The Time of Their Lives

by Maeve Haran

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Claudia replied, not wanting to be roped into something she’d regret.

  ‘Are you always this impetuous?’ Claudia had the distinct impression Daniel Forrest was laughing at her.

  ‘No,’ she replied tartly. ‘Often I make up my mind on the spot. Especially about people.’

  ‘I have to pray I’ve made a good impression, then. See you Tuesday, I hope.’

  Ella sat in her warm oak-panelled kitchen, looking out at the garden birds. A couple of tits were fighting a robin over the breadcrumbs she’d put out and naturally the robin won. Funny that such a fierce little bird had become the symbol of peace and love just because of the colour of its breast. She could hear the sudden laugh of a woodpecker on the wing. A flash of colour like a leaf in the air told her it was a green one.

  This fascination with birds, Ella recognized, was one of the things she could have put on her How To Spot If You’re Old list, like reading obituaries or starting to go deaf. There came a time in life when telly bored you and yet you could watch wildlife on a bird table for hours. Her daughters saw this as a sign of incipient decrepitude, and maybe it was. Perhaps, the shorter the road you saw ahead of you, the more you appreciated the wonder of the natural world around you.

  The thought of her list reminded Ella of her other problem: Sal’s email. Should she confess to being the author of MOAN FART DIE? If she did, she would lose the glorious anonymity which made her enjoy writing it so much and which she thought was the wonder of the Internet. She smiled, remembering a New Yorker cartoon card someone had sent her of a dog sitting at a computer confessing to its canine friend: ‘On the Internet no one knows you’re a dog.’ Well, she liked no one knowing she was a dog.

  The other issue was about what she’d said already, especially about Laura’s marriage.

  No, despite the appeal of getting a tiny bit famous, if she accepted Sal’s offer, she’d prefer to keep her secret.

  Sal had to admit, she was feeling truly terrible.

  She had arrived at New Grey two days ago and had been allocated a nice desk over by a big window which caught the morning light. Admittedly, it looked out over a goods yard but it was still a wide-open space which had to be good for the soul. But it wasn’t her soul that was the problem, it was her body. Although the two cycles of chemo had gone well she had been completely floored by the after-effects. Painful ulcers had appeared on the roof of her mouth, and she was feeling cold, sick and dizzy by turns.

  She was supposed to be preparing for the meeting, yet all she could do was stare out at the departing goods train and ask herself if she could conceivably carry this off. It had all seemed perfectly reasonable in theory. She was a determined person, and though she had sometimes taken the easy route in life, she knew she had steel within. It was all a question of self-control, she had insisted to Rachel, when she’d told her new friend about starting at the magazine. Rachel had said nothing. Merely raised an eyebrow and made a face that said, ‘You wait’.

  On the other hand, what was the alternative? That she go and tell her new bosses that she’d taken the job under false pretences, that she had cancer, and go home to her empty flat, with no money, virtually no pension, and an equally empty life?

  Instead, she used the last few minutes before the meeting to nip to the loo, where she retched into the sink.

  Oh well, Sal’s graveyard humour came to her rescue, if anyone comes in I can always tell them I’m pregnant.

  The worst of the sickness passed and she was able to drink a glass of water, take some more anti-nausea pills and go back to her desk.

  The meeting, as it turned out, was lively and productive. All the staff, young as well as middle-aged, responded to Sal’s proposal that the magazine should focus not on age, but on the issues and interests that affected their readers, and all of it in an upbeat tone.

  ‘Our readers are a new breed. I call them the Young-Old. They aren’t interested in Bingo and knitting patterns. They want to travel. They want adventure. They like to look good. And they want to stay healthy so they can enjoy the time ahead. So just remember that when you’re thinking up ideas for New Grey.’

  ‘But what about something really new to mark out the Sally Grainger era?’ asked Rose McGill. ‘What is it that makes it so different about ageing now?’

  Sal thought about it. ‘Learning to be in charge of your life. Look at what’s happening out there. There are more single women than ever – the divorce rate among the over-sixties rose four per cent in the last two years. And it’s often women who start divorce proceedings. They realize they might live another thirty years and they want to live them on their own terms. In fact, I’m looking for someone outspoken and fresh to be our star writer, who’ll reflect all that, set the tone of the revamped New Grey.’

  ‘Any idea who it might be?’ Rose McGill pressed.

  Sal didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t yet managed to track down the mystery blogger.

  ‘I’m keeping it under wraps for the moment,’ Sal lied.

  ‘How exciting. We’ll all be waiting with baited breath.’

  Sal gathered up her stuff and stood up. ‘Right, everyone, repeat, “Sixty is the new forty”.’

  Everyone round the table laughed and repeated Sal’s mantra.

  If only she felt it herself.

  Wednesday was one of the days when Laura didn’t work. She lay in bed late, relishing it as a new and unfamiliar luxury, ran a long bath, made a cup of tea for herself and for Sam, and hummed to herself as she picked up the post.

  Today she was going with Bella to the ante-natal clinic.

  ‘I’m going to be a grandmother,’ she repeated to herself. ‘I’m actually going to be a grandmother.’

  She stopped as she noticed what was on the mat. Another letter from those damn solicitors of Simon’s. She tore it open, hardly able to believe what she was reading.

  Simon had done exactly what he had threatened. He was starting divorce proceedings against her on the grounds of her unreasonable behaviour. Her job at LateExpress, he alleged, was entirely unsuited to someone of her education and experience, and had been designed maliciously and unreasonably to cause her husband embarrassment and distress.

  The bastard!

  She found her phone and called Rowley Robinson. To her surprise, he answered it himself.

  ‘Don’t worry, Laura. To be honest, I’m not surprised. What do you want to do?’

  ‘I want to defend it. The whole idea that it’s unreasonable of me to get a job near his office is ridiculous,’ Laura raged, ignoring the fact that actually there had been a teeny weeny bit of truth in Simon’s allegation.

  ‘Of course this may well be at the instigation of the new partner,’ Rowley soothed. ‘She may want him to move ahead more quickly with the divorce so they’ve come up with this.’

  ‘But it isn’t right! He’s the one who’s behaved unreasonably, the one who had an affair and dumped me on our anniversary.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Laura, but the actual grounds for divorce are just a device. Quite a lot of people actually prefer unreasonable behaviour because there’s less stigma. No one bothers to challenge a divorce any more unless they’re an oligarch with bottomless pockets. To be honest, it doesn’t really matter what the grounds are, the divorce will go through anyway.’

  ‘What if it matters to me?’

  ‘Defend it, then. But I really wouldn’t advise it. It’ll cost a fortune, take twice as long and you’ll all end up hating each other.’

  Laura put down the phone. How could the law have ended up being so bloody unfair?

  Suddenly Laura realized the time. She would have to run or she’d be late for Bella. Screw Simon, she was going to concentrate on the good things in her life.

  Half an hour later, Bella was waiting for her outside the Princess Lily Hospital. It was one of those vast places that covered every department. Bella had moderated her dress from Ripper Victim to Victorian Governess and even forsaken her usu
al black lipstick. She was also hopping from one foot to the other like a lace-clad parrot.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I need to pee but I’m not allowed to till after the scan.’

  Laura hid her smile. It was usually she who needed to pee all the time, another of the joys of ageing. Sometimes, as she got up for the third time in the night, she wondered if it would be easier to resort to incontinence pads. ‘We’d better get on, then. Is Nigel coming?’

  ‘He’s got a job interview. He’s going to get here as soon as he can.’ She put her arm through her mother’s. ‘But, anyway, I’ve you.’

  The ultrasound department was on the second floor.

  It was so long since she’d had her children that Laura had forgotten the unique atmosphere in the ante-natal unit. Maybe it was that everyone was here because they were pregnant rather than ill and that made it so different from ordinary wards. Here you were, surrounded by fecundity, by pod-like bellies, and the happy smiles of impending motherhood. There were exceptions, obviously, the reluctant mums who already had too many children at home; the young girls who looked like children themselves, pregnant women who had had news of some problem with the baby, or were just utterly knackered, but mostly the mood was of rare cheerfulness.

  Places like this were all about giving life, about the future, about mother love. She glanced at Bella, wondering if she had any real idea of how this baby was going to change her life, that this one single act of having a child would be the most significant decision she had ever made.

  Bella, as if reading her thoughts, smiled. ‘It’s going to be OK, Mum. You can’t plan everything. Look at you and Dad. You were expecting to get old and grey together and now you’re on your own and you’re coping amazingly. I’m really proud of you and so is Sam.’

  Bella, it struck her mother again, was an extraordinary young woman, possessed of all the strength Laura herself had never felt she had.

  ‘Look at you,’ Bella insisted, ‘you’re getting out, you’ve got a job.’

  ‘In a supermarket.’

  ‘Yes, but a supermarket that’s causing Dad total embarrassment. Don’t let’s forget that.’

  She squeezed Bella’s hand. ‘When are you going to tell Dad about the baby?’

  Bella grinned. ‘When I can think of an occasion that is truly and deeply inappropriate.’

  ‘Isabella Minchin?’ enquired the ultrasound operator.

  They followed the young woman into the consulting room. Bella changed into a gown, looking suddenly childlike without all her Gothic finery, and lay down on the bed. The operator applied jelly to the slight swell of Bella’s belly and began to run a probe across it. ‘This is what we call the anomaly scan,’ she explained.

  ‘Anomaly?’ Bella’s voice had lost a little of its shiny confidence. ‘You mean as in defect?’

  ‘We just like to look at the size of the baby to confirm exactly how many weeks pregnant you are, examine the placenta and where it’s sitting, and take a good look at the baby’s head and spine.’ She pointed at the screen. ‘Do you see the baby’s heartbeat?’

  They both stared at the screen.

  ‘There’s the head.’ She pointed at what seemed to Laura an indecipherable mass of grey lines. Then the probe shifted and the lines solidified like a 3D cartoon into the distinct shape of a tiny head and shoulders. As they watched the mouth opened and the baby yawned.

  ‘Bella, did you see that?’ Laura clutched her daughter’s arm.

  ‘Yep. Bored already, this baby’s definitely mine.’

  Behind them the door opened and the huge frame of Nigel almost filled the tiny room.

  ‘Hey, Nige,’ Bella greeted him, ‘come and say hello to Junior here. He’s having an existential crisis.’

  Nigel took her hand and stared at the screen, entranced. ‘He’s probably wondering Am I still an embryo or have I graduated to being a foetus yet?’

  Bella laughed.

  Laura decided he would make a good RE teacher if he thought like that.

  ‘Actually,’ she smiled at the pair of them, ‘I think maybe he’s gone beyond all that. This one’s definitely a baby.’

  ‘Would you like a photograph?’ the young woman asked. ‘Three pounds fifty each or five pounds for two.’

  ‘Make it two,’ Laura reached for her wallet.

  ‘Or maybe three.’ Bella grinned. ‘I might turn one into a Christmas card and send it to Dad.’

  When Claudia got home she found that Don had gone out.

  Claudia celebrated joining the choir by opening a bottle of wine far too early and attacking her emails. She was used to getting hundreds: the head, the deputy head, her head of department, the governing body, the canteen – all when half of them could have popped a head round the door, but emails were simpler. Now she only had one from Laura telling her about the new job, another from Gaby sounding a bit low, she must get back to her at once, a couple of updates on orders from Amazon, an invitation to take part in the RSPB’s Big Birdwatch – one for Ella more than her – and the rest were all uninvited offers from the various shops she patronized.

  Except one.

  Her most recent communication, sent only ten minutes ago, was from the Little Minsley Choral Society with an application form attached. There was no mention of Daniel Forrest, but it had to be from him.

  The funny thing was, she hadn’t given him her email address. Claudia sipped her wine thoughtfully. It would be silly to read too much into it, but he must have gone to some lengths to get it from her mother.

  Claudia smiled to herself. Maybe the Choral Society was desperate for mezzo-sopranos. Or maybe Daniel Forrest just really believed in spreading the word about music.

  Laura had had a peaceful morning doing some stocktaking. This was done mostly via the till but Mr A liked all the herbs and spices to be dusted and wiped, and anything past its sell-by date to be reduced or thrown away, depending on date.

  Coming from a privileged family home – or, rather, privileged until recently – it always made Laura feel guilty to see how many people made a beeline for the reduced section. Quite a few pensioners and single mums never bought anything from anywhere else, and would even wait in line till 5 p.m. when that day’s reductions were usually made.

  Apart from meeting deprivation face to face, Laura enjoyed working in LateExpress much more than she’d expected. She loved getting to know all the customers and being granted a brief glimpse into their lives; the cheeky kids were usually entertaining rather than a problem; and the other staff were always friendly.

  Even Mrs A added the spice of drama by her sudden swoops from the flat above. She seemed eager to discover Mr A in the act of some lustful congress with an underage schoolgirl or oversexed customer and was positively disappointed at his good behaviour. ‘That man has no balls!’ she once pronounced before helping herself to a packet of Tunnock’s Caramel wafer biscuits and disappearing back to her self-imposed exile upstairs.

  Laura was hidden behind the cereals stickering packets of All-Bran when Simon blustered in angrily. ‘I thought after my solicitor’s letter you might have had the decency to hand in your notice,’ he insisted.

  ‘And I thought you might have the decency not to divorce me on the grounds that I got a job.’ Laura tried to keep her voice calm.

  The argument might have got increasingly bitter had they not been silenced by the familiar voice of Elaine, Simon’s secretary, from behind the other side of the shelving unit; she clearly had no idea they were present.

  ‘Bloody Suki Morrison. Who does she think she is anyway?’ Elaine demanded loudly of her friend. ‘Only four months gone and she’s forever running out of meetings to sit down and claiming endless doctor’s visits, then coming back with her hair blow-dried.’

  ‘You know Simon isn’t the first she’s had in her sights to be the Daddy,’ replied a second voice.

  ‘No!’ The whispers grew softer but were still audible.

  ‘She went after Mark Baker fir
st, big affair, leaves his wife just like Simon, then she discovers he doesn’t want kids and she sends him packing!’

  ‘She didn’t!’

  ‘Next cab off the rank was Martin Steeples, but he wasn’t a partner so she threw him back in the sea. Now there’s Simon and he’s finally done the deed.’

  ‘Poor old Simon.’

  ‘He’ll be earning till he’s ninety!’

  Simon stood next to her, rooted to the spot, torn between hiding from the girls and bursting out in fury to confront them.

  He avoided Laura’s eye but she knew from the angry tautness of his body that he’d heard every word. She almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost but not quite.

  CHAPTER 16

  OK, Ella said to herself, I really am going senile.

  Her daughter Cory had come to stay for the night and she wanted to show her the photo she’d taken of a fox sleeping in the sun on their garden bench but couldn’t find her camera anywhere. She’d just spent the last hour looking for it. The wildly irritating thing was she’d only had it for a month and it had been quite expensive.

  Anyway, it was lovely having Cory here. She worried about Cory. There was something rare and special about her younger daughter, but like a precious stone that was found under deep layers of rock, she suspected it had to be mined for and not many people had ever reached it. She was sure that one day someone would, but until then Cory’s life almost seemed suspended, waiting.

  ‘How’s the job?’ Ella knew this was safer territory than asking about relationships.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And the flat?’

  ‘That’s fine too. In fact, I’m fine altogether.’

  Ella took the hint and decided to ask no more questions.

  ‘Anyway, no one uses a camera any more. I thought your lodger gave you an iPhone? Use that instead.’

  But Ella didn’t want to use her iPhone. She was used to a camera, she liked taking photos, having them developed in the conventional way, then putting them in frames or albums. To Ella, photographs weren’t just something to show off with on Facebook and then forget, they were an important part of life. If she hadn’t taken so many photos over the years she would have had even less of Laurence to hold on to. As it was, his face smiled at her from shelves and side tables and especially her dressing table. Though she wouldn’t admit this to Cory or Julia, she occasionally talked to him and kept him up to speed with their lives.