Page 2 of A New Life in Amsterdam

Six months later

Hannah’s words echo in my head: ‘A new start – that’s what you need.

’ It’s alright for her, she is young and living her best life on the other side of the world.

My empty nest is so different from the home that used to be filled with Hannah’s friends popping over and girly pyjama parties that I would get the house prepared for.

Without the chaos of her lovely mates popping in, my home feels bare.

I keep myself busy with my felting hobby, making cute felt animals for pet lovers, but when that goes quiet, my life just feels empty.

My home doesn’t even feel like the same place any longer and so, as I think of Hannah and how far away she is, I do what I always do when I feel lonely. I pop to the shops.

‘Hello, good to see you back so soon, Sandy,’ says Janice at the boutique down the bottom of the road.

I smile and joke about how you can never have enough clothes, but really, I don’t need anything, although that doesn’t stop the excitement I feel as I reach the rail with the fancy jackets with their luxurious fur collars.

I suppose the boutiques are getting ready for winter now.

I don’t need another winter jacket, but these have fake-fur collars!

I can’t possibly resist and promptly remove one from the rail.

I shove my arms into the blue suedette jacket and snuggle into the comfort of the cream-coloured fur trim. It practically hugs my face. It is so soft and sumptuous.

‘That looks stunning on you,’ says Janice.

‘It is rather lovely, isn’t it?’ I say, admiring the jacket in the full-length shop mirror.

‘You can’t resist that, surely? It was made for you,’ says Janice.

‘No, you’re right. Oh, go on then, wrap it up.’

I feel warm and fuzzy and smile as Janice wraps up the jacket.

I watch closely as she folds the arms and covers my new clothing in tissue paper.

I love watching her wrap my – many – purchases.

She does it with such care. She places one of the shop stickers on to seal the package and pops it inside a fancy paper bag, handing the rope handle over to me.

Before I leave, she tells me about her new grandson’s latest antics and asks how Hannah is getting on in Australia.

We chat as though we are friends, but I know I am not really her friend.

I am merely someone who spends a lot of money in the boutique she owns.

As I walk out of the shop with my bag swinging from my arm, I have a moment of happiness, but when I open the door of my empty home once again, I realise that nothing has changed.

I throw my bag down as my smile is quickly replaced by a frown.

With nobody to hear me, I let out a big sigh.

Yet again, I have filled my cottage with things instead of people.

After all, material goods don’t leave you.

They don’t get sick and if they break, they can generally be fixed or replaced, unlike the human brain or a husband who wants to live out the rest of his days a million miles away.

I am only too aware that I take solace in new things.

And when I spend money, people are nice to me.

Friendly shop assistants, and owners like Janice, smile and wish me a pleasant day as I leave the store.

It gives me a hit of endorphins as I walk out holding a bag full of stuff.

Perhaps the carrier bag is like some kind of comfort blanket, just like my mam holding my hand when I was small.

The only problem is that when I get home and unpack my goods, I am alone again.

I am intelligent enough to know that shopping solves nothing.

Looking at my purchases in the shop might make me happy for a moment, but I am slowly beginning to realise that all these material goods only serve as a temporary comfort blanket.

It is the loneliness at home that is the problem and, as the cottage is becoming fuller, I am feeling emptier.

Truthfully, it is Hannah I want and not another coat or handbag but, with nothing else in my life, that is my only solace.

Although it is not so comforting when my bank statement arrives.

As I consider the high that shopping gives me and wonder how I can get those endorphins in a more economical and healthy way, I hear the thud of the Saturday morning post in the hallway.

That will be the magazine subscription I impulsively signed up for.

It had seemed absolutely necessary at the time, since the heading on the March issue was How to Live Your Best Life over Fifty, so, of course, I had to buy it.

Again though, that compulsion was short-lived; by the time I got to the end of the article, I realised that none of it applied to me.

I didn’t want to get up at five a.m. each morning to start a yoga session in my living room, and I didn’t like the idea of blending kale smoothies for breakfast to stave off the years either.

Give me a lie-in, a chocolate bar and three strong coffees in the morning instead.

Who cares if it adds a couple of wrinkles?

Life is for living. What sort of advice is that?

Unfortunately, though, I am now subscribed for the whole year with no chance of cancelling it for another six months.

I try to remain positive about the needless subscription and open the magazine, skim-reading it for the sake of the extortionate price I have paid.

With a fresh brew, I sit down at the kitchen table and flick through.

Fancy clothes and the latest beauty products catch my eye.

I try to tear myself away from the beautiful jade evening dress that I would never be able to wear around here.

It takes all my willpower to stop myself ordering it though, as I consider the excitement I would feel when it arrives.

I remind myself of what would happen next, since I know it would be the usual scenario.

Just like today, after a small moment of euphoria, my next step would be to put it away in the cupboard knowing full well that it will never be worn.

My mother would be horrified to see me spending the inheritance that is meant to keep me in my early retirement on these impulsive purchases.

I am so incredibly fortunate to have the money from my mother’s estate and I don’t ever take it for granted, but then the guilt eats away at me as I see it being frittered away.

I already feel awful enough about what I am doing, without considering what my mother would think of me. I don’t need that judgement too.

While I am not someone who passes the blame, and I take responsibility for my behaviour, there does need to be more done about consumerism.

Everywhere I look there is encouragement to spend.

My social media knows exactly when to target me – on a lonely evening when I am doomscrolling in bed.

After all, I am their target market. A woman on her own in her empty nest with nothing to do but scroll through adverts.

If I don’t stop, I will be buying a steam cleaner on a shopping channel next, or signing up for a gym membership I’ll never use.

I bought a crisp picker-upper once because I saw it on TV.

I ordered it especially from Japan and I used the little hand-shaped tool to eat three of my crisps before I gave up; it was much easier to use my fingers.

It’s a slippery slope, and I want this to be the end of it.

When I put my beautiful new jacket away and spot a nearly identical one in my wardrobe with its labels still intact, I quickly close the cupboard door in shame.

That’s it. No more. I am going to stop all this crazy shopping right away.

It is time for me to downsize my life and, if I am being honest with myself, my home.

Do I really need four bedrooms when I am here alone?

All this house does is remind me of how full it once was, and has since become so empty.

Perhaps there are too many memories here and it is making me miserable.

Maybe it’s time for new memories to be made.

With my new resolution in mind to stop buying so much, I rip out the page of the magazine that has the dress on and throw it in the bin. I don’t need any encouragement. But, as the page flips over on the top of the bin, a headline grabs my attention.

Decluttering! Is it Time You Decluttered Your Wardrobe and Your Life?

As the article hovers in my hand above the bin, I can’t help but notice the words.

Decluttering is the new spending! What happened to that old adage ‘less is more’?

In today’s world of consumerism, we seem to have forgotten that we don’t need everything we are being sold.

Imagine if one day all that clutter you’ve been collecting fell on top of you and you didn’t even need half of it.

I picture the horror when the day comes, and I get squashed by all my clutter. What if Hannah has to fly back from Melbourne and clear out the stuff I have been ordering from Ann Summers recently? This thought alone stops me in my tracks, so I move away from the bin and read on.