Cait
And there he was. Tom Lewis, leaning back against the bar, just as I remembered, his body turned towards the room; still wearing jeans, sneakers had replaced the cowboy boots. He was older, a lot older, but still oh so attractive. As soon as he saw me, his face lit up and he strode over and gave me a bear hug that almost lifted me off my feet. We were ridiculously pleased to see each other, and all my worries about him being disappointed to see how I’d aged, faded in a second. He shook his head as if in disbelief. ‘Cait Mackenna. Well I never.’
‘Cait Langham now.’
‘Of course. You married. How long?’
‘Only thirty years.’
‘Same man?’
I smiled. ‘Same man.’
‘I think I did hear on the grapevine, but couldn’t remember his surname, which is why I couldn’t find you. I had looked for you before but of course you go under your married name, then last month I saw a comment of yours on John Barry’s Facebook page and recognized you from your photograph.’
‘Of course. We stayed in touch, John and I, if only in cyberspace. You recognized me even though I had chopsticks up my nose?’
Tom laughed. ‘Yes, about that … Is there something you need to tell me? Some strange religion you’ve joined?’
‘No. Just haven’t properly grown up, despite the wrinkles.’
Tom studied my face. ‘Not so many, you look great. Still got those beautiful eyes.’ He grinned. ‘So how the hell are you, Cait?’
‘Good. I’m good.’
‘Hardly changed a bit.’
‘Hah. You were always the charmer.’
‘I mean it. You’ve aged well. Not everyone does.’
‘You? Are you well?’
‘Usual stuff. Creaking bones, not as agile as I was. Come on, let’s sit down, get a drink, then we can grab a bite to eat and compare our medical histories.’
‘The one on the lowest medication gets a prize,’ I said.
Tom ordered drinks – a beer for him, a glass of Prosecco for me – then we went to sit in the walled garden at the back.
I took a brief look at the other people there, many around my age. I knew the club was the watering hole for artists, cartoonists, writers, sculptors. Many look like they have a story to tell. Bohemians, people who’ve done something with their lives, I thought, had adventures. The walls were covered in paintings and the place had an air of faded grandeur. ‘I like this place,’ I said. ‘It has a decadence about it.’
Tom nodded. ‘Like the people in it. I had lunch here last week with a table of old members, about five of them, all artists. It came to light that they had seventeen ex-wives and one driving licence between them.’
I laughed. ‘Sounds about right.’
‘So,’ said Tom. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Kids? Work? What did you do …’ He paused and looked sheepish. ‘Guess we have a lot of catching up to do.’
‘We do. Give me your edited highlights. What happened to Chloe Posh Girl?’
‘Ah, that was an interesting time. She took off with a rich banker soon after we split up.’
‘Why did you split up?’
Tom laughed. ‘I couldn’t even afford her dry-cleaning bills. She expected to be kept in the style she was accustomed to, not something I could begin to do back then. Last I heard she was living in a pile in Wiltshire with stables, grandchildren and regular sessions with a therapist.’
‘So you stayed in touch?’
‘Not really. Friends of friends. You know how it is, you hear the gossip here and there.’
‘You got married too, didn’t you?’
He leant back. ‘I did.’
‘Still married?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. I was with my first wife, Annie, for twenty years. We married too young, grew apart. I married again, more fool me. Second wife was French. High maintenance. She wanted a slave, at her beck and call. Complained I was never at home, which was fair enough. I wasn’t. Big lesson that, although you’ve taken the “for better for worse” vows, you don’t own anyone. So now I’m single.’
Single? Hmm. Get out of my head, Debs, I told myself. ‘Children?’
‘Two. Boy and a girl with Annie. My son, Liam is in LA working in the film business. Ariel, Ari we call her, is also in the States, in California, married with two kids. Annie lives there too. She’s American; we met when I first went out there.’
‘So you’re a grandfather?’
‘I am – makes me sound ancient, but yes. Mia and Ethan, lights of my life. You?’
‘I have two grandchildren, Ben and Grace. My son Sam is also in LA. He moved out there a couple of years ago and loves it. And Jed, my youngest, has been travelling – still is. He fell in love with Thailand and stayed over there. He’s not sure what he wants to do yet.’
‘Good for him. He’s having an adventure. Must be in the genes. And you, are you still working?’
‘Recently unemployed. I’d like to write children’s books. In fact, that’s why I’m in London today – to see an old friend, Lizzie. I met her before coming here. She used to be a literary agent and is great for giving advice.’
‘Sounds glamorous. Shouldn’t you be having lunch at The Ivy with her?’
‘Maybe one day, but this morning, it was a coffee in Costa.’
‘Are you working on something at the moment?’
‘Sort of. A work in progress.’
‘And what else did you do?’
‘How long have you got? I tried a number of careers before I settled.’ I gave him a short history of my CV: time spent acting – he didn’t need to know it was as an extra in a film shot locally; modelled for a short time, again he didn’t need to know it was for a friend’s maternity catalogue; time as an artist – I reckoned life-drawing classes at night school counted. He didn’t need details of my other work teaching and in the library. As I talked up my life experiences, I could see that, in his eyes, I was still that girl he knew, and I’d lived a colourful and interesting life. ‘And you? Do you still paint?’
‘In more recent years, yes. I’ve taken it up again. I became a photographer so my work was all prints for decades, but hell, Cait Mackenna, I mean Langham, what are you into these days? I remember you were always a searcher, always looking for answers to the big questions. Did you ever find what you were looking for?’
You, I thought as I took in the fact that there he was, actually sitting in front of me after so many years. He had a casual elegance about him and that fabulous voice, deep and honeyed, it was one of the things that attracted me when we first met. He could have read a telephone directory and made it sound sexy. ‘Not really. These days, my searching goes as far as clips on Facebook. But you’re right, I was always looking for something. Restless, I guess. So much to catch up on. Where to start?’
Tom looked at me very directly. ‘Are you happy? I guess that’s ultimately what we were all seeking.’
‘I … yes. Happy? What is that? Content? You know, I … we, that is Matt and I, Matt’s my husband, we’ve had our ups and downs, you know – life. My mother died last year: that knocked me sideways. My father’s still alive.’ I felt suddenly tearful. ‘And you, are you back in the country full-time now?’
‘For a short while only, few months maybe. I stay at an old friend’s place in Barnes when in London. My home is LA, but I also have a house in Majorca where I go to paint or to get away from it all. I came here to sort out my mother’s affairs. She died just before Christmas, so sounds like we’ve been through similar stuff.’
‘Oh I’m sorry. And your father?’
‘Three years ago. Lots of paper to go through, probate, takes forever for houses to sell. It’s easier if I’m in the country.’
‘I know. Awful isn’t it? No one told us about ageing parents, losing parents.’
‘Nobody told us nothing,’ said Tom as the waiter brought our drinks. For a brief moment, I saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, and wondered what he was thinking, what he’d been through.
‘Are you retired?’
‘Retired. Me? Never. The day you retire is the day you start getting old. I wouldn’t say I work full time any more, but I keep myself busy with projects of one kind or another. You said you’re working on something at the moment?’
‘Only just. It needs a lot of work plus, as my friend just told me, it’s a tough business out there these days. Hard for beginners like me with no track history to compete with the celebrities who’ve decided to take to writing children’s books.’
‘So, just write for yourself. Write the book you want. Does it matter if you get published or not?’
‘I … I suppose not. I hadn’t really considered that.’
‘Could be liberating.’
‘It could be.’
‘So much of our lives has been about striving – for the career, the house, the relationship. When you stop, there’s a real sense of freedom.’
‘And you? Have you stopped striving?’
Tom considered my question. ‘I guess I have. Not that I don’t have things I still want to do but, as a free man, I make my own choices these days.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘And your husband? What’s his name again?’
‘Matt. He’s just retired.’
‘Ah. And what does he plan to do?’
‘That’s the million-dollar question.’
‘It can be an adjustment but, as I said, one that liberates.’
‘Early days.’
‘Are you happily married?’
‘Wow, get you with the personal questions.’
‘Sorry. Sorry …’ he reached out and took my hand. ‘Might be years since I last saw you, Cait, but feels like yesterday, know what I mean?’
‘I do.’ I did. I smiled back at him. Sitting, chatting to him felt so familiar, the connection there, just as it was so long ago.
‘Just having two marriages behind me,’ Tom continued as he let go of my hand, ‘I’m curious about how those who’ve stayed the course have made it work.’
‘Tell you what, I’ll have a think about it and get back to you, though my dad always said that the secret of a good marriage is to have a night out each week, him on a Tuesday, her on a Thursday.’
Tom laughed as another waiter arrived and took our orders and we sat out amongst the roses and reminisced about old times and old friends over goat’s cheese, prosciutto and green salads.
‘And what about that friend of yours? Eve?’
‘Sadly she died eight months ago. Breast cancer.’
‘Oh I’m sorry, Cait. She was a beauty. You were good friends, weren’t you?’
‘The best, right till the end. Losing someone like her just after Mum made me think about a lot of things. As well as being a reminder of my own mortality, it’s made me examine what’s important. You know what I mean?’
Tom nodded. ‘I do, and losing two people who were dear to you so close together is tough.’
I felt tears in my eyes again but didn’t want to start crying, not here, not today, maybe not ever. If I ever let myself, I had a feeling I’d never stop.
‘What about your friends now?’
‘There’s a good circle of them in Bath. I’m in a choir and a writing group, but my closest friends are Debs and Lorna. Debs is on another planet but great entertainment. Lorna’s very together. She can come across as a bit stern when you first meet her but has a heart of gold.’
‘Stern eh? We’d better meet up here then.’
Interesting, I thought. He’s assumed we’ll meet again.
All too soon, it was time to go. Tom called a cab for me and came to the front door of the Arts Club when it arrived, where he wrapped me in another bear hug. ‘Really really good to see you, Cait. I hope we can do it again.’
‘Love to,’ I said. I meant it too, though I was aware that I didn’t mention him coming to Bath or meeting Matt.
‘Well, you know where I am. I have thought of you, many times, wondered what you made of your life and, I hope you don’t mind me asking as an old friend here, are you happy?’
‘Why do you ask again?’
‘Something in your eyes – a hint of sadness, resignation, regret?’
‘In your dreams, Lewis. There might have been regret, but that was forty years ago.’
‘When we broke up?’
‘We didn’t break up. You left. So if I look at all sad now, which I don’t feel by the way, it’s probably just age. Eye bags always make people look sadder.’
Tom was studying me in that way he always used to, as if he was looking right into me. ‘If you say so.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve come over all emotionally intelligent?’
‘Hah. We were big on that in LA. Sorry for intruding.’
‘No offence taken and I’m fine, doing just fine.’
‘What did you do after I’d gone?’
I wasn’t about to tell him I’d cried for months. ‘Moved on. Finished university. Went to India. Joined an ashram.’
‘An ashram?’
‘Part of the “looking for answers” thing. I went to India, found a guru, learned how to meditate. Ate a lot of lentils and rice.’ I didn’t mention I’d also got dysentery, as did half the Westerners who’d gone out there at the same time.
Tom laughed. ‘Doesn’t surprise me, not the lentils and rice part. And do you still meditate?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘And your new friends? Are they married?’
‘Debs and Lorna, they’re not really new friends. I’ve known both of them for a long time. Lorna’s a widow, Debs is recently single.’
‘Like me.’
‘Debs is nothing like you.’ I felt uncomfortable talking about her, especially as she had asked me to hook her up with Tom. Don’t ask too much about her, I thought. Don’t ruin the day.
‘But your friend Laura—’
‘Lorna.’
‘Lorna. Is she your age?’
‘Younger, in her fifities, though seems older. An old soul. Her husband died last year. He was the love of her life, her soul mate.’
Tom looked thoughtful. ‘That’s tough.’ He smiled. ‘Soul mate, that’s an expression I haven’t heard for a while.’ He looked directly at me again and I felt myself blush at the intensity in his eyes. I looked away. ‘What’s the quote? In the beginning, one soul split into two, creating soul mates. And ever the two shall wander, seeking each other. Plato, or one of that crew.’
‘That’s a very romantic notion. Do you believe it?’
‘I think I used to,’ Tom replied, not taking his eyes away from mine. ‘Really it’s just a connection you feel with some people, isn’t it? It’s only as you get older that you discover that connection is rare and precious.’
The way he was looking at me, I knew he was talking about us. And the chemistry, it was still there, standing in such close proximity, I could feel the pull between us. It would feel so natural to step closer, reach out and … ‘My friend Debs believes in soul mates but she says you don’t always get to meet them. Eve also used to believe in soul mates, though she thought we had many and, in the end, lived with her old cat Smokey. She said he was her soul mate.’ I could feel myself blushing and I knew I was blabbering.
Tom laughed. ‘Too many of the good ones like Eve have left the party, friends and family. We must seize the day, count our blessings and all that good stuff.’ He paused then grinned. ‘Look at us, Cait Langham. Forty years on and still going.’
‘Still going and you still have all your hair.’
‘And teeth.’ He paused again then said, ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you.’
I shrugged as if it didn’t matter. ‘We were young; being hurt was all part of growing up. Life’s rich tapestry and all that good stuff.’
He nodded and lifted an imaginary glass ‘To life’s rich tapestry.’
*
On the train going home, I felt high as a kite. My meeting with Lizzie had gone well – better than I’d expected. We’d talked through the problems with The Fairy Freak-Out and brainstormed some other ideas, but it wasn’t just that, it was seeing Tom again. It had been a long time since a man had looked at me the way he had, taken such an interest in me and what I thought, but that had always been part of why I’d loved being with him so many moons ago. We’d had a connection, almost telepathic, which is why I’d known, by watching his face when Chloe Porter had got out of the car at the degree ceremony and walked towards her brother, that I was history.
A text came through. A tonic to c u. Let’s do it again soon. Tom X.
I stared out of the window at the houses, gardens, streets flashing by, and realized that – for the first time in years – I felt like me, the old me: desirable, dazzling even. Not a wife or a daughter or a mother, but me, just me, Caitlin Mackenna. I replayed our lunch and conversation at the Arts Club in my mind as the train sped on: Reading, Swindon, Chippenham, Bath. We’d talked, really talked, about everything, and it was true what he’d said: seeing each other again, the years had fallen away and we’d got back to that easy familiarity, as if we’d only parted yesterday.
Matt
Cait was on her way back from London and I had a Skype call booked with my boy, Sam, in LA. Even as a kid, he’d had a million ideas firing in his brain. He was just the man to talk to about programme ideas.
And there he was, his handsome, suntanned face filling my screen. I liked to think Sam took after me, and he probably did in character, but I suspected that he got his good looks from Cait.
‘Hey, Dad, how’s the new life going?’
I hesitated. Crap, I wanted to say, but didn’t want to burden him with my troubles. ‘Up and down. Different. And you?’
‘Excellent. Busy as always. But life is good. Claire’s fine. Kids good, starting to talk with American accents. But what about you? Mum says you’re not happy.’
‘Oh did she now? When did you talk to her then?’
‘I called at the weekend. Did she not tell you?’
‘She didn’t, but then we’ve both been busy.’
‘Busy. I thought you were supposed to be slowing down. So what’s going on?’
‘Readjustment, that’s all. Few things in the pipeline – that’s what I thought you might be able to help with.’
‘Shoot.’
‘I’ve been asked to come up with some programme ideas for the older generations, silver surfers sort of thing.’
‘And what have you got so far?’
‘That’s it. Nothing. Nada. Nowt. First time in my life. I can’t seem to find an angle.’
‘Programme maker’s block.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Have you researched the market? Seen what’s been done before.’
‘Course.’
‘And?’
‘Care homes. Programmes on what to eat to live longer. Equity release. Nothing new.’
‘Never is, it’s how you present it that’s new. Sorry, Pa, that’s your line.’
‘Was. I thought I could have a shot at this but my head is a blank.’
‘Not like you.’
‘No.’
‘What have you been doing with yourself?’
‘Annoying your mother.’
Sam laughed. ‘No change there then.’
‘Cheek. We get on. We’ll get by.’
‘You going to take up any hobbies?’
‘What, like golf? I’d rather cut my arm off.’
‘Classes?’
‘In what?’
‘I don’t know. What are you interested in? Surely, this period is a gift to do all the things you never had time to.’
‘Or a curse. I’m not sure I’m ready. This silver surfer thing might give me a way back in to working if I can only come up with something.’
‘Let me give it some thought. I’ll get back to you. Maybe we could brainstorm. You know, throw it all up in the air. Something will appear – you know how it works: there’s nothing, then the old unconscious mind kicks in and bingo, you have half a dozen ideas.’
‘Just the one would do.’
After our call, I stared out of the window. Maybe I had lost the touch and my unconscious mind had upped and left home.