The Runaway Wife: A laugh out loud feel good novel about second chances

by Dee MacDonald

  ‘Let me set it up for you,’ he said, ‘and show you how to enter the address you want.’ After he’d explained the basics he asked, ‘Why don’t I follow you for a few miles just to make sure you’re OK?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Don.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that. OK then, why don’t we take a stroll in that park we passed when you were doing your trial run? Before you go…?’ He looked at her imploringly.

  ‘That would be nice.’

  She was in no hurry. She’d make her way south and stop when she was tired. She had a yearning to see Jeannie again, to tell her of her decision. But she’d have that stroll first.

  The park had well-tended flowerbeds and a pond. Apart from a couple of kids who whizzed past them on skateboards, there were few people around and they found a bench beside the pond from which to watch the ducks, who waddled towards them hopefully.

  ‘Sorry, we’ve no bread,’ Connie said to them.

  ‘You’re not sorry about anything else, are you?’ Don asked, putting his arm round Connie’s shoulders.

  ‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘But I did lie to you about my age, you know. I’m sixty-six.’ She didn’t dare look at him.

  ‘Do you mean to tell me I’ve been cradle-snatched?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said ruefully.

  ‘Don’t you know that some men prefer older ladies, and that they often make the best lovers?’

  ‘Or that we’re bloody grateful!’ she added, and they both burst out laughing.

  ‘And now,’ he said sadly, ‘we’ve come to the parting of the ways.’

  ‘We’ve had a lovely few days, Don. Thank you.’

  ‘Nothing to thank me for,’ he said, stroking her knee. ‘I’ve told you before – if I hadn’t liked you I’d have put you on the train in Inverness.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t.’

  ‘So am I. And, Connie, promise me that you’ll call me if you ever need me…’

  ‘I will,’ she replied. ‘But I think you came along at my hour of greatest need.’

  ‘Well, you never know.’

  ‘No, you never know.’

  They stood up and he put both arms round her. ‘It wasn’t just sex, you know, Connie.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I can say. And I really hope that eventually you find some lucky lady to settle down with – third time lucky and all that!’

  He kissed her gently.

  She smiled. ‘Goodbye, Don.’

  He released her from his grip. ‘Goodbye, Connie McColl.’

  She turned and walked quickly away from him to where she’d parked her little car, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  HELPING HAND

  Connie was heading south-east, along B roads, in watery late-afternoon sunshine. This was the Scottish Borders region again, and she bypassed signs for Peebles and Galashiels before crossing the River Tweed in the early evening. For the first few miles Connie had replied to the satnav in the same way as she’d initially done with other disembodied voices, until it dawned on her that there really wasn’t much point in saying ‘thank you’, or ‘Sorry, I missed that turning.’ She could recall, years ago, saying ‘thank you’ to an ATM as she withdrew her notes, and the sniggering of the youngster behind her. The only problem now was that the satnav lady kept ordering her back to motorways, which Connie was trying to avoid.

  There were still swathes of wild montbretia here and there, flowering by the wayside, heralding the beginning of a coppery autumn glow. Summer was ending. Her journey must end soon too. She missed her family, particularly the grandchildren, and hoped they hadn’t forgotten her. Thomas wouldn’t, but what about Joshua? She tried to remember how a three-year-old’s mind functioned. How quickly did they forget? Would he give her the cold shoulder like Hector, their old cat, had? It was a long time ago now, but Hector would give them a chilly stare whenever they returned from holiday, eager to make a fuss of him. ‘Did you miss us, Hector?’ the kids would ask as they tried to stroke him. Hector would arch his back, lift his tail straight up in the air, and march away icily. His body language was clear. How could you have gone and left me? He’d keep his distance for several days, deeply offended, until eventually the creature comforts of being constantly stroked on someone’s knee, and sleeping on everyone’s beds at night, along with his favourite tuna dinner, won the day. But he’d made his displeasure known. ‘Poor old Hector!’ they’d say the following summer, as off they went again, leaving him to the mercy of some obliging neighbour. Surely the boys wouldn’t be like that? Then again, perhaps everyone would be like that.

  She’d left Scotland behind, but she would come back again. Now she was in Northumberland she’d been thinking about Jeannie, ever since she’d passed signs for the intriguing-sounding villages of Little Dancer and Great Dancer. Connie wondered if this might be some sort of message. She’d like to see Jeannie again; Jeannie had advised her not to give up on her marriage and Connie wanted her to know that she’d reached a decision.

  Connie pulled into a layby and dug out her phone. If she answers, I’ll ask if I can pop in to see her. If she’s out, that means that it wouldn’t have been such a good idea anyway.

  Jeannie answered.

  ‘Oh, Connie, I’ve thought about you such a lot!’

  ‘I’ve got lots to tell you,’ Connie said.

  ‘Good things?’

  Connie was aware of a frailty in Jeannie’s voice. ‘Yes, lots of good things. But I’m heading in your direction right now and wondered if it would be possible to pop in for a little while?’

  There was a slight hesitation before Jeannie replied, ‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m absolutely sure.’

  When the door opened, Connie tried not to gasp. Her little friend had shrunk to skeletal proportions in the space of a couple of weeks, and there hadn’t been much of her in the first place. But it was the greyness of her complexion that really shook Connie.

  ‘I’m so glad you were able to come,’ Jeannie said, as Connie bent to hug her gently, terrified she’d break one of these tiny bird-like bones, and trying not to show how shocked she was.

  ‘I’ve brought you some Scottish heather honey,’ Connie said, ‘and a few wee miniatures of whisky.’

  ‘Thank you, Connie.’ As she entered the sitting room, Jeannie turned and said, ‘You’ll probably gather I haven’t been too well.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. What’s been the problem?’

  ‘Well, I might as well tell you. I’ve had cancer for some time, since long before I met you, and it’s accelerated recently.’

  ‘Oh, Jeannie…’

  ‘And I’m driving my doctor mad. He’s wanted me to have treatment for months, but I’ve refused. Can you imagine – chemo at my age? Do I want to look in the mirror and see a bald old coot? Just for the sake of a few extra, not very pleasant, months?’

  ‘Sit down, Jeannie!’ Connie ordered. ‘Let me put the kettle on.’

  ‘Oh, would you mind? And after that long drive you’ve had!’ But she seemed grateful to sink into the chair.

  Connie was glad of a few moments in the kitchen to compose herself at the sight of her friend virtually disappearing in front of her eyes. Even the walk to the door had clearly exhausted her. She made tea and, remembering Jeannie didn’t have mugs, set out the tray with the elegant china cups and saucers.

  As she sat down and watched Jeannie take her first shaky sip, Connie said, ‘Tell me about all this.’

  Jeannie rolled her eyes. ‘It’s so damn tiresome,’ she said. ‘It started in the breast and now it’s gone all over the place, and I just wish it would get on with it.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Connie – I’m nearly ninety and I’ve had a lovely life.’

  ‘But ninety’s not that old these days…’

  ‘Of course it’s old! It’s ancient! Don�
�t go telling me ninety’s the new seventy, or some other rubbish! And all my friends have gone now, so it’s lonely at times. I don’t mind dying one bit, so long as I don’t have to go into a hospital or a hospice. I know they’re wonderful places, but what I really want is to drift off right here, in my own little flat. Anyway, that’s more than enough about me. Now, tell me how you’ve been getting on.’

  Connie told her, with as much detail as she could remember, and was pleased to see Jeannie laugh at some of her escapades, particularly tickled by the bit about being rescued by Don and her sexual awakening during the tour of western Scotland.

  ‘I don’t want to shock you,’ Connie said, ‘but I’ve never had sex like it!’

  Jeannie squealed with laughter. ‘Good for you! And not before time! He sounds lovely. What have you done with him?’

  ‘Yes, he was lovely, but a bit of a ladies’ man. I left him in Glasgow.’

  ‘Did you fall in love with him, just a teeny bit?’

  ‘Not really. Well, a very teeny bit! And I loved feeling alive again, truly alive. I only wanted to feel that I might still be passably attractive to the opposite sex because, before I left home, I was feeling completely invisible. And I’d no idea sex could be like that! Can you imagine – after forty-one years of marriage and four kids.’

  ‘I never had the marriage or the kids, Connie, but I had the sex, and the love to go with it. Seems to me you never get it all.’

  Connie drained her cup. ‘Well, some people seem to.’

  Jeannie smiled. ‘But not you and I.’

  ‘More tea?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you prefer gin? Or one of those whiskies? I’ve several bottles of gin in the cupboard, which I’m not going to be able to do justice to, so why don’t we make a start now?’

  ‘I’m driving – usual story.’

  ‘Where are you going now?’

  There was something uncannily familiar about this conversation, Connie thought.

  ‘Well, I’m heading south,’ she said vaguely.

  ‘Home, do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I won’t make it home by tonight,’ Connie replied, knowing that the full length of England lay ahead. She planned to visit Freddy again as well, but that would be tomorrow.

  ‘Then why not stay here?’

  ‘Don’t tell me: you have all these meals in your freezer! Haven’t we had this conversation before, Jeannie?’

  ‘We have, and we’re having it again. But I’m not much company these days. I go to bed early with a thousand and one pills and, anyway, it can’t be very comfortable for you on that sofa.’

  There was such sadness in her voice that Connie immediately said, ‘I can make myself very comfortable in here, and I’d be more than happy to have a quiet night and catch up with my reading, and watching TV.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ There was no disguising the delight in Jeannie’s voice.

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Now, shall I get us those drinks?’

  Later they got through a bottle of red wine. That is, Jeannie took tiny sips from one glass, and Connie demolished the rest. She’d found some pasta meals in the freezer, along with garlic bread, and set the table for supper.

  Jeannie could only manage a minuscule portion of the bread, and Connie realised she was no longer able to eat.

  ‘I don’t want to be sick all night,’ Jeannie explained cheerfully.

  Connie, feeling decidedly squiffy after the gin and the wine, wandered out to Rosy and extracted the Miracle and the mat from her boot. On her return, she found that Jeannie had dozed off in the chair.

  What do I do now? she wondered. Leave her be, or wake her up and help her to bed? As if on cue, Jeannie suddenly opened her eyes and glared at Connie, shouting, ‘And who the hell are you?’

  Connie was nonplussed for a moment, before picking up both of Jeannie’s hands in hers. ‘I’m Connie, remember?’

  There was a short silence while Jeannie appeared to re-focus. ‘Of course you’re Connie,’ she whispered, ‘of course you are.’

  ‘And it’s time you went to bed. Let me help you.’

  ‘Thanks, dear, but I can still manage. You don’t mind if I do leave you now, though?’ The old lady got up shakily and headed towards her bedroom. She turned. ‘Goodnight, my dear. And I can’t tell you how much your visit means to me.’

  When Jeannie was safely in her bedroom with the door closed, Connie put her head in her hands and wept for her poor friend.

  Later on, Connie watched snippets of television while attempting a sketch of Don. She’d taken some photos in Arisaig, but they didn’t quite catch his expression, his roguish charm. Then, feeling weary, she laid the mat and the Miracle on the floor, instead of risking a crick in her neck on the sofa, and slept well. She woke at about six and lay listening to the sounds of early morning traffic, watching the dust motes dance in the beam of light where the curtains didn’t quite meet. The place needed cleaning. She wondered if Jeannie noticed, or cared. Who would do the cleaning? Did Jeannie have any kind of home help? Probably not, and she was rapidly losing the battle to cope on her own.

  Jeannie’s doctor was right. She should be in some sort of care. And then Connie thought about dying in a geriatric ward somewhere, surrounded by people she didn’t know, with not even the visiting hour to look forward to. Because who would visit Jeannie now? She had no family that Connie knew of, and she herself had said that she’d outlived all her friends.

  I can’t leave her, Connie thought, unless she’s desperate to be on her own. She can’t have very long and she wants to die in this little flat with the posters on the walls to remind her of happy days, and the roses on the table to remind her of her lover. Surely I could stay a little longer? Perhaps a nurse might call in daily if she becomes completely bedridden? And, let’s face it, she’s so tiny and frail that I could easily carry her if I have to. And everyone at home has coped perfectly well without me for weeks now, because nobody’s indispensable. Not even me. Not in Sussex anyway, but I’m needed here. And I’ll start by giving this place a good clean and washing that window.

  At eight o’clock the bedroom door opened and Jeannie emerged, heading for the bathroom next door while she steadied herself against the wall with her hand. Connie watched her anxiously, but decided not to interfere. In the kitchen, she looked around Jeannie’s meagre supplies: half a small loaf, out of date by three days, two mouldy carrots, a pint of milk and a black banana. Dear lord, she’d need to do some shopping straight away.

  ‘Connie?’ Jeannie, still in her nightie, was standing in the lounge, looking considerably perkier than she had last night.

  ‘Good morning, Jeannie. How did you sleep?’

  ‘Not too bad – off and on. But so nice to know that someone was here.’

  ‘I was just about to make some tea,’ Connie said.

  ‘I should be—’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t! Sit down!’

  When Connie appeared with the tea tray a few minutes later she asked Jeannie, ‘What exactly have you been eating?’

  Jeannie pulled a face. ‘Oh, I don’t eat much. Just a bit of toast now and again. Oh, and sometimes I have a Cup-a-Soup. They’re very nice, you know.’

  Connie sighed. ‘Your loaf’s out of date, and you need some serious nourishment. Who does your shopping for you?’

  ‘Well, Audrey next door’s quite good. She knocks on the door once a week or so, and I ask her to get me bread, milk, that sort of thing. I’m fine, really.’

  ‘No, you’re not fine. I shall go out later and get some groceries for you. Didn’t I pass a supermarket on the way here?’

  ‘That would be Sainsbury’s. But I can manage fine, and I don’t want to delay you when you have such a long journey ahead of you.’

  Connie sipped her tea. ‘I’m not planning on going anywhere.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Jeannie’s eyes widened.

  ‘I’m staying right here.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Why would you do that?’


  ‘Because nobody on this planet needs me as much as you do right now. And because I want to stay.’

  ‘For how long?’ Jeannie appeared completely confused.

  Difficult one to answer, Connie thought, then said, ‘For as long as you’ll have me.’

  ‘I can’t have you doing this, Connie. Dr Ryan’s right; I should go into some sort of care. It’s very selfish of me to expect other people—’

  ‘It’s not selfish,’ Connie interrupted. ‘It’s exactly how I’d feel. You and I are very independent.’

  ‘But what about your family?’

  ‘What about them? I’ve been away for weeks and they’re all getting on perfectly OK, as I knew they would.’

  ‘And what about your husband? What was his name again – Roger?’

  ‘Yes, Roger. Roger’s inconvenienced by my absence, of course, but I hardly think he’s weeping, wailing or gnashing his teeth for my return. So, I’m staying right here.’

  ‘Oh, Connie!’ This time Jeannie wept happy tears.

  Chapter Thirty

  TEAMWORK

  They’d established a routine of sorts in the four days since Connie’s arrival. She’d found Sainsbury’s; she’d stocked up on things she hoped were nourishing and that might tempt Jeannie’s tiny appetite. She dusted, cleaned, changed and laundered Jeannie’s bedlinen. And all the time Jeannie protested. ‘Connie, I can’t have you doing all this!’ ‘Connie, there’s no need to iron the sheets!’ ‘Connie, you must be bored witless!’

  Connie ignored her. ‘Will you please be quiet? You’re supposed to be an invalid!’ And Jeannie had gratefully acquiesced.

  But although Connie made soups and a casserole, Jeannie ate almost nothing and, on the fourth day, she decided to stay in bed. Connie sat with her, read out snippets of interest from the newspaper, and told her more about her family.

  ‘Will you go back?’ Jeannie asked.

  ‘Oh yes, I must go back. I need to face the music.’