‘I am.’ She gave me a quick glance up and down. ‘Not for you?’
‘Well … I’m sure I could benefit, but it’s mainly for a TV programme idea that I’m working on.’
She beckoned me to get up and follow her. ‘I work with a lot of older people and not only the retired. I’m glad you came.’ She led me through to a small white study at the back of the gym where she indicated that I should sit on one of the plastic chairs by a desk. ‘We can talk in here. So how can I help exactly?’
‘If you could outline the essentials to keeping well in later years, that would help. Any tips.’
Chrissie sat behind her desk. ‘I work as a lifestyle coach. Every case is individual, so I like to devise a programme that works for that person.’
‘Ah. Anything generally?’
‘I can give you some fitness tips, but what a person eats can also contribute immensely to their wellbeing.’
‘Sounds great. Sounds just what I need too.’
‘You’re not that old,’ she said, and I laughed to myself. Not that old? Cheek. ‘But I can’t emphasize enough the importance of keeping up your fitness levels, whatever your age. Fitness can mean either an active old age or a restricted one, but anyone can take control of that by getting moving on a regular basis. Not only will this improve quality of life, but also the ability to deal with the ageing process and any potential illness. It’s a fact that the fitness level of people of any age can deteriorate if they are inactive.’
Too true, I thought. With just a few weeks of sitting at home on my computer, I’m starting to feel like an old man.
‘But you need to find an exercise regime that you enjoy or you won’t keep it up,’ Chrissie continued. ‘You don’t have to join a gym. Walking or dancing can be just as effective.’
I got out my notepad. ‘Mind if I write this down?
‘Go ahead.’
‘You need to invest time,’ said Chrissie. ‘Short daily sessions to build strength. Longer weekly sessions twice or three times a week to build stamina.’
‘Build stamina? How?’
‘Do something that makes you slightly breathless. Staying active can also reduce blood pressure, help maintain a healthy weight, assist regular bowel movements and stimulate poor appetite.’
I need to do that too, I thought. I’d huffed and puffed on my way to the meeting. ‘And to build strength?’
‘Lifting weights can help. Alternatively, yoga and Pilates are good for increasing strength and for flexibility, which can of course affect movement getting in and out of cars, getting dressed and so on.’
Oh god, she’s talking about me, I thought. I did the involuntary groan when getting into the car and have lately had to sit down to put my socks on. ‘My wife does yoga and Pilates and walks with a group.’
‘Good for her, but it has to be what you enjoy. If you’re not one for joining classes, then find out what works for you.’
‘Hiking,’ I said. ‘I used to hike many years ago but haven’t done for a long time.’
‘Perfect. It’s never too late to start again, even just using the stairs when you can instead of a lift. It all helps. Also regular housework.’
‘My wife would like that.’
Chrissie laughed. ‘I advise people to see it as an activity to help prolong their life rather than a chore.’
‘So strength, stamina, flexibility.’
Chrissie nodded. ‘The big three, but I’d add exercises to improve balance as well.’
As she talked, I realized that what she was saying was more than relevant for me. I creaked when I got out of bed, I groaned when I got up from the sofa and I was aware I got breathless if I had to run even the shortest distance. I ought to start doing this stuff myself, I thought. Never mind ought to, I will.
I patted my belly. ‘And what about diet?’
‘I prefer to call it healthy eating, as diet sounds like deprivation. I advise five a day and the Mediterranean programme, which is rich in vegetables, nuts, grains, olive oil, fish, and only moderate red meat. If you eat well, you’ll feel so much better than when you eat junk, and by controlling your body weight, you can reduce the need for blood-pressure tablets and the risk of diabetes and arthritis.’
‘Sounds good. I’ve been told to try and reduce my blood pressure or to take tablets.’
Chrissie gave me a quick up-and-down look. ‘Shift ten pounds and get moving and you might find that you don’t need medication.’
‘Any vitamins or minerals older folk should take?’
‘Again, that depends on what they’re eating. If they’re eating a good healthy diet then they should be getting all they need from their food. But many older people are deficient in B12, so it’s not a bad idea to get checked for that. Vitamin D deficiency can be responsible for a number of illnesses, too, but as I said, I’m a great believer in that if you eat right, you won’t need supplements.’
‘And what about ailments that affect the older generation?’
‘So many, but there are all sorts of things that can help, like devil’s claw for arthritis and Siberian pine-nut oil for acid reflux. Again it’s individual, but a good nutritionist will be savvy about what’s around and can be used as a preventative measure, if not a cure in some cases. Of course, sometimes the New Age supplements aren’t enough, but they can work hand in hand with Western medicine and are often preferred to taking the kind of medication that comes with a long list of side effects.’
We talked for about half an hour and by the time I was finished, I had pages of notes, including one to myself at the bottom of the page and that said, ‘This is for you too, Matt Langham, you fat old bastard.’
*
After my meeting with Chrissie, I went to get a coffee in the local café and write up the pages I’d scribbled. The smell of bacon filled the air and I was tempted but, no, I was going to take Chrissie’s advice. She’d inspired me. I needed to change, get out of the rut I’d been in since I lost my job. I used to love hiking, especially with a couple of friends. Fresh air, stunning views, great locations, good company. It used to be one of the joys of my life. Why had I let it go? Work, that was why. I made a resolution to get out regularly and get walking, ready for a long hike, maybe drag Duncan out. He was turning into a lazy old arse too. I might look up a couple of college friends, get them out there like in the good old days.
And while I was at it, I would shift a bit of weight. No harm. Start having those Nutribullet things that Cait had. You never know, she might start fancying me again. I’d start in the morning. Monday is always a good day to start a new regime. While I waited for my coffee to arrive, I took a look at the notice board. It was crammed with leaflets, cards and advertisements for classes on everything from cake-making to Zumba. I took a few of them to take home. Perhaps Cait and I could do some classes together, share things again, and in doing so rediscover what we once had. I went back to my table and began to make my notes for my booklet of lists for Cait.
Notes for Dancing Over the Hill
Dedicated to:
My wife
My best friend
My lover
My companion
Mother of my children
Favourite person on the planet
Cait
Things to do:
Shop for Dad. Take supplies over to him.
Be jolly when I get there.
I filled up on easy-to-prepare meals at the supermarket, threw in a couple of treats and set off to see Dad.
On the way, I sang songs from the musicals in the hope that it would shift my mood from apprehensive to cheerful.
When I’d arrived and he’d let me in, I saw that there was a suitcase in the hall behind him.
‘You going somewhere, Dad?’
‘Maybe. Yes. Come and sit down, Cait. I have something to tell you.’
Immediately my mind flooded with images. I found it hard to breathe.
Dad off to the hospital? An illness he hadn’t told me about?
Or he’d met an old dear and was off on a cruise with her? No. That wasn’t ever going to happen, though I’d be pleased if it did.
Or, oh no, he’d booked himself into Dignitas in Switzerland.
I followed him through to the kitchen and watched as he put on the kettle. ‘So what is it? Is everything all right?’
‘I have a plan, Cait.’
‘OK.’ I sat down and braced myself for bad news.
‘You know I said I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone?’
‘Yes, but oh god no, Dad, not Dignitas. That’s for people with terminal illnesses.’
Dad chuckled. ‘We’ve all got one of those, love. It’s called life. Believe me, no one gets out of here alive.’
‘Cheerful.’
‘I’m not going to Dignitas.’
‘No? Thank God for that.’
‘No, it’s even worse.’
‘Worse?’
‘Yes. I thought I’d come and live with you.’ He laughed. Dad had a strange sense of humour – probably where I got it from.
‘Me?’
Dad nodded. ‘Going to live with your brother in Edinburgh is out of the question so it has to be with you. That Airbnb you were telling me about? I’ll be your first guest. Paying guest, mind. I won’t have it any other way. You need the money. I need the company. How about it?’
‘I’d love it, but really, you don’t have to pay us.’
‘I pay or I’m not coming. I have the money. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.’
‘I’ll take it.’
‘I know I said I didn’t want to leave the house, but being here on my own is ridiculous. It’s too quiet without your mother and it’s driving me mad. So, how about I come and stay with you and Matt? See how it feels? It might not work, but I don’t like it here and don’t want to stay a moment longer. I can get by in the day, but it’s the nights when I feel it the most. I need to know there’s some company around somewhere. What do you say?’
‘I say great, Dad, I’m really pleased.’ I was. It was an excellent solution.
‘So, let’s have a cup of tea and get on the road. We can get the rest of my stuff later. First I want to see my room and catch up with that grandson and son-in-law of mine.’
I hadn’t seen Dad look so happy or enthusiastic about anything for a long time, and felt a sense of relief flood through me. He had a great relationship with Jed. I’d been concerned how my parents would react when he’d told us that he was gay, but Jed had insisted on telling them himself. I’ve no idea what was said between them, apart from them both saying that they’d welcome whoever he chose to spend his life with as long as the man was kind. I loved them for that. So now, OK, we’d have a house full, but better with people we knew than strangers every week. It appeared that life was taking a turn for the better, even though not in exactly the way Matt and I had planned.
26
Cait
There are three men and a cat at the island in the kitchen. Martin and Jed in their dressing gowns on stools, eating toast; Dad, dressed and shaved, standing and leaning on the surface, and Yoda licking the remains of Jed’s bowl of cereal.
‘Ah, there she is,’ said Dad when I came in. ‘Make us a cup of tea, love.’
I picked up Yoda and placed him on the floor, put the kettle on and surveyed the scene. Jed glanced at the mess then me and shrugged.
‘Where’s your dad?’ I asked him.
‘Said he was going shopping for food,’ said Jed.
‘Food? But the car’s still outside?’
‘He said he was going to walk.’ What is Matt up to? I wondered. Maybe he had taken it on board and was making an effort to share the chores. Good for him – but out walking for a second time in two days? What was that about? I’d ask him later. In the meantime, I had a list in my hand. I waved my piece of paper at the assembled crew.
‘OK, lads, some ground rules,’ I said. ‘I’ve made a list.’
Jed laughed. ‘Mum likes a list,’ he said to Martin. ‘When we were kids, she used to make them for us before we went to school; we had to check off the items before we went. Lunch – tick. Gym stuff – tick. School books – tick.’
‘Sounds very sensible, Mrs Langham,’ said Martin.
‘Call me Cait. Now. Here’s the list. I’ll read it and pin it on the fridge so you can all see it. OK? You tidy up after yourself, even if you’ve only had a snack. Make your own beds. Change your own sheets. You keep the bathroom clean, put wet towels in the laundry. You do your own laundry. You don’t put empty cartons or jars back in the fridge. You help with the household chores, and those include cooking and cleaning.’
‘It’s like having your mother back,’ said Dad.
‘This doesn’t apply to you, Dad. You’re a paying guest. This is for Matt, Jed and Martin.’
‘We’ll contribute,’ said Jed. ‘So, if we’re paying guests, does that mean we’re let off doing the chores?’
‘Maybe when you do start to contribute, but you can’t do that if you haven’t got jobs, can you?’
‘Fair point,’ said Jed. ‘OK, hand me the rubber gloves.’
I pulled a pair of Marigolds out from under the sink and handed them to him. He immediately blew one up, held it over his head and made clucking noises like a chicken. Dad and Martin cracked up then, one by one, they sloped off to their rooms, leaving the kitchen surfaces covered in plates, cups, knives and breadcrumbs. I stuck my list to the fridge door anyway.
Matt returned a few moments later looking breathless. He dumped a carrier bag full of food on the counter. ‘Supplies,’ he said. ‘I went to the farmers’ market. We need to up our vegetables to five a day. And I’d like to try the Mediterranean diet.’ He patted his stomach. ‘This has to go. I got us some Vitamin D as well. It’s good for keeping bones strong.’ He pulled out some leaflets which he handed me. They showed lists of classes available locally. ‘And I’m thinking of joining a t’ai chi class.’
‘T’ai chi?’
‘Yes. I got the leaflets at the café the other day. They have all sorts of good stuff up there. Pilates and yoga, but lots of other activities as well. I thought I’d go for t’ai chi because it’s good for flexibility and balance.’ Matt stood taller. ‘I thought I might do a few sessions of Alexander technique as well to improve my posture. Apparently, you have to imagine you have a helium balloon coming out of the top of your head and a lead weight pulling on the bottom of your spine. Something like that but, see, it makes you stand taller. Try it.’
Matt started putting the shopping away, then picked out two cans of beans from the cupboard, which he used as weights for an arm exercise.
‘Are you having an affair, Matt?’
He laughed. ‘As if. Just want to get fitter, that’s all. I thought you’d be pleased.’ He went over to the fridge and saw the list. ‘Ah, chores, excellent.’
‘Yes. Now we have a house full. Er … did you just say excellent?’
‘Yes. All good for keeping you moving.’ Matt studied the list for a moment. ‘Put me down for the most active. I’ll do the hoovering, window cleaning, bed changing—’
‘Are you on drugs, Matt?’
‘Nope. I just want to pull my weight, that’s all.’
‘And you haven’t forgotten we’re seeing a counsellor at two.’
Matt grimaced. ‘Not forgotten.
*
We drove in silence to Bradford on Avon where the first counsellor on the list had a room in a health clinic. The place had good reviews on the Internet and I was surprised that I’d managed to get an appointment so swiftly. However, now that we were on our way, I couldn’t help feeling apprehensive.
‘We don’t have to go again if it doesn’t feel right,’ said Matt once we’d found a parking space near the clinic.
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘Like hairdressers, you have to find the right one.’
‘Or builders. Always get three quotes.’
‘Exactly. I’ve lined up two more sessions
with different counsellors over the next ten days and if we don’t like any of them then we can rethink the plan.’
‘Agreed,’ said Matt.
On entering the clinic, we were told to take a seat in reception until we were called. As we waited, I looked at the other therapies on offer that were advertised on a notice board – acupuncture, homeopathy, aromatherapy. It was a place similar to Debs’s centre but the plain décor gave it the look of a doctor’s surgery, unlike the elegant and scented sanctuary that Debs offered, but the plus was that it was far enough away from home to not bump into nosey neighbours.
Matt read his newspaper as we waited and I closed my eyes and tried to do a calming breathing exercise. Breathe in, breathe out. Oh god, what have we got ourselves into? What if the therapist can mind-read? What if she gets me to reveal something I don’t want to? Breathe in, out.
I opened my eyes when a cry of pain came from the other side of a door marked Acupuncture.
‘Are there acupuncture points for marriage problems?’ Matt whispered. ‘Might be less painful than having to talk to a counsellor. We could still make a run for it.’
Too late, I thought, as the stern-looking lady behind reception peered over her glasses and called our names. ‘You can go up now,’ she said. ‘First floor. Room two.’
We made our way up and into a light room with three plastic chairs set out and a coffee table on which was a box of tissues.
Our therapist’s name was Lucinda Hartley. Nice name, I thought as I took a seat and told myself to be open-minded and hopeful that at last we were taking positive steps.
A pale, skinny young girl with a nose ring and long henna’d hair came in. She looked about sixteen and was dressed in a black T-shirt and skirt that needed ironing. Probably got either a drug problem or an eating disorder, I thought as she took the third chair.
‘I’m sorry but this room is already booked. We have a session here,’ I said.
‘With Lucinda Hartley?’ she asked.
I nodded.
She smiled brightly at us. ‘That’s me. You must be Matt and Cait.’
‘Er … yes, we are.’ I felt my heart sink and didn’t dare look at Matt. The girl was young enough to be our grandchild.
Dancing Over the Hill Page 21