God, I am maudlin tonight. I’m at a party. Cheer up, woman, I tell myself, enjoy the atmosphere, even if it’s from the seat of this silly construction of bars and bolts.
Right. I refocus and see that on the tables there are also twinkling candles floating in lazy circles in bowls of water, and sparkly table confetti is scattered liberally around on the cloth. Gold and silver helium balloons anchored to the centrepiece float and bob in the air. It all looks divine. The scents of slow cooking food and beer and sweat and flowers mingle to form a kaleidoscope of smells, which is not unpleasant.
As well as the band there is a DJ, and I feel momentarily disoriented as the coloured lights on his deck splash a rainbow of hues across the room –bright sky blue, deep ruby red, clear sunny yellow, fields of England green –washing over people’s faces. I clutch the blanket on my lap tighter as a shiver runs through me, and pleat the waffle of the material nervously between my fingers.
Nerves are soon forgotten as my gorgeous helper wheels me forward, trying to avoid the mass of smart leather Oxfords and glamorous high heels. Some of the party guests crowd round me to say hello, hi and how are you, touching my shoulders and arms in greeting. Being patted, especially when at waist height to everyone makes me feel suffocated, claustrophobic, but I say nothing, I simply give them a tight grin. If they are so pleased to see me then who am I to ruin their fun?
And it’s nice to feel wanted, even if I don’t recognise them all. Although thinking about it some are vaguely familiar. Perhaps they are distant relatives who carry a strong family resemblance? It would explain why their faces are those of strangers but oddly known.
As the group around us dissolves away, I spot a white banner hanging from between two pale columns that seem to hold up the roof. Happy golden wedding anniversary the sign declares in huge gold lettering.
But whose anniversary is it?
I frown. Golden –that’s fifty years isn’t it? Robert and I were married in the springtime four years ago, pink apple blossom spiralling around us in the faint breeze as we stood outside the tiny church in my home village. The way he looked at me that day, so adoringly, still moves me. His brown eyes were so gentle yet at the same time glowing with heat. His smile was crooked and indulgent. It’s the way he looked at me the first day our eyes met across the surgical ward of the local city hospital. It’s the way he has looked at me every day since then. I hope with everything inside me that he never stops looking at me like that.
Searching for my handsome husband’s presence, I can’t find his dark hair or dimples anywhere. There is an old silver haired man standing a few feet away that I recognise: nice of my father-in-law to make an effort to attend a family event. Perhaps he’s coming round to the idea of me after all. It would be good if we could settle our differences before Robert and I have children. Apparently Daniel thinks I’m a bad influence, an inappropriate woman for his son.
On the sole occasion I have convinced Robert to share his father’s concerns with me –he’d resisted up until then because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but I pinned him down playfully and insisted seriously that he reveal all –he told me two things.
One, that my father-in-law thinks I am far too headstrong for my own good. Why? Because I don’t automatically agree to everything that Robert suggests, don’t obey my husband without question, the way I am expected to. Daniel is old-fashioned that way.
Two, that I’m selfish, not a good wife because I want to build a career and see a bit of the world before becoming a mother. He thinks it’s unnatural for a woman to feel that way, but surely it’s better that I’m honest about these things rather than staying quiet and then being resentful towards my children when I have them and my freedom is curbed, my hopes and dreams curtailed? I am sure that it’s the children who suffer when their parents are frustrated and bitter, feel that life has passed them by. I think it’s more responsible to be sure, to know with absolute clarity that you’re ready for them.
So sod Daniel. I know that my husband loves me, that I’m my own woman, different to others he’s known. I know that he has told his father that fact. His dad doesn’t respect his choice of bride, but he does respect his son and his occupation, so he leaves us alone for the most part.
Robert is a doctor. We met at work. He was such a charmer, with his sparkling eyes and white teeth and lovely bedside manner, one that I was instantly eager to try out in a very unprofessional way. But I didn’t make it easy for him, I played it cool and made sure we got to know each other and that I was the only one for him before we –
Anyway, Robert says he is happy if I’m happy and that we can have fun practising making babies until I’m ready. Daniel is just going to have to accept that his only child is an adult and that when we start a family is entirely up to us. He’ll come to terms with it I’m sure. I’ve got about forty years to win him over. Let’s hope that’s long enough.
The girl leans over my shoulder and interrupts my thoughts, which seem to be hopping around randomly tonight. ‘Where do you want me to park you?’ she asks directly into my ear, making me wince. Her face is pressed close to mine, hair tickling my neck, fresh spicy fragrance drifting up my nose. I know it’s ridiculously loud in here, but still, does she think I’m deaf or something just because she’s a few years younger than me? Yet when I glance up into her clear blue eyes, they are warm with affection, nothing else. It makes me smile, so I scan the room rather than question her volume.
‘Over by that table,’ I point to one furthest away from the band, ‘and then can I have a gin and tonic, please?’
She seems surprised, hesitating, but shrugs. ‘Sure, why not?’ Rolling me over to the designated table, she sets me next to it without incident and pops the wheelchair’s brake on. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Thank you.’ As I watch her walk away, hoping she won’t trip and hurt herself given how accident-prone she is, a young man with messy brown hair catches my eye. He starts to make his way towards me purposefully. I hope that I’m not going to have to fend him off. When Robert and I first started dating –going to the cinema and restaurants and on long walks –I used to get a lot of attention from other men. He found it frustrating; I found it amusing. Even now after a few years of marriage, he feels insecure about it. He’s got nothing to worry about, but it’s endearing in someone normally so confident. I would never take advantage of that vulnerability though, and so I tend to flash my wedding ring at admirers so that they know to back off.
I look down at my lap, at the modest diamond engagement ring and gold band on my finger. I frown. The gold looks smudged and scratched. I’d better make sure I polish it before my next shift. The silver disco ball spins rapidly above me and the reflected glittering spots of dancing light make my hands look strangely pale in the darkness. I shrug. I need to take some time off work, try and find some solace in the British sun, however weak it may be.
‘How are you, man?’ Apparently unperturbed by lack of eye contact the young man has crouched down in front of my wheelchair, avoiding my outstretched leg carefully. The plaster on it is starting to drive me crazy. There’s a recurring itch right down inside the cast. Perhaps I can lay my hands on a pen to scratch it? Or a spoon? Maybe a fork?
Remembering my manners, I register my new companion’s odd greeting. ‘Man?’ What is that about? And what is he wearing? I seriously dislike the whole baggy jeans and loose T-shirt style. Can’t he try any harder? I raise an arched eyebrow at him. My patients say it’s my ‘I’m not impressed’ look. When he seems distinctly unaffected by it, I waggle my fingers to draw his attention to my wedding ring, this time noticing how thin my fingers are. I’ve been on a diet to lose a few pounds to fit into my fabulous new swimsuit, but surely I’ve not lost that much weight already?
‘So?’ The stranger ignores the waggling to peer at me. ‘I asked how you are?’
‘Hmm?’ I respond absently, wondering again where Robert is. Perhaps he’s on call or has been drawn away to attend
an emergency at the hospital. There seem to be a lot of those at the moment. It feels like I haven’t seen him in an age, even though we share a home.
‘Are you OK?’ he repeats, appearing worried.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I murmur, attention captured by my father-in-law sitting down next to me. I’m surprised he’s doing so and am not sure what to say to him. So I risk a quick glance over to try and assess his expression in the darkened room, the whirling lights my only illumination. Is it my imagination, or does Daniel look sad? If he’s regretting having been so standoffish with me over the past few years, the only thing that has blighted my happy marriage, he’s going to have to apologise in a big way. On the other hand, I could show him how mature I am and make peace with easy dignity. We’ll see.
‘I was wondering,’ the man at my feet persists, butting into my thoughts again, ‘what’s it like to have been married for fifty years?’
‘I don’t know! Why don’t you ask me in forty-five years or so?’ I shoot back. What a stupid question.
Daniel winces, probably thinking that my tone is rude, and turns his head away. No doubt he is hoping that my marriage to his precious son won’t last too much longer. He will have a long wait if that’s the case. Robert and I are forever.
I’m starting to feel irritated, not just with this guy’s questions but the way he’s addressing me is familiar and intrusive. Even the music that is playing relentlessly within the confines of the heaving room is an annoyance.
I fan myself as a flush rises up my chest. Thankfully the fair angel looking after me returns and sets my drink down on the table beside my elbow. What a good nurse she’d make, I think, if she could just be a little more careful. We wouldn’t want her plastering the wrong limb or losing an instrument inside someone’s wound. But that’s a thought for another day. I really must try and concentrate on enjoying this party, whoever’s it is.
‘Thank you,’ I mouth at her.
She smiles straightaway, mouthing, ‘No problem.’
The bloke at my feet stands up beside her. ‘All right?’
‘Yes.’ She throws him a look I can’t read, flitters a quick glance at Daniel’s face before turning back to him. ‘Any luck, Chris?’
‘Nope.’ He shakes his head ruefully. ‘Maybe later.’
Goodness knows what they’re on about but whatever it is they’re intense, heads bent together as they murmur back and forth. I tilt my chin down, ear cocked towards them to try and hear better, but they catch me at it and fall silent. I drop my chin back down and pretend to be extremely interested in twirling my loose wedding ring round and round my finger: another strike against me. Daniel thinks it a vulgar habit.
When I look up once more he is gesturing to the bar. ‘Come with me to get a drink?’ he asks my aide.
She gives my shoulder a quick hard squeeze, gazes down at me. ‘Will you be OK if I…?’
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a lovely face. How lucky I am to be surrounded by such beauty. It reminds me of a poem I read once, something about daffodils and shepherdesses.
‘So?’ she prompts.
‘Of course I will.’ Drat, my mind wandered again. Why does it keep going off on these silly little tangents? Whatever these little white painkillers are that they have me on for my leg, they must be pretty strong.
‘Great. I’ll be back soon.’ The two of them slope away through the heaving crowd, replaced a moment later by a good-looking middle-aged couple.
‘Hi, how are you today?’ The woman deliberately enunciates each word, her cornflower blue eyes very familiar. I don’t answer the question, trying to place her. Is she a member of staff at the hospital? A friend of a friend?
Turning to her partner, an unreadable look passes between them. He reaches down, clasps her hand reassuringly. The thoughtful gesture makes me smile. How romantic. It’s the kind of love Robert and I have, a supportive relationship full of mutual respect and understanding. I’m glad that this woman, whoever she is, has found it too.
‘Mum? Dad?’
My eyes jerk up. Her attention is focused on me and my father-in-law. I glance over my shoulder, wondering to whom she’s talking. I don’t see any likely suspects. People are either on the dance floor, propping up the bar or deep in laughing conversation.
‘Mum?’ she mutters brokenly.
‘Shh,’ her companion says. ‘Give her a minute.’
Who, why, what for? What is happening?
As I swing bewildered eyes up to them, the overhead lights go on and the band finishes their tune. The DJ puts on some background music and announces that food is served and that everyone should help themselves. The music is turned down but the beat of the pop song still feels too loud, sending a doosh, doosh, doosh through my body. It makes me feel sick and jars my head.
I blink against the harsh glare of the overhead chandelier and turn to complain to Daniel that a headache is forming. He may not like me but he would not be impolite enough to ignore a woman in distress.
I stop, realising something as I see the man next to me properly for the first time. He isn’t Daniel. The features are similar but they aren’t haughty and sharp. The dark eyes are tender and warm and…hopeful?
A gauzy fog, one I was unaware of, starts clearing, fragmented pieces of faces and conversations crowding my mind.
He reaches down and lifts my hand to his lips, sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples denting his whiskery cheeks, silvery hair falling forwards over his brow. As his mouth brushes the skin of my wrist, it ignites a magical spark that courses through my veins, prickles hotly along my nerve endings.
‘Robert?’ I gasp, as with a moment of lucidity I remember.
Everything.
Memories flow back in a rush, flashing through my head like a series of scenes from a film: a doctor in whites, stethoscope dangling from his neck, hands sure at my waist, excitement fluttering in my stomach as he leans in for a special first kiss in the supply cupboard. Blossom twirling on the wind, my fitted white lace dress clinging to me as my father walks me into church past a row of daffodils and gives me over to the man who will become my husband in the next few breaths. The day I am promoted to matron and we celebrate with a bottle of cheap dry cider that ends up on our clothes and in our hair and later on our naked skin as we make love, hands clasped tight and sighs filling the room.
The images flicker by faster.
Our first tiny but comfortable house and the decision to upsize a few years later when my mornings begin being punctuated by nauseous retching over the toilet bowl, moisture beading my brow as my stomach turns and swoops.
The moment some months later, when I hold our first and only child in my arms triumphantly, a beautiful precious baby girl. Her father’s hand resting on mine on top of her downy head after he’s been let in to our bedroom
Faster, quicker, spinning round my head.
The endless fraught and sleepless nights when I thought I would never know rest again, the first steps, the first run, the first perilous climb up the apple tree in our garden. Yellow stumpy pigtails, Peter Pan collars on dresses, scraped knees, the first broken bone. I smile. The teenage years, riddled with a mixture of angst and challenge and anxiety and fierce love, the need to protect stronger than the need to let go, time marching on resolutely so that five minutes later it seems we are waving her off to secretarial college in London, wishing only the best for her, wishing her skirts could be a little longer and more modest. But hey, it’s the fashion, she tells us.
The decision to downsize when she calls us a year later to tell us she is happy in the city, she is never moving home again. The villa bought in Spain, the glorious sun, the muggy heat, the heartbreak of having to sell at a loss when the cost of living rises and the bottom drops out of the market.
The phone call in which she tells me she’s met the one, ‘her Robert,’ and a while later their gaudy and vibrant wedding at the registry office and then down the local pub which we disapprove of but enjoy a
nyway because she is glowing with happiness. Then the birth of our first grandchild, such a proud joyous time.
It’s a merry-go-round, I can’t keep up. They are moving so quickly, at the speed of light. I close my eyes, reopen them.
With all these memories, shock, anger, regret, love and longing sweep over me in a tsunami of emotion. And with these, I regain my identity.
I have lived my life and I have rediscovered it.
I know who I am.
Thinking back over the evening I recall the strange but familiar faces, the behaviour of everyone around me: every remark, every touch, and every look. I think about the changes to my body, the way my mind has flittered around, like a butterfly unsure of the safe haven upon which to land.
And I understand.
I realise the ugly truth. This is not the first time I have been lost to those around me, or to myself.
How many times before has this happened? How often do I wander into my own world, a realm where others cannot find me?
I am devastated, choked. But I know one thing. It must be so much worse for them, for my family. I am guessing that when I am lost I do not know it. But they do. I can’t lose this moment. I must make it count.
So I force myself to smile up at the blonde woman despite the despair that grips me.
‘Hello, my darling, how are you?’ This is my daughter Gail, her husband Peter. The young man was my grandson Christopher –calling me ‘Nan’ not ‘man’ – and the teenage girl is my lovely granddaughter Amelia.
Truly, Madly, Deeply Page 27