Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (10 page)

I pick her up and we drive to the Park and Ride.  The buses go every ten minutes, so you never have to wait long, but it’s annoying as one pulls out as we pull into the car park.   It reminds me of my past, when I had to catch a bus to and from school every day; the bus drivers, I was sure, took delight in pulling away, as I ran like a maniac, shouting and waving my arms.

A queue forms and we appear to be two of the younger ones – only OAPs and teachers on holiday have the time to go shopping mid-week.  I don’t consider myself like those old people … yet.

As we drive down Lansdowne, past all the Regency buildings near the bottom of the hill, I begin to wonder if living in Bath might be an option for me.  It’s so beautiful and it would mean I was in a city, with everything on tap.

“I wonder if I could afford to live here, with my half of the house?” I ask Lisa.

“What?  Are you thinking of moving?  I didn't realise you …”

“Well, if I retire and we have to share the assets, maybe a whole new start would be good for me?  I’m sure there’s loads going on in Bath …”

“I’d miss you …”

“It would be a good excuse for you to come to Bath more often.  Whenever I come here, I always wish I made the effort.  It’s so … so … civilised.  I could probably only afford a room, though.”

I stare out of the window.  The bus is just turning into Milsom Street and we stand up to walk down the aisle.  A fleeting memory of David on
that
bus, all those years ago, flits into my mind.

I must stop going back. 
Forward
.

We walk down the street, past all the expensive shops which I would love to go in, but where the shop assistants are all impossibly young and glamorous and regard you with utter disdain. I usually come out feeling ancient and anyway, their clothes are out of my rather meagre bracket – so we ignore them and go on down the main street to the more ‘normal’ chain stores.  Lisa and I part company at the Roman Baths and arrange to meet in Marks and Spencer in an hour.

As I walk on my own, I go past large groups of French kids shouting and running around; past stalls full of colourful scarves, pictures of Bath and jewellery; past a man holding a board saying
Sale, This Way,
with a large arrow; past a man dressed like a statue, standing so still, I momentarily wonder if he’s real or not – and I look at everything with an objective eye and wonder if I would like to be so anonymous.  Where I live now, I recognise people and people know me, either through school or the tennis club or just fellow dog walkers.  At least I feel as if I
belong
somewhere.  Here, I would be invisible – is that what I want?  I should weigh up the pros and cons, before I make any big decisions.  I mustn’t rush into anything.

When I go shopping, I tend to wander around in a stupor, with what I’m sure is a glazed look on my face.  I touch random pieces of clothing, as if I’m going to be able to get inspiration, by merely touching the fabric.  I have to be in a certain mood to even
like
things, never mind try them on. 

This day, I have a sinking feeling that I’m not in the mood and that I’m not going to like anything; the shops are full of autumn things, even though it’s the summer holidays.  I go into Dorothy Perkins, TK Max, BHS and River Island and walk around, fuming – does no one cater for the older woman any more?  I don’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb, but I also don’t want to look like my mother.  Where do people of my age
shop,
these days? 

A lot of the fashions are so difficult to understand – there are tops on hangers that I have to study –
are
they long tops or are they short dresses?  I don’t want to ask, for fear of looking out of touch … and stupid.

Then there is the trouser issue – am I too old to wear jeans?  I sometimes look at other older women wearing jeans and think they look frankly ridiculous, but somehow manage to forget I’m probably their age and wearing jeans, myself.  Are black jeans more acceptable? (The denim is less … denim).  The shape of trousers is another huge issue – low waist, high waist, boot leg, slim leg, jeggings, treggings – the list is endless and they don’t all look the same in different shops, either.  You need to spend a week in just one shop, to find the right pair.

Cardigans – that’s another problem – they’re either too long, or too short.  Too long, and they look as if you’ve gone out in your dressing gown by mistake; too short, and they leave your rather large bottom exposed to the elements.  Why doesn’t anyone actually ask us what we want? 

I do what I always do, go to Marks and Spencer.  I feel ‘safe’ there; it’s part of our culture and I always feel as if I have more chance of finding something there, than anywhere else.  I wander through the ladies clothing. 

What is it with all the different brands within M and S these days?  Per Una, Autograph, Indigo – I just don’t get it.  I think the powers that be, think it helps, but it just confuses me and makes things worse.

I look at my watch – I’ve already wasted half an hour, so I try to get to grips, shake off this negativity and grab some likely things off the shelves.  I go into a fitting room with armfuls of stuff, strip off and look aghast at myself, from every angle.  There’s no discipline to the things I’ve got with me, nothing goes with anything else, but I start the process of pulling things either up over my thighs or down over my head.  I begin to look as if I’ve just had a particularly active session in bed – red faced, hair tousled, underwear askew.  I wish …

“Can I help you at all?” the assistant says through the door, and I hand her a pair of promising black bootleg jeans, that are just a tad too small.

“Could you see if they have them in a bigger size?”

“A 16?” she says, loudly.

“Mmm,” I say, wishing she could have said it a little quieter.  I know the ‘average’ woman is a size 14, not the waif-like size 8 that models are, but still 16 sounds elephantine, to my ears.

She comes back with the right size and they actually look good on.  I appraise myself in the mirror and I feel a lifting of my spirits, as I think I look acceptable in them.  They slim me down and elongate my legs.  I realise that I’m meant to be breaking out from my black/grey obsession, but I can always wear a colourful top, can’t I?

I put on a loose fitting, black and white top (ignoring my own advice) and together, they look surprisingly nice.  Perhaps I’m not past it, yet, I think to myself.  If I’m going to find myself a new man, I’m going to have to start taking more interest in my appearance.

And then it hits me … perhaps David was right.  Perhaps we
had
both become too complacent, too relaxed.  Maybe Suzie Barton
did
give him something I didn’t?  I have to admit that for years, I’ve been wearing the same clothes, year in, year out, never really caring what I look like.  I peer forward at my face – I hadn’t even bothered to put makeup on, to come out to Bath, for goodness sake. 
What’s wrong with me?
  I could at least make the effort.

I try on three other things; none of them are right, but I’m pleased with the jeans and top and go to find the payment desk.  I pass the jewellery section and treat myself to a necklace and matching earrings and suddenly I feel buoyant and light, adding them to my purchases.

As I go up the escalators to the café, the store looks somehow different – full of possibilities.  Lisa is already in the queue and I join her.  We get some sandwiches and I order a large cappuccino and we find a table.  She’s clutching several bags – none from M and S.

“So, any luck?” she says, flopping down on her seat and placing her bags at her feet.

“Well, yes, surprisingly … I’ve got some black jeans and a top so far.  I couldn’t find anything at first, but I suddenly started to enjoy it, towards the end of the hour.  I even bought myself some jewellery.  I’ve now got to find an excuse to wear it.  Maybe when I go to London at the weekend.  Holly’s got us tickets for War Horse.”

“Brilliant.  There you are – you’ve got to start finding reasons to go out, get dressed up, start enjoying yourself.”

I stare into my huge cup of coffee, lost in my own thoughts.  Life seems so daunting sometimes, on your own.  Looking up, I say, “How did you cope when you found yourself on your own?”

“It was hard, I won’t lie.  But I had the kids to keep me occupied and I was often so tired, I didn’t have time to think.  It’s different for you, with both the kids off and gone.  It’ll get easier; you’ve just got to take every opportunity to get out there.  You’re doing really well, Anna.  It’s early days … and already you’re making plans for London … and we’re here today.  You’re doing much better than I did.  I hid away for months.”

“The school holidays seem so long … I never even thought about the length when I was with David.  We just enjoyed them, lived them … and they always went far too quickly.  This time, it feels like I’ve got to fill
the time.”

“Why don’t you think about joining something, learning something completely new? You never know, you might meet someone nice …” she says with a grin.  “Play him at his own game.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, go out with other men; don’t let David be the only one …”

“Oh I don’t know.  Not sure I’m ready for that, yet.  Maybe in the future …”

“Yes, I suppose it’s very soon but … it did me the power of good when I started dating other people.  I know I haven’t found the right one yet, but it makes you realise that there
are
other people out there.  When you get home, just have a look at a few dating websites … it’s quite fun, actually.”

“I might … I’ll just
look
at this stage.  I’m not ready for anything.”

We finish up and spend the rest of the time in Bath, together.  Lisa persuades me to buy a dress I wouldn’t normally wear, but I have to admit, I look good in it.  I’m not a ‘dress’ person normally, but she goes rushing out and brings me back some killer heels to wear with it, and the end result is sensational, even if I say so myself.  The shoes will probably ruin my feet, but who cares?

“You don’t look remotely fifty-five, you know.  More like
forty
-five, to be honest.”

“Well, you’re very good for my ego, Lisa – where are your glasses?”

“Oh ha ha, I’m serious … you look a million dollars in that.”

I end up in the lingerie department and we have a giggle looking at all the different ways to hold your fat in.  I go for a traditional corset in the end; I wonder if I’ll be able to breathe, if I wear it for long.

We are both tired by the time we get back on the bus to go to the car park.  I gaze out of the window, not bothering to make conversation.  Can I see myself living here?  More to the point, can I see myself internet dating, joining clubs … meeting men for … what?  I’m sure they all know what they want when they go on these sites … what all men are looking for … but I’m not sure I want
that
.  It would be nice, I suppose, to have a companion – someone to go out with, to go to the theatre or cinema with, to walk with … but do I really want someone to have sex with?  I silently shudder.

“Are you cold?” said Lisa, feeling my shiver, as we’re crammed into a seat together.

“No … Just thinking about … my future,” I say enigmatically.

Chapter Nine

As our wedding anniversary approaches, 1st August, I wonder what is going through your mind or whether you have even remembered, now that you have your new family.

I remember our day, as if it were yesterday.  Twenty nine years ago tomorrow, you made me feel as if I was the only woman in the world. 

It was a scorching day – and all our friends and family were packed into that pretty little village church, a cool haven from the heat outside.  The women, with their ridiculous hats and you in your top hat and tails; me, in that meringue dress.  I look at those pictures now and we look so fresh and innocent.  You look as young as Adam does now, although you were quite a bit older.  People were different then – we
were
innocent, less street-wise. 

If I had my time again, I certainly wouldn’t choose that dress but … that was the fashion then, and I’m sure I felt good in it.  Laura was my maid of honour – I can remember not wanting to have any children as bridesmaids and opting for one only.

We had the reception in the village hall – very unsophisticated, but that’s what we wanted.  We didn’t feel the need for something flashy and we were proved right – everyone had a great time. Much to your mother’s consternation, we had a buffet, not a sit-down meal, but it was great because everyone mingled and chatted and laughed and then danced the night away to the local disco.

Our honeymoon to the south of France was the best two weeks of my life; driving down there in our old car, which broke down twice.  Camping on the coast, in forests, the heat accentuating the scent of the towering pines … even now, when I smell pine, I’m straight back there with ants the size of bluebottles, dark pathways leading to the dunes and the distant sounds of the beach, beckoning us on the breeze.  We had a tiny one-man tent which we squeezed into every night – the heat was almost unbearable – but we still lay entwined all night, ridiculously in love with each other, unable to be apart.