Page 44 of Old Girls on Deck

I wondered what he was doing at that moment. I could almost see him, digging away in the garden with his brother and a couple of friends, and I realised how lucky I was to still have him. And Joe and Luke too. They both lived nearby, they were always coming round to cadge a free meal or borrow the lawnmower when theirs broke down. They would come into the kitchen, treading mud all over the floor, laughing at each other, giving me a hug, affectionately patting Eddy’s bald spot. We were just a normal, noisy family, which was priceless, I could see that now.

Evelyn nodded. ‘Believe me, I was. I was so used to being part of a couple, I didn’t really know how to be me on my own. I’ve often thought that a married couple is like a favourite pair of shoes. Eventually one gets lost or damaged, but what does one do with the one that is left? It’s no use to anyone, but one can’t just throw it away. Grief can be like living two lives at the same time. One where one pretends everything is fine and the other when your poor heart is breaking, and one doesn’t want to get out of bed. It takes effort, and courage to move on. Which is why I started doing this.’

‘How long are you staying on the ship? And where are you getting off?’

‘I have a younger sister, Wendy. In the late sixties, as soon as she was twenty-one, she went to be an air hostess. I know they aren’t called that any more. My father was furious. But she said she could only do the job for ten years so what was the problem? He said she would be an old maid. At thirty-one, can you believe it? When she was twenty-eight she married an Australian sheep farmer called Bill and went to live out there. I haven’t seen her in person for nearly ten years, so I am staying on this ship until it reaches Sydney, and I’m going to see her.’

‘How wonderful,’ I said, ‘but that’s a long time to be apart. I’d hate not to see Diana for ten years.’

‘Oh, we have Skype and the Zoom thing so we have chatted nearly every week. She was busy, I was busy, the time just slipped past. She’s such fun, she still has a thing about hats. She had several different styles when she was a stewardess, but her favourite was the first one. A little blue cap perched over one eye. She often puts it on when we chat, to make me laugh. The other day she was sitting at the kitchen table talking to me and Bill came in and shouted at her. “Take that bloody hat off, Wendy, the sheep need drenching and there are fourteen thousand of the bastards queueing up.” Couldn’t be less glamourous, could it? We were in stitches. She still has her vintage BOAC flight bag; it must be worth a fortune these days. Bill uses it to keep old beer bottle caps in. He used to just chuck them in the cutlery drawer, and it made Wendy so cross.’

‘You’re very brave to be making this journey on your own,’ I said.

Evelyn made a funny little shrugging gesture.

‘There is an old saying: every journey has destinations of which the traveller is unaware. I would hate your sister to lose ten more years of her son’s life, maybe this trip will help her think things through. And you might think sixty is too old for taking chances and making changes, but it’s not. It’s only young people who think that. There is always time for all of us to start again, to find happiness, to accept new challenges, to have fun. We must persuade her.’

‘How?’ I said, realising that the same advice could be applied to me.

‘Well, this is a start, isn’t it? Being here on this ship. She must have such mixed emotions; it must be such a different experience from the days when she travelled with her husband. And it must be rather annoying to have people going on about him all the time. Golly, I hope she and the photographer man are getting on well, it might be just the boost she needs.’

I thought about it. Yes, it was all true. Diana needed to be taken out of her safe existence and shown that her life was not over. There were possibilities out there. And suddenly I realised the same thing did apply to me. Perhaps this was the time to do that thing that young people did when their time at school had finished, take a gap year. After over fifty years of school, university, work and routine and responsibility, Eddy and I deserved some fun too.

Evelyn tapped my hand to get my attention back. ‘Now let’s have another drink, you can choose this time.’

‘But didn’t you want to go to the show?’

Evelyn shook her head. ‘It’s very good but I’ve seen it twice already. But I’d be pleased to watch it again if you really want to?’

‘I’m quite happy to sit here and chat, actually,’ I said.

‘Good, and then you can tell me all about yourself.’

‘There’s not that much to tell, I’m afraid,’ I said.

‘Nonsense, you can’t get to your age without doing something naughty. And if you haven’t, you should be ashamed of yourself.’

Evelyn shooed me away towards the bar and I went.

As I leafed through the menu of drinks, I thought about what Evelyn had said. Never too late to start again, to find happiness and accept new challenges. Did that apply to me too? What did I think of my life so far?

I’d been to university, had a bit of a wild phase, met Eddy at a freezing rugby match in Coventry, married him, had two sons, and worked in the passport office shuffling paper. And now Eddy and I were both retired. We might live for a long time, with me just doing housework and Eddy looking for something to fill his days, lifting his feet when I hoovered past him. It sounded dire. And unlike Diana, I still had my husband and was on good terms with my sons. But ironing and housework, escaping into television dramas and counting birds in the garden couldn’t possibly sustain me for the rest of my life, could it?

I thought back to my university days when I had been a bit of a loose cannon. Staying up all night, knocking back cheap Liebfraumilch, the highlight of my week a Brown Derby dessert at the nearby Wimpy bar. Shopping at C&A for miniskirts and not giving my future a second thought.

I was always going to be young, wasn’t I? Always part of the generation that was centre stage, which mattered. To us back then, the older generation were faceless and boring. Always trying to stop things and assuming they knew best. Garnering a certain amount of respect because of their age and experiences.

But now it seemed there was suddenly a generation above me, two generations below me, maybe even three, and unlike my age group that generally did as they were told and didn’t answer back, young people all had voices, ideas, problems and demands. I felt as though my generation’s opinions on fashion, on music, on everything, didn’t matter any more. Almost as though people my age had fallen through the gap between our parents and our children, not knowing quite what to do next.

This was perplexing. How did women my age matter again? How could we protect ourselves from the juggernaut of prejudice heading towards us?

‘Can I help you, madame?’

Ah, it was Pierre, the same bar steward as before.

I flipped the pages of the menu over and stabbed with one finger at random.

‘I’ll have two Fresh Starts,’ I said, my voice faltering at the coincidence.