Chapter 44
‘This is the life, Trace.’ Gary sat back in the hot tub, letting the bubbles flow over his body. Tracy was relaxing on a nearby sun lounger, head behind a magazine. He reached for his lager and took a long swig. Was his wife actually listening to him? She looked very engrossed in what she was reading. Still, she did seem to have settled more.
He had taken to country life quite well, joining a local shoot, which he enjoyed. Gary had proved to be a breath of fresh air to the stuffy lot whose Land Rovers packed with Labradors met together once a month, wearing tweed, Barbours and rather smug smiles. Gary had only tried clay-pigeon shooting, but come autumn he was looking forward to the shoot that would take him out to the woodlands packed with pheasants. Knowing full well he was the joker of the pack, Gary played up to the role and had them all hooting with guffaws. He was actually a very good shot, which for all his gusto had earned him a lot of respect, and, of course, he had money. Gary had learnt to keep his own counsel when it came to background. Whilst proud of his Northern roots, experience had taught him not to disclose how he came about his wealth. Unlike his old friends back home, here they didn’t pry. Their curiosity was blatantly obvious, but they would never be so bold or crass as to ask, and for that Gary in turn respected them. In an odd way their differences complemented each other and it worked. They would mock him with his accent and naïvety, whereas he was easily capable of returning the quips, calling them Hooray Henrys who couldn’t hit a barn door with a cannon ball. Even Tracy had to stifle a laugh at him in his plus fours. He made a refreshing change; his carefree outlook and jolly disposition made him popular, and he and Tracy were frequently receiving invitations to various dinner parties and charity events.
Tracy had made friends with a few of their wives and had morphed into a lady who lunched. But for her, something was still missing. She longed for an overall sense of purpose. ‘I just don’t feel like I’m useful any more,’ she had commented to Gary. He had tried to appease her by telling her to relax and enjoy their good fortune. But it wasn’t in her blood. She had been brought up to work hard, as she had in the nursing home where she had thoroughly enjoyed seeing the fruits of her labour. Tracy often wondered how the residents were, especially Alf. It didn’t seem right that all she had to worry about now was what to wear. She had seen her husband adapt to their new lifestyle like a duck to water. He never appeared bored or discontented. He was jovial, forever playing the clown in company; not like her, quiet and watchful on the side lines. What she needed was motivation, a reason for getting up in the morning, other than meeting another ‘friend’ for lunch, with whom she had very little in common. The article she was reading was giving her food for thought. It talked about volunteers who offered respite in nursing homes, socialising with the elderly, making crafts and enjoying days out in local areas. How rewarding, she thought.
‘Can you hear me, Tracy?’
She turned to Gary who was luxuriating in the water. Didn’t it bother him, all this nothing to do? Maybe it was different for him; after all, he had hated his job. Couldn’t really blame him – she wouldn’t have liked lugging around heavy boxes and stacking freezers all day. He’d never complained, though, always cheery.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said, this is the life!’
‘Yes.’ She smiled weakly.For you maybe.
*
‘Bon voyage!’ trilled Beatrice, holding her glass to Celia, who reluctantly clinked it.
‘Calm down, Beatrice,’ she replied crisply, smothering her sister’s happiness. They were sitting out on the deck with a bottle of cava. Beatrice had insisted they celebrate the start of their cruise in style. Celia would have been quite happy with a cup of Earl Grey.
‘Have you decided what to wear tonight? We are at the captain’s table, after all!’ Beatrice squealed in delight.
Celia rolled her eyes, it was always the same with her, gush, gush, gush.
‘I was thinking of my new pink taffeta dress. What about you?’
‘My old grey suit,’ stated Celia flatly.
‘Celia! That thing? What about your floral dress, you know the one with the forget-me-nots on it?’
‘Hmm, possibly.’ There was no forgetting how much Beatrice grated on her nerves. Ever since they were small, little Bea had perpetually stolen the limelight with her effervescent charm. Celia had been the much older sister, the sensible one. Little Bea had blossomed into beautiful Bea, who had the pick of any man she wanted. Celia had remained a spinster. Then Beatrice had married a lord and become a lady, while Celia remained the dutiful daughter. Beatrice had gone on to have two healthy sons who adored their mother. Celia remained alone and childless. Now she was subjected to a retirement community, while her sister still played Lady of the Manor. Life was so cruelly unfair. But Beatrice was all she had, and she loved her nephews. Celia didn’t like this resentment eating away at her. She knew she was fortunate to have Tobias’ care, knowing how much the home cost. Even so, the unhappy truth was her lonely existence was killing her, slowly sapping her of life. Celia thought this cruise would buck her up, give her a boost, but in reality it was highlighting the stark contrasts yet again between her and Beatrice.
