Page 12 of The Old Gals’ Bucket List

SANDRA

‘The estate agent is coming around to value our house on Thursday and said that she could fit you in too.’ Don had dropped by after work later that day, whilst Sandra was weeding the back garden. ‘I think you should do it, Mum, then you will know what you can afford to buy.’

Sandra stood up, rubbing her knees, then turned to look at her son’s anxious face. He really had got the bit between his teeth over this.

‘Surely you don’t want to be rattling around in this house by yourself when we’ve gone?’ Don continued. He looked around at the slightly overgrown garden. ‘All this is too much for you. You shouldn’t be on your knees weeding at your age.’

‘I like gardening. And yes, I know I haven’t kept on top of it, but I’m feeling a lot more positive now and the weather has brightened up, so I’ll be spending more time out here.

’ She’d decided that today. She and Brian used to spend hours out here, potting plants, weeding, mowing the lawn, deadheading flowers but she’d let it go a bit.

Meeting Patti again had given her a new lease of life and made her determined to get on with things. Tidying the garden was a start.

‘I know it’s a big step, Mum, but that apartment really would be ideal for you. You should grab the chance before it’s gone.’

For goodness’ sake, she had told him repeatedly that she didn’t want that perishing apartment! ‘Don, I am not moving into an apartment! I know you mean well but I’m not being pushed into this so will you please stop going on about it!’ she snapped.

Don recoiled as if he’d been slapped across the face.

‘Pushed! That’s a horrible thing to say!

’ He thrust his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin out.

‘Christ, Mum. I’m just trying to look after you!

That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. There’s only me to look after you since Dad died.

Becky’s too far away to do anything useful. ’

He looked so upset that Sandra felt awful. She hadn’t meant to react like that, but she had to be firm with him. She reached out her hand and touched his arm. ‘I know that, love, you and Laila have been wonderful.’

Suddenly Don’s eyes widened as he stared down at Sandra’s lower arm. ‘What’s that on your arm?’

Sandra went to pull her sleeve down and stopped herself. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She pulled it up further instead and turned her wrist so that Don could see the tattoo clearly. ‘It’s a tattoo. I had it done yesterday. It’s to remind me to embrace change and make the most of my life.’

Don looked aghast. ‘So that’s where you were yesterday! I can’t believe this. You’re seventy-one, for Christ’s sake!’

‘What difference does it make what age I am? Patti is only a few years younger than me and she’s had a tattoo.’

‘First drinking cocktails in the afternoon and now this tattoo. I think this Patti is a bad influence on you, Mum.’

‘Don’t be silly. Patti is a good friend. I’m enjoying her company.’ Then impishly she added, ‘and the tattoo came before the cocktails!’

His eyes widened in horror. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you just lately! You’re acting totally out of character.’

‘You should be pleased that I’m picking myself back up again,’ she said firmly.

‘I know that I was devastated when your dad died, and that I relied on you a lot. I’m very grateful how kind you all were to me, how you supported me.

But I’m ready to live again and you need to step back and let me do that.

You can’t tell me how to live my life, Don. ’

Don looked wounded. ‘That’s a cruel thing to say, Mum. I thought that you’d want to be with us. My mistake. I think I’d better go.’ He turned on his heel and strode away without as much as a backward glance.

Sandra took a deep breath and sat down on the wooden bench underneath the window. She hadn’t meant to hurt him but he had to back off and let her figure things out for herself. Maybe she’d give him an hour or so to cool down then send him a text and try to explain.

She continued with her weeding but her mind was in turmoil. Had she been too hard on Don? Was she being foolish not jumping at the chance to move to Cambridge with them rather than staying here by herself in this big, run-down house?

The house she loved.

How complicated everything had suddenly become.

She was pleased that Don had been given a promotion with a much-needed increase in income but she wished it wasn’t so far away.

She didn’t want all this pressure, she wanted things to remain as they were.

Which was selfish of her, wasn’t it? She put the trowel down and went into the kitchen to make a coffee, black and strong.

As she sipped it slowly, a message pinged in. It was from Laila.

Laila

Don’t worry about Don, he’ll come round. You know how he frets. He would love you to move by us but of course you must do what is best for you. xx

Sandra bit her lip as she read the message.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that Laila was a bit relieved Sandra wasn’t moving with them.

Which was understandable. She was her mother-in-law, not her mother.

It must have been hard for Laila to have Sandra so dependent on them all when Brian had died, even if she did help look after the children.

Laila’s parents lived and worked in London so weren’t near enough to help on a regular basis, although Laila and Don often travelled down to spend a weekend with them.

Actually, they hadn’t done that since Brian died, she remembered.

Is that because Don didn’t want to leave Sandra alone?

They’d invited her over every weekend, sometimes she’d stayed over on a Saturday night, or they’d come to her for Sunday lunch.

Laila had never complained, but Sandra had seen the looks she’d shot at Don when he had suggested she accompany them somewhere, or stay over another night, when she thought that Sandra wasn’t looking.

Especially on Sunday, when Don had suddenly suggested that Sandra move in with them. She had to set them free.

She went over to the sideboard where she kept a photo of Brian, by the pot containing his ashes, a vase of flowers and a candle.

Brian hadn’t wanted to be buried so in the absence of a grave to visit she’d made this little memorial corner for him.

She refreshed the flowers every week and sometimes lit the candle as she sat and thought – make that, cried – about her beloved husband.

The grief had been all-consuming in those early, dark days and this little ritual had comforted her so much.

She picked up the silver-framed photo of Brian and traced his face with her finger.

It was such a lovely face. He was almost bald, and wore glasses, the kindness in his eyes shining out through the lens.

He could be stubborn, and pig-headed, and they’d had some massive arguments, especially in the early years.

But he was considerate, like Don, and he had always tried to look out for her, even if it felt at times that he was smothering her.

Again, like Don. Her youngest son had a lot of his father’s traits.

‘I’m going to be okay, Brian,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll always miss you and carry you in my heart forever but I’m going to be okay.’ She kissed the frame and put it back on the sideboard again.