‘I do hope she had a fab time with Tandy and Mai at Christmas,’ Lou said, as I was trying to concentrate on my text.
Angie peered at us from her rear-view mirror. ‘Yes. Must be difficult leaving Will this time of year. A positive result though – seeing Mai. And, another positive, we’ll have a nurse to hand if anything happens,’ Angie added, stirring up my fear again. But of course, it was true. A nurse to hand was always beneficial.
‘Somewhat comforting,’ Cathy said, ‘but unlikely that she’ll fit a stretcher and a supply of splints and neck braces into her rucksack.’ Cathy rattled a small tub that she had pulled from her bag. ‘Anyone want an almond?’
‘No thank you.’ Although laughing at the image with us, Lou covered her ears. ‘Bloody hell, can we change the subject?’
I finished my text.
Mission Control. Not long now, my darling Aussie flower. Twenty mins. Just enough time for our wine to breathe in that chilly mountain air. Over. xx
I had to side with Lou. Talk of stretchers and neck braces was the last thing I needed. Without realising, I was gripping my hair. I swear it had thinned this last year with all that had happened. Not only losing Mike and tormenting myself but also returning from Oz to find out my company had made my position redundant after twenty-eight years. It was devastating – as much as, or possibly more than, losing Mike had been. At least I’d been psychologically prepared for Mike’s passing. A widow and unemployed in a matter of months. Things had to improve.
I still wasn’t convinced that learning to ski at nearly sixty was the right tonic. God only knows what Mike would have said if he’d known. I think he envied Angie and Rob, skiing with the boys. Several times over the years, particularly when Ross and Rachel were younger, he had asked me to go on a skiing holiday. My reaction had always been ‘over my dead body’. Why would I waste a week in freezing snow when I could go and lie in gloriously warm sunshine? It was ironic that I was off skiing to get over his dead body!
It wasn’t my idea to ski. It would have never hit my radar. It all came about when my friends took me for a spa weekend in the summer. Lou, Cathy, Angie and I went to the stunning Red Fir Manor with striking views of the Kentish Weald countryside. Apparently, they had already discussed a diversionary trip to distract my mind during the difficult period and wished me to have some input on where I go. I on the other hand thought that they should have input as they were so generously paying for and organising the trip. Subsequently, after lots of ridiculous suggestions and laughter, we agreed to disagree and threw caution to the wind; tossing two suggestions each into an empty china cup to decide on our New Year escapist adventure.
My two ideas were more genteel, but adventurous for mid-winter, I thought; for instance, cycling in Provence or hiking in the Lake or Peak District. Lou, who like me loves the sun, suggested surfing in Hawaii or Miami. Cathy suggested rock climbing in Sicily or Majorca. That was bad enough. But we passed the task to the waiter, who pulled Angie’s idea out. I nearly freaked. Skiing. And mountains. I would have preferred her other option, which was more my cup of tea: horseback riding in the Berber villages and fields of the Atlas Mountains. Not up in the freezing mountains, that in my mind were cold and hostile. Their scale alone evoked a light-headedness in me. When I’d glanced out during our flight, the ocean of rock whipping up waves from the valley floor looked like gigantic monsters circling me, like a pack of wild dogs. I was under no illusion of their ability to intimidate.
As horrified as I was, I carried determination around with me, eager to take on the challenge and stay upbeat. My friends cared enough to think of me. That was fundamental and I couldn’t disappoint them. We had, after all, managed to get through so much together, those troubling baby-rearing and parental stages, supporting one another through the deaths of our parents. We could manage a ski holiday surely? And the build-up and preparation Angie had organised had distracted me to some extent. A fitness programme, diet, five dry-ski lessons. Overtly, I was cheering, skiing at sixty with my Flowers, covertly a faker and betrayer. As for Mike, he would be turning in his grave if he knew I was skiing.
Flowers, by the way, was the name that us girls gave ourselves, because we are still girls at heart. We each had two navy sweatshirts with our own emblem of salmon pink roses. In fact, we had them on now. The idea came about quite accidently when Cathy declared one night that we were Fun-Loving Older Women Embracing life, and we completed it with a Renaissance of Spirit, which is exactly our philosophy.
As Angie focused on the driving and Lou touched up her make-up, I kept the phone clutched in my hand, but then felt my chest lurch in panic. ‘Oh, God, I can’t remember if I put my thermals in. I remember putting in my big knickers in but …’
‘Stop worrying,’ chuckled Lou. ‘We’ll share if we have to. I’m sure we’ll have plenty between us.’
Cathy pulled a face. ‘Urgh. No. They’re not the sort of things I’d want to share. It would be like sharing underwear.’
Lou leant forward and frowned, her hand gripping a steel stem of Cathy’s headrest. ‘I know you’re getting on a bit, Cath, but you know, there’s this stuff they have nowadays called washing powder. It washes clothes. You can buy it in these places called shops, which they have even in the mountains. Correct me if I’m wrong, Ang?’
The car shook with laughter. Cath’s shoulder blade collided with her ear as she lowered her head. Her tight lips then burst into laughter too.
‘Oh, mock me, why don’t you. Charming. I suppose I will have this all week. I love you all, my darlings, but I’m sorry. No. I’m not sharing my knickers or thermals with anyone.’
Swiping a tear from her eye, Angie peered at me again through the rear-view mirror. ‘There are shops that sell them if you prefer your own, Ginny.’
‘Goodness.’ Cathy turned to face me. ‘Don’t we have it easy! I wonder what our grandmothers would make of us. Can you imagine your grandmothers skiing? My granny looked about eighty when I was a little girl. She could have only been in her fifties, forties possibly.’
‘Mine too,’ Lou said, chuckling, ‘but I bet they would share their knickers. A bar of carbolic and a scrubbing brush would soon sort them. Nan skiing, though. Not an image I can conjure.’
‘Lucky for us, we don’t have to revert to carbolic soap.’ Cathy let out a sigh. ‘Gosh, what they went through. All for our benefit. Two world wars to secure our future.’
‘And the other battles.’ I instantly recalled tales my gran told me. ‘Old aunt Minnie, not my real aunt, but a close friend of Gran’s and my mother’s when they were younger, was a militant campaigner for so many rights we all take for granted, like voting, equality, free healthcare, not to mention pensions.’
‘It is amazing what they did. So sad they didn’t benefit.’ Lou’s jaw crooked to one side. ‘We owe them so much. Imagine travelling back in a time machine, a hundred years. A war. Women pining for dead husbands, sons, brothers and fathers. Housing conditions damp and cramped. No work. Little food. Filthy streets. Not even a bath or toilet! And, unless you had serious money, you would never holiday, let alone go abroad. Poor mites. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go back and thank all those who fought for us? We baby boomers live like royalty in comparison: our own homes, we choose where to live, work where we please, including abroad.’
I clutched my chest. ‘Makes you feel guilty, doesn’t it, that they didn’t reap the rewards. We’ve been such a blessed generation. I’m so grateful to have been in a position to be near my children, share their lives and to enjoy our grandchildren.’ A mix of emotions circled in me. ‘And with spare time to have some fun. My one regret is that Mike’s gone.’
Angie blew out a large sigh. ‘Flowers, please. They did us proud, they led the way; let’s be fucking happy.’