool,’ said Michael. ‘We live in the worlds we inhabit, that’s all.’
Marjorie and Raymond exchanged wary glances.
‘Okay, I’m up for it,’ said Raymond with a resigned sigh.
Everyone slowly put the scarf around their eyes as Eva handed out the boards and asked if everyone was ready.
‘Okay so I want you all to draw a house. Keep it simple. You know, four windows, a door, possibly a couple of trees if you’re feeling adventurous. A chimney maybe. Not if you don’t want to though, Dora. You could just stick to whatever you feel comfortable with. I’m only going to give you a couple of minutes to do it, otherwise you’ll start to panic and think you can’t do it. Okay, got pencils? Oh, here, Dora. Yours was on the floor. Right three, two, one – go!’
Before Marjorie started to draw she felt for the four edges of the balsa wood. Right. That was just about fixed in her mind. Now, where would she start – the first wall? Hmmm. She realised she’d need to keep her left hand on the frame to direct her right hand when she’d put the walls in and then she might just remember where she could try to put the windows. She wasn’t going to make this hard for herself. It was simply going to be a box with four windows, a door – if she could squeeze it in somewhere – and a roof. Anything else might just fuzzle her brain and prevent her from accomplishing her task. Blimey even a simple drawing was going to be difficult.
Michael had finished his drawing long before anybody else’s pencil had even touched their paper. ‘Right I’m done. What’s next, miss?’
***
‘Well, that was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done,’ Marjorie said, breaking the ice when they were all sat around a table in the canteen, during the tea break. Eva was outside again on her phone.
‘Yep, it certainly took more than a few minutes by the time we’d sorted it all out,’ Raymond admitted.
‘It’s logical when you think about it, though,’ said Michael. ‘Like anything, whether you’re blind or not, once you work out how to do something, logically, it’s easy enough.’
‘So, um, how long have you been blind?’ Stacy asked, and took a sip of her coffee.
‘Well, I’m not completely blind, but it’s as near as, dammit. It was an ongoing thing. Didn’t know what was happening at first. Used to be a carpenter, ate whatever I liked, then going out for pints of ale at the end of the day, before I met my Janice and never doing any exercise. General unhealthy living I suppose. Guess if I’d stumbled across what I’d got long before I started to deteriorate summat might’ve been done about it. I wasn’t one for going to doctors for the slightest thing, you see. Oh my wife, Janice, used to nag. “Do summat about yourself, you fat bastard,” she used to say. Well, I just used to think me sight was getting worse because of my age. Anyway, I lost me job eventually. My sight had affected things that bad and so I thought I’d better book an appointment with the doctor, just to get Janice off me back. And – bang! There you are, sir. Type 2 diabetes with diabetic retinopathy. “Retino what?” I said. Well, I won’t bore you with all the rest but anyway it involved a shed load of tests, medications and insulin injections and I’m squeamish about needles. But I guess the diagnosis came too late in the day, as it were. Getting circulation problems in my feet, now, too. But enough of all this depressing stuff. This is me, now. But I’ve been finding I like doing art. Relaxes me and takes me mind off things.’
‘God, that’s tough!’ said Dora. ‘Friend of mine had Type 1. Not much fun.’
‘It’s a bummer. But that’s why this community stuff is so good. Gets you out of your shitty situation for a bit of respite, see. How did your drawings go?’
‘Jeez. That was hard. Not looking forward to getting the paint all down me pinny, next, either!’
Stacy laughed. ‘You’re so funny Dora!’
Marjorie took Dora to one side before they went back to try the delightful task of trying to paint with a blindfold on. A thought had struck her and she needed to express it. ‘You know, sweetheart, you’re a lovely lady and I just can’t understand why you’re bothering with all that Botox gunk. You don’t need it.’
Dora turned on her. ‘Bloody hell, you sound like my old mum! That’s the one thing I hate about old people. They think they can say what they like to anyone just because they’re old! Please keep your opinions to yourself.’
‘Good grief, there’s no need to be so crabby! I wasn’t being nasty. I’m only trying to give you a bit of advice,’ Marjorie bit back.
‘Oh and who are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing? You know, just because you’ve made an assumption about why I’ve done something a particular way or why I look a certain way doesn’t mean you’ve got it right!’
‘But you’d look so much better without it. Can’t you see that?’ Marjorie said, trying to reason with Dora.
Outraged at Marjorie’s insensitivity Dora stepped forward.
‘As it happens, Mrs Holier than Thou,’ Dora said, jabbing her finger repeatedly in Marjorie’s shoulder. ‘I’m not actually going to do it any more because my mother – like you – keeps nagging me to stop. The only reason I did it in the first place is because I’m fast approaching fifty and I want what everyone else wants – to look pretty and be line-free. And, as the world can see, it’s all gone wrong, which is crap because it’s made me feel very insecure. And now, thanks to you, I feel even worse!’
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ Eva shouted, working her way in between the two women. Stacy’s hands were at her mouth and Raymond was shaking his head.
‘Bloody hell, Marjorie,’ he said. ‘You’ve already apologised for your irregular behaviour at one of the other meetings, saying it wouldn’t be happening again, and yet here you are causing another fracas. What’s going on with you?’
Looking around her at the shocked faces, Marjorie burst into tears; great big, heart-wrenching sobs. She pulled away from Eva and found her way into the toilets, slamming doors as she went. Nobody understood her; it was all going horribly wrong.
Chapter 18
Marjorie lowered the lid on the disabled toilet and sat down. She covered her face with her arms and bawled. But she knew she wasn’t just crying for what had happened with Dora.
She’d forgotten what Dr Baxley had said about taking a moment before speaking out against other people’s ideals. She knew she’d dealt with Dora in the same w
ay Oliver dealt with things all his life – blustering in where her opinion (and his opinion) was not sought. Marjorie wished she’d found a way to deal with Oliver over the years. If she’d succeeded, her relationships, going forward, wouldn’t have been as difficult as they were now. It seemed as though life threw up harsh consequences, whatever she did. Tutting at herself, Marjorie realised she hadn’t given it a moment’s thought as to why Dora might have felt she needed to use Botox or other methods in order to look younger and prettier. And yet I use make-up every day to enhance my own looks, she thought. The only difference between their decisions had simply been that Dora had chosen a drastic course of action to enhance her looks, which, unfortunately, hadn’t worked out for the best. But by Dora’s own admission she was already rectifying that problem. Yet Marjorie had stepped in critically, before she’d even known what was what, to judge poor Dora the way she’d seen fit. Why oh why hadn’t she stopped herself from speaking out, like she managed to do with Stacy last week?
Marjorie shook her head. ‘I’m a fool and I was wrong. I didn’t know the full story.’
Before Marjorie had met Gracie’s new boyfriend, Steven, she’d been ready to judge that situation too quickly and critically, she realised now. Gracie had told her Steven was wonderful but Marjorie had needed to find that out for herself. Marjorie had even been wary about his job title, which had sounded made-up to her. He was a quantity surveyor.
‘A what?’ Marjorie had said.
‘Basically, he works out construction costs for building projects,’ Gracie had explained.
Steven had been very polite and respectful of her daughter, on the afternoon she’d invited him and Gracie to join her for lunch. Gracie told her how she’d seen him at the station, always getting on another train to go elsewhere. Their eyes had met and they’d both smiled. Then she’d been in the station café earlier than usual one morning and suddenly there he was. He’d approached her and told her how he’d seen her on the platform and had always wanted to speak to her but didn’t know how to start the conversation. They’d laughed, Gracie said, because they’d both been thinking the same thing. Steven had been holding Gracie’s hand as she’d told the tale of how they’d met and Marjorie had seen the sincerity and love in his eyes. And then she’d known as instinctively as her daughter had, after meeting him that first time, that he was ‘The One’ for her lovely Gracie. Somehow, it seemed not to matter that they’d only been dating each other a few weeks. Marjorie just knew something felt right about their relationship.