‘What are the options?’ asked Lorna.
‘Sell the house and downsize. I’ve already had the estate agent around to value the house and they’re keen to start marketing, but I haven’t seen anything on the property websites that remotely appeals for us to move to. For me to find another job in a few weeks, full time. Get a book contract. I’ve been working on some ideas, but getting an agent and then a publisher can be like winning the lottery. Finally, I could sell my body – though that’s probably not an option; no one would want it.’
‘Try eBay,’ said Debs. ‘You can sell anything on eBay.’
‘Older lady, slightly batty, not quite over the hill, good at hippie dancing, talks to herself but claims it makes for long and interesting conversations. Not to be approached for fear of death in the morning.’
‘If you ever decide to try Internet dating, remind me to help you with your profile,’ said Debs. ‘And talking of which, I need you two to help me. I need to redo my profile.’
‘Anytime,’ I said. ‘Gorgeous goddess seeks sex god for heavenly frolics.’
Debs raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t think you’ve quite got the hang of it, Cait.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with that?’
‘I want more than just sex. I want a partner for walks in the countryside, good company and all that.’
‘Get a dog,’ said Lorna.
‘Dogs don’t do candlelit dinners or go to the theatre,’ said Debs.
‘Then put down that you want that,’ I said.
‘I’ll bring my laptop one day and you can look at the sort of thing people write. I need something to make me stand out from the crowd,’ said Debs.
‘Anyone can see just by looking at you that you’re different,’ said Lorna. It was true, Debs did have her own unique style. This evening she was wearing a red kaftan top, black harem trousers and chunky silver jewellery. She always wore a mix of Eastern and vintage clothes, and with her mane of fabulous hair and curvy figure, she always attracted second glances from women as well as men.
‘Different? Different as in odd?’
‘I meant it in a good way – you look interesting.’
‘Like an exotic burlesque artist,’ I added.
‘Anyway, Debs, we’re talking about Cait and Matt first,’ said Lorna.
‘Bossy cow,’ said Debs.
I laughed. Lorna ignored her. ‘Cait? Do you want to move house?’
‘Not really. I like our house.’
‘Then make your property work for you. I was thinking about your situation. You have spare rooms. Do Airbnb. I know loads of people who are doing it, and if you have a week when you don’t want guests, you mark that week as booked. If nothing else, it would buy you some more time.’
‘Not a bad idea. Though we’d have to redecorate.’
‘You’d soon make it back. Think of it as an investment,’ said Lorna. ‘And you said that you have some ideas for books?’
‘Yes. No. Maybe. Seeds. I need to develop them.’
‘It must be nice to have Matt home,’ said Debs through a mouthful of ciabatta.
I laughed. ‘You’re joking. He’s driving me mad and it’s only been two weeks. It’s like living with the Spanish Inquisition. Every time I leave the house, he asks me where I’m going, who with, and what time I’ll be back.’
‘He’s probably a bit lost at the moment,’ said Debs. ‘Poor guy.’
‘Yes. It will be an adjustment for him,’ said Lorna. ‘Loss of status and routine can be tough, especially for men. They identify so closely with what they do. Cut him some slack.’ She looked wistful for a moment. ‘I’d give anything to have Alistair back for just one hour, even at his most annoying – and, believe me, he had his moments too.’
‘Oh god, I’m sorry, Lorna. I’m the most insensitive, awful friend.’
‘Hey, no, no need to apologize. Don’t feel bad. Life goes on. All husbands are annoying sometimes. All I’m saying is, try to appreciate him while you’ve got him.’
‘Yes, at least you still have a man,’ said Debs.
‘I know. I know. I just don’t want him home twenty-four hours a day. I know marriage is for better and for worse; unfortunately this is a “for worse” bit.’
Both of them were looking at me without the slightest hint of sympathy. ‘Sorry. Not serious, I’m just letting off steam. We’ll get through it.’
Neither of them understood. Lorna lived alone, apart from her dogs, in a sprawling seventeenth-century manor. Debs was alone too. She had a three-bedroom ground-floor flat in the centre of Bath, which she’d shared with Fabio until he’d discovered the joys of Tantra.
‘I’d sympathize if Matt was a womanizer,’ Debs said.
‘Or abused you,’ said Lorna.
‘I know, I know. He just needs something to do, to get him out of the house to cheer him up. I’ve tried all sorts of things to encourage him. I’m sure it would do him good to have company, something to occupy himself.’
‘Early days; it’s only been a couple of weeks,’ said Lorna. ‘Give him some space.’
‘He’ll find his feet,’ said Debs.
‘I’ll put the Airbnb idea to him. Actually, Lorna, that’s a great plan, because painting the house would give him something to do.’
‘It has to come from him,’ said Lorna. ‘I’d drop the suggestions if I were you; he may feel emasculated.’
There was nothing I could say. I had a weak case. Grounds for divorce? Does he beat you? No. Does he gamble away your money? No. Is he having extramarital relations? No. So what is it, Mrs Langham? He’s always there; he follows me round the house and talks to me through the door when I’m on the loo. I got the feeling that this evening wasn’t the best time to tell Lorna and Debs that an ex-lover had been in touch either.
‘OK. My turn,’ said Debs. ‘Back to my problem. Where am I going to meet a like-minded man? Men my age want a bendy babe who can do the splits, is twenty years younger and doesn’t answer back. I’m forty-seven. The only ones who want a woman in her forties look like Worzel Gummidge. I need you both to help me look online and pick a man.’
‘Why not just join the kind of group where like-minded men would go?’ I said.
‘Like what?’ she asked.
‘Oh … some kind of meditation group?’ I suggested. ‘Or one of your New Age weekends?’
Debs pulled a face. ‘They’re full of bearded men who look like tired chemistry teachers.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ I said.
‘Nah. You know me. I like the bad boys, men with a bit of edge. Where am I going to find one of them?’
‘Narcotics anonymous?’ said Lorna.
6
Cait
I resolved to go to my computer when I got home, log in to Facebook and delete Tom’s request. We hadn’t even spoken yet and already he was making me anxious. I couldn’t stop thinking about his message, remembering our time together and the person I was when I knew him, plus I felt bad that I hadn’t told Lorna or Debs about him, and nor had I told Matt. I headed straight up to my study but, instead of going to Facebook, I called Lorna.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ she said. ‘Did you leave something at the restaurant?’
‘No. Er … have you got a minute?’
‘Course. Is something the matter?’
I hesitated.
‘Hey, come on, you can tell me anything. Is it about your job coming to an end?
‘Partly.’
‘Could you both retire? Make that work? You are of the age.’
‘I … it’s not just that. I … thing is, Lorna, an old friend got in touch …’
‘Old friend?’
‘On Facebook. A man I used to know … live with many years ago – when I was at university.’
‘Tim, or Tom somebody?’
‘Yes. Tom Lewis.’ I was surprised she’d remembered. I’d told her about him briefly, many moons ago, when we were talking about first loves. ‘I haven’t heard from him for oh … must be
forty years.’
‘Are you kidding? Where’s he been all this time?’
‘Abroad I think.’
‘What does he want?’
‘I don’t know. He made contact on Facebook. I haven’t accepted him as a friend yet.’
‘And will you?’
‘Not sure. I’ve been thinking about it.’
‘Oh, Cait, you really don’t need something like this in your life at the moment. I’d say tread very carefully there. He was the love of your life, if I remember rightly from what you told me. OK, probably no harm in saying hi in cyberspace, but more than that will be playing with fire. I remember you telling me what he meant to you. I’d say do not contact him. You don’t need the complications, especially now.’
‘It might be a closure of sorts and good for my soul.’
‘I very much doubt it; more like opening Pandora’s Box. Have you told Debs? What does she think?’
‘I haven’t told her and I don’t want to, so please don’t. He is, was, very attractive. She’d probably want to meet him, you know what she’s like.’
‘Yes, probably not a good idea.’
‘And I can’t open up to her completely, not like I can with you.’
‘What can’t you say to her?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, but it’s not just Tom who’s bothering me, it’s also Matt, and you know Debs thinks the world of him. Things aren’t good; in fact some days I’m not sure why I’m still with him.’ This wouldn’t be news to Lorna. I’d talked to her several times in the last few months, before he was made redundant, about my doubts over our relationship.
‘You’re thinking about separating? Is it really that bad?’
‘It is, but thirty years of marriage is a lot of history to walk away from. The time it takes in the beginning for silences to become comfortable, adjustments made to find a way to live together in harmony and Christmases, birthdays, holidays, deaths of loved ones, my mother, his parents, the birth, early years of Sam and Jed, the madness of having teenagers in the house. So many memories, so many shared experiences, good and bad. It’s a lot to let go of, and we’ve muddled along together so far – plus even to think about it at the moment is bad timing.’
‘I agree, you can’t do it when he’s just been made redundant.’
‘Exactly. It would be like kicking a man when he’s down.’
‘So what’s changed, apart from him losing his job?’
‘Me. I can’t help asking if it’s enough to muddle on.’
‘And have you decided what to do about Tom?’
‘Not yet. I was about to delete the request to be friends but, and I know this might sound mad, part of me likes the fact that his request is there, like an unopened, unexpected gift. As long as it remains unopened, it offers all sorts of possibilities.’
‘You can’t be the only woman who’s had a secret fantasy, Cait. It’s not as if you’ve done anything, and I would have thought Debs would be sympathetic if you told her. You know how open-minded she is.’
‘Yes, but you heard her at the restaurant when she said I should be grateful that I at least still have a man. It’s true. I should be. Matt is one of the good guys. He’s dependable, hard-working, a gentleman in the true sense of the word. Maybe I’m an ungrateful old witch.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. No marriage is perfect and you’ve both been through a lot lately.’
‘It’s not just that, Lorna. Our marriage has gone stale. On the outside, it all looks normal, but is it? Do I have unrealistic expectations? Now he’s home twenty-four hours a day, I’m more aware than ever of the fact that we rarely talk about anything meaningful, never touch, not any more.’
‘Oh, Cait, I am sorry, but all marriages go through bad patches …’
‘This is a very long patch.’
‘And all relationships involve a degree of compromise. I very much doubt that Mr Perfect is out there – an older Darcy, in breeches and boots, aged like a dream. He doesn’t exist and for many couples, the passion wanes.’
‘It certainly has for us. Our sex life? Non-existent. These days, good in bed to me is to be tucked up with a book, and the only hot stuff I experience between the sheets is a cup of tea. I don’t like to ask friends how often they do it and is it worth it when they do.’
Lorna chuckled. ‘Most of us swapped those kind of conversations years ago for discussions of our and everybody else’s health.’
‘Yes, but I get the feeling from the occasional remark made by married friends that Matt and I are the only ones who don’t do it at all any more. I can barely remember the last time we made love. I feel I’m missing out.’
‘Which is why Tom Lewis getting in touch couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time?’
‘I suppose. I can’t help but wonder how he is, how his life has been in the last forty years. He looked good in his profile photo.’
‘In a fantasy, you can imagine him as perfect, but spend a bit of time with him and you’ll probably find he’s as flawed as the rest of us.’
‘Maybe. And not only him – me too. Sorry, I know it’s a silly dream. I just wanted to talk to you about it. I know I’m older now, no longer the young girl he’d remember me being. I’ve changed, and not only appearance-wise.’
‘Cait, you look great, always do.’
‘He might be disappointed if we met up. I couldn’t bear that. No. I know, better to leave the past in the past where it has the rosy glow of nostalgia, though sometimes I can’t help but wonder what might have happened if Chloe Poshgirl Porter hadn’t appeared.’
‘Who was she?’
‘The woman he left me for. Sorry. I know, it’s going over old ground. What could possibly be gained by accepting his friend request but trouble? Deep inside, I do know that, but I don’t know what to do to improve things with Matt. Any advice?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘OK. Here’s the ex-GP speaking. Work on your marriage. Do what you can to improve things. Delete the request from Tom. Come over soon and we’ll have a proper chat. In the meantime, stop acting like an idiot and get on with your life.’
‘Advice noted,’ I said. She was right, and talking to her had helped clarify my thoughts.
After our call, I was about to log into Facebook to delete Tom’s request, but first got up and went to the window to pull the curtains. As I did, I noticed a man zigzagging his way up the middle of the road, clearly very drunk. He looked vaguely like Matt. Christ, that is Matt, I thought as he got closer. What the hell is he doing?
I ran downstairs, grabbed the door keys and went out into the street. ‘Matt, Matt,’ I called. ‘Are you OK?’
He didn’t hear, and continued to stumble his way up the road, then he saw me and waved.
‘Harro, Cait,’ he called as he managed to get on the pavement then half fell into a laurel hedge next door.
‘Where have you been?’ I asked as I went to pull him out and back onto his feet.
‘Duncan. Drink. Cheer m’up,’ he slurred and laughed. ‘Bit pissed.’ He stank of red wine and beer.
‘Did you walk home?’
‘Nhh. Think so. Not. Taxi,’ he said, as he swayed back towards the bushes.
I hauled him back again. ‘Why didn’t you get the cab to drop you at our door?’
Matt grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. Dunno. Dropped me at end of road … ’membered live near here.’
I opened our gate, put his arm round my shoulder and walked, half carrying him, to the porch, where I leant him against the wall while I put my keys in to open the front door. ‘Harro, Cait, I bloody love you,’ he said with a big smile. ‘Lovely lovely Cait. Poor Cait. Sorry.’
He slid down onto the porch floor, then keeled over so that he was lying on the ground, where he turned on his side and curled into a sleeping position. In all the time we’d been together, I’d never seen him so drunk.
‘Not yet, you can’t sleep there,’ I said, and tried to lift him. H
e was too heavy so I grabbed his wrists and, with some effort, dragged him inside.
‘Wheee,’ said Matt as I pulled him in over the threshold. ‘Oof. Back. Mind my back.’
Once inside, I let go and caught my breath. ‘Come on, Matt, let’s get you to bed.’
‘Okee dokee. Bed.’
‘You have to get up.’
Matt looked bewildered at this request. ‘Up? How?’
‘Roll onto your side, push yourself onto your knees and get up.’
Matt attempted to do this but failed. ‘Woo, bit wobbly,’ he said as he tried again. As he floundered about, he let out a loud fart.
‘Urgh, Matt,’ I groaned and wafted the air.
Matt seemed to find this hilarious and lay back on the floor laughing. ‘Sorry, sorry, oops.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Smell. Sorry.’ He turned on his side. ‘OK. Going to sleep now.’
‘Fine, you do that.’ I went into the sitting room and found a blanket, which I took back and threw over him.
‘I bloody love you,’ said Matt, then promptly fell asleep.
‘Don’t forget you’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning,’ I said.
But he was gone.
I watched him for a few moments. And there he is, my husband, my partner, the man I have chosen, I thought as he let out another loud fart then started snoring. ‘Who said romance is dead?’ I said as I stepped over him and headed upstairs. Maybe I wouldn’t delete Tom’s request just yet after all.
Once up in my study, I opened my laptop, found the Facebook page and the request area, where my fingers hovered over the choice whether to Confirm or Delete Tom as a friend. What harm would there be in just seeing how he was doing? Say hello, what have you been up to for the last forty years? That’s all. It would be impolite to ignore his request, wouldn’t it?
Confirm? Delete? Confirm? Delete? If I accepted him as a friend, Lorna might see him on my Facebook page, and she’d just advised me to delete his request. Worse still, Debs might see him, want me to hook her up. She’s on Facebook every day, sometimes twice.
No, I should delete, I told myself. I have a husband and, even though he’s lying downstairs in a drunken stupor, it’s not something he does often; in fact, I can’t remember him ever having done it to this degree before.
Dancing Over the Hill Page 5