Women of a Dangerous Age. Fanny Blake
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away and slid into her seat by the window, followed by Ali.
Trying not to panic about having to spend the next eight hours cramped in the economy seat, Lou jammed the airline freebies into her seat-back pocket. Preparing for take-off and landing were the parts of the flight that scared her most. Shutting her eyes, she tried again to find the calm that had so far eluded her. She breathed in, closing her eyes and trying to direct her breath out through the centre of her forehead, her third eye. Wasn’t that what the yoga teacher had said on the course she’d taken that summer, as he encouraged the class in the final relaxation exercise? She hadn’t understood what he was on about as she lay freezing on the floor of the decaying church hall, wishing she’d remembered to bring a blanket, and she certainly didn’t understand now. She tried again.
‘What are you doing?’ Ali’s voice interrupted her concentration.
‘Breathing. Not panicking. I’ll be fine.’ (Don’t talk to me.)
‘Tell me about your shop then.’ Ali ignored the incipient hysteria in Lou’s voice. ‘Now we’re on our way home, we might as well think about what we’re going back to.’
‘Give me a minute.’ Lou took in another breath and tightened her grip on the armrests, closing her eyes again. She was better dealing with her fear on her own. She refocused her mind. What would be waiting for her at the end of the flight? Just the words ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz: vintage and vintage-inspired clothes’ gave her a buzz of excitement. Her online business selling the vintage clothes that she’d acquired over years of working in the fashion biz, trawling vintage fairs, charity and junk shops, car boot sales and relatives’ attics was going to expand into the here and now. Finding the premises would be her number one priority when she got home.
Home. Rather than open her eyes to her present surroundings, she let herself drift back to the day, a couple of months earlier, when she had moved into the small Victorian house that she had inherited from Jenny.
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Hooker, her husband of nearly thirty-one years, had grasped her hand as tightly as if he was trying to pull her from a fast-flowing river. Then she remembered how, apparently satisfied that he’d succeeded, he leaned forward for a kiss.
She pulled back, ignoring the look of displeasure that crossed his face, reclaiming her hand and abandoning herself to the current that was already carrying her out of his reach. ‘I’ll be absolutely fine,’ she said, firmly.
Until months earlier, that moment had only been wishful thinking, just like those times when she was drifting off to sleep and had fantasised about him leaving her or had even gone as far as imagining his funeral, what she’d wear and how she’d behave: respectful and grief-stricken on the outside, but gleeful about her new freedom on the inside. She was ashamed about those darker moments but he hadn’t always been the most ideal husband, especially of late, and it wasn’t as if she’d really believed anything bad would happen – or wanted it to. Not really. She had tightened her grip on the door as she began to shut him out of her life.
‘You are sure you’re doing the right thing?’ He stood his ground. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind and come home, you know.’
Leaning against the door frame, she willed her apprehension not to show. She knew him too well. If he spotted any weakness in her, he’d be quick to exploit it. ‘We’ve been through this a thousand and one times.’ She spoke slowly, as if drumming the information through his skull and into his brain. ‘We don’t love each other any more. We’ve agreed on that. So I’m going to live here now. It’s over.’
She remembered how she’d been reduced to romantic clichés. But they were true. She didn’t love him any more. And she doubted that he’d loved her for years, not really. Her sadness came less from their parting and more from the fact that their separation marked the end of their family as they had all known it.
Cramped in her airline seat, she flexed her feet, lifted one leg and rotated her ankle, then the other. Ali said something, but she took no notice. To take her mind off the flight, she forced herself to return to that day, the day that marked the start of her new independence. From now on, she was going to be devoting some time to herself instead of to the hours demanded by being Hooker’s chief wardrobe mistress, cook and bottle-washer: hours during which she had chosen to dismiss the occasional unfounded suspicion that Hooker might be playing away. That was a side to their recent life together that she’d never confronted. While the children were in their teens, she was determined to put them first. But they were grown up now and the need for that was finally over.
He’d run his hand over his thinning hair as if checking it was still there, clearly bewildered by her unfamiliar resolve but not convinced. ‘All right,’ he said, an edge of aggression entering his voice. ‘I’ll go. But don’t expect me to wait for you forever. That’s all. Let’s hope my door hasn’t closed by the time you change your mind.’ He turned to leave, obviously pleased with his parting shot, and quite confident that she’d be back.
‘Mmm. Let’s.’ She directed the words towards his back, not expecting him to turn this time. Insisting on having the last word was one of his shortcomings. One of his many shortcomings, she corrected herself, as she shut the door at last. She’d heard him rev his precious midlife-crisis of a sports car before he roared off, leaving her alone at last.
As if on cue, the roar of the jet engines intensified and the plane shook as it trundled towards take-off. Her white-knuckle grip on the arms of her seat tightened. Only another few minutes and she’d be able to relax – unless they crashed, of course. Everyone knew that take-off and landing were the most vulnerable moments of any flight. The shaking stopped, her ears filled as if she was underwater, then popped. Pushed back in her seat by the pressure, as the plane climbed to cruising height, she relaxed her hands.
‘You’ve gone very pale.’ Ali’s voice came from a distance. ‘Are you OK?’
Lou opened one eye, then the other. Everything was as it should be. The other passengers were strapped into their seats, adjusting the in-flight entertainment, chatting, reading magazines. The prevailing atmosphere was one of calm. How unnecessary to get so worked up – but necessity had nothing to do with it, her behaviour was instinctive. ‘I am now.’ She smiled as she let go the armrest. ‘Still want to know about the shop?’
By the time the stewardesses were working the aisle, bringing drinks and dinner, Lou had finished explaining the plans for her business and had moved on to Nic, her daughter. ‘She thinks I’m crazy, that I’ve no brain for business. She just doesn’t get the market for “dead people’s clothes” as she insists on calling them.’
‘Then you’ll just have to prove her wrong,’ Ali said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. ‘What does she do?’
‘She’s a family lawyer. Took after her godmother Fiona who’s always encouraged her. Look, it’s not that we don’t get on really, she just has strong views.’ She paused with a short laugh, as always amazed to think how her almost edible, curly-haired toddler had grown up into such a touchy, opinionated young woman. Her father’s daughter, she guessed. Or else her mothering skills had let them both down. ‘My two boys, Jamie and Tom, are quite different,’ she said, feeling she had to justify herself. ‘They’re much easier and more understanding.’ She broke off as the trays were put in front of them, then changed the subject. ‘What’s waiting at home for you?’
‘January’s usually a bit of a hangover from Christmas in my business, so I’ve got a few small jobs plus a ring to finish for a guy who was too late with his ordering. There’s always someone.’ Ali looked resigned. ‘But, at the same time, I’ll be thinking ahead and starting to dream up designs for a new collection. Business is much harder than usual thanks to the rocketing metal prices. But before I do anything, I’ll have to go up north to visit my father and make up for missing Christmas with him.’ She made it sound more of a chore than a pleasure. ‘Not that we’ve spent it together for years.’
‘Both my parents are dead,’ Lou said wistfully, remembering the family trips they’d made to Scotland for Hogmanay