Don had always been her rock. Martin had died in a paragliding accident fifteen years ago, and Becky lived the other side of the world, so it was Don who had always looked out for her and Brian. When Brian had died, Don was by her side immediately. In his usual calm and determined way he had stepped into his dad’s shoes and started organising things, starting with the funeral and then moving on to her finances while Sandra reeled from this sudden explosion of her world. She and Brian had been teenage sweethearts, married at twenty-one, and it would have been their fiftieth wedding anniversary this year if Brian hadn’t suddenly dropped dead one evening as he was making the hot chocolate they always had before retiring to bed.A burst aneurysm apparently, that had been growing silently inside him for goodness knows how long, before it ruptured, taking Brian’s life instantly. The doctor had assured her he wouldn’t have felt any pain. She was glad about that, but she wished she’d had warning, had chance to say goodbye, to hug him one last time. She’d been devastated, broken-hearted, barely able to function. She had been glad of Don – and Laila’s – support in the dark months after Brian’s death, but if she was honest, she had recently started to feel a little suffocated by her son’s constant ‘advice’.
Don glanced at his watch. ‘I must go but please have a think about it, Mum. We’re going to take a drive over to Cambridge tomorrow, so I’ll pick you up about eleven and you can see for yourself what a lovely area it is.’ He kissed her on the cheek and was gone.
Leaving Sandra feeling blindsided. What should she do? She didn’t want to leave. But did she want to be stuck here alone without Don, Laila and the girls dropping in?
She wished she had someone to talk to, but over the years the neighbours they knew had moved on or died, and since she’d retired she’d lost touch with her work colleagues. It hadn’t mattered, as she and Brian had done everything together. But now there was no Brian. And no friends to have a cup of coffee with and talk things over. Sometimes she bumped into someone she knew and stopped to say hello, they asked how she was, but she wasn’t close to any of them enough to confide in.
When Brian had died, she’d felt as if a bomb had gone off in her life. Now, it felt like another one was about to explode.
She needed to get out, not sit here maudlin. She’d take a trip into the town centre and have a walk around, clear her head a bit. She’d go on the bus, she decided. It was chilly but dry, and she didn’t fancy driving, she hated parking in that multi-storey carpark. She’d been confident once, but when Brian had retired he’d done all the driving and she was out of practice.
She pulled on her coat and boots, picked up her handbag and set off for the bus stop, her mind a tumble of thoughts. Was it time to move on? There was nothing to keep her here really. Only memories.
2
PATTI
‘I’ll pop in later to see how you’ve got on, Gran. And remember to get some healing cream from Paul, you’ll need to keep the tattoo moisturised.’
‘I will, dear.’ Patti’s eyes swivelled to the clock on the wall. She’d already missed the earlier bus that she hoped to catch so she’d have to get the next one. She’d been about to go out when Kit had phoned and they’d been chatting for ages now. It was nice that she got on so well with her granddaughter. Strange how different your relationship with your grandchildren was to that with your children. ‘You were never that patient with me’ was her daughter Amanda’s constant refrain, which Patti had to admit was true. She and Amanda had always had a strained relationship. Still did. ‘I must go, Kit, or I’ll miss the bus,’ she said.
‘Okay, Gran. See you later. Good luck!’
Patti grabbed her coat and bag, pulling the coat on as she hurtled out the front door, closing it behind her, and down the front path. The bus would be here any moment. It’s a good job she only lived around the corner. She raced to the stop, already gasping for breath, just as the bus was pulling up. Thankgoodness another woman had been there to stop it, otherwise she would have had to wait half an hour for the next one.
‘Tell him to hang on!’ Patti yelled, as she dashed over.
The woman turned and raised her hand in acknowledgement. She took her time stepping on and getting her pass out of her bag, giving Patti chance to jump on the bus before it set off. That was kind of her.
‘Thank you,’ Patti puffed as the bus doors closed.
‘You’re welcome,’ the woman replied, then made her way down the bus, her purple three-quarter-length coat swinging, dark denims tucked into brown leather boots. She sat down on a vacant seat near the window, opened her bag and dropped her purse back inside. Patti followed her, holding on to the bars for support as the bus turned a corner. She frowned as she got nearer to the woman and took in the short white, chin-length hair framing her elfin face, high cheekbones, pink lipstick. There was something familiar about her, but she couldn’t place her. As if sensing her stare, the woman glanced over, her pale blue eyes meeting Patti’s, and they both recognised each other at the same time.
‘Patti Jordan!’
‘Sandra Wheeler!’
‘Goodness me, it’s been years!’ Sandra exclaimed. She moved her handbag off the empty seat beside her for Patti to sit down.
‘Twenty at least.’ They’d worked at the local supermarket together many years ago, before Patti had moved to Nottingham. Sandra had long dark hair then, and her eyes – which Patti noticed were now tinged with sadness – used to twinkle with a quiet humour.
‘It must be. How are you, Patti?’
‘I’m good. How are you? Do you still live around here?’
Sandra nodded. ‘Have you moved back or are you visiting?’
Patti’s ex-husband’s company had relocated him to Nottingham years ago. ‘I live here. Adrian and I divorced a few years ago, we managed to keep it amicable though. When I retired, I started to feel at a bit of a loose end, so I moved back a couple of months ago. I’ve always loved Worcester, and my granddaughter Kit – Amanda’s daughter – lives in student accommodation here.’
‘I love Worcester too,’ Sandra agreed. ‘Where are you living now? Obviously not St Johns, unless you’ve been visiting someone.’ Patti used to live the other side of the river.
‘No, I’m just a couple of blocks away from you. That is, if you’re still in the same house,’ Patti replied. ‘I expect you are. I remember you and Brian loved that house.’ Brian was a proper DIY enthusiast and had spent his spare time doing up their home. He’d built a conservatory and a patio in the time Patti had known them. He’d probably done a loft extension and all sorts by now. ‘How is he? And the kids?’ Sandra had three children, she remembered, a girl and two boys. ‘You’re probably a grannie, like me, now.’
Sandra’s eyes misted over. ‘Brian died eight months ago, and Martin was killed in a paragliding accident fifteen years ago.’ She took a breath before continuing. ‘But yes, I am a grannie, both Becky and Don have children. And I’m still in the house. For now.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, love. That’s awful.’ Patti reached over and patted Sandra’s hand comfortingly. Martin was a nice lad but had always been a bit of a daredevil, tearing around on his motorbike and going off to remote places for weeks on end. It was sad that he’d died so tragically. And Brian too. She remembered how close Sandra and Brian had been and could see that she was still grieving. ‘So, you’re thinking of moving then?’ she asked, remembering Sandra’s ‘for now’. Maybe she wanted to get away from thememories. Losing someone dear affected some people that way, while others wanted to stay put and cling onto everything.
Sandra sighed. ‘I’m not sure. Don and his wife and children live in Malvern at the moment, but he’s been offered a job in Cambridge. They want me to move there too.’
