Page 41 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

‘He left her for me. Imagine me with a man, Con, just imagine that,’ she says, splashing more wine in her glass and then drinking the lot in one go.

‘No thanks,’ I say quietly.

‘Then again, imagine you with a man,’ she says, laughing now. ‘But, the funniest thing about that is I always had to imagine you with a man, didn’t I.’

I put my own glass on the table and sit back uncomfortably in my chair. We might be here now, at that point that we’ve been heading towards for the last few days. Here comes the row.

‘Did you love him?’ I ask. Why not chuck in another grenade?

She stares at me, blankly. ‘I admired him, to start with,’ she says, simply. ‘But I never loved him, not really.’

‘I’m confused,’ I say. ‘He swept you off your feet; he left his wife and ignited your career. I assume you had sex?’ God, maybe I’m more drunk than I thought.

‘Connie, have you ever had sex that you didn’t really want?’

‘Yes,’ I answer quickly.

‘With someone you didn’t really love?’

‘Yes,’ I say again.

‘Anyway,’ she continues. ‘Nothing is ever as it seems, is it. You weren’t, he wasn’t, maybe I’m not.’

Her eyes are beginning to droop and I don’t want a row; not now, I decide, not drunk.

‘I’m going for a quick dip while it’s still light,’ I say.

‘Out there? Is it safe?’ she asks, rousing herself for a moment.

And there it is, the night of our eighteenth birthday party. I wonder if she’s right back there the same as I am.

*

I’d felt awkward and out of place and only William was really talking to me. Alex was like the sun to our planets and we orbited around her. It wasn’t just me – everyone seemed half in love with her. She was funny, beautiful, full of energy and completely in her element. The alcohol was flowing, but while others became sleepy or argumentative, Alex became brighter, funnier, more beautiful. I’d never in my life met anyone like her.

We’d set up on the banks of the loch. Bottles of whisky pilfered from parent’s cabinets, something called Buckfast wine that was vile, and double strength cider were all being downed at an alarming rate. People had started to wade into the water; they were splashing about, swimming, some fully clothed and others down to their underwear. I couldn’t swim, had never learned and had no intention of joining them, but I’d had a drink, my tongue had loosened – I told them it was my birthday too. It all happened pretty quickly after that. Arms were around me, I was lifted up in the air and carried into the water. My protestations were ignored, or certainly misunderstood. The music was loud and so was everyone else. Perhaps they thought I was worried about getting my hair wet, or my clothes ruined. I don’t think anyone would have actually wanted me to drown. I was thrown further out than I think anyone intended – there wasn’t much of me in those days – and immediately I was struggling.

It was only Alex who realised. She said she saw me thrashing about and she swam out to get me. All I remember was her arms around me and then my head clear of the water as she pulled me back to the shore. She wasn’t one of those who had thrown me in and was furious with the others. The party evaporated after that, until it was just Alex and me sitting in front of the fire. She’d shut off the music, draped her jumper around my shoulders and as we watched the flames flickering and jumping in front of us, we really began to talk.

We made a connection that night, one that spanned five decades.

*

‘It looks very still, but I’ll be careful. There are others out on the water.’

I go inside to find my bag and then slip into the polka-dot costume. It does look rather ridiculous, I have to admit. Maybe I’ll buy another at the next opportunity. I can hear Alex sniggering as I walk past her and down the steps to the water’s edge. I leave a towel in the grass and step into the cool water. I don’t want to stay in for long. Alex wouldn’t be in a position to help me if I needed it and the light is disappearing. I enjoy a few strokes, following the line of the shore rather than out into the depths. I swim past the other lodges with guests also sitting, eating and drinking on their verandas, reminding me that we’re not actually alone and Alex’s voice can travel. Thank goodness we didn’t quite have that argument.

I leave the water and sit, wrapped in my towel for a while in the grass, watching the clouds roll across the sky in waves and the sun sink below the distant hills.

When I walk back up to the lodge, Alex is no longer sitting out on the balcony and her bedroom door is closed. Bardo must be in there with her.

I rummage in the van for my sleeping bag and pillow and stretch out on the sofa. It’s actually quite a decent size and comfortable. I pick up the blanket and continue with the pink and then the moss green. I intend to catch up to the spring-green, but I’m just too tired to do the number of rows needed. I manage to cast on the newest wool and have to leave it there.

‘A bit of love from Bala, little one,’ I say, this grandchild of mine becoming a permanent fixture in my mind. Then I turn out the light and sink into a comfortable sleep, wondering what tomorrow will reveal.

20

We drive into Machynlleth at nine, passing rows of pretty, tiny white cottages with doors you’d surely have to stoop to get through. Places are boarded up and some are for sale. There’s a sadness about them somehow, for the past lives they housed, now gone forever. There’s a splash of colour further along with houses painted in pastel, a war memorial opposite a churchyard and then, surprisingly, after our conversation last night, the Museum of Modern Art.