Second Time Around. Erin Kaye
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every year for no reason. ‘And I’d say you have it all, apart from the hunky man.’
‘It’s not easy meeting someone at our age.’ Jennifer touched the back of her neck, momentarily shocked by the short, sharp line of hair at the nape. She was still unaccustomed to the new haircut, a sleek graduated bob that she’d only had done that morning. In a moment of madness quite unlike her she’d given the hairdresser free rein to restyle her tired, mid-length hair. It had been a good move. The style was modern and edgy, yet still long enough at the front to feel feminine. While she was pleased with it, the new hairstyle had failed to lift her mood. ‘I sometimes think I never will.’
‘Of course you’ll meet someone,’ countered Donna.
Jennifer lifted the glass, threw her head back and downed the cocktail in one, wondering fleetingly if the guy at the bar had noticed her unladylike quaffing. ‘Well the way things are going, it looks like I’m going to be rattling round that house on my own for the rest of my days. Matt’s applied all over for commis chef jobs and, when he gets one, he says he’s moving out. I don’t want him to go.’
It was grossly unfair of her to expect companionship from children who were old enough to make lives of their own but she couldn’t help it. Her only company for so many years, she had come to rely on them. ‘I’m dreading it. It was bad enough when Lucy left for uni. And it’s unlikely Matt’ll get a job locally, not in this economy,’ she added glumly. ‘He’s even applied to Dublin.’
‘Well, if it cheers you any, he’s not likely to get a job down there,’ said Donna, ‘Not with the state of the Irish economy. I hear emigration’s on the up again. Apparently kids are leaving in their droves for the US.’
Jennifer looked at Donna in alarm. Far from cheering her, this news filled her with dread. What if Matt too had to emigrate to find work? To the young and dispossessed the idea of emigration was enticing, romantic even, and the well-trodden path, polished smooth by the feet of those who had gone before, was an easy one to follow.
‘You know, sweetheart, he can’t stay at home forever,’ said Donna, a warm smile spreading across her honest, broad face. ‘He has to make his own way in the world. They all do.’
Jennifer shrugged. ‘I know that. And I want that for him, of course.’ She paused, trying to find the words to articulate the depth of her melancholy. ‘But the prospect of living completely alone for the first time in decades …’ She shook her head.
‘Lucy will still come home for the weekends, won’t she?’ said Donna.
‘That’s true,’ Jennifer was forced to acknowledge. But it wasn’t the same as having children living at home full time.
‘And you’ll still have Muffin,’ said Donna cheerfully and Jennifer flashed her a grin. Donna was a glass-half-full person, the most positive, upbeat woman Jennifer had ever met. And she loved her for it. She rearranged her features into a withering look. ‘He’s a dog, Donna.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’
Jennifer laughed and went on, the smile fading from her lips, ‘It’s made me turn a spotlight on my own life and I just think “Is this it?”’
Donna nodded gravely and said, ‘Jennifer, my dear, I think we’re looking at a case of ENS.’
‘What?’
‘Empty Nest Syndrome.’
The waitress appeared with the food and Donna ordered two glasses of white wine. Jennifer stared with no interest at the beautifully presented chicken Caesar salad she had ordered, her appetite suddenly gone.
‘It makes perfect sense, when you think about it,’ said Donna, who, sadly, had never been blessed with children of her own. But she was a trained psychologist and she knew what she was talking about. She picked up her knife and fork. ‘Come on. Tuck in.’ She popped a piece of salmon in her mouth and added, chewing, ‘You’re just in a bit of a rut, Jennifer. You’ve lost your mojo, girl, and you need to get it back. You need to get out there and meet new people.’
‘You’re right,’ said Jennifer bravely, though beneath the table her knees would not stay still while her underarms prickled with sweat. She glanced involuntarily at the bar. The stranger was nowhere to be seen.
She thought back to the girl she had once been, a girl who’d dreamed of adventure and romance – and believed that life would deliver it. Somewhere along the way – round about the time she’d married David – she’d lost her sense of discovery.
It wasn’t his fault. They’d had a baby on the way and not much money back then and dreams suddenly seemed like expensive, unattainable luxuries. David had been reliable, trustworthy, dependable – everything she thought one needed in a husband and a father. Combined with her emotional neediness and artistic temperament, it had not been a recipe for a happy marriage. Turned out what she wanted was excitement and laughter and unpredictability after all.
And now twelve years after the divorce, her life, while happy and satisfying in many ways, had become just as predictable and boring as her marriage ever was.
But if her life was a disappointment she realised, with painful clarity, she had only herself to blame. She’d been too busy ensuring that Lucy and Matt made the most of all the opportunities available to them.
Instead of swimming herself, she’d collected subs at the door on Swim Club night. Instead of going for a run on a Saturday morning, she’d stood on the sidelines in the rain watching Matt play rugby. She’d ferried them to Guides and Scouts, music, dance and art classes, panto rehearsals, hockey and football training. Not that she’d do it any differently if she had to do it over again. She’d given of her best to her family and she’d no regrets about that.
As if she could read Jennifer’s thoughts, Donna leaned forward, patted her friend on the back of the hand and said, ‘This is your time, Jennifer. After all the years of doing for your kids and prioritising their needs, it’s time to put yourself first.’
Jennifer smiled. ‘I hear what you’re saying but it’s a difficult idea to take on board. I don’t know about you, but I feel guilty and self-indulgent pleasing myself.’ She looked at her hands. ‘And if truth be told, when I do have time to myself, I sometimes don’t know what to do with it.’
‘The curse of motherhood,’ said Donna wryly. ‘It’ll wear off eventually.’
Jennifer frowned, placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. ‘I do need to meet new people. But I don’t know where to start.’
‘Well I do,’ said Donna decisively. ‘Let’s get you signed up with an online dating agency.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. It, well, it seems like such an unnatural way to meet people.’
‘Oh, rubbish,’ said Donna. ‘It’s how I met Ken.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Jennifer and she put a hand over her mouth. Donna and Ken, a big, burly policeman with a heart of gold, had been together for four years. She blushed furiously and said, ‘I didn’t mean to … it’s just that –’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Donna, waving away Jennifer’s feeble attempt to backpedal like a bothersome bug. ‘You just have to look at it a different way. It’s the modern equivalent of meeting a guy in a pub. You like the look of somebody, share some information and, if you think you might get on, you arrange to meet. Simple.’
Jennifer squirmed in her seat and then a premonition came to mind – a vision of eating a lonely supper at her kitchen table, staring at the empty chairs where Lucy and Matt had sat for the last twelve years since they’d moved into the house in Oakwood Grove. No, the status quo had to change – and she mustn’t be afraid of it.
And yet, she still believed in the romance of a chance encounter, the spark of chemistry when a handsome man’s eyes met yours across a crowded room …
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