The Runaway Wife

by Dee MacDonald

  Kath was silent for a moment. ‘You might get addicted to all that,’ she said. ‘You might enjoy the freedom.’

  ‘I suppose I might,’ said Connie. She told Kath she’d been a florist but had retired a couple of years previously. ‘I love flowers,’ she said. ‘Particularly roses.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ said Kath, tapping her tattoo. ‘See, this way I can have them all the year round!’

  Connie laughed. ‘Do you work at all, Kath?’

  ‘Well, I did. I was a carer at the local nursing home, the Haven, just down the road. I couldn’t give it up altogether though, so I still do the odd shift when they’re short. Keeps me in gin! You get so involved with them old folk, especially them ones that don’t have no one to come and see them. It must be bleedin’ awful to die all on your own, but I sit and hold their hands and that. If I had me time over again I’d train to be a nurse, like my Mandy did. It’d be nice to do the thing properly instead of just running around with bedpans and things.’

  ‘Good for you, Kath. It can’t be an easy job at times.’

  ‘Well, at least I’ve booked my place in there for when I go doolally myself!’

  Later Connie drank some instant coffee, having refused Kath’s offer of gin.

  ‘I had a session with some friends last night,’ she explained. ‘Drank far too much.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do then?’ Kath poured herself a generous measure and topped it up with orange juice from a carton. It was years since Connie had met anyone who drank gin and orange.

  ‘Don’t like them bitter drinks,’ Kath said. The more gin she imbibed, the funnier she became. And the fruitier her language became too. But she doesn’t offend me, Connie thought, and I don’t know why, because some people who swear like troopers can be awful. In fact, I really like her. Which just goes to show that the old cliché is so right: you can’t always judge a book by its cover. Even a cyclamen-coloured one.

  It wasn’t the most comfortable bed in the world, but nevertheless Connie slept well for nearly six hours in the flowery, frilly bedroom that looked out over a builder’s yard at the back. After a cup of tea and a slice of white toast (delicious – she’d forgotten how tasty white bread was; Roger would only eat granary or wholemeal or seeded), Connie prepared to take her leave. She felt quite sad; their shared tragedy had brought them close for a short time. And, underneath her colourful exterior, Kath was a kind, caring woman.

  ‘It was so good to be able to talk about Ben again,’ Connie said.

  ‘Yeah, and Billy.’

  Connie smiled. ‘Bill and Ben, our Flowerpot Men!’ She wondered if Kath had been a fan of Watch with Mother back in the sixties.

  ‘Blimey, that was a long time ago!’ said Kath. Then she added, ‘You can stay another night if you like.’ She sounded hopeful, and Connie wondered if she was lonely now.

  ‘You’re more than kind, Kath, but I must be on my way.’

  ‘And where might the fancy take you today, may I ask?’

  ‘Well, I’m going to take a look round the city centre.’ She thought of Sally’s wedding and her own major decision all those years ago. ‘And then I might head towards the Lakes. All this talk of Ben has made me think of his last holiday there.’

  He’d had that special holiday in the Lake District, only a year before he died, with his friend Peter. Peter’s parents had rented a holiday cottage somewhere near Windermere (she wished she could remember where) and he’d begged to go. He’d never been away from home before and Connie worried about him every single day. He’d loved it all – the climbing, cycling, sailing, even the rain – and didn’t want to come home. She remembered him saying, ‘Can I go again next year, Mum?’ Connie dearly wished he had been able to.

  ‘Well, it’s been great meeting you,’ said Kath. ‘You know where I am if you ever need a bed again. Fifty-four Packingham Street, if they haven’t knocked us down by then. I got your phone number and you keep in touch now! I just hope that bleedin’ car of yours keeps goin’, and that you sort yourself out.’

  ‘Thanks so much for everything, Kath. I will keep in touch. I’m really glad to have met you,’ Connie said truthfully as they hugged and then, as she drove away, she was surprised to find that her vision was blurred with tears. She blinked them away and started to look for a ‘City Centre’ sign.

  Kath watched as the little green car made its way along the street, before it turned onto the main road and out of sight.

  She’d often wondered what made middle-class women like Connie tick, and she still didn’t know but, underneath that ladylike exterior, there seemed to beat a heart much like her own. But what exactly was Connie running away from? It was plainly what she was doing, even though she didn’t seem to know it herself. Kath tried to imagine having the same husband for forty-one years, an ordinary family, a nice house near the seaside (what was wrong with a bungalow anyway?) and a car of her own. Her own life might have been turbulent, but it had certainly never been dull.

  Kath made herself a mug of tea and carried it into the front room. She decided she must use this room more often; what was the point of keeping it for best? She straightened Billy’s photograph on the wall and wondered what sort of man he might have been. She’d spoken about him a lot last night; more than ever before, because Connie had understood. Where bereavement like this was concerned, everyone hurt much the same.

  Chapter Eight

  MORE REACTIONS

  Connie parked Kermit on the second floor of a multi-storey carpark right next to an Audi identical to Roger's. That made her feel guilty at not having given Roger much thought recently, and she supposed she should check for emails to make sure that the family were OK. As she dug her phone out from her bag she wondered if there would be any signal in this vast concrete edifice, but fortunately there was. And there were four emails waiting to be read.

  From: Roger McColl

  To: Connie McColl

  Dear Connie,

  Heaven only knows if you’ll pick up this email or not but I can’t keep on texting and you won’t answer your phone. Where are you and what on earth are you playing at? We’re all worried stiff. Can you at least give us some idea of when you plan to come back? Mrs Henderson next door remarked she hadn’t seen you for days, so even the neighbours are noticing now. I’ve had to say that you’ve gone off to see some friends for a week or so, so make sure you’re back by then as it’s becoming embarrassing. I can’t imagine why you feel the need for all this freedom. Surely you’ve got enough freedom round here? Perhaps you’ve been reading too many soppy novels or watching too many late-night films!

  Everyone here’s OK – if you’re interested. Tess moaning about babysitting as usual. Lou moaning about her crying infant. So, as you’ll gather, nothing new.

  Please reply if you ever read this.

  Roger

  Connie clicked ‘Reply’:

  Yes, Roger, I am picking up emails now; I’ve discovered I can read them on my iPhone. Sorry you find the situation so embarrassing, but I’ve no intention of returning any time soon. I need some time for myself. Please don’t worry about me – I’m absolutely fine. And I’m sure you’ll all cope.

  Love to all,

  Connie xx

  Typical Roger, she thought, worried about what the neighbours think. She would like to have been told that he missed her.

  From: Diana McColl

  To: Connie McColl

  Hello, Mum – wherever you are!

  I can well imagine the reactions you’re going to be getting from them all, but I want you to know that I’m with you, metaphorically speaking, every inch of the way. Let them all get on with it, enjoy your freedom – please no one but yourself for a change. I can’t tell you how much I admire your decision – and your guts to carry it out!

  And I can only apologise for forgetting Ben’s anniversary. My only excuse is that I was in Crete being shown round by a particularly obnoxious local tourist official. But I should have remembered and emailed or somethi
ng. So sorry, Mum.

  Now, if you need cash – and I’m sure you may at some point – I can forward money online to your account, if you just let me have the details. I really mean that – please don’t worry about money.

  And please, Mum, don’t take any risks either. Stay safe and keep in touch.

  I love you lots and lots and lots!

  Di xxx

  Connie clicked ‘Reply’:

  Dear Di,

  Thanks so much for your very encouraging email; I had a feeling you might understand! Knowing that one of you at least is on my side is very reassuring and given me the strength to open up the rest of my mail! And thanks, too, for your generous offer of cash, but I’m hoping to be able to manage.

  I promise to be careful and not take any risks although a few little adventures might be nice of course. I just need to sort myself out and decide what I want from the rest of my life, even at this late stage. And I promise to keep in touch.

  Lots of love,

  Mum xxxx

  From: Nick McColl

  To: Connie McColl

  Hi Mum,

  I’ve no idea where you are but Dad says you’re coping with emails on your iPhone now so here we go! It would be good to know where you are. Dad reckons you’re on the Continent because he says you’ve taken your passport. If so, drive carefully, Mum, and remember to stay on the right!

  Tess is wondering if you’ve found another bloke but somehow or other I don’t think that’s it. She’s a bit fed up about the child-minding – you know how she is. I can’t help much because we’re still so busy at the office and I’ve been working overtime. We’ve got a new architect joining us, so that might lessen the load. He’s from that place with the long, long unpronounceable name in Wales originally, but he’s been working up in Scotland for a couple of years. Nice chap.

  Dad seems to be resigned to your absence and eats at the golf club most evenings. I think he’s trying to escape the neighbours, particularly that Mrs Henderson who keeps asking about you, he says.

  The boys are fine. But they miss you, as do we all. Are you OK, Mum? The boys keep asking when is Nana coming back? What do we tell them?

  Look after yourself,

  Much love,

  Nick xx

  Connie clicked ‘Reply’:

  Good to hear from you, Nick. I’m having a very interesting time, looking up old friends and making some new ones.

  Sorry about the babysitting. I do miss the little ones – and yourselves, of course – but I won’t be ready to come back for some time yet.

  Good luck with the shoes!

  Love to you all,

  Mum xxxx

  From: Louise Morrison

  To: Connie McColl

  Dear Mum,

  Where are you and why don’t you answer your phone? I’m worried sick about you – we all are, particularly Dad. He is as devastated and mystified by your behaviour as I am.

  Why, Mum, why? Surely we can’t put it down to a mid-life crisis at your age!!! And, as for ‘finding yourself’, well, surely you know by now who you are!

  And I can’t imagine somehow that there’s someone else! Not many wrinkly romances go undetected round here! Needless to say Andy finds the whole thing a huge joke but then he’s always had a weird sense of humour. And of course he’s never here during the day when I have to struggle with Charlotte all on my own.

  What have I done to deserve such a bad-tempered baby? She still rarely sleeps at all during the day and not much at night, so I am tired out all the time. I don’t suppose you gave us a thought when you decided to take off on your holidays or whatever you’d call it.

  Not only that, Dad expects me to do some shopping and cleaning for him as well! I notice he doesn’t ask Tess although he’d be lucky to catch her with all her classes and stuff. She even had the gall to ask me to look after Thomas and Joshua the other day – can you imagine?

  So, as you can see, you’re sorely missed and we all think it’s high time you came home.

  Love from us all,

  Lou xxx

  From: Connie McColl

  To: Louise Morrison

  Dear Lou,

  What a tale of woe! Who’d have thought that my absence would have caused so much inconvenience? And mirth! Good old Andy – I’ve always rather liked his sense of humour.

  You’ve always been very close to your father so I can understand your concern for his feelings. In fact, you seem to be a lot more concerned than he is. And, as for Charlotte, you’re not the first to have a colicky baby, darling. Di was an absolute nightmare but the rest of you were fine, so don’t let it put you off having more! (Although you probably don’t want to think of it at the moment!) It will pass, I promise you. And surely your health visitor can suggest something?

  I’m seeing some interesting places and people. In doing so I’m hoping to rediscover some of the emotions I’d forgotten I had and, although I miss you all, I really need to be on my own at present. And the reason I didn’t inform you all of my impending departure was because you would have attempted to talk me out of it, and I badly need to do this.

  Rest assured I’m fine and will be back eventually.

  Much love to you, Andy and Charlotte,

  Mum xx

  Connie switched her phone off. It was good to hear from them all. She appreciated the positive comments from Di and Nick, but was not altogether surprised that Lou's thoughts were on a par with Roger's.

  Chapter Nine

  CITY SLICKER

  The city centre was greatly changed since Connie had attended the fateful wedding reception, but then that was more than forty years ago. Come to think of it, wedding receptions had changed as well. She recalled outfits in sweet-pea colours: pale blue, mauve, pink, cream, with frothy hats and shoes to match. And gloves, of course. She’d worn a pale yellow dress, and had kept running her hand over the bump that was barely there, whilst wondering if she should marry Roger or not.

  Now the quality of the shops, the appearance of the buildings and the sophistication of the whole place rivalled London. And she’d forgotten about the warmth and friendliness of the Mancunians. That hadn’t changed at all. After she’d bought some knickers in M&S she went in search of a florist. When she eventually located Blooming Marvellous, she ordered a bunch of pink roses to be sent to Packingham Street.

  ‘Is there any chance,’ Connie asked the assistant, ‘that you could deliver a bottle of gin along with the flowers?’ (Was it possible this woman was really named Marigold, as the badge pinned to her bosom pronounced?)

  ‘A bottle of gin!’ Marigold’s neatly pencilled eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. ‘We’re florists, loov, not a gin palace! Mind you, if you go and get the gin and bring it here, there’s no reason really why not, I suppose.’

  ‘You’re a star! And can I write the card, please?’

  Marigold produced the card and Connie wrote: With many thanks, and in fond memory of our Flowerpot Men.

  By the time she’d found a mini-market, bought a bottle of Gordon’s, and then found her way back to Blooming Marvellous, Connie felt peckish. She took herself across to Piccadilly Gardens with an M&S sandwich and a cold drink, then examined the map of Great Britain she’d stopped off to buy in WHSmith, because she felt it was the normal thing to do, to have some idea of where you might be going and how to get there. In the end she decided to look out for names beginning with Bs, like Bolton or Blackburn, which led in the general direction of the Lake District.

  ‘Do you mind if I share your bench?’ A pretty auburn-haired girl, clutching a cardboard cup of coffee, smiled shyly at Connie, who nodded and smiled back before continuing to study her map.

  When she looked up a minute later, Connie noticed the girl lifting the cup to her lips with trembling hands. She looked almost frightened. It was none of her business of course, but Connie couldn’t help herself… ‘Are you OK?’

  The girl nodded, then took another shaky gulp. ‘Yes, I’m OK – just had some earth-sha
ttering news.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Connie said, unsure whether or not to pursue the conversation.

  The girl looked around as if afraid of prying eyes or ears, then, in a lowered voice said, ‘I’ve just found out I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Well, congratulations!’ Connie’s response was spontaneous and only after the words were out did she stop to think they might be insensitive. ‘Are you pleased?’

  The girl had the most enormous, black-lashed green eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

  Connie noted her ringless fingers. ‘Not exactly planned, then?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘And will that be a problem?’ Connie kept her voice low.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve not had a chance to tell him yet.’ She gripped her cardboard cup tightly and a coffee fountain spouted and splashed, narrowly missing her coat.

  ‘Can I get you another drink, er – what’s your name?’

  ‘Hannah.’

  ‘Well, Hannah, I’m Connie! Now, would you like another coffee, since you’re spilling most of that one?’

  Hannah grinned. ‘You’re very kind. Yes, please. No sugar.’

  Pregnant! As she headed towards the coffee vendor Connie vividly recalled being in the same situation. How could she have become pregnant after only that one weekend with Roger? She remembered little about Sally’s wedding, only her own turbulent thoughts. What should she do? Should she marry Roger? Would he ask her?