‘Oh, he’s not that bad.’
‘Hmm, I have days when I do wonder if I had my time again whether I’d have bothered.’
‘Really? I think I’d still have married Paul. Even if someone had told me what would end up happening. We had so many good years, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Besides, Hannah wouldn’t be the person she is if Paul and I had never met. No, it’s all for the best. I have zero regrets,’ I say as I throw the dress in the pile for the charity shop.
‘Oh, look at this. I remember your mother wearing it. The colour really suited her,’ says Debbie, distracted by a pink silk blouse she finds in the wardrobe. She pulls it out, and even after all this time we are overpowered by the heady scent of the Poison perfume Mam wore, despite being merged with the musty aroma of all the old clothes in here. The fragrance brings back every memory I associate with her. I immediately picture her putting her make-up on and how she used to sit at her dressing table squirting on her favourite scent. Then, finally, I think how the smell reminds me of the time I took a bottle into the hospital during her final days to see if it would help bring her round, as if it were some sort of smelling salts. As I remember how my plan didn’t work, I realise just how ready I am for a new start. All of that is in the past and I have a new future to look forward to in a new country.
Then, as if it’s some kind of sign, a photo flies out from underneath a jumper. I hold it in my hands, cherishing the memory as I look at the photo of Nicky and I standing in front of a windmill with tulips all around us. It was a wonderful springtime trip, and I forgot how everything was so colourful and in bloom. I press it to my heart, and it feels as though Nicky is giving me the nod of approval. This is one item I won’t be getting rid of, and I resolve to put the photo in a frame when I organise my new home.
With renewed determination, I continue with my purge of a lifetime of clutter, and by the end of the morning I have an empty pine wardrobe that I can sell to the house clearance people. The bedroom might look like a bomb has hit it, but I have to admire what we have achieved in a few hours. Debbie has to head back to drop Nigel off at the pub for a rugby lunch he’s attending, but I am determined to carry on with my project for the rest of the day.
After a short break to have a couple of Jaffa Cakes for strength, I tackle Hannah’s room. She was never planning on coming back and so, like Paul, she took everything she wanted with her, so this is probably one of the easiest rooms in the house. Already there isn’t much left, except for a few posters on the wall of boy bands I have never heard of apart from when Hannah talked about them. Despite having grown into a woman in this room, she never took down those posters, something Paul and I used to tease her about. As I tear the first one down, I get another little niggle of hesitation. All these years, she fought with us to keep these up and here I am finally tearing them down as though she was never here. By the time I finish in Hannah’s room, all that is left are bare walls and a few bin bags for the recycling on Monday. I place her pink dressing table stool in a corner so that it’s easily accessible for the house clearance folk. Another room has been vacated. I smile as I look around. I have wonderful memories that will stay with me long after this house is gone. While the clear-out has been emotional, it feels good to take control. Instead of drifting along, I am doing something to enrich my life. How many people can say they do that? I feel empowered and in charge of my own destiny, instead of waiting for someone to save me.
With most of the upstairs done, it only leaves my bedroom. This is the hardest room, and I am already feeling daunted by the drawers that are straining with the weight of all my purchases. I daren’t look at my cupboard doors that are almost hanging off. I worry that when I remove everything it may all come tumbling down and finally collapse under the strain it has put up with for so long.
Unlike the spare room, my wardrobe is full of brand-new clothes. Many still with the labels on. I get that feeling of embarrassment and self-loathing again as I look at the tags. It will be someone’s lucky day to get these items for a bargain price. I place them all carefully in the bag for the charity shop and tell myself that I can’t turn the clock back. I can do nothing about the past, it’s too late for that, but I can turn over a new leaf.
Looking at all the money I have squandered, I can see that it was an addiction, just like the time I spent £50 on lottery tickets, thinking I would win. In that moment I had hope and excitement. When I was buying all this stuff, I felt the same. I had hope that I could wear that fancy new dress somewhere, until I realised that I had nowhere to go. I was addicted to that feeling of excitement and the promise that this stuff would make me someone I’m not. As it all lies discarded in bin bags around the floor, only now do I truly understand that none of it ever would have filled the hole in my world that my family left. Only I have the power to make that hole smaller by making my life more fulfilling.
Chapter Six
I can’t get the brand-new clothes out of the house quickly enough. They hit a nerve, serving as a reminder of how irresponsibly I have behaved. I feel like an alcoholic waking up and looking at all the empty wine bottles that surround them, only I woke up and realised that I was surrounded by shopping. Just as ‘wine o’clock’ is deemed acceptable, so is ‘shop until you drop’. It is practically a status symbol, a subject women joke about, but I am starting to realise that it can also be an indication that your life is spiralling out of control. That inside you are unhappy and doing anything to fill that void.
Of course, the charity shop is happy. When I hand over the bags, the woman eyes up some of the dresses I had previously bought because there was fifty per cent off – so they were a bargain. Or so I thought at the time.
‘What beautiful clothes,’ she says.
‘Yes, they are.’
‘Goodness, price tags on them too.’
I look at the woman suspiciously. Is she judging me, or am I being paranoid? ‘Yeah, my mam died. Sadly, she never got a chance to wear them.’ I am horrified at myself for lying.
‘Oh, bless. Well, they look as though they might fit you. Are you sure you don’t want to keep them?’ says the woman, holding up a burgundy dress I thought would be ideal for a dinner party. It is a lovely dress, but I must be strong here. I close my eyes for a second and picture the houseboat and the small amount of space that I’ll have available. I must not let my willpower wane.
‘No, it’s okay. I’d rather someone else enjoy them. Plus, I thought these might earn some money for your charity. I’m trying to do something good with them all.’
‘Well, that’s lovely. Thank you for choosing to donate them to us. I’m sure everything will be sold out in no time. They’re beautiful. It reminds me of the time we had a designer bag come in. Women were practically fighting over it.’
The woman picks up a long pink taffeta ballgown that I was never going to wear. What on earth was I thinking? I’m not Cinderella!
‘I might put this in the window.’
‘Go for it,’ I say, leaving her and a colleague rooting through the bag for the rest of the goodies they’ve inherited. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have first dibs, judging by the expressions on their faces.
I walk out and immediately feel lighter. Not only because I have got rid of a couple of bin bags of clothes, but because I am satisfied that by purging my wardrobe, I am letting go of anything that doesn’t serve me.
To celebrate I head to a cafe in town for breakfast. The smell of fried eggs, sausages and strong coffee hits me as soon as I open the door. It might be a bit of a greasy spoon, but it does the most gorgeous cooked breakfasts. After all that hard work, surely I deserve one.
As I sit down and tuck into a crispy hash brown, I notice that I have missed a call from Gerrit. I have a sudden panic that something has gone wrong with the sale. He was supposed to be giving me the details for a lawyer while he gets the rest of the paperwork drawn up. What if I have done all this clearing out for nothing? I tell myself to stay calm since, no matter what, I am still carrying out my plan for decluttering. Whatever happens, having a clear-out is a good thing.
I almost choke on my hash brown as I rush down my food. I desperately want to get out of the busyness of the cafe to call Gerrit. I finish my breakfast off as fast as I can and hurry outside into the autumn air. The trees on the high street have already turned golden autumnal shades. I was hoping I could be in Amsterdam by Halloween if we pushed things along a bit. My heart starts pounding and I get a fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach as Gerrit’s number rings out. When he answers I feel like I might not want to hear whatever it is he wants to tell me. But his reassuring voice doesn’t sound like someone who is about to break bad news.
‘Hey, Sandy. Thanks for returning my call. How’ve you been?’
‘Yes, yes. Good. Do you have news on the barge? Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, of course. Just wanted to let you know that the paperwork’s all in order and I’ve emailed you the details of a lawyer you can use to check it over. Then, once you’re happy, you can send over the final amount, and we can sign all the paperwork.’
