Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (14 page)

At the end of the second afternoon, I make a decision – I’m going to do something completely out of character – I’m going to buy one.  My eye’s been drawn repeatedly to one entitled
The Dawning of a New Day
.  It’s a magnificent sunrise over cliffs and blue-grey seas; the cotton white waves are just picking up the pink of the sun, the sky is radiating a warmth and breadth that somehow feels peaceful and hopeful, and the waves crashing on the rocks look positive, not aggressive.  The price tag of £500 doesn’t bother me; this is something I’m going to buy, a symbol of my new life.  It’s a big painting, but it will fit in the boot of my car.

“Could you wrap that one up for me.  I’m going to have it,” I say, pointing to it.

Laura looks up from her computer and with a look of incredulity on her face, she says, “What? Are you serious, Anna?  It’s £500 you know.  He’s very good, but …”

“No, I know it’s a lot of money.  But … I want it and I’m going to take it home with me.  It looks how I want my future to be …”

She stares at me and I can see her mind working – should she try to put me off or should she just let it be?  She decides on the latter course and says, “Well, if you’re sure …”

“Will you accept a cheque?”

“Of course I will.  Is this the new you … being all decisive and spontaneous?”

“I’m not sure who I am anymore, Laura.  But, yes, it’s the new me.  Me – doing something for myself, for a change, without any thought for anyone else.  It’s about time I treated myself.”

“Good for you,” says Laura, laughing.  “Can I tempt you with another one, while you’re in the mood … perhaps this one?” she says, pointing to another one with a huge price tag.

“No thank you, one will do,” I say, smiling.  “One will do nicely.”

*

Laura and John are completely un-technical and Facebook is something they disapprove of.  “Why would I want to tell people that I’ve just had a cup of coffee, for God’s sake?” is Laura’s response to my asking her if she’s joined, so she can see Jake’s progress.  “I think Facebook is a waste of time and … dangerous,” she continued.  “I hate the way everyone seems to want to share their entire life with other people … it just makes people fed up with their own lives because everyone else
appears
to be having an ‘amazing’ time, on Facebook.  Anyway, what would I say if I posted something? 
Sat in the gallery for four hours and sold nothing
?”

“I know what you mean, but since Adam left, it’s been a godsend.  I’ve seen pictures of him and even messaged him.  If it wasn’t for Facebook, I wouldn’t have heard a thing.  Have a look …” and I get out my iPad and press the Facebook icon.  Laura, despite her dislike, comes and sits next to me on the sofa and we scroll through my timeline.  There’s a picture that I haven’t seen before – in some dark nightclub.  The two boys have taken a selfie, with about six other kids pulling faces all around them.

“Oh my God, I wonder where they are?” says Laura.  “They all look drunk to me.”  She grabs the iPad and enlarges the picture.  “Jake looks red-eyed.”

“That could be the camera, Laura.  They all look as if they’re having a great time,” I say, secretly scrutinising the photo for evidence of … white powder round Adam’s nose.  “You see, it’s great – you can see them and feel vaguely in touch with them.  Are you still unconvinced?”

Laura is still looking at the picture.  “Can I see the other ones?”

I search for Adam’s timeline and we scroll through all the pictures there.  There are shots of parties on the beach, parties in parks, parties in clubs.  The more wholesome pictures are of Adam and Jake holding surfboards, wearing board shorts and thongs, getting browner and browner in each shot.  The sky is always a piercing blue and looks broader and altogether larger, than it does here.

“Well, they certainly look well.  I feel as if we’re spying on them … but I can
sort of
see what you mean about Facebook.  I don’t think I’ll be joining though.  Email’s enough for me; I would only be joining for Jake and he said he didn’t want me as a ‘friend’.  I’ll rely on you to pass any critical information on.”  She takes a last lingering look at Adam’s page and hands back the iPad.  “I’ve heard from Jo and according to her, the boys are being the very picture of well-behaved youth.  Maybe they’re pulling the wool over her eyes, judging by those pictures.”

“At least they’re staying somewhere savoury and safe.  Jo and Bruce will keep an eye on them, I’m sure.  How long are they staying there?”

“A few more weeks, I think, and then they’re moving on up to Byron Bay.  They’re going to do some work on the site
– cleaning and such like.  That’ll do them good!”

I laughed – the thought of Adam cleaning anything was a completely new concept to me.

“If I go out there after Christmas, do you think I should try and see them?”

“Well, Australia’s a big place, they might be on the other side of the continent, but … if it’s possible, it could be good, yes.  Whether they would want to see
you
, is another matter,” Laura grinned.

“I know … but it seems daft to go all that way and not see them.  I might tentatively put it to Adam and see what he says.  Maybe if we helped with their fares, they could fly down to Adelaide for a week – would you be prepared to do that for Jake?  They ought to see as much of the country as they can, while they’re there and I’m sure Jane and Marcus would put them up.  Jane was saying she can’t believe that Adam’s so old now.  She’d probably love to see them.”

“Yea, sure – let’s see what they say, when you put it to them.  Good luck with that,” she said, implying by her tone that she thought the answer would be an emphatic ‘no’.

Australia was becoming more ‘real’ in my mind now.  Just looking at Adam’s photos of amazing beaches and open spaces, made me more convinced that I should go.  I needed to do something completely different and maybe, who knows, it could open up a whole new life for me.  And seeing Adam would be a bonus.

I miss that boy, I really do.

Chapter Thirteen

Only a week and a half left of the summer holidays now.  I feel quite nervous at the thought of handing in my letter, but it’s got to be done.

After Cornwall, I feel better about myself and the house seems less alien; my seascape picture hangs in pride of place on the living room wall and I admire it and its message of hope, every time I see it.  It’s come to represent something to me – my single future – and even though it’s just a painting, I feel it’s helping me reach forward.

Gaz, however, is depressed about being back home.  His normal walk to the rec is now of the utmost tedium, he tells me.  After the freedom of Cornwall, his whole demeanour is designed to make me feel guilty.  I try and make the walks more exciting by playing ball with him, but I can tell what he’s thinking:
This just simply isn’t good enough any more.  I need water, I need smelly fish … I need to feel the sand beneath my paws.
  Still, there’s nothing I can do.  We live in Stowchester, old chap. 

One evening I’m bored (I’m bored most evenings, but on this one, I’m particularly bored.  There’s sport on BBC One, a history program on BBC Two, a soap I don’t watch on ITV, a programme about dwarves dating each other on Channel Four and an American detective series on Channel Five.  I flick through all the Freeview Channels and there’s literally nothing I want to watch.  I’m temporarily drawn to a re-run of Embarrassing Bodies, but when some guy gets his bits out, I decide it’s a step too far.  How come, if he’s so embarrassed by his testicles, he wants to show everyone on telly?) 

I turn off the TV and open my laptop.  I start googling Internet Dating and am amazed at the number of sites that come up.  Some look frankly dubious – sugardaddy.com being one; eHarmony.com sounds unlikely somehow – most relationships are not harmonious in my experience.  “My online dating horror” jumps out at me on the first page of google, along with “Is Online dating destroying love?” – an article in the Telegraph.  I have a quick look at Match.com and decide everyone looks far too young and then click on Encounters, the dating site with the Sunday Times.  I feel if they are the sort of people who read the Sunday Times, surely they’ll be older and wiser?  I can’t be bothered to create a profile, it’s too late in the evening and I’d find it too depressing trying to make myself sound exciting, so I just go for the Search Now option, where I can look for a few randoms, without any commitment.

I am ‘a woman’ looking for ‘a man’ in the age range … now that’s an interesting one.  Do I really want someone between the ages of 55 to 70.  My GOD, that sounds absolutely ridiculous, but the reality is, I’m 55, so men are usually older than women, so … but surely, I’m a young 55, aren’t I?  Maybe I could go for 50 - 65, that doesn’t sound quite so decrepit.  So I put this in and say twenty miles from my postcode.  I press Search.

Up come five pages of these men – I look at them and think they all look old enough to be my father … then realise that I’m ancient and if I put a picture of me up, I no doubt would look like someone’s mother, which I am, of course.

I scroll through the first page.  On this ‘free’ search, you can only click on three people before you have to do it properly and pay their subscription, so I pick carefully and only choose ones who look don’t look like serial killers or Father Christmas.

I click on one – he has a nice smile, lives near and is 62, which doesn’t sound too bad, I suppose. (I can’t believe I’m looking at someone of 62 as a potential partner; surely 62 is someone with nose hair, slippers, an annoying cough and who makes ‘old man’ noises when they get out of a chair?)  I read down – he’s ‘widowed’ – ah, poor chap … but then would I want to be permanently in the shadow of the paragon of virtue who is now dead … but better than ‘divorced’ (Why did they divorce?  Abuser, trainspotter?)  Apparently, he’s ‘young at heart’ ‘romantic’ …’tactile’ … WHAT?  What the hell does
that
mean?  He likes groping women?

My heart is sinking, even as read.  I don’t think I can possibly even contemplate someone who considers the word ‘tactile’ as a positive trait.  Against my better judgement, I read on … his ideal match: Body Type: Slim.  Well, that’s me out, although maybe at a push, viewed from the side in a darkened room … Looks – Very Attractive.  Wouldn’t we all, mate?  You’re not exactly Adonis, are you?  Age Range: 45 - 55.  WHAT?  You’re 62 and you’re looking for someone Very Attractive, Slim and 45??  What world are you
living
in?

I click on ‘Next’ in disgust, and he’s the same – a very ordinary bloke with a balding pate, glasses and wonky teeth, who seems to be looking for a cross between Juliette Binoche and Carla Bruni, who just happens to be living in Stowchester.

I have one more chance before I’m locked out – I click on someone who isn’t even trying to smile.  He’s staring into the camera in bewilderment.  He looks a bit like a mad professor and whoever took the photo hasn’t even bothered to check if it’s in focus first.  I must be getting desperate.

He’s 64.  Likes reading, drinking fine wine and is looking for someone to enjoy country walks with.  So far, so good.  I read on and discover he’s looking for someone with a GSOH (well, I’ve got one of those, a good sense of humour – I must have, otherwise I wouldn’t be reading his profile).  He’s looking for someone who likes ‘the good things in life’, who’s ‘tactile’ (that word again – this time,
he
wants to be groped, not the other way around) and who’s financially well-off.  He doesn’t like animals and he wants someone of 48 - 55.  I feel offended that he wouldn’t like Gaz – even more than the fact that he looks about 84, and wants someone of 48. 

If you don’t like animals, then I don’t like you.  End of.

I close the lap-top with an angry bang.  If that’s internet dating, then you can stuff it where the sun don’t shine. 

There must be a better way of meeting people …

*

Hi Adam – don’t worry, this isn’t the start of interminable messages; I know you don’t particularly want to hear from me, but I thought I would just share my plans with you. 

Before I start, I hope you’re still having a brilliant time?  I was with Laura recently and we looked at your photos together.  I hear you’re going up to Byron soon?

So … I’m resigning from the school tomorrow – in fact, I’m going for early retirement – hurray!  I’ve just decided I’ve had enough.  Being in close proximity to Dad and ‘her’ isn’t how I want to spend the rest of my life.  I’ve had a lot of time to think … and I’ve realised I’ve got to ‘move on’ . 

Dad’s just been over here, suggesting that he buys me out of my half of the house and much to my surprise, I’ve decided to let him.  I don’t feel any attachment to it now that you’ve all gone and I want to move to Bath.  So … big changes.

My other big news is that I’m going to visit Jane in Adelaide in March next year.  No dates as yet, but I wanted to let you know.  I hope you don't think I’m following you out there – Australia’s a big place.  If you wanted to, you could come and visit.  I’d pay for your fare on Virgin Blue or whatever.  Jane hasn’t seen you since you were tiny, so it would be a good opportunity to meet up.