Page 2 of Old Girls Behaving Badly

In reality, Douglas had his leaving party from the pharmaceutical company he’d worked at for all of his career, collected his crystal decanter and taken up golf. He’d spent the last five years on the golf course or in his armchair, or on the stool playing his prized piano and, now it seems, had been silently planning. His plans didn’t involve me, though; they were all about finding himself, he’d told me, and it turned out he couldn’t do that with something as inconvenient as a wife in tow. My marriage of forty-three years was over and Douglas had pulled the rug out from underneath my feet before he left. We’d been merrily playing this game of life, the two of us; I thought I’d been following the rules, but just as the finish line was in sight, Douglas had changed them.

My phone was ringing again inside and I got up and steeled myself for another conversation with Alice, but it wasn’t my daughter on the phone, it was my son.

‘Hi, Mum, do you wanna come over? We can go to the pub and talk about what an absolute prat my dad is?’

2

GINA

Chris lived in the beautiful village of Turville in the Chilterns with his husband, Gavin, and their gorgeous Labrador, Kenny. He was named after Gavin’s grandfather and was, in turn, called Kenneth, Kenny and Ken. Sometimes after he’d stolen a shoe, a boot or even once Gav’s cashmere scarf and discarded it in the garden, he was referred to as shithead, but never by me. After losing my own lovely dog the previous year, I was always delighted to see him and to let my fingers stroke his soft head and caress his velvet ears. He slept on the end of my bed whenever I stayed overnight in their spare room, taking up more space than was comfortable, but I really didn’t mind.

Chris and Gav’s house was the right-hand-side of a pair of semi-detached cottages with old red bricks and slate roofs. The cottages were turn of the century, impeccably maintained and they shared a wisteria that wound its way around their front doors and across the little porch roofs. In May, when it bloomed, the facade of the two houses was a riot of lilac with a musky fragrance that enveloped you as you arrived. Driveway space was limited, but I just managed to squeeze my Renault Clio next to Gav’s Golf.

Chris greeted me at the door and folded me into a tight hug while Kenny sat patiently by my feet waiting for his turn. Not only was he the most gorgeous dog, but he was also the very best boy.

‘I assumed,’ I said, pointing to my overnight bag.

‘Damn right you did. There are adult beverages in that pub with our names on them. Gav’s just popped up to the shops for provisions. He’s making us a curry later.’

I took a breath and felt myself relax into Chris’s company. He always made everything so easy.

The pub was crowded inside because the landlady was having a birthday party and even though she’d made it clear we were very welcome to join, we decided to go and sit outside in the garden and we found a table under the gazebo. It served the dual purpose of shading us from the sun when it bothered to come out, but also from those occasional drops of rain that fell from passing clouds. It was early August and the weather, so far that summer, had been mixed, but the Met Office were predicting a heatwave come the end of the month and everyone was holding out for it.

‘I’ve had Alice on the phone,’ Chris said, picking up his pint and taking a sip. ‘I won’t play with your intelligence and repeat what she said, though.’

‘She’s upset about the house and her memories, but I’ve taken close photographs of everything I can’t move and boxed up all of her special things,’ I said.

‘So special, she didn’t take them with her when she left home,’ he scoffed.

‘Some people just don’t like change – I do understand. She’s sensitive, that’s all.’

‘So, what about you and Dad?’ he asked. ‘You know he’s back, don’t you?’

I picked up my Pimm’s and scooped out half a strawberry as the crowd inside the pub burst into a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. I looked at my son across the table, his sunglasses hiding his brown eyes, his hair, once dark, now speckled with grey. He was the image of his father.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘And have you had the chance to talk? I know he disappeared off quickly, but now he’s back, will you be able to, I don’t know, sort things out?’

I felt very uncomfortable talking about Douglas with Chris. A child should not have to listen to tales of a failed marriage, no matter how old that child was. I opened my mouth to tell him about the Dear John letter, but then I remembered the contents and closed it again. Not only had Douglas told me he no longer loved me and wanted something more from life, but he’d stuck the boot in by writing that I’d become beige and unexciting. Well, he’d said his life had become those things, but I knew he really meant me.

‘I haven’t spoken to him since he came back. I need to, though. We’ve house stuff to go through,’ I said, popping the fruit into my mouth. ‘I don’t think there is anything to sort out personally; his intentions are pretty clear.’

‘Right,’ Chris said slowly. ‘So, he means business then.’

‘It seems so,’ I said. ‘I’ve been in contact with the estate agents and they’ve got the paperwork ready for the house to go on the market. Douglas has booked an open week where they channel most of the viewings.’

‘Don’t make any rash decisions, Mum. I don’t think you’ve really processed what’s happened. It’s a big thing. Did you see it coming? I mean, did he show any sign of wanting to leave? Is there someone else?’

I thought about that for a moment. I’d been so wrapped up in dealing with my situation, I’d not given much thought to why I was in it. I cast my mind back to the last ten years of our marriage and certainly the years since Douglas had been retired. If I was honest there had been less intimacy, conversation had become limited to what was for dinner and what time that would be, what we might watch on the television or when Alice might be visiting with her children – always a good reminder of our important family bond. I had assumed it was enough. I’d been wrong.

I didn’t bother to ask Chris if he’d spoken to his dad, because they didn’t speak much at all. Douglas hadn’t exactly embraced Chris’s sexuality in the same way that I had, and his relationship with his son had become more distant since Chris and Gavin had married. Douglas had said on more than one occasion that he just didn’t really get it, as if there was a special something he had to understand more tricky than two people simply loving one another.

‘I didn’t really see it coming, although I probably should have. I don’t think there’s anyone else,’ I said, but I wasn’t sure that was true. I didn’t know who owned the Maidenhead flat and I knew the anecdotal fact that men rarely left a marriage to be on their own. Women did; not men.

‘And you really have to move? I’m not being sentimental about the house, I’m just thinking about you. Where will you go? Don’t forget our spare room and of course it’s yours if you want it.’

I took his hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. I loved him for offering, but the thought of being so desperate I’d have to move in with my child was depressing. I adored Gavin and could see how easy it would be to fit in with the two of them in their relaxed cottage with its pretty garden and a view across the Chiltern Hills. I wouldn’t though. I didn’t want my son to see how limited my options were. He really didn’t need to know how reckless we’d been with our future.