shivered, partly because of the weather, partly because of that dreadful thought.
‘Oh, Gracie!’
She couldn’t bear to be without Gracie, now her life was entwined with her daughter’s. But what if Gracie asked her to move out or find somewhere else to live? She might do that for lots of reasons, one being her mother’s inability to be kind to others. Or, even more worrying, what if Gracie acted on her mother’s advice and found someone else to love and they got married? Her new husband might not want Marjorie living in their midst.
Wake up, Marjorie! Of course they wouldn’t want you living in their midst, if Gracie married someone new. Besides, who, these days, invited their mother to live with them?
That was a terrifying new thought to Marjorie. But, whether she liked that thought or not, it was a possibility. It was a possibility that could very easily turn into reality, especially if Marjorie gave it reason to. Falling out with her daughter about this unpleasant aspect of her personality wasn’t an option. Her outbursts had wrecked other possible friendships in the past, so she knew she couldn’t go on being destructive. It had to stop.
But how could she stop the things she said, when her words often popped out, unchecked?
She knew it had a lot to do with her indignation at all things unfair, unjust and unpleasant, zipping straight up to the surface and barrelling out of her. Life with Oliver had been all of those things. Oliver had never let her voice her thoughts, good, bad or indifferent. He liked women to be quiet and respectful of him, even though he’d certainly never been that way with them.
Marjorie’s insecurities probably stemmed from her not knowing how to deal with Oliver’s behaviour. Oh, she’d have liked to have fought back, just once. It would have made her feel a whole lot better about things; she might have even been able to move on, more successfully, if she’d ever had the guts to do that.
Gracie had wanted Marjorie to see someone about her problems with Oliver.
‘Maybe it’ll help you move on,’ she’d suggested.
Yet Marjorie conceded that she hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone about her problems with Oliver because she didn’t want to go over all that hurtful old ground again – especially spilling her guts to someone she didn’t know. And she also didn’t want to keep going back to see a counsellor week after week, forcing her to live through the whole sorry mess over and over again. That period of her life, Marjorie insisted to Gracie, was well and truly over. She didn’t want to keep thinking about it. On the other hand, she’d realised that there was no way she could change her behaviour by herself. She’d tried and failed miserably.
However, the incident at the community centre had brought it home to Marjorie that things had to change and not just because she wanted to be accepted by the wider community.
Primarily she had to change for her daughter. Gracie was young and vibrant in a way that Marjorie had never been allowed to be. And despite Gracie saying she hated men, she didn’t hate them in the same way nor for the same reason that Marjorie hated and mistrusted them. And despite her fear of being asked to move out if Gracie did meet someone new, Marjorie had no intention of standing in Gracie’s way when her daughter found someone to love her again. Gracie deserved to be loved again! The gift of love had never touched – would never touch – Marjorie and she was completely accepting about that. But she wanted Gracie to find that special someone.
Marjorie let out a long sigh. Why is life so darned hard sometimes?
She knew she no longer wanted to continue living as a bitter woman, marred by her past with an abusive husband. Marjorie wanted the chance to live as a woman other people would like to get to know because she was kind and considerate. She certainly realised she would never be classed as a sweet little old lady. But she could start by trying to be better; by trying to unlearn the wrongful message Oliver had taught her with his offensive actions.
She thought back to the situation with Stacy a few hours ago. Marjorie already knew that, deep down, her behaviour towards the nervous young woman had been wrong. Oliver had told their friends he felt justified to treat his wife howsoever he chose and Marjorie realised she’d done the exact same thing to Stacy that afternoon.
But it had made her miserable; it had made her daughter hate her a little and, worst of all, it had made Eileen take her to one side and suggest she go home, to have a think about how she treated people because they didn’t want any bullies in their midst. She hadn’t confessed that bit to Gracie. It was too shameful.
She’d been branded a bully! How totally devastating! Luckily, Eileen had been discreet enough to make sure no one overheard what she’d been saying to Marjorie. But even so, Marjorie had been so shocked at Eileen’s words, she’d wanted to shout out: ‘I’m not a bully! Oliver was the bully!’
Pricking tears filled Marjorie’s eyes.
She looked up into the large thunderous clouds that seemed to have made their way over to her side of the park. The day had started by being bright and hot. Yet the sky was now stubbornly dark and ominous and as Marjorie searched the sky for answers, the darkness suddenly broke and emptied its hefty thunderstorm mercilessly down on her heavy heart.
Raymond’s son Simon was stirring their teas in the kitchen, whilst staring out of the window at his parents’ beautifully kept garden. The lawn was trimmed and weed free, blue-tinged lacecap hydrangeas graced the far hedge, pale pink clematis climbed the garage and brightly coloured perennials sat in a small circular raised bed, towards the bottom of the garden, surrounding the base of the elaborate bird bath.
Raymond had lied about his arthritis to Marjorie. It was getting into all his joints now. He’d argued with his doctor as to whether it was partly hereditary or not.
‘It’s unclear,’ Dr Hien told him. ‘But we think familial concurrence has some bearing, yes.’
Why did professionals always talk in riddles? But when Raymond told his doctor about symptoms he’d found online, pertaining to something he thought he might have, she’d told him she would check him over and assess for herself what may or may not be wrong with him, based on clear medical evidence – not Google say-so!
Raymond knew Dr Hien would argue blue was black if he let her. But the point was, on his recent visit to her she’d told him that his increasing pains were probably his arthritis getting worse. She’d given him some medication, a list of exercises and a squashy ball for his hands that he quite enjoyed using now.
‘You know, Dad,’ Simon said suddenly, snapping Raymond out of his reverie, ‘I think we should do something about these steps by the back door. Makes it awkward going down to the garden, when you’ve got something in your hand. You’ll be tripping over them next.’
‘Well, son, you’re right, of course. I’ve no idea why someone would build a bungalow and then have steps of any sort coming off it. It certainly makes carrying tea or a meal out into the garden most precarious.’
Raymond had made Dianne’s mug of tea exactly how his wife liked it – quite strong, with only a little milk and just half a teaspoon of sugar. And then he picked it up and carried it outside to where she was in their sunny garden. Simon followed behind with the other two mugs of tea, setting Raymond’s down beside him before retreating to the shade
