Читать книгу Dancing Over the Hill: The new feel good comedy from the author of The Kicking the Bucket List - Cathy Hopkins, Cathy Hopkins - Страница 12

 Items lost:1) Mobile phone (again). Found it in the fridge.2) Reading glasses, searched everywhere, sitting room, bedroom, bathroom. Found them on top of my head.

 Supplements taken:1) Garlic, good for everything and keeps vampires at bay.2) Devil’s claw for arthritis.

 Senior moments: 2.1) Sent birthday card, meant for my friend Annie in Manchester, to her sister Jess in Brighton. Annie’s name. Jess’s address. Luckily Jess let me know and forwarded it.2) Went out in a rush to meet Debs and Lorna for an early supper and only noticed when I got to the restaurant that I was wearing odd sneakers, one blue, one grey.

‘So. What’s on the agenda tonight?’ asked Lorna after our waiter had taken our orders for pasta and they’d had a good laugh about my shoes.

‘Debs?’ I asked.

‘Me finding a new man,’ she replied. Her partner, Fabio, had left her six months ago. They’d been to Wales to do a Tantric sex workshop and Fabio had fallen in love with the woman running it. He was now living in the Welsh mountains and, according to Debs, was getting laid on every ley line.

‘And you, Cait?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Matt and I are both unemployed.’

‘But the surgery?’ Debs asked.

‘Not needed any more. I don’t know what we’re going to do. It wasn’t meant to be like this at my age. We were supposed to be retired, a picture of happy contentment, sitting on rocking chairs on a veranda in the sunset without a care in the world, grandchildren and dogs at our feet.’

‘Chewing tobacco and strumming a banjo,’ added Debs. ‘Is there a white picket fence in there somewhere too?’

‘Course.’

‘You’d be bored out of your mind.’

‘Probably. What about you Lorna?’

She shrugged. ‘Nothing in particular.’ I never pushed her to talk about Alistair, because she wasn’t one to air her grief in public; that wasn’t her style and I’d taken my lead from her after Mum and Eve died. Lorna was a doer, not one to wallow – or tolerate other people wallowing, for that matter – but lately, I could tell by the shadows under her eyes and the weight loss she didn’t need, that she still missed her late husband sorely.

‘OK, back to you Cait,’ said Debs as the waiter brought a bottle of Pinot Grigio and poured three glasses. ‘What exactly happened to Matt?’

‘There was nothing for him to do, he was told, and not to waste the train fare.’

‘That’s appalling,’ said Lorna.

‘Yes, total crap. Didn’t he see it coming?’ asked Debs. ‘They can’t just drop him with no warning.’

‘He knows that there are tribunals he could go to but I don’t think he wants to go that route, losing his job was humiliation enough.’

‘I must check his horoscope and yours. It will be Uranus causing trouble somewhere. Uranus is the planet that brings the unexpected. If it’s badly placed, it can cause surprises like you both losing your jobs.’

Lorna rolled her eyes. Although we were both used to Debs’s predilection for consulting the stars on every occasion, Lorna always had to let it be known she thought it was all nonsense.

‘I can see you rolling your eyes, Lorna, and that’s because you’re Scorpio which means that you would scoff at astrology. Typical of the sign.’

‘Sure,’ said Lorna.

Debs was Gemini and a heart-on-her-sleeve type: open minded, great communicator, endlessly curious, exploring meditation techniques and alternative therapies and passing on her newfound discoveries to everyone, whether they were interested or not. Not that she always practised what she preached. She advocated healthy eating, detoxifying and regular liver cleanses, but drank like a fish, loved a takeaway and occasionally smoked roll-ups. She talked about forgiveness, taking responsibility and not blaming others, but was furious about Fabio and, so far, hadn’t found a remedy to restore her equilibrium. Neither Lorna nor I had dared ask her if the break-up had been foreseen in her horoscope.

‘Will he get any redundancy money?’ asked Debs.

‘A small amount. It’s all a sore subject. Whenever I ask he says, “Just leave it, Cait, not now.” It’s never the right time and I haven’t been able to have a proper talk about it with him.’

Debs tutted. ‘He probably needs to talk.’

‘Not to me apparently.’

‘Maybe he can get another job,’ said Lorna as our waiter brought a starter plate of toasted ciabatta with tomatoes, garlic and herbs. ‘Part-time. Consultancy. Surely his experience counts for something?’

‘That’s what I said, but he said apparently not. It’s a young person’s business.’

‘Another job then?’ Debs suggested.

‘I put that to him as well. “Doing what?” he asked. “Stacking shelves in Tesco’s? No one hires sixty year olds in my business,” he said. He’s very down.’

‘And what about you?’

‘I’ve been looking, but there’s nothing that really appeals.’

‘I have a small job for Matt,’ said Debs. ‘I need someone to rewrite the copy for my brochures and website for the spa. He could do that, couldn’t he?’

‘I’m sure he could.’ I knew Debs was being kind and was perfectly capable of writing her own copy. She ran a successful health centre on the outskirts of Bath where all types of alternative therapists practised. Despite some of her airy-fairy beliefs, she was a very good businesswoman.

‘What are the options?’ asked Lorna.

‘Sell the house and downsize. I’ve already had the estate agent around to value the house and they’re keen to start marketing, but I haven’t seen anything on the property websites that remotely appeals for us to move to. For me to find another job in a few weeks, full time. Get a book contract. I’ve been working on some ideas, but getting an agent and then a publisher can be like winning the lottery. Finally, I could sell my body – though that’s probably not an option; no one would want it.’

‘Try eBay,’ said Debs. ‘You can sell anything on eBay.’

‘Older lady, slightly batty, not quite over the hill, good at hippie dancing, talks to herself but claims it makes for long and interesting conversations. Not to be approached for fear of death in the morning.’

‘If you ever decide to try Internet dating, remind me to help you with your profile,’ said Debs. ‘And talking of which, I need you two to help me. I need to redo my profile.’

‘Anytime,’ I said. ‘Gorgeous goddess seeks sex god for heavenly frolics.’

Debs raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t think you’ve quite got the hang of it, Cait.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with that?’

‘I want more than just sex. I want a partner for walks in the countryside, good company and all that.’

‘Get a dog,’ said Lorna.

‘Dogs don’t do candlelit dinners or go to the theatre,’ said Debs.

‘Then put down that you want that,’ I said.

‘I’ll bring my laptop one day and you can look at the sort of thing people write. I need something to make me stand out from the crowd,’ said Debs.

‘Anyone can see just by looking at you that you’re different,’ said Lorna. It was true, Debs did have her own unique style. This evening she was wearing a red kaftan top, black harem trousers and chunky silver jewellery. She always wore a mix of Eastern and vintage clothes, and with her mane of fabulous hair and curvy figure, she always attracted second glances from women as well as men.

‘Different? Different as in odd?’

‘I meant it in a good way – you look interesting.’

‘Like an exotic burlesque artist,’ I added.

‘Anyway, Debs, we’re talking about Cait and Matt first,’ said Lorna.

‘Bossy cow,’ said Debs.

I laughed. Lorna ignored her. ‘Cait? Do you want to move house?’

‘Not really. I like our house.’

‘Then make your property work for you. I was thinking about your situation. You have spare rooms. Do Airbnb. I know loads of people who are doing it, and if you have a week when you don’t want guests, you mark that week as booked. If nothing else, it would buy you some more time.’

‘Not a bad idea. Though we’d have to redecorate.’

‘You’d soon make it back. Think of it as an investment,’ said Lorna. ‘And you said that you have some ideas for books?’

‘Yes. No. Maybe. Seeds. I need to develop them.’

‘It must be nice to have Matt home,’ said Debs through a mouthful of ciabatta.

I laughed. ‘You’re joking. He’s driving me mad and it’s only been two weeks. It’s like living with the Spanish Inquisition. Every time I leave the house, he asks me where I’m going, who with, and what time I’ll be back.’

‘He’s probably a bit lost at the moment,’ said Debs. ‘Poor guy.’

‘Yes. It will be an adjustment for him,’ said Lorna. ‘Loss of status and routine can be tough, especially for men. They identify so closely with what they do. Cut him some slack.’ She looked wistful for a moment. ‘I’d give anything to have Alistair back for just one hour, even at his most annoying – and, believe me, he had his moments too.’

‘Oh god, I’m sorry, Lorna. I’m the most insensitive, awful friend.’

‘Hey, no, no need to apologize. Don’t feel bad. Life goes on. All husbands are annoying sometimes. All I’m saying is, try to appreciate him while you’ve got him.’

‘Yes, at least you still have a man,’ said Debs.

‘I know. I know. I just don’t want him home twenty-four hours a day. I know marriage is for better and for worse; unfortunately this is a “for worse” bit.’

Both of them were looking at me without the slightest hint of sympathy. ‘Sorry. Not serious, I’m just letting off steam. We’ll get through it.’

Neither of them understood. Lorna lived alone, apart from her dogs, in a sprawling seventeenth-century manor. Debs was alone too. She had a three-bedroom ground-floor flat in the centre of Bath, which she’d shared with Fabio until he’d discovered the joys of Tantra.

‘I’d sympathize if Matt was a womanizer,’ Debs said.

‘Or abused you,’ said Lorna.

‘I know, I know. He just needs something to do, to get him out of the house to cheer him up. I’ve tried all sorts of things to encourage him. I’m sure it would do him good to have company, something to occupy himself.’

‘Early days; it’s only been a couple of weeks,’ said Lorna. ‘Give him some space.’

‘He’ll find his feet,’ said Debs.

‘I’ll put the Airbnb idea to him. Actually, Lorna, that’s a great plan, because painting the house would give him something to do.’

‘It has to come from him,’ said Lorna. ‘I’d drop the suggestions if I were you; he may feel emasculated.’

There was nothing I could say. I had a weak case. Grounds for divorce? Does he beat you? No. Does he gamble away your money? No. Is he having extramarital relations? No. So what is it, Mrs Langham? He’s always there; he follows me round the house and talks to me through the door when I’m on the loo. I got the feeling that this evening wasn’t the best time to tell Lorna and Debs that an ex-lover had been in touch either.

‘OK. My turn,’ said Debs. ‘Back to my problem. Where am I going to meet a like-minded man? Men my age want a bendy babe who can do the splits, is twenty years younger and doesn’t answer back. I’m forty-seven. The only ones who want a woman in her forties look like Worzel Gummidge. I need you both to help me look online and pick a man.’

‘Why not just join the kind of group where like-minded men would go?’ I said.

‘Like what?’ she asked.

‘Oh … some kind of meditation group?’ I suggested. ‘Or one of your New Age weekends?’

Debs pulled a face. ‘They’re full of bearded men who look like tired chemistry teachers.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ I said.

‘Nah. You know me. I like the bad boys, men with a bit of edge. Where am I going to find one of them?’

‘Narcotics anonymous?’ said Lorna.