Cait
Our wedding anniversary.
Presents received.
- An M & S voucher from Dad. Nice.
- A landscape watercolour of a beach in Thailand from Jed, by Jed. Fabulous. I shall treasure it.
- Bottle of bubbly sent from Sam. Appreciated.
- White roses from Lorna. Thoughtful.
- A Post-it note from Matt saying ‘Duncan’s giving me a lift to the chiropractor. Will get some more gel for inflammation while I’m out. C U l8r.’ It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?
*
Items lost:
- My waistline.
- My willpower.
- Jaw line. Pulled cheek skin up and back to see how I’d look if I had a facelift. Hmm. Fish face comes to mind. I wonder how much it would cost? I read about a procedure where they put a metal hook under your ears and a thread under the chin then sew it up to the hook so tightening a slack jaw. Argh. Think I’d rather be wrinkly. Must stop looking in mirror. Of all the things you wear, your expression is the most important, so smile. I smiled at my reflection. It didn’t make me look any younger.
*
I’ve decided to start the 5:2 diet. Everyone’s doing it. Five hundred calories a day for two days a week. I could do that. I must do that.
Why are you doing it? asked an inner voice that sounded distinctly like Lorna. I wasn’t overweight but it wouldn’t hurt to shed half a stone.
In case I decide to run away with Tom Lewis, said another inner voice.
No it isn’t.
Yes it is.
So why not tell Matt about him? the inner dialogue continued.
Matt had gone by the time I got downstairs in the morning, but he never forgets the date. He always sent a card and arranged for flowers to be delivered. We did keep up some traditions. I’d bought him a couple of history books, plus a bottle of Armagnac and another Toblerone. I wrapped them and left them on the desk in his den, ready for when he got back.
Late morning, I spent an hour filling the boot and back seats of the car with rubbish from Sam and Jed’s room ready to go to the tip. It had been stashed in the garage, along with all the stuff that had accumulated in the garden shed. It was surprising what was in there – piles of plastic plant pots, paint cans and roller trays, stacks of old papers and magazines, old curtains, damp and mouldy cushions and bed linen. It would be good to get rid of it all and a clear-out always made me feel better.
‘What a glamorous place to go on a wedding anniversary,’ said Lorna, who had agreed to go with me, as we sat in the car waiting for a slot.
‘I know. I go to all the best places.’
‘Let’s put on the radio,’ said Lorna as she looked at the queue, ‘it looks like it’s going to be a long wait.’
I turned on the radio and tuned to Radio Four. There was a programme on about life coaching, and I half listened as I stared out at the sudden downpour of rain.
‘So much for a flaming June,’ said Lorna as she gazed out of the window.
‘In essence, you have to see prospects and potential everywhere. Reach out and grasp them,’ said the life coach on the radio, ‘don’t just expect opportunities to come knocking at your door. You have to go out and find them, but not only that, more importantly, you have to be ready to recognize them when they appear, because sometimes the most remarkable breaks in life aren’t glaringly obvious, nor do they always come in the guise we expect. The ability to recognize them is often what marks out the successful from the unsuccessful. Be ready. Be open. Be amazed.’
‘Be gone,’ I said as I switched off. ‘She sounded like Debs. She’s always coming out with “seize the day”, “reach for the stars” type sayings. Sometimes I want to throttle her.’
Lorna laughed. ‘And not much chance of being amazed at the tip,’ she said as we looked at the dismal grey buildings ahead of us and the queue began to nudge forward.
When a place finally came up, I drove in, switched off my engine, and Lorna and I began to unload the back, then looked around to see what went where.
‘First time?’ asked a voice to my right. I looked over to see an attractive man with white hair, a beard and a friendly face. He was addressing Lorna.
‘Yes, I’m a tip novice,’ Lorna replied.
‘It takes a bit of getting used to,’ the man said as he took a quick look at our pile then pointed to a corner. ‘Wood is that way, plastics over there, paint cans next to that.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lorna.
‘Would you like a hand?’ he asked, and indicated his car, which was empty apart from a large chestnut-coloured dog, which was watching us from the open window of the passenger seat. ‘I’ve done mine so could show you where it all goes.’
‘That’s very kind of you, if you’re sure you have time,’ said Lorna, and she went over to stroke the dog, which began to wag his tail at the attention.
‘What’s his name?’ she asked.
‘Geoffrey,’ said the man.
‘A very handsome fellow,’ said Lorna.
As is his owner, I thought, as I took in his tall, lean frame. Although dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt, he had an air of sophistication about him.
‘He is. He’s a Labradoodle – more Labrador than poodle.’ He held out his hand to shake Lorna’s then withdrew it. ‘Sorry, filthy hands. I’m Patrick.’
I noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring. Shame, I thought, but then as Debs is always saying, all the good ones are taken. And shame Lorna has got her old togs on and no make-up because that man likes her.
‘I’m Lorna,’ she said. ‘Pleased to meet you. So – d’you come here often, Patrick?’
He laughed. ‘I do, particularly in the gardening season.’
‘Are you a gardener?’
‘Not professional, but I do like to work in my own, especially now I’m retired. My wife always used to be the gardener but now …’ He trailed off and looked away.
Ah. So he was either a widower or divorced. ‘You been having a clear-out then?’ I asked.
‘Some. It’s frightening how fast stuff accumulates. But it feels good to get rid of it, doesn’t it?’ he said as he picked up a pile of papers and began to stride over to an area with huge closed bins.
‘Actually it does,’ said Lorna as she picked up another pile and followed him. ‘My husband always used to do regular tip visits when he was alive, but since he died, I’m afraid I’ve let it all mount up.’
Well get her, I thought.
With his help, it took about fifteen minutes and we were done.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said. ‘Much appreciated.’
‘Glad to be of service.’ He turned and was about to get into his car, then he stopped and approached Lorna. ‘I … er … Don’t suppose you fancy a coffee? There’s a nice place round the corner.’
Maybe he’d been listening to the same radio programme with the life coach, I thought. But no way would she agree. I knew Lorna. She didn’t want another man.
‘Love to. Is that OK, Cait?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
As I drove off, leaving my friend behind, I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Just wait till Debs hears about this, I thought. All those Internet dates and Lorna pulls at the recycling centre.
On the way back, I went to the pet shop to buy a different kind of food for Yoda and a magnetic collar and cat flap so the neighbour’s cats couldn’t get in.
When I got home, Dad helped me to fit it to the door, then I attached the new magnetic collar to Yoda. He was not happy about it, so I put new, expensive luxury cat food down to appease him. He went straight to it. Yum. Purr. However, his tin cat-food bowl leapt up and attached itself to the magnetic chip on his collar. He freaked out. There was cat food everywhere as he tried to run away with the bowl still stuck to his collar. I chased after him and detached the bowl. He ran into the utility room and thwang, got sucked onto the washing machine. The magnets must be very strong, I thought as I tried not to laugh. Poor Yoda. Such is the glamour of my life, Tom Lewis, I thought as I grabbed hold of Yoda and removed the collar. He ran out through the cat flap, but not before giving me one of his most evil, accusing looks.
For lunch, I prepared slices of cucumber, then Jed came back from town laden with local cheeses, chutney and fresh olive bread from the deli on Walcot Street. Will start 5:2 again tomorrow.
*
Matt called early afternoon. He sounded upbeat.
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘Library. Had a lunch out with Duncan after my session, then signed up for piano lessons, then came here.’
‘Piano lessons?’
‘Yes. I’ve always wanted to play.’
‘But we don’t have a piano.’
‘Duncan can get me one on the cheap.’
‘Do you know what day it is?’
‘Friday.’
‘Our wedding anniversary. Thirty-one years.’
‘Shit.’
‘Not all of them,’ I said.
Silence. ‘Sorry, Cait. I didn’t forget. I just forgot the date. I’ll make it up to you,’ he said as I spied Yoda crying to come in through the French doors.
I opened the doors. Yoda stared at me then looked away, bored. I closed the door, only to hear heartbreaking meowing. I opened the door. Yoda looked at me again, put his nose in the air then walked away. I closed the door, only to hear more crying from outside. I ignored it. It became louder. I opened the door.
‘I can’t go on like this all day,’ I said.
Yoda started to come in, then stopped about six inches from the door, as if to say, I might come in, I might not, but if I do, it will be in my own time.
I picked him up and shoved him through the door just as Jed came into the kitchen. He ran over, picked up Yoda and cuddled him. ‘You’re mean to that cat, Mum,’ he said as Yoda nuzzled in and gave me a smug look.
Matt appeared back from town an hour later with a large silver envelope. He was in a good mood and looked pleased with himself. I knew he’d come up with something for our anniversary. He’d never forgotten before. For our first Valentine’s together, he’d lined a box with white silk and filled it with Liquorice Allsorts (my favourites back then, before I started the thirty-year-long diet). Another year, he gave me a life-size rubber lizard with a piece of paper rolled up on its tongue that said, ‘I think you’re rubbery.’ Who needed two dozen red roses when you could have your very own fake amphibian? It had made me laugh. Matt used to make me laugh a lot in our early years. For our twenty-fifth anniversary, he bought me twenty-five silver presents, thoughtfully chosen, all wrapped in silver paper. He was a man that could make an effort.
‘I thought about this one long and hard when I was out,’ he said. ‘I wanted to get you something special, something you’d really like.’
I gave him a hug and took the envelope. What this time? I wondered as I ripped it open. I remembered tickets to Paris on our fifth anniversary. Vouchers for a spa break in the Cotswolds for our tenth. A weekend in a romantic hotel in Venice for our twentieth.
Inside the envelope, there was a photo of a baby orang-utan. I looked to Matt for explanation.
‘I know. Isn’t it great?’ he said as he limped over to the fridge then poured himself a glass of juice.
‘His name is Pichu. I’ve adopted him for you.’
‘Adopted?’
He grinned. ‘He’s not going to come and live with us. He’s in a sanctuary in Malaysia. While I was at the library, I registered online to pay an amount every month to keep him safe. I remembered you saying once that orang-utans are your favourite animal. I’ll have the photo framed so you can put it somewhere you can see it.’
It’s true, orang-utans are my favourite animal. Can’t fault him there, I thought, and made a note to store the framed picture in the loft with the rubber lizard.
He pulled a package out of his case. ‘I also bought this, though it’s for both of us.’
Ah. I should have known he’d have got something else as well, I thought, until I opened it and saw it was a blood-pressure machine.
‘At our time of life, best to keep an eye on it,’ he said.
So romantic, I reflected as I watched him take it out of its box and put it onto his arm to take a reading. ‘146 over 87,’ he said a few moments later. ‘That’s just about OK, isn’t it? You want a go?’
I sat at the table and dutifully took my blood pressure. ‘Oh, the larks we have in this house. Endless fun to be had with this,’ I said. ‘No one could ever accuse us of letting the romance fade.’
‘No need to be sarcastic,’ said Matt.
The blood-pressure machine was a big hit. Dad took his, Jed and Martin took theirs.
‘Mine’s 128 over 85,’ said Jed to Matt as they compared results.
‘I can better my result, get a lower score,’ said Matt. ‘I’ll do it again.’ He put the armband on again, took a few deep breaths and switched the machine on.
‘It’s not a competition, Dad,’ said Jed. ‘Hey, let’s do Yoda’s.’
Yoda took one look at them and was gone.
*
Now time to relax, I thought after clearing up the supper dishes. I went to the bedroom to watch TV to find that Jed and Martin were sprawled on our bed. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Mum? It’s the latest series of Twin Peaks. We missed it when it first came out. It’s awesome.’
‘Why don’t you watch downstairs?’
‘We can’t get near the remote since Granddad moved in. He totally monopolizes that TV.’
I went back downstairs to find Matt in his den. ‘Our house has been taken over,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Fancy a glass of wine? It is our anniversary after all.’
Matt hesitated. ‘I would but …’ he patted his stomach, ‘I’m off the booze for a few months. I could get you a glass, though.’
‘No. It’s fine. I’ll go and check my emails.’
Once upstairs, I had a look to see if there was anything from Tom. Nothing. However, there was an email offering free terminal illness cover and insurance to meet funeral costs. Cheerful. All in all, an anniversary to remember.