Time to move on
Tom was taking the last of his things from the house. Would life ever be the same again?
As Tom had said on the phone, “It has to be done.” I knew this, but still I’d been dreading the afternoon. So much had happened. It felt as if we were already apart; all that was needed was this final act.
The house seemed so empty without him. I’d taken to leaving the radio on all the time; just so there was some noise in the background, and I didn’t feel so alone. I cursed it now, as it played requests for loved ones.
The doorbell rang. He’s as punctual as ever. I switched off the radio and fought back the lump in my throat, determined not to cry. I knew he was showing me he’d moved on. I had to accept it. It hurt the way he stood on the step, I knew he still had his front door key, but he rang the bell, just like a visitor.
“Hello,” he said as I opened the door. He sounded cheerful, but I knew him well enough to notice a tenseness around his eyes. It’s stupid really, I wanted a hug, but I knew if he held me, I’d cry. So, I stepped back to avoid the situation. I’d probably regret that later.
“Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?” I offered. There was no denying I was trying to keep him longer.
Tom looked at his watch, “No thanks, I haven’t got long.” He didn’t say, but I guessed ‘she’ was going to pick him up later. At least she hadn’t come in. This was something we had to do alone.
He shifted from foot to foot, “Shall we get it over with?” he said, but not unkindly. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy for either of us. I nodded and led him into the lounge. We stood near the doorway and he did a slow appraisal of the room. I walked to the CD cabinet and picked up a pile. “Yours,” I said. I knew my voice had a crack in it. I took a deep breath and said, “There’s a pile of things in the kitchen. Shall I add these?” He nodded and I put them on top of a cardboard box along with a few paperbacks and some washing he’d left. I’d cried so much over this; I’d got mascara on his T-shirt and had to do them again.
Tom fingered a colourful glass ashtray, “Venice,” I reminded him.
I wanted a hug, but knew if he held me, I’d cry
He shrugged, “I don’t know why we bought it. None of the family smoke.” I thought I could see him relax as he remembered our Italian holiday all those years ago. “Take it, if you want.” I told him.
“No. You always use it for sugared almonds at Christmas.” He moved on as though the decision had been made. It left me thinking, “Christmas will be different this year.”
There was nothing he wanted from the dining room. He did linger near a photo, but then seemed to snap out of his past and marched briskly through the hall and up the stairs.
In the bedroom was a burgundy rug from a Tunisian market – yet another holiday souvenir. He noticed me looking at it and shook his head.
“I never did like it,” he said. I couldn’t help looking surprised. I’m sure he hadn’t always felt that way. Perhaps everyone was right after all, he had changed. Maybe I was holding on to someone who no longer existed?
I let him sort out his bits and pieces in the bathroom. There really wasn’t much of his left now, just like there didn’t seem to be much more to say.
I tried to make conversation as we gazed out of the landing window, “It looks pretty, doesn’t it?” I said and smiled at our garden. It too held so many happy memories. I knew I would treasure them for ages.
We were just about done, I thought, but then he marched into the kitchen and straight to the cupboard where we kept the mugs. My surprise must have shown.
“My favourite one,” he explained. Although I nodded and forced a smile, I couldn’t think which one he considered his favourite. He pulled out a dark blue mug with his Zodiac sign, ‘Leo’ emblazoned on it. My ‘Aquarius’ mug left alone; all its old companions gone. Broken and discarded.
Without a backward glance he popped the mug and the few other possessions into the cardboard box. Then he noticed his coat hanging up. It was an expensive one I’d bought for his last birthday, at his request, but I think it had spent most of its time on the hook in the hall gathering dust. I was pleased he was taking it, maybe it would make him think of me.
“Done,” he announced. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and was gone. I heard an engine rev up outside.
I don’t know how long I’d stood frozen to the spot, but something made me stir. I shivered and decided I needed a cup of tea.
He’d left his door key in the kitchen. I hadn’t seen him do it. He’d also left the cupboard door open. He always did that and it annoyed me; now it just made me nostalgic.
I filled the kettle and switched the radio back on, for company. It played a familiar tune, Living separate lives… I felt a tear roll. I’d had a lot of tears lately.
The doorbell rang again. I could see a man’s shape through the frosted glass. It looked familiar, and I rushed to open it.
“Have I missed him?” Graham asked, juggling a fist full of keys, a pile of magazines and a bottle of wine. He put them down and placed a comforting arm around me. “Sorry, I had my hands full and couldn’t find the right key.”
“Yes,” I sniffed, roughly wiping away this latest lot of tears. “It’s all done.”
“Come on love. He’s 33. It’s time he left home. You and I can start courting again.” He smiled, and for the first time in a long while, I noticed a twinkle in his eyes.
“I’ve been to the travel agents,” he said tapping the brochures, “How about that Mediterranean cruise we’ve always promised ourselves once the kids had left home?” Graham kissed my hair tenderly and another tear escaped, but this time it was a happy one.
I could see now that I’d been scared to let go of the ‘Mumsy me’, but I had to admit that after many years, I was now ready for a bit of ‘me’ time to share with Graham, my husband of 35 years and the man I loved.
Perhaps everyone was right after all, he had changed
As a young girl, Sally Kettle, 46, was envious of her older brother because he had more adventures than she did. “He did exciting things like camping and night hiking and I remember thinking: ‘Why can’t girls have as much fun?’,” she recalls.
Sally’s mum’s solution was to enrol her with the local Brownie unit at seven.
“I loved all of it – the uniform, making new friends outside school, but mostly it was the excitement of Brownie holidays – running round the woods and even the spiders in showers. It was brilliant!” she says.
At 10 she joined the Girl Guides and then became a Young Leader at 14.
By 26, her adventurous spirit, fostered by Brownies, was at its peak when she rowed the Atlantic twice from East to West with her mum, Sarah, earning a place in the Guinness Book of Records. A career as a professional adventurer followed.
Today Sally, whose daughter Floss (seven) is a Brownie, is Deputy Chief Guide who spends half her working week supporting the organisation’s 70,000 volunteers to inspire a new generation of girls to be more adventurous. She launched an ambassador programme putting girls in face-toface contact with other inspiring women. Every Tuesday night she runs a Rainbows unit.
“It’s hard work and it’s a juggle,” adds Sally who is a professional speaker and coach as well as heading a charity that advises on staying active during pregnancy.
“But I love being a role model and my thing has always been to find meaning in life. That’s more important to me than money.”
■ Visitgirlguiding.org.uk for more information about volunteering
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‘I love being a role model’