hippie trail and went to India, where I learnt to view life, its highs and lows, as a dream, a temporary illusion. I came to believe that attachment to worldly possessions and people was what caused pain. On my return from the East, I heard from an old university friend that Tom had gone to live in the States and settled in LA. I didn’t take his address. No point. He hadn’t bothered to let me know himself where he was going, and any thoughts of him still hurt, despite my aspiration to detachment. I wasn’t going to chase him. I drifted for a few years, worked in a co-operative shop that sold organic food and vegetarian meals, did dance and drama classes and a bit of acting, sang in a band as a backing singer, but nothing that came to much. In my late twenties, I decided it was time to get real and put down some roots. I put my degree to use and got a job as an English and drama teacher. When I was thirty, I met, fell in love and married Matt and for the first time in years felt settled We set up house, Sam came along then, five years later, Jed, so I had a family to care for and no time to indulge in the youthful notion of taking the road less travelled. Bringing up two boys was enough of an adventure into uncharted territory.
And now, after all this time, Tom wants to be my friend on Facebook. Well …
Matt
Cait brought a cup of tea through to me in the sitting room. She was dressed in a summery coral dress and had done her make-up ready to go out. She was a good-looker, my missus, always was, though she never thought of herself as attractive. She’d inherited her mother’s delicate features and high cheekbones and was still slim, with an open, friendly face and those cat-like green eyes I’d fallen for so many years ago.
‘What are you up to today?’ she asked as she glanced at the TV screen, which was showing a rerun of a Star Trek episode. She was trying to sound upbeat, but I knew the subtext was: ‘Are you going to go out today? You’ve lain around for almost two weeks now. Do something useful and get out from under my feet, you good-for-nothing bastard.’
I shrugged a shoulder by way of reply, then hit the TV pause button.
Cait sighed so I sighed. There was a lot of sighing going on round here lately.
‘Why not call one of your friends? Might do you good to get out.’
Hah. I knew it, I thought. ‘What friends? All my friends are, or rather were, in the business, at work.’ I used to have other friends, Tony, Steve and Pete, good mates from university days, but over the years we’d drifted apart as marriage, kids, work took over. Plus, as Cait would say, I’m a lazy arse when it comes to actually making contact and picking up the phone, and so are they. I had made an effort last week though, not that I told Cait. I’d gone into Bristol and met Mike from my old office. He wasn’t someone I’d call a close friend, but I’d shared a building with him for the last twelve years. I’d wanted to hear what was going on there since I’d left, but he wasn’t forthcoming. I had the scent of loser on me: redundant, no longer of use or need, so no longer privy to the gossip or changes. It was a short lunch – he had to get back for a meeting, which made me feel all the more pathetic, left sitting there in the restaurant with nothing urgent to do. I’d had a second glass of wine then wandered out into the late spring sunshine, not knowing where to go and not wanting to go home to The House of Sighs. So no, Cait, I thought, I won’t be contacting any of my ‘friends’ soon. When Jed and Sam were living at home, I had no need of friends. My family was everything. The house was always full of the boys’ friends and my time was taken up with giving lifts here and there; attending sports events, football or rugby matches, helping with homework and projects. It was only when they’d gone that I realized the hole that they’d left and no one to fill it.
Cait sighed again. I out-sighed her. This was a competition I could win.
‘Matt, talk to me, tell me how you’re feeling.’
‘To be honest, bad, really bad.’
‘So tell me. If I know what’s going on inside you I can help.’
‘Doubt it. Arsenal lost to Man United in the last game. Disaster. Not a lot you can do about that.’
‘Football? We’re talking football?’
‘Yes. You asked how I was feeling.’
Cait’s shoulders drooped. ‘I give up.’
‘Me too. If they carry on playing like this, they’re going to be out before the final.’
‘Matt, if you don’t let me in, I—’
‘Let you in to what? There’s nothing to be let in to if you’re not familiar with the players.’
Cait left the room. I felt bad. I knew she didn’t want to hear about football, but what was there to say? Or do? Let her in to? How could I when I hadn’t a clue what was going on myself. I glanced at my watch. Eight forty-five. When I’d been working, I’d look at my watch and it would be four in the afternoon and I wouldn’t have known where the day had gone. Now I didn’t know how to fill the long hours, the eternal minutes.
I got up, went into the kitchen and over to the dresser where I collected up my retirement cards, all sent by well-meaning friends. I sat at the table and began to flick through them.
‘Retirement is not the end of the road, it’s the start of the open highway. Debs.’ The lyrics to the song, ‘Highway to Nowhere’ sprang to mind.
‘Retirement means twice the husband and half the income. John and Marie.’ Ouch.
‘How many days in a week? Six Saturdays, one Sunday. Sue and Charles.’ Thanks Sue and Charles.
‘How many retirees does it take to change a light bulb? Only one, but it might take all day. Live it, love it, Duncan.’ My brother. At least he’d attempted humour.
‘When is a retiree’s bedtime? Two hours after he falls asleep on the couch. Rosie and Anth.’ Well, they got that right. Now I’m doing nothing, I do feel exhausted.
‘Goodbye tension, hello pension. Love Arthur and Mary.’ Well Arthur and Mary, that’s all very well, but I don’t have a pension and any savings were used to buy the house and subsequently into seeing Sam and Jed through university. I won’t get the state pension just yet and, even when I do, it won’t be enough to get by on. Our house is our pension. Cait and I agreed that property would earn us more than any savings account which is why we took the leap and bought this house. It was a stretch but we agreed: live somewhere we like while we can and downsize when we have to. Problem is, we never thought ‘have to’ would come around so soon. Cait’s already had the estate agents in to value the place, but I don’t think either of us really wants to move, so I see that as our last option and only if I can’t get another job.
There was a small pile of books on the table, also sent by well-wishers – How to Survive Retirement manuals with cartoons depicting bald old men bent over with a walking stick. I’m not like that. I have all my hair and my teeth. I can walk unaided. Oh yes. And I still wake at seven, geared to get up and go, only there is nowhere to go to. Cait’s getting irritated with me, I think; no, not think, I know she is and I know she’s trying to help in her own way, but I wish she’d back off and give me some time and space to adjust. Losing my job, my identity, my routine
