Everyone returned to their bedrooms after breakfast and Edna opened her wardrobe to survey the T-shirts, long skirts and cardigans she’d packed for her holiday. She thought how woeful they looked all bunched together.
She hadn’t bothered to buy anything new; she was only here for three weeks and her primary clothing needs these days were comfort and warmth. She had some pride and refused to wear shoes with Velcro fasteners or tights the shade of gravy, but color had exited her life three years ago and she missed it dreadfully.
She was eighty years old and there wasn’t much joy in that. People tutted at her in shop queues when she was a little slow unfastening her purse. They spoke to her too loudly even though she had better hearing than a barn owl. If she ever used her walking stick, people sometimes exaggerated stumbling over it, even if it merely brushed their shoe. Wherever Edna went, she felt like a shriveled lemon in a bag full of rosy apples.
The few friends she had left only phoned her to grumble about the weather, their children never visiting, bowel movements, or to report that someone had died. They rarely had any good news and contributed to giving older people a bad reputation for complaining. Edna supposed she should welcome anyone bothering to call her at all, but the continuous moaning made her feel worse than she already did. She longed for more scintillating conversation, such as the best conditions in which to grow orchids, or which sewing machine needle to use when tackling organza, to stimulate her mind.
Her solitude was a waste because her brain was as tack sharp as always. She listened to current-affair shows on the radio and reeled off answers to questions onMastermind, saying “Ha” when she got one right and the contestant didn’t. She only wished her daughter, Daisy, was still around to clap her hands and shout, “Yes, go Mum!”
Without Daisy in her life, Edna’s loneliness felt like an unwelcome house guest that wouldn’t leave. It shadowed her and convinced her she didn’t deserve any better. She kept the radio playing all day for a bit of company and even called in to a couple of shows, just to speak to someone more positive than her friends.
The producer lady on theJust Ask Ginnyshow (Tim? Tom? Tam?) had sounded uninterested when Edna told her a little about Daisy, so it had been a pleasant surprise to receive the invitation to Italy. The most she’d ever won were vouchers for a DIY store that were languishing in a drawer somewhere, and she hadn’t been abroad since before Daisy was born.
Edna pulled a shapeless black dress out of the wardrobe and held it up to her neck. It was hard to believe that, as the mistress of monochrome, she’d once been fascinated by fashion. Edna used to wear the brightest colors that didn’t belong together, a red dress with purple tights, or a yellow hat with a striped ribbon. She used to turn up the music on the radio and put on pretend fashion shows for Daisy who clapped her hands together with glee.
Going to fabric shops together had been their favorite pastime. Daisy picked patterned cotton that Edna made into dresses for her. It was cheaper than buying them and her daughter’s arms and legs were too short for anything in the shops anyway.
When she and her husband, Desmond, first held their baby daughter in their arms, the midwife warned them that Daisy was “different” and would be reliant on them all her life.
Edna held her limp pink baby and felt her tiny heart thumping against her own. “She’ll just have a different life than the one we imagined,” she said defiantly. “There’s nothing wrong with that and we’ll have to adjust.”
Desmond had remained very quiet. He was a proud, stoic man who made Edna feel protected while not having much to say. It took him much longer to accept that their only child was never going to graduate college, get married or give them grandchildren. It was unlikely she’d ever leave home.
Edna had two jobs, one as a fashion designer and the other as a seamstress, and she gave up both to become a full-time mother. She didn’t resent it one bit, though she did miss being surrounded by creative people and the occasional sojourn to France for fashion launches. Desmond was a kind man and a good provider, but his idea of adventure was to have both cheeseandham in a sandwich.
Looking after their daughter was hard work for Edna, even if there was a loving innocence about a child who would never grow up.
Though, inevitably, Daisy did. The smiling, funny little girl became a confused teen, and then a challenging young adult. She was loving yet also angry at times and Edna had to develop the patience of a saint. In addition to being a wife and mum, she was a nurse, personal aide and cleaner. Desmond remained working as a police officer, so Edna inherited the majority of Daisy’s day care. It was just how it was.
She supposed that couples nowadays relied on each other for everything—friendship, excitement, support, equal childcare responsibilities, talking about feelings and entertaining each other, while also having red-hot sex. Something had to give, probably hence the divorce rate.
Women of Edna’s generation mostly kept their mouths shut and got on with things. In her younger days, you went on a date if someone asked you, and carried on until you were going steady. Engagement was expected after a few years and marriage followed soon after. A few of her friends had put more care and attention into looking for a party dress than into finding a man they’d love for a lifetime and who would love them back.
Daisy had grown older and frailer before her time, so in her later years it had felt like there were three elderly people living together.
She had died aged fifty, followed a couple of months afterward by Desmond. Losing them both, especially so close together, made Edna’s life instantly gray, like an old silent movie stuck on repeat. And now there was just Edna left, with her heart worn and cracked.
She’d never expected to feelthisalone without them. She even missed the monotonous tasks, such as helping Daisy get dressed in the morning and cutting the crusts of her toast. Edna felt like she was no use to anyone any longer.
Her home was an empty shell and was too large for her to keep clean. A bigger family would benefit from it more, so next month she was moving into a one-bedroom apartment in the Shady Pines retirement village. Even though it had a common room for residents, bingo on Thursdays and buttons to call for help in each room, she did not want to go. It was a necessary move rather than one she embraced.
Whittling down decades of belongings into a handful of boxes was proving painful and making her act all pernickety. Being pedantic was a symptom of her sense of loss.
“You’ll feel much better when you’re free of all this stuff,” a tattooed young woman from Caring Companions social care said, as she helped to pack Edna’s king-size duvet covers and sheets into a bin bag. “It’ll only bung up your new place. You won’t have enough room to take all your old clothes.”
Edna no longer wore her favorite red velvet Laura Ashley jacket because the poshest place she went to these days was Tesco. Bagging up Desmond’s yellowing shirts had been easy. Getting rid of Daisy’s clothes proved to be more of a wrench.
Each outfit Edna had made for her daughter had a memory or milestone attached to it, a trip to the seaside or a prize won at dance class. Each button Daisy helped to choose for a dress reminded Edna that her daughter had achieved far more than anyone expected, including herself.
Some of Daisy’s clothes were faded with age, not even good enough to give to a charity shop, yet Edna couldn’t let them go. As a halfway measure she cut some of them into squares, bringing the pieces to Italy to make into a quilt.
Edna reached down to take them out of her handbag and pressed her cheek to the gray cotton printed with tiny white flowers. She imagined she could still smell her daughter’s scent, talcum powder and fabric conditioner, and a tear spilled down her cheek.
So, Ginny Splinter thought that a holiday with strangers could magically snuff out Edna’s loneliness and make her feel better? She doubted that very much. Edna wasn’t sure she even had the strength to try herself.
She took an assortment of her clothes out of her wardrobe and glumly hung them over her arm, to pass to Ginny.
9
