First Impressions

by Margaret Thornton

  Dave sighed. He let go of her hand and took another good drink of his lager. ‘Yes, there are grounds for divorce, ample grounds; anyway, divorce is so much easier now than it used to be. It is what I want and she knows it. The problem is … Judith is a Catholic. Not even a practising one any more. That’s what makes me so mad. She hasn’t attended Mass, or whatever, for years. But she insists that it’s her conscience, what she was brought up to believe. They still don’t accept divorce, and she’s going along with their teaching. Her parents are still living, and I guess that has a lot to do with it. They are more Catholic than the Pope, as the saying goes. They never approved of her marrying me. We had to be married in a register office because there was no other way round it. I refused to be married in her church, nor she in mine. I admit I don’t go to church all the time, but I’m a believer, Jane, and I would always say with pride that I am Church of England. So, I suppose our marriage got off to a shaky start with regard to that. And it was never really a satisfactory marriage, I soon realized that.’

  ‘But if you were only married in a register office … Sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have said ‘only’. It’s still a marriage, isn’t it? What I mean is, do Catholics – people like her parents – regard it as a proper marriage? Why haven’t they objected to her living with this other man who she’s not married to, if they are so strict about everything?’

  Dave shook his head. ‘I honestly don’t know, Jane, my dear. I know it doesn’t make sense, but she’s sticking to it like grim death. I know that the top and bottom of it is that she’s being damned awkward. She refuses to think about a divorce, and that’s that. She’s very happy living with this chap Roger – that’s what he’s called. Maybe he still has a wife, I don’t know because I haven’t asked.’

  He was silent for several moments and so was Jane, trying to take in all that he had said. Eventually, after what seemed ages, she said quietly, ‘I wish you had told me at first, Dave. Right at the start … you should have told me then.’

  ‘I know – I know I should,’ he almost shouted. ‘But it doesn’t alter how I feel about you. I love you, Jane. I know I do. As I said before, I would like to think we might have a future together. Not right away, of course, but sometime, maybe in the not too distant future.’ He took hold of her hand again. ‘Does it really make so much difference, my dear, that I’m not free to get married again?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dave,’ she said, quietly. She was remembering something her mother had said when she spoke to her on the phone a few days ago. Something about a man in the home whose son was ‘living in sin’. Those were Mother’s exact words, and that was how she regarded it and always would as far as Jane could see. This fellow had been married twice, and was now living with another woman, and they might or might not get married. Some such tale, the subject of gossip in the home. Jane hadn’t taken much notice, but it all came back to her now. Mother was so set in her ways. She would never understand.

  ‘Maybe … maybe we might be able to go on seeing one another when we get back home,’ she began. ‘But as far as anything else is concerned, I just don’t know. You say that we don’t live all that far apart, and I suppose that is true. With the motorway and everything a hundred miles isn’t the obstacle it used to be. But you must admit there would still be problems. Your farm for a start. You can’t keep taking time off, can you, no matter how well your son can cope in your absence? And, of course, there is … my mother.’

  Yes, your mother! thought Dave, but he did not give voice to his somewhat uncharitable thoughts. From what he could see, Jane’s mother was always going to be the stumbling block if Jane continued to go on regarding her as such.

  ‘Bring her over to meet me,’ he said impulsively. ‘You could easily get to Shropshire and back in a day, if you set off early. And she would enjoy a day out, wouldn’t she? My daughter-in-law – well, she isn’t yet, but she soon will be – Kathryn, she would cook a nice meal for us all. You don’t need to say any more than that I am a friend you met on holiday, for a start, that is. Then we would just have to see how things worked out.’

  Jane looked pensive and a little sad. Dave knew he had dropped a bombshell that had been a tremendous shock to her. He felt truly sorry that he had disappointed her, as he knew that he had.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Jane,’ he said again. ‘I can’t tell you how much I regret it now, not telling you about my wife. My ex-wife – that’s all she is. But even if I had been widowed, as you assumed, there would still have been problems, wouldn’t there? Exactly the same problems regarding where we live, and the question of your mother.’

  ‘Let’s not think about it any more now, Dave,’ said Jane. ‘Going over and over it only makes it seem more complicated. Let’s forget it, shall we? Well, put it to one side, at any rate.’

  He nodded. ‘Very well then. As you say, we’re not getting anywhere, just mulling it over. But we won’t let it spoil the rest of our holiday, will we?’

  ‘No, I hope not,’ Jane replied.

  ‘We still have tomorrow, a free day for us, before we set off for home on Tuesday. Let’s try and make the most of it and not think about the problems. I know I’ve upset you, but you’ll forgive me enough to spend the day with me, won’t you?’

  Jane smiled, a little ruefully. ‘Of course I will. After all, we’ve only known one another for a week, haven’t we? That’s all it is. Tomorrow it will be exactly a week since we met.’

  ‘And what a fantastic week it has been,’ said Dave. ‘Whatever happens, I know I shall look back on it as one of the happiest weeks of my life. And that is thanks to you, Jane. We’ve had a wonderful time together. And I do hope it is something we can build on, not just look back on as a memorable week.’

  ‘Yes, I hope so, too,’ she replied. But she knew, and Dave knew, too, that her words lacked conviction.

  They did not talk very much on the way back to the hotel. They walked hand in hand, but they did not stop to kiss from time to time as they had done before. When they reached Jane’s bedroom door he kissed her gently on the lips.

  ‘Goodnight, Jane, my dear,’ he said tenderly. ‘See you in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, see you, Dave,’ she replied. She hurried inside quickly and closed the door.

  She did not burst into tears. Her mother had always been a stiff upper lip sort of person, and a lot of it had rubbed off on Jane. She felt sad, though, unutterably sad that her dream – or maybe it had always been an impossible dream? – might be coming to an end.

  Seventeen

  ‘Checkmate!’ cried Henry with obvious delight as he moved his last piece into the strategic place.

  ‘You’ve done it again!’ said Alice, sounding vexed, but smiling at the same time. ‘I shall beat you one of these days, Henry Collins, just you see if I don’t!’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to hurry up about it, won’t you?’ replied Henry. ‘You’ve only a few days left, haven’t you? When is your daughter coming to pick you up?’

  ‘Oh, I think it will be Thursday morning. She gets back on Wednesday, but I expect it’ll be late by the time she arrives home. Yes, Thursday. That gives me three days to get even with you.’

  ‘You’re doing very well,’ said Henry, just a trifle patronizingly. ‘You wouldn’t want me to let you win now, would you?’

  ‘Let me win? I should think not! I shall beat you fair and square or not at all. Now, how about a cup of tea before we call it a day?’

  ‘Good idea. Let’s go and join Jack and Flora.’

  Henry led the way across the lounge to where his mate, Jack, was talking to Flora the woman with whom Alice had become friendly since coming to stay at Evergreen. The four of them were often to be seen together, chatting or watching TV, or playing a board game that required more than two people.

  Alice, during the week she had been there, had been relearning how to play chess.

  She and her husband, Joe, had used to play. It was Joe who had taught her to play and she had become profic
ient, though never as good as he had been. Since he died there had been no one for her to play with. Jane, for some reason – although she was very intelligent – had never taken to the game, although her father had tried to teach her. Anyway, Alice realized that the lass was tired when she had done a day’s work, as well as the shopping and cooking. It was little wonder that Jane wanted to relax, watching the TV or reading a book, or, on rare occasions, going out with a friend.

  Whilst she had been staying in the home Alice had been thinking about how much her daughter did to make her life so much easier. She found, to her surprise, that she was missing Jane very much and was looking forward to seeing her again. She appreciated now, more than ever, that the two of them, mother and daughter, had needed a break from one another. They had spent far too much time together, apart from the time when Jane was out at work, and Alice knew that that had been her own fault. Her daughter had tried to encourage her, many times, to join this or that.

  She remembered Jane saying, ‘There’s a branch of the Townwomens’ Guild not far from here, Mother. Why don’t you go and join? It would be just up your street. Intelligent ladies that you could chat to, and I believe they do all sorts of interesting things.’

  Or, ‘There’s an Over Sixties group at church, Mother. They meet every Tuesday for a social afternoon – a talk by a visiting speaker, and a cup of tea and a chat. Mrs Evans down the road goes there. I could ask her to come and pick you up in her car. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’

  But Alice had always had an excuse for why she wouldn’t do this or that. How would she get there, with Jane working all the time? And she wasn’t going to be beholden to people giving her a lift. Yes, she knew there were taxis, but she wasn’t going to spend her money on taxi fares, they were far too expensive. Anyway, she didn’t know any of the people, and she’d heard that they could be very ‘cliquish’ in these organizations. Yes, she knew some of the women at church, but they weren’t really her cup of tea. From what she had seen of them they spent all their time gossiping about one another.

  The truth was – and Alice could see it only too well now – that she just couldn’t be bothered. She had got into a rut and hadn’t wanted to make the effort to join anything or to make new friends. And so after a time Jane had stopped trying to persuade her to do anything. She remembered how she had taken a great deal of cajoling to even consider coming to stay at Evergreen.

  But how glad she was, now, that she had agreed to Jane’s suggestion. She had been determined, after she had finally given in and said yes, that she was not going to like it, but her resistance had been broken down, even on the first day. She sat at ease now, on the Sunday evening, enjoying a cup of tea with Flora, Henry and Jack, the three people she had come to know best whilst she had been staying there.

  ‘Well now, did you manage to beat him this time, Alice?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Did I heck as like!’ she replied. ‘No, I’m beginning to realize that Henry is streets ahead of me. If I had more time I’d catch up with him, you mark my words. But I’ll be going home in a few days’ time.’

  ‘We’ll miss you, Alice,’ said Flora.

  ‘Aye, we will that!’ echoed Jack.

  ‘There’s nothing to stop you coming back for a visit, is there?’ said Henry. ‘We could have a game of chess, you and me. You could swot up on your moves at home. I’d look forward to another session.’

  ‘I’ve no one to play with at home,’ said Alice, sounding regretful. ‘Our Jane’s never learnt to play. Besides, she’s too busy. I’m glad I’ve got into it again, though. It’s jolly good exercise for the brain cells, isn’t it? I think mine were beginning to stagnate with lack of use.’

  ‘You certainly seem a lot brighter than you were when you came here,’ said Flora. ‘I could tell you were here under sufferance, but we soon jollied you up a bit, didn’t we? We made you realize it wasn’t all that bad living here.’

  ‘Yes, so you did,’ replied Alice thoughtfully. ‘I must admit I’ve changed my mind about old folks’ homes, and I never thought I’d say that. But you can’t really compare this one with the majority of homes, can you? My daughter told me it was more like a residential hotel, but I didn’t believe her. I was determined not to like it, but she was right.’

  ‘Aye; you don’t like to admit you’re wrong, do you, Alice?’ said Henry with a chuckle.

  ‘Less of your cheek, Henry Collins!’ she retorted. ‘I thought just the same about you when I first met you. He’s a bloomin’ awkward so and so, I thought. Then I realized that you’re a lot like me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, it takes one to know one,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes—’ Flora looked at Henry and then at Alice – ‘you two make a good pair, you’re two of a kind. Hard on the outside, but quite soft underneath, like those hard chocolates with a creamy centre.’

  ‘Aye, maybe we are, but I’m not right keen on those soft centres meself. I like a nice chewy caramel, at least I did until my teeth started sticking to ’em. I know this about Alice and me; we haven’t much time for folks who won’t make an effort to help themselves.’

  Rather like I was before I came to stay here, Alice thought, with a sharp twinge of guilty conscience. But Henry had not seen that side of her, and she was determined that she would never go back to the way she had been before.

  ‘… and who won’t have a go at summat new,’ Henry went on. ‘You’re never too old to learn. Look at Alice now, how she’s got the hang of chess again. She’s nearly as good as me, and all it needs is a bit of perseverance.’

  ‘Oh, shut up Henry, for goodness’ sake!’ said Jack. ‘You and your flippin’ chess! Just because Flora and me don’t want to be bothered to learn. It doesn’t mean that we’re stupid.’ He winked at Flora to show that he wasn’t really as cross as he sounded.

  ‘I never said you were. Don’t be so damned touchy, Jack Perkins! But there’s a few of ’em here who are content to sit around and let life pass them by. I’m going to make the most of it till I draw my last breath, and I reckon you will an’ all, won’t you, Jack?’

  ‘Yes, I hope so. But I’ve never got the hang of that chess game. Draughts is exacting enough for me, and dominoes. Flora and me, we’ll stick to our draughts, and leave the chess to you and Alice.’

  They all retired to their rooms soon afterwards. Alice’s room was on the ground floor, something she was pleased about. It was getting more and more difficult to climb the stairs, and she hated having to use a stick, even for walking. Jane had suggested that they should have a stair lift installed at home – which was very thoughtful of the lass, she supposed – but she had refused to even consider it.

  ‘Do you want me to lose the use of my legs altogether?’ she recalled saying, rather snappily. ‘That’s what it would come to if I got one of those contraptions. No, I’ll get upstairs even if I have to crawl on all fours.’ Which was what she had to do sometimes … And, there again, Jane had stopped making the suggestion.

  Alice had also refused, so far, to have an operation on her knee. ‘It would make a world of difference to you,’ several people had told her. All about Mrs Whatsit who had had a knee replacement and she was a changed woman. You wouldn’t believe the difference it has made to her. And so on and so on …

  Her doctor had told her that her heart was strong, and that was the main issue, even though she was turned eighty. That had been a few years ago, but still she remained obdurate. So long as she could hobble about what was the point of putting herself through the trauma of an operation? And the more people tried to persuade her the more she dug her heels in. She was not going to be told what she must or must not do.

  The truth was that Alice had an irrational aversion to hospitals. She had had the good fortune never to have been ill enough to stay in one. When she had given birth to her daughter she had insisted on staying at home. At that time there had been a lot of home births. Her husband had died, quite suddenly, at home. But she had seen both her parents go into hospital
and die there. Her father had died when Alice was ten with a lung complaint, the legacy of a gas attack he had suffered in the trenches in the Great War. Her mother had died from cancer many years later.

  She knew that conditions had improved drastically since those days, with the availability of new drugs and up-to-date procedures with anaesthetics. And hospitals were much more patient-friendly than they had used to be, or so she was told. But she remembered the stark clinical feel of the wards, and the rows of iron beds. The hospital staff, too: the stiff and starchy matron, the sisters and nurses, all immaculately dressed without a hair or a button out of place. Like prison warders, she had thought, remembering one particularly brusque sister with whom she had had words regarding her mother’s condition.

  She knew they were much more relaxed nowadays with regard to dress and their relations with patients and visitors, much more friendly and approachable. Possibly too familiar, though. She did object to being called Alice by some chit of a girl young enough to be her granddaughter … if she had one. That was how doctors’ receptionists addressed you now, instead of affording you the courtesy of your proper title.

  ‘So what exactly do you want, Mother?’ Jane had asked her, not long ago, when she had been telling her about the casual attitude of the dental nurse, her use of Christian names and the way she was dressed, in what looked like a pink romper suit. And the dentist as well, Alice had complained about. He was dressed in a pale blue tunic and trousers, as though he was about to break into a song and dance act.

  ‘You object to being called Alice,’ Jane had said, ‘but she’s only being friendly and it’s what they do today. It doesn’t bother me, it makes me feel younger. But you say that the old-time nurses were unfriendly. There’s no pleasing you sometimes, is there, Mother?’