‘Well, this one seems to be a bit of a bargain. I’ve got a video here if you want a look.’
‘Perhaps that’s because it needs a lot of money spending on it.’
‘No, it isn’t. Look,’ I start playing the video but Nigel still doesn’t seem keen.
‘Is that a big crack I see down the side?’
‘No, you’re wrong! I checked myself. It just needs a lick of paint. They don’t think there is anything structurally wrong, but to be certain I asked the agent for a survey. I’m not a complete moron, you know.’
‘It looks beautiful. Seriously, Nigel, will you go away? This is women’s talk. We really don’t need you and your mansplaining.’
Sulkily Nigel finally walks off and leaves us alone.
‘We should have told him we were going to discuss my endometriosis, that would have got rid of him,’ says Debbie, laughing. Then she lowers her voice.
‘I must admit, I’m so jealous of you. What I wouldn’t do to run off and have a new start. Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when you’re menopausal and everything your husband does gets on your bloody nerves.’ She takes a sip of her tea and rolls her eyes. I do feel for her as they’ve been bickering for some time now.
‘Well, just remember that you can visit anytime. You’ll always be welcome. If you ever need a break, just come over and I’ll be there for you.’
‘That means so much. Thank you. I might just take you up on that. Oh, Sandy, it’s going to be so amazing for you. Like I say, I envy you so much.’
‘Well, there’s a lot of work I have to do before my new start. I’ve still got to get rid of all the clutter I’ve accumulated over the years. Not to mention finding a buyer for the house. I know it might be risky selling up before I know how it’s going to go out there, but either way it’s time to downsize, even if I hate life on a barge and end up coming home.’
‘Why would you hate it? You’ve always loved Amsterdam. You always said how it reminds you of Nicky.’
‘Yeah, I know, but that was one weekend a very long time ago with some very special memories. When I stop for a moment, I realise quite how bonkers and irrational this decision sounds.’
‘You can always come back and, selfishly, I’d be happy if you do. What will I do without my bestie next door?’
‘We’ll manage. We can still have our Saturday morning catch-up. We’ll just have to do it on the phone or whatever.’
‘Well, I’m certainly going to live vicariously through you. I can’t wait to see what you make of your new home. I just know it’s going to be gorgeous.’
‘Thank you. I’m not sure I have the faith you have in me, but I’ll try my best to make it a cosy home.’
As I bid farewell to Debbie, and Nigel who is sulking in his armchair, I look back at their beautiful Abergavenny cottage with its ivy climbing up the walls, just like mine. I watch as Nigel gets up to close the curtains as I walk down the path. There might not be a lot of love going on inside there right now, but it certainly looks like a loving, happy home on the outside. I only hope the houseboat can be just as cosy by the time I put my stamp on it and that it won’t be the damp place that Nigel envisions. I pray that I am not making a mistake and remind myself that I still have a get-out clause if the survey shows anything unexpected.
Chapter Five
Less than forty-eight hours later, a full seven-page survey lands in my inbox. Before I can open the report, Gerrit’s email explains that, as he thought, everything is okay. I open the survey to inspect it for myself; it all looks professional and has been signed off by the surveyor. Gerrit has gone to the trouble of getting the Dutch report translated into English for me. I scan through it, noticing phrases like ‘bilge pumps’ and how there is ‘soft wood in an area starboard aft’. I don’t really get it, but I guess the most important part is the final line. ‘Summary: Satisfactory – good.’
With everything satisfactory, it means that my purchase will go ahead and, since I am not one to hang around, I excitedly decide to start on tackling the downsizing. I soon learn that it is not only hard work that is involved. It seems that downsizing comes with a barrage of emotions I had never thought about. I have only gone through the first drawer when I find myself getting emotional as I come across hospital photos of Hannah on the day she was born, my wedding to Paul, pictures of my parents, and also my grandparents who are long gone. Four generations all stuffed in one drawer. Photos that are becoming faded memories.
On the first morning alone, I am reminded how much has changed in my life. Looking at photos of my parents and grandparents is a reminder of how fragile our lives are and why I need to make the most of my time remaining on this earth. Buying a houseboat might be my wildest idea yet, but if I don’t do it then what will my life be like in a few years? I could be sat here alone apart from my felted animals, gossiping about who is doing what in the village and hoping I have enough money left to heat this large house, cursing myself for the money I’ve frittered away over the years. It would be my fault entirely if I couldn’t afford heating because a friendly shop assistant had persuaded me that I needed the latest kitchen gadget or fashion accessory.
I have never needed a new start more than I do right now. Although, as I look at the amount of work I have ahead of me, I realise that moving to another part of the world, buying a houseboat and imagining my cosy nights indoors through the autumn were the romantic parts. Looking at this unnecessary stuff that I have accumulated over the years like some sort of deranged magpie, knowing I will have to sort and shift it all, is something else.
With a strong coffee in hand, I can see that this is a job I am going to need a little help with. I call Debbie to see if she’s doing anything, and since she wants to escape Nigel whingeing about the football results, she tells me she will gladly help me with this mammoth task. While I wait for her to arrive, I find a clearance company online and book them in for a week’s time, when I will have been able to sort out what I will keep – which will have to be very little – from what is to be sold or thrown out. As with any huge job, I will have to take this step by step, and so I decide to do it one room at a time.
Despite having already made a start on the kitchen by listing the pans and a brand-new china plate set on an auction site, I decide that I probably need to leave the kitchen until last. After all, I still need to make my meals for one for a little while longer. So, since the spare room is the place where we kept most of the junk, I decide this is the first room to start.
Debbie arrives and we both look at the wardrobe that is bursting at the seams. One of the reasons I can hardly close it is because my wedding dress still hangs there, taking up much of the space. Until now, it never occurred to me to part with it since we had such a beautiful wedding day surrounded by my family, who were all still alive and happy back then. But now I am finally ready to let it go. In fact, it feels empowering to make the decision and say goodbye to it. I don’t need a huge wedding dress to remember that day. It is a memory that nobody can take away from me. Besides, the dress no longer fits and there is no way I’d have space for it on a houseboat. It’s not like Hannah would ever wear it either. My meringue wedding dress puffs out like one of those toilet roll covers from the Eighties. In fact, Hannah always found my wedding photos hilariously dated; she would be more of a bohemian beach bride.
Together, Debbie and I pull the dress out with all our might. It is incredibly heavy, and I am surprised I managed to wear it comfortably all day, although with the excitement I probably didn’t realise its weight.
‘How on earth was I able to breathe in this thing?’ I say, looking at the stiff boned bodice.
‘We made some pretty stupid decisions back then. Look at me, I married Nigel.’ Debbie laughs but I am not sure she is truly joking.
