Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect

by Knights, Sarah Catherine

The summer holidays plod on – how come six weeks feels like an eternity? There’s only a certain amount of housework you can do; never one for doing much anyway, I realise that the house stays miraculously tidy when there’s only you to mess it up. Gaz is a pretty tidy chap, apart from his black hairs that accumulate under chairs. So, having hoovered and dusted, there’s no more to do; no more clutter that Adam’s left lying around, no more stuff that David’s just dumped on the kitchen table. I used to complain about their ability to make a room look as if someone had held a car boot sale in it – now I wish I had something to complain about.

  Laura emailed back the next day and I’ve arranged to go there next week. One of the cottages is free and although they don't usually allow dogs, she says I can bring Gaz. I was rather hoping I could stay in their house, but as she didn’t suggest it, I’ve got to be grateful. The thought of being in a holiday place on my own at night though, is daunting.

  Jane’s email also came the next day. This is what she said:

  Hi there,

  God, what a bastard! I can’t believe it, neither can Marcus. You two always seemed so happy together. (We were, that’s the whole point!) All I can say is it must be a mid-life crisis or something – although it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? (Thanks for reminding me how old we are.)

  You must feel lost after so many years with him. And the kids gone too. Don’t rush into anything but yes, I think retiring is a great idea. You’ve got years of life ahead of you to do something else, if you want. And sell the house when you’re ready, not when he wants you to. Bath is a fantastic city – maybe a new start would be good?

  We’d love to see you out here and March would be okay. The weather would be good for you, not too hot but mostly sunny – often around 24 degrees. That’s cold for us, it’s coming into autumn. We’ll obviously be working, but we’re so near the beach, you’ll be able to loll around or catch a train to the city. When I know your dates, I’ll arrange some holiday, so we can spend time together.

  No, we haven’t sold the house. We wondered why we wanted to, in the end; it’s got everything we want and it’s so much hassle to move, so we’re staying put. Marcus is under a lot of stress at work and I didn’t want to add to it.

  I can’t believe Adam is off on his gap year; I feel as if he’s still a little boy. It must be awful letting them go.

  Lots of love to you. Jane x

  I read the email through several times, looking for clues – does she really not mind me coming or is she being polite? She said March was ‘okay’ – not exactly enthusiastic, was she? She’s never even suggested before that Marcus is at all stressed – why did she mention it? But then she said she’d take time off; maybe I’m reading too much into it. I realise she doesn’t know Adam and Holly at all – she’s seen pictures and videos, but she’s missed most of their lives. Maybe I should persuade Adam to go and visit, as he’s now on the same continent?

  Her email leaves me feeling unsure, although it was written in good heart. Are my plans crazy? Why do I think going to Australia will be the answer to anything? To visit a sister I’ve more or less lost touch with, that I have nothing in common with and who, in the past, used to make me feel inadequate.

  I tell myself that it’s at least a plan, we all need plans and hopes – and it’s the only one I’ve got at the moment, so I may as well stick with it.

  *

  Cornwall turns out to be the tonic I’ve been lacking during the holidays. The boys get their results while I’m there – they’ve both done surprisingly well and Laura, John and I have a toast to celebrate. Adam lets me know on Facebook – B, C, C – WOO-HOO! is all his message says and Jake writes equally succinctly to Laura on email.

  The few days I’ve chosen to be here are hot – there’s high pressure sitting over the top of the UK, making it seem like the Mediterranean. Laura and I go for long coastal walks and as my eyes stretch to the horizon, the aquamarine shimmer of the sea lightens my heart. The sea is as calm as I’ve ever seen it – hardly a ripple – and much to John’s disgust, even the normal surfing beaches like Watergate and Fistral are wave-free. To someone like him, days like this are wasted days. His school holidays are for spending every hour possible chasing the illusory golden waves and now, he is forced into inactivity; you can almost feel his disappointment oozing from his pores. For me, however, the weather provides me with a glimpse of what Australia might be like and makes me more determined to pursue my idea.

  Being here with them, without David, though, is perhaps the strangest experience I’ve had so far, since he left. His presence hangs over the beaches, and walks with us on cliff tops. None of us mention his name, although he is constantly on our minds and his name lingers on our tongues. I know Laura and John have talked before I came and decided not to mention him, unless I bring him up and as I refuse to, he is not mentioned, talked about, analysed or cried over. He is a non-person.

  For them it must be odd; for me, it’s good. I want to be here and enjoy the present day, not remember past holidays and mourn their loss. At one point, Laura says quietly to me, “If you ever want to talk … you know I’ll listen.” But I just smile at her and say, “I’m fine … honestly,” and that’s all that’s said.

  I am fine, I tell myself.

  Gaz enjoys hanging out with Sally, their Springer, and Jody, the terrier. They form a little gang and terrorise the postman and passing tourists as they rush outside the gate, barking hysterically, for no very good reason. Gaz is the oldest of the three dogs and even though he is only a visitor, he takes on the role of leader of the pack, for a few days. I realise his life at home must be incredibly dull for him, the highlight being a walk to the rec. Here, he’s free to wander across fields, chasing unseen rabbits; he comes with us on our rambling walks and takes frequent dips in rock pools. He eats all sorts of unsavoury bits of old crab and rotting fish carcasses, rolls in smelly seaweed and drinks sea water. He throws up frequently, fortunately never in the house, and has a look of beatific happiness on his face. I honestly think if I left him here, he wouldn’t give me a backward glance. He reminds me of Adam when he talked about Jake’s relatives – Why can’t we live in a place like this? The rec just doesn’t compare.

  One day, we’re sitting outside in the courtyard having coffee when Laura says, “Have you felt this?” She’s running her hand along Gaz’ back at the time. “Here, feel this.”

  I put my hand where she’s indicating and feel a small lump. I let my fingers stay there. “No, I haven’t felt that before. What do you think it is?”

  “Not sure, but perhaps you should have it checked out when you get home. It’s only small, but any lumps are suspicious. Sally had one last year – it was benign, thank God. When was he last checked over?”

  “Not for ages. He’s due his jabs soon – I’ll have him looked at then.”

  I put my hand over the lump again; it feels small and I try to reassure myself that it’s probably nothing. Dogs get lumps and bumps all the time, don’t they?

  *

  Laura and I spend a couple of afternoons at her gallery. She has a young girl who sits there part-time, but Laura has to be there the rest of the time. I find it a peaceful place to be and I sit and stare at the paintings, finding solace in their vibrancy. Some are watercolours, some are oils … I decide I like the ones with loads of colour and which are impressionistic. A lot of them are seascapes – there’s one particular artist I love – his paintings are full of movement and light and you get the feeling that he lives and breathes the sea, through his paintbrush. I’ve never bought a painting in my life, but have a tremendous desire to have one of his.

  At the end of the second afternoon, I make a decision – I’m going to do something completely out of character – I’m going to buy one. My eye’s been drawn repeatedly to one entitled The Dawning of a New Day. It’s a magnificent sunrise over cliffs and blue-grey seas; the cotton white waves are just picking up the pink of the sun, the sky is radiating a warmth and bre
adth that somehow feels peaceful and hopeful, and the waves crashing on the rocks look positive, not aggressive. The price tag of £500 doesn’t bother me; this is something I’m going to buy, a symbol of my new life. It’s a big painting, but it will fit in the boot of my car.

  “Could you wrap that one up for me. I’m going to have it,” I say, pointing to it.

  Laura looks up from her computer and with a look of incredulity on her face, she says, “What? Are you serious, Anna? It’s £500 you know. He’s very good, but …”

  “No, I know it’s a lot of money. But … I want it and I’m going to take it home with me. It looks how I want my future to be …”

  She stares at me and I can see her mind working – should she try to put me off or should she just let it be? She decides on the latter course and says, “Well, if you’re sure …”

  “Will you accept a cheque?”

  “Of course I will. Is this the new you … being all decisive and spontaneous?”

  “I’m not sure who I am anymore, Laura. But, yes, it’s the new me. Me – doing something for myself, for a change, without any thought for anyone else. It’s about time I treated myself.”

  “Good for you,” says Laura, laughing. “Can I tempt you with another one, while you’re in the mood … perhaps this one?” she says, pointing to another one with a huge price tag.

  “No thank you, one will do,” I say, smiling. “One will do nicely.”

  *

  Laura and John are completely un-technical and Facebook is something they disapprove of. “Why would I want to tell people that I’ve just had a cup of coffee, for God’s sake?” is Laura’s response to my asking her if she’s joined, so she can see Jake’s progress. “I think Facebook is a waste of time and … dangerous,” she continued. “I hate the way everyone seems to want to share their entire life with other people … it just makes people fed up with their own lives because everyone else appears to be having an ‘amazing’ time, on Facebook. Anyway, what would I say if I posted something? Sat in the gallery for four hours and sold nothing?”

  “I know what you mean, but since Adam left, it’s been a godsend. I’ve seen pictures of him and even messaged him. If it wasn’t for Facebook, I wouldn’t have heard a thing. Have a look …” and I get out my iPad and press the Facebook icon. Laura, despite her dislike, comes and sits next to me on the sofa and we scroll through my timeline. There’s a picture that I haven’t seen before – in some dark nightclub. The two boys have taken a selfie, with about six other kids pulling faces all around them.

  “Oh my God, I wonder where they are?” says Laura. “They all look drunk to me.” She grabs the iPad and enlarges the picture. “Jake looks red-eyed.”

  “That could be the camera, Laura. They all look as if they’re having a great time,” I say, secretly scrutinising the photo for evidence of … white powder round Adam’s nose. “You see, it’s great – you can see them and feel vaguely in touch with them. Are you still unconvinced?”

  Laura is still looking at the picture. “Can I see the other ones?”

  I search for Adam’s timeline and we scroll through all the pictures there. There are shots of parties on the beach, parties in parks, parties in clubs. The more wholesome pictures are of Adam and Jake holding surfboards, wearing board shorts and thongs, getting browner and browner in each shot. The sky is always a piercing blue and looks broader and altogether larger, than it does here.

  “Well, they certainly look well. I feel as if we’re spying on them … but I can sort of see what you mean about Facebook. I don’t think I’ll be joining though. Email’s enough for me; I would only be joining for Jake and he said he didn’t want me as a ‘friend’. I’ll rely on you to pass any critical information on.” She takes a last lingering look at Adam’s page and hands back the iPad. “I’ve heard from Jo and according to her, the boys are being the very picture of well-behaved youth. Maybe they’re pulling the wool over her eyes, judging by those pictures.”

  “At least they’re staying somewhere savoury and safe. Jo and Bruce will keep an eye on them, I’m sure. How long are they staying there?”

  “A few more weeks, I think, and then they’re moving on up to Byron Bay. They’re going to do some work on the site – cleaning and such like. That’ll do them good!”

  I laughed – the thought of Adam cleaning anything was a completely new concept to me.

  “If I go out there after Christmas, do you think I should try and see them?”

  “Well, Australia’s a big place, they might be on the other side of the continent, but … if it’s possible, it could be good, yes. Whether they would want to see you, is another matter,” Laura grinned.

  “I know … but it seems daft to go all that way and not see them. I might tentatively put it to Adam and see what he says. Maybe if we helped with their fares, they could fly down to Adelaide for a week – would you be prepared to do that for Jake? They ought to see as much of the country as they can, while they’re there and I’m sure Jane and Marcus would put them up. Jane was saying she can’t believe that Adam’s so old now. She’d probably love to see them.”

  “Yea, sure – let’s see what they say, when you put it to them. Good luck with that,” she said, implying by her tone that she thought the answer would be an emphatic ‘no’.

  Australia was becoming more ‘real’ in my mind now. Just looking at Adam’s photos of amazing beaches and open spaces, made me more convinced that I should go. I needed to do something completely different and maybe, who knows, it could open up a whole new life for me. And seeing Adam would be a bonus.

  I miss that boy, I really do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Only a week and a half left of the summer holidays now. I feel quite nervous at the thought of handing in my letter, but it’s got to be done.

  After Cornwall, I feel better about myself and the house seems less alien; my seascape picture hangs in pride of place on the living room wall and I admire it and its message of hope, every time I see it. It’s come to represent something to me – my single future – and even though it’s just a painting, I feel it’s helping me reach forward.

  Gaz, however, is depressed about being back home. His normal walk to the rec is now of the utmost tedium, he tells me. After the freedom of Cornwall, his whole demeanour is designed to make me feel guilty. I try and make the walks more exciting by playing ball with him, but I can tell what he’s thinking: This just simply isn’t good enough any more. I need water, I need smelly fish … I need to feel the sand beneath my paws. Still, there’s nothing I can do. We live in Stowchester, old chap.

  One evening I’m bored (I’m bored most evenings, but on this one, I’m particularly bored. There’s sport on BBC One, a history program on BBC Two, a soap I don’t watch on ITV, a programme about dwarves dating each other on Channel Four and an American detective series on Channel Five. I flick through all the Freeview Channels and there’s literally nothing I want to watch. I’m temporarily drawn to a re-run of Embarrassing Bodies, but when some guy gets his bits out, I decide it’s a step too far. How come, if he’s so embarrassed by his testicles, he wants to show everyone on telly?)

  I turn off the TV and open my laptop. I start googling Internet Dating and am amazed at the number of sites that come up. Some look frankly dubious – sugardaddy.com being one; eHarmony.com sounds unlikely somehow – most relationships are not harmonious in my experience. “My online dating horror” jumps out at me on the first page of google, along with “Is Online dating destroying love?” – an article in the Telegraph. I have a quick look at Match.com and decide everyone looks far too young and then click on Encounters, the dating site with the Sunday Times. I feel if they are the sort of people who read the Sunday Times, surely they’ll be older and wiser? I can’t be bothered to create a profile, it’s too late in the evening and I’d find it too depressing trying to make myself sound exciting, so I just go for the Search Now option, where I can look for a few randoms, without any commitment. />
  I am ‘a woman’ looking for ‘a man’ in the age range … now that’s an interesting one. Do I really want someone between the ages of 55 to 70. My GOD, that sounds absolutely ridiculous, but the reality is, I’m 55, so men are usually older than women, so … but surely, I’m a young 55, aren’t I? Maybe I could go for 50 - 65, that doesn’t sound quite so decrepit. So I put this in and say twenty miles from my postcode. I press Search.

  Up come five pages of these men – I look at them and think they all look old enough to be my father … then realise that I’m ancient and if I put a picture of me up, I no doubt would look like someone’s mother, which I am, of course.

  I scroll through the first page. On this ‘free’ search, you can only click on three people before you have to do it properly and pay their subscription, so I pick carefully and only choose ones who look don’t look like serial killers or Father Christmas.

  I click on one – he has a nice smile, lives near and is 62, which doesn’t sound too bad, I suppose. (I can’t believe I’m looking at someone of 62 as a potential partner; surely 62 is someone with nose hair, slippers, an annoying cough and who makes ‘old man’ noises when they get out of a chair?) I read down – he’s ‘widowed’ – ah, poor chap … but then would I want to be permanently in the shadow of the paragon of virtue who is now dead … but better than ‘divorced’ (Why did they divorce? Abuser, trainspotter?) Apparently, he’s ‘young at heart’ ‘romantic’ …’tactile’ … WHAT? What the hell does that mean? He likes groping women?

  My heart is sinking, even as read. I don’t think I can possibly even contemplate someone who considers the word ‘tactile’ as a positive trait. Against my better judgement, I read on … his ideal match: Body Type: Slim. Well, that’s me out, although maybe at a push, viewed from the side in a darkened room … Looks – Very Attractive. Wouldn’t we all, mate? You’re not exactly Adonis, are you? Age Range: 45 - 55. WHAT? You’re 62 and you’re looking for someone Very Attractive, Slim and 45?? What world are you living in?