Page 74 of Sisters Making Mischief
Stephen had proposed one evening after we had been to his parents’ house for dinner. I had wondered a few days later if perhaps he had asked their opinion on my suitability first. It wouldn’t have surprised me. His father was fairly monosyllabic because he thought this made him seem interesting, when, in fact, he had little to say about anything, and his mother was a languid hypochondriac who made Eugénie look like a fitness trainer. It was almost impossible to imagine them summoning up enough enthusiasm to produce Stephen. Still, I had evidently passed the test, and he proposed at the traffic lights outside a supermarket. No one would have described it as a romantic moment.
‘That’s sad,’ Isabel said, ‘by the way, do you know you have a huge gravy stain on your shirt? I bet that didn’t impress Luc.’
‘He just laughed,’ I said.
‘Well, I’ll go and get you some coffee and some painkillers and I have some marvellous brie, which is almost running off the plate, so you can have that too. Unless Felix has finished it off, which wouldn’t surprise me one bit. He’s such a pig.’
I was surprisingly comfortable that night, once I had hauled myself into the bed that had been tucked up against one corner of the shepherd’s hut. I didn’t usually like that arrangement because in the past I would always have to sleep next to the wall and then clamber over Stephen if I needed the loo in the middle of the night as I often did, but as I was on my own, it didn’t matter. The sheets were beautifully smooth and soft, the pillows comfortable and as Isabel had proudly told me, the hut had fantastic insulation, so I certainly wasn’t cold.
I’d had emails from Sara and John that evening, both reassuring me that they were okay.
Sara’s divorce was proceeding to plan, the paperwork had been lodged with the court, and Marty had even had the girls for a weekend, sending them back with a lot of make up they didn’t need and some overpriced trainers that didn’t fit properly.
In Manhattan, John meanwhile was busy and had got very ‘aggy’ with someone, but he was also ‘creaming a lot of cake’, by which I think he meant he’d been annoyed but he was also making money. I had a short message from Vanessa, too, telling me all about Jasmine’s role in the forthcoming school play where, as the only English student in the class, she was going to play George III. Meanwhile Bunny was trying to develop an American accent, despite all Vanessa’s attempts to stop her, and was asking if she needed a therapist because all her friends had them.
It seemed everyone was coping perfectly fine, and for that I was grateful. It was an important lesson to me, they were adults, and my granddaughters were growing up fast, they might need the occasional bit of support or advice in future, but none ofthem needed the level of fussing and martyrdom I had been doling out. They were perfectly capable of sorting out their own lives and clearing up their own dirty dishes, metaphorical or otherwise.
So where did that leave me in future, I wondered, as I lay in bed, listening to the peace and quiet. If I wasn’t needed to sort out their daily, domestic dramas, pick up after them and pander to their childhood fancies, how was I going to spend my time?
It was a rather exciting thought. It meant that I could do whatever I wanted. Perhaps coming here had been good for all of us. For me as well as for them. And I’d been able to help Isabel and Felix too.
I looked around the shadowy room. What would it be like to have a smaller space like this to look after, clean and decorate? Surely it would be cheaper and easier for me. Perhaps I should think about selling my house, it was too big for my needs anyway, and to keep it on just for the two or three occasions a year when all the family wanted to visit was ridiculous. And so was the garden.
I had already begun to see that I didn’t have the physical strength or energy to maintain it, mow it, weed it and worry about it and that was for the grandchildren to have somewhere to play, hardly ever for my own benefit. And they were getting a bit old for hide and seek, and two of them were in America anyway.
I wasn’t someone who liked to sit out in the garden on my own, and the weather was so unpredictable too. Putting chair cushions out and taking them back in again when it rained wasn’t my idea of fun.
Many times, I had been alone in the house, having cleaned everything, tidied everything and rearranged every cupboard and drawer, and realised I had nothing to do, and I probably hadn’t spoken to anyone but the postman for two days. Was Iprepared to spend the rest of my life waiting for something to happen? For someone, anyone, to pull me out into the world? No, I wasn’t.
I could think about travelling more, even though the prospect of doing it alone had been so daunting in the past. I had managed okay on this trip. Mostly. I’d even found a couple of sites on the internet that specialised in holidays for solo travellers. (Not singles; I knew there was an important distinction.)
If that was the case, where would I like to go? What did I like doing? I needn’t consider anyone other than myself. This was groundbreaking stuff and very exciting.
I liked trying different foods, I’d always liked the idea of a painting holiday, or a guided tour around the chateaux of the Loire valley. Perhaps I really would go to visit New York – it was perfectly possible. Or Yellowstone National Park before there was the huge volcanic eruption that had been predicted for so long.
Maybe I would go somewhere next Christmas where there was proper snow and lots of it? I had a delightful vision of myself sitting by a window overlooking a mountain range, where the air was thick with snowflakes, and people were wearing colourful, Nordic sweaters and drinking hot chocolate. No, what was it they had inWhite Christmas?Hot buttered rum, light on the butter.I didn’t know what that tasted like, but I could give it a go.
And did Luc feature in any of my thoughts? Surely he shouldn’t. Having realised that I was now free of so many responsibilities, I didn’t want to deliberately go out looking for new ones.
What had Eugénie said?I just like to be chased; I don’t want to be caught.
Thinking about this and trying to weigh up the possibilities of a delightful Greek island with a turquoise sea, white sand and a conveniently placed beach umbrella and bar, versus a cute fishing village in Mallorca where there was a small promenade of enticing restaurants, I fell asleep.
24
My back gradually improved over the next few days, but the weather deteriorated into days of rain and biting winds. Resting in my little hut, I occasionally felt it rock with a particularly high gust, but I felt quite snug and safe, and I realised it was the first time I had enjoyed my own company for quite some time.
Instead of distracting myself with housework and mundane tasks in the garden, I had the chance to think properly about what I was going to do next. I had been in France for weeks now, and I knew I couldn’t stay forever, the ninety-day rule being what it was. Isabel, my children and my grandchildren had their own lives, and their own paths to follow. I needed to do the same.
I pulled out one of the notebooks I had brought with me – the one with the picture of Wonder Woman on the front. My word, Lynda Carter really did have a spectacular figure. It was one that Bunny and Jasmine had bought for me, and I opened it, smoothing out the first page with my hand.
I remembered the conversation we’d had with Felix about women and their notebooks, how we liked to keep them until the right moment arrived. Well, this felt like the right moment.
I found a pen and wrote:
Next
at the top of the page, and then I underlined it twice, because this was important.
