Magic Wand

The checklist under the fridge magnet has today planned to such military precision that even I can’t fail:

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the question all week and, dreading that I’d get the answer wrong when she asked, I decided to question everyone at work.

‘If you had a magic wand, what would your perfect life look like?’ I asked them realising how stupid the question sounded out of context.

It didn’t put Charlie off and he was straight in there. ‘Ooh – I’d run a beach bar like Tom Cruise in Cocktail. Maybe even with the man himself; people would come for miles for my Slippery Nipple.’

Josie chipped in twirling her shoulder length earrings. ‘I’d move to the Bahamas with James Bond. He’d have been shipwrecked without his suitcases and have nothing to wear but those little speedos all day, every day.’

I wasn’t surprised by this: Daniel Craig emerging from the ocean in his trunks is Josie’s screensaver.

‘This isn’t helping,’ I said to them, looking for a little more inspiration than this.

‘OK then, Little Miss Serious. Making what I have perfect?’ said Charlie.

I nodded.

‘Well I started working in travel to have adventures and yet I’m in a shop all day worrying about keeping it open. So I’d get out more – join people on their trips and make sure they had a good time; that way, they’d book again.’

‘You’d be good at that,’ piped Josie, and he would.

‘I’d also have someone who loved me, we’d have the best dinner parties and you’d both be invited.’

Great, I thought, I have somewhere to eat in Charlie’s fantasy life.

‘Hubby and I would be pillars of the community – we’d raise money for charity and live happily ever after.’ He bowed theatrically and we gave him a round of applause before cutting it short as a customer walked in.

Throughout the week I found myself pondering the circumstances of everyone who sat in front of me, just wondering whether they were living their perfect lives, whether this trip around the Black Forest or to a Greek Island was part of that. In the end, Charlie’s hadn’t been that much of a stretch; I wonder why he hasn’t done it.

I thought Patty might be slightly more ambitious when I ask her the same question but she ducks it by saying she wants ‘constant gratuitous sex’. As far as I know she hasn’t had sex since her hubby died four years ago, although she talks about it a lot.

Anyway, back to today and my checklist. I glance at the clock; bugger, 1.30 and I’ve missed spuds-in time – so much for foolproof. I increase the temperature to compensate, not sure whether this is the right thing to do. My mother was annoyingly accurate about my cooking prowess; I’ve been on a prod-prod ping-ping diet since moving here. Anyway, the chicken is starting to smell wonderful – I hope she’s not a veggie. The doorbell rings.

‘Too late to ask now,’ I tell myself.

Caroline is carrying a large hessian shopping bag and pulls out a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

‘I thought this might go,’ she says handing the bottle to me.

‘It will indeed,’ I reply, ‘follow me.’ We head into the kitchen and I pour us each a glass.

‘Nearly ready,’ I say, pretending to know what I’m doing.

Caroline peers into the oven glancing at the temperature.

‘Smells delicious; shall I cover the chicken so it doesn’t dry out?’ she asks.

‘Just what I was about to do,’ I lie handing her the roll of foil. ‘Why don’t you supervise the oven while I tackle the veg?’

Caroline happily accepts her new responsibility and I spy her turning the temperature down as I check the microwave instructions on the ready-prepared veg.

After a pretty perfect lunch, we move into the living room.

‘Shall we start?’ asks Caroline and I nod.

She reaches into her bag again and this time pulls out a magic wand.

‘Do you have a hatstand in there too?’ I ask as she hands the wand to me. It’s very pink and sparkly, not something I’d expect Caroline to own, but I’m happy to play along.

Next out of the bag is a chart with different aspects of my life listed: my love life, career, finances, social life, and body and mind. Caroline lays it out in front of me.

‘I want you to think about each aspect of your life separately,’ she explains. ‘Tell me how you feel about your current situation and give it a mark out of ten. We’ll jot that number down in this box.’ She points at the chart.

‘Then you’ll close your eyes and wave your magic wand. You’ll tell me how you wish things were in a perfect scenario and what you would have to do to score ten for each aspect. We’ll jot down these actions here.’

‘Can I say “whoosh” every time I wave it?’ I ask.

‘It’s compulsory,’ she smiles. ‘Now where would you like to start?’

I beg her to leave my love life to the end; I don’t want to start with such a low score.

‘No problem, let’s start by transforming your career, what would perfect look like?’

I give it a six out of ten right now. I love travel, love the shop and the guys. They’ve been my salvation and it fills me with dread that one day they might not be there.

And what would I do to get to ten out of ten? I have to confess, Charlie’s dream struck a chord. Travel should be a lot more fun – we have to put the pizzazz back into it and I want to play a bigger role in it all, somehow secure our futures.

Whoosh – it will happen.

‘And your finances, how would they improve?’

I give this seven out of ten as money isn’t an issue but the source of it is. I have a healthy divorce settlement and when the house sells I’ll have another lump sum. We’ve lived there since we were married and in that time the value of our big family house has risen so much that neither Alan nor I will struggle to buy a smaller place. If we’d still been together, we might have downsized and bought an apartment in Spain when we retired. Not that we ever discussed that; it’s just another thing we won’t do but they might.

‘I have enough, I just wish I’d earned it myself,’ I tell Caroline.

I spent the many years of our marriage helping Alan set up his now thriving business, although I doubt he credits me with anything. He sells security systems and I persuaded him to aim for business contracts rather than domestic ones. I didn’t take a salary at the time or a share when we split up. I suppose I didn’t really believe it was actually happening to me. Now I can’t stop thinking about Amanda and her business; Alan probably respects her as a real businesswoman and she’ll never be waiting for a divorce settlement. I wave the wand.

‘In a perfect world, I’d like to prove my independence,’ I say with my eyes still closed. ‘I’m a successful businesswoman. Also, I’m not used to spending on myself, so in my perfect world, I’d not cling to every penny as if it were my last. I’d make my own money and enjoy it a bit more.’

I open my eyes and wave the wand once more for luck – whoosh – oh this transformation lark is so easy.

‘Excellent,’ says Caroline as she notes down what I say. ‘Social life next?’

I give this an eight out of ten as it’s not going too badly and if I keep up what I’ve started I’ll get to ten. Then we move on to body and mind.

‘Do you have a full-length mirror anywhere?’ asks Caroline.

We head upstairs to my bedroom and Caroline guides me in with my eyes closed.

‘Before you score this aspect,’ she says, ‘I want you to picture what you look like right now.’

I try to remember when I last looked at myself properly, probably my birthday night when I got dressed up to go out with Patty. I had to put on a little more make-up than I used to but I don’t recall looking too bad so I give myself a six out of ten.

‘Now keep that picture in your mind,’ instructs Caroline, ‘and open your eyes.’

I gasp as I compare the real reflection with the imaginary one: the woman in front of me is at least ten years older. When did I get so old? And thin? No wonder people send me out for cake all the time. The clothes I’m wearing don’t help. When I threw on the grey marl sweater, I thought it said ‘casual and carefree’; instead it says ‘cast aside and careless’. I take it all in. My once glossy brown hair has stopped shining and now has a grey landing strip that a 747 could land on. I have a mono-brow that Frida Kahlo would be proud of and which scowls down hiding the green eyes that Alan used to love.

After leaving the airline and having Zoe, I always carried a little extra weight on my tall frame but argued that it suited me, and anyway, it was recompense for having to fit into a stewardess uniform all those years. In my heyday, Alan once told me I looked like Catherine Zeta-Jones; now I look like her husband, pre-op.

Why has no one told me I look this bad? Have they got used to it? I promise to take myself in hand, although aiming for ten out of ten might be a bit too ambitious right now – I’ll aim for seven.

‘Shall we go back downstairs and look at your love life now?’ asks Caroline.

As we leave the bedroom, I glance back at myself and reflect that it’s not surprising he left me. After all, I committed that most heinous of crimes: ‘letting myself go’. Caroline pulls me away from the mirror, trying to reassure me that the break-up resulted in my shambolic appearance and it was not the other way round. I wish I could believe her.

‘The question is do you want a relationship in the future?’ she asks when we’re safely back in the living room.

I can’t contemplate having to find another man yet equally cannot envisage every day for the rest of my life being spent alone. I never thought I’d be facing this at my age.

‘If my magic wand life is perfect,’ I say, ‘then yes – there is someone who loves me.’

‘Then we’ll plan a few activities to get you out there – gently,’ she reassures.

Caroline leaves me with my chart and tells me that she’ll be checking up on me. After saying goodbye, I go back upstairs and put on my old jeans. They are way too big now; I guess six months of divorce does that to a girl.

‘Time to sort yourself out,’ I tell my rather forlorn reflection.