I’m so much happier
now. It all started because of the loft. Let me show you round it.
This is my desk, where I paint my water colours and do my pen-and-ink
drawings. The easel next to it is for gouache and oils. All my tubes
of paint, pens and charcoal are in the drawers, brushes are in that
terracotta jug. Now, I’ve hung my best work on the walls.
We painted the walls white, or rather my son Simon did. This is
my favourite painting, the head of a Spanish girl. It’s an
abstract – I find I have to explain it quite often. I’ve
used the strongest crimson, yellow ochre and ultramarine I could,
in order to contrast with the black lines of her hair. You look
surprised! Well, I never thought I’d hear myself talking this
way either, not until six months ago.
And there’s Jenny, we won’t disturb her just yet. She
uses the south-facing end of the loft so that I can have the north-facing
skylight – north is better for painting, you see. Jen writes.
She has done ever since her divorce. She’s written the poems
that are mounted next to each of my paintings. I think they look
a bit like the little cards you get next to paintings in a proper
gallery.
We visit galleries quite often now, Jen and I. It’s cheap
on the train with my old person’s card. Hark at me, I’m
not an ‘old person’ for heaven’s sake! Anyway,
we like the National Portrait Gallery best right now. I take my
sketchbook – I like to copy some of the more experimental
portraits. Jen fills her notebook – she’s got a lovely
one covered in red and orange silk. I bought it for her, actually.
Then we have a nice cup of Earl Grey in the basement café
with the glass ceiling. Sometimes Jen has carrot and apple juice.
Yes, well… I digress.
I bet you are wondering where Roger is. Well, I’m sorry to
say that he passed away six months ago. It wasn’t too much
of a surprise, he’d suffered with angina and had already had
one heart by-pass. I didn’t know what to do with myself when
he’d gone. The house felt like a grey, silent cave. I just
sat around in my tweeds, staring at his empty Parker Knoll recliner.
The nights were the worst… they all say that, don’t
they? The cold sheets twisted themselves round me like a straight-jacket.
I’m afraid I let myself go a bit, I didn’t have a cut
and colour for five months. Sorry, I’m wallowing. I expect
you’ve heard this sort of thing many times.
Anyway, what about the loft? Well, it all started when Susi, she’s
Roger’s sister’s girl, and her husband Bob came round
for a cup of tea. I had lots of visitors after Roger died, everyone
was very kind. I made endless pots of Earl Grey and cut thousands
of slices of fruit cake. She wanted to tell me all about the car
boot sales she and Bob do, and how much money they make, and why
don’t I join them next time? It’s so much fun, she said.
She’s very kind, our Susi.
Well, Bob said he bet I had lots of stuff in the loft that would
make me a fortune, why don’t we have a quick peek? I let him
go up, it seemed to keep him amused, it was better than endless
politeness over the Royal Doulton. He found bundles of old letters
and cards for me to go through. There were photos of us on Littlehampton
beach, Roger had rolled up his trouser legs and was wearing those
old leather sandals. I had kept the letters he had written on blue
Basildon Bond when we were courting. I threw most of the cards and
letters out, it was quite a release really.
Susi lent me her favourite book about clearing clutter, it said
that releasing things made you feel lighter and freer. It said that
having a loft full of clutter feels as if there are problems hanging
over you, ready to drop on your head at any time. And then it said:
‘Things stored in your attic can restrict your higher aspirations.’
At first it went against the grain with me to get rid of so much.
But you know, the book was right, I did feel better. Especially
once Roger’s dusty trunks of old tat had gone. So I’m
into that Feng Shui and clutter-clearing now.
But I kept the letters from Jenny. I thought I’d send a card
at Christmas, you never know, she might still be at the same address.
It turned out that the house was sold to her son Ricky when she
got divorced, and she moved into a flat nearby. Ricky passed my
card on to her.
And do you know what else? Bob did find lots of saleable items,
a lovely old rocking horse my Simon used to play on, and some Beatles
LPs which made me a fortune – yes, I joined them at the next
sale. And the next one. In the end we cleared the whole loft, and
Simon took the rubbish to the tip for me. I asked him to take my
tweed suit too. I think he liked having something practical to do,
I could tell his children were getting bored with the regular Sunday
afternoons at Gran’s.
I asked Simon and Bob to clear out the box room too. That made space
for the spiral staircase which climbs up to the loft, do you like
it? I fancied this wrought iron handrail. The wooden treads have
a non-slip coating. I didn’t fancy trying to get the loft
ladder up and down all the time. Yesterday, Jen and I painted the
box room brilliant white. It didn’t take long with the two
of us.
Susi wanted to know what I was going to do with the new space. I
wasn’t sure at first, so I left the loft clear for a few weeks.
Simon’s children loved doing cartwheels and handstands on
the new floor. I love this wood laminate flooring, the light reflects
off of it beautifully and it’s so easy to clean.
At the same time as all this was going on, I joined the beginner’s
art class at the community centre. No, I don’t expect you
did know I was interested in painting. To tell you the truth, I
feared Roger would laugh at me. But now I’m free. And, well,
I needed the company. So of course, that’s what I did with
my new space – I turned it into a studio! I love it up here,
it’s so light and bright, fresh as lemon juice. And it feels
a happy place. It’s mine, you see, not mine and Roger’s.
That’s when Jenny came round. Oh, I was so pleased to see
her, she was my best friend at school, did I tell you that? She
calls me Lottie, I haven’t been called that for years. I became
Charlotte once I married. I like ‘Lottie,’ it reminds
me of when the future seemed so full of possibilities.
Jen helped me choose a rug for the centre of the loft floor –
she persuaded me to go for the bold rectangles in scarlet and white
– I’m so pleased she did. We decided we had to show
it off, so we invited Jen’s reading group round to have their
March meeting in my loft. We placed the green deck chairs around
the rug, it looked stunning. It’s my turn to choose the book
next month. It’s a little intimidating because one of the
group is an editor from a publisher up in London. But they are all
so friendly, I love it. Fancy me rubbing shoulders with an editor!
And this is the main bedroom. Jen’s clearing it all out. It
used to be the master bedroom, but I moved into the guest room the
night he died. It’s so much easier having someone else removing
his clothes. It feels less disloyal somehow. And I can’t bear
to touch his suits, his brown lace-ups, those old leather sandals.
Look, dear, why don’t you come down to the kitchen and help
me with the sandwiches? Simon’s family and Ricky’s family
are due round in half and hour. No, don’t go, of course you’re
welcome to stay. We’re having a minor celebration. Jen’s
writing tutor is putting together a fundraising anthology of stories
and poems. It will raise money for the hospice in Lower Road. Well,
Jen’s story about an elderly artist is going to be included
in the book! It’s the first thing she has published, it’s
so exciting! And what’s more, they will print the ink drawings
I did to illustrate it!
Here’s the dining room, I think we will put the sandwiches
out here. This is going to be our next project, de-cluttering and
repainting this grey old room. I can’t bear the patterned
wallpaper any longer. Then we can have people round for supper.
It was so quiet when Roger was alive, he didn’t like visitors,
you see. I have so much fun now, so many people come to my house.
Shall I let you into a little secret? I wasn’t going to say
anything until after we’ve told our families this afternoon…
Jen’s moving in to the front bedroom.
I’m so much happier now. It’s not because of the loft.
It’s because I’ve retired from being Roger’s wife.
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| Shortlisted
Entries shortlisted to final judging stage in the Retirement short
story competition were from: Rex Andrews, Baume-les-Messieurs, France;
Margaret Brooker, Sittingbourne, Kent; Ann Cross, St Brelade, Jersey;
Jill Davis, Worcester; Yvonne Jackson, Thirsk, North Yorkshire;
Rod Jefferies, Middlesex; Julie Jones, Eyemouth, Berwickshire; Hilary
Middleton, Wilmslow, Cheshire; Jan Plaskitt, Forest Park, Lincoln;
Liz Richards, Prestbury, Cheshire; Wendy Warner-Smith, Evesham,
Worcestershire; Tom Watson, Chesterfield; Christine Wilkinson, Scotby,
Carlisle; Judith Williams, Hickling, Norfolk.
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