Rude Awakening

Chapter One

New Year’s Eve Party

New Year’s Eve. Barwell, a small town. Prosperous…safe…boring. A place where the residents are more likely to tut than take up arms, more likely to be seen weighing a parcel than waving a placard. A place where news is to be read and discussed, not made. A frustrating nightmare of a place for tumultuous teenagers, but a haven for women of a certain age, with pleasant places to shop and lunch. The women wear stylish clothes, hair carefully coiffed, with children in fancy buggies, the car parks full of four-by-fours and well polished hatchbacks. Driving around the town, a newcomer might be pleasantly surprised by its cleanliness and sense of order. The roads are swept, the houses look well cared for, hedges clipped, lawns mown, borders weeded, and cars cleaned and parked neatly on block-paving drives.

As a nurse, living and working in the town, Suzanne knew that some of the pristine net curtains hid terrible secrets. She knew how drugs and alcohol could wreak havoc on lives, however neat it all looked from the outside. But, like the neatly lined-up lidded wheelie bins, all the dirt and rubbish was safely hidden from view.

Suzanne surveyed her kitchen. The black gloss of the cupboard doors reflected the food prepared, ready to be cooked, and trays of canapés awaiting a finishing touch. She could hear the rattle of bottles as David checked the wine fridge in the dining room. It was almost time for their friends to arrive for what had now become an annual New Year’s Eve party at their large, rather ungainly, mock Tudor house overlooking the golf course. The house was set back from the road, shielded by majestic chestnut trees, higher than the house and protected by the law, their massive roots pushing up the pavements in unwieldy lumps. The ever-expanding town meant that the once quiet tree-lined road was now a busy thoroughfare linking the town and the retail park. Suzanne still had to pinch herself sometimes to believe that she lived in this huge house with a garden measured in parts of an acre, beech hedges and herbaceous borders gently sloping down to the golf course. She loved the view from her kitchen, the sense of space it gave her. She revelled in being set apart from her neighbours. She remembered David laughing when she had walked all the way around the outside of the house when she first moved in. How privileged she had felt.

They had invited four couples to the party, friends they enjoyed spending time with, loosely connected, good company. Earlier in the week, Suzanne had bumped into Hilary, who lived in the bungalow opposite, running an errand with her mother. Hilary had seemed a little fraught, so Suzanne, out of pity, had invited both of them to the party. She half regretted the invitation, but David was uncharacteristically delighted. He admitted that he needed to get on Hilary’s mother’s good side as she had some sway with the planning committee and he was still having problems getting planning permission for a new build on the edge of town. Hilary knew everyone who was coming to the party and they all knew Hilary. In the end, Hilary phoned to say her mother wouldn’t be attending, leaving an odd number for dinner.

#

Across the road, in her sprawling bungalow, Hilary was getting ready. “Does this look all right, Mum?”

Phyllis looked up from her crossword, her feet raised on her velveteen recliner, the soles of her red plush slippers at attention, repelling all boarders. She put her pen down, removed her reading glasses from her nose and studied Hilary, who stood apprehensively in the doorway.

“Very nice dear. I’ve always liked that frock. Black is so forgiving. Your hair looks nice and neat – you’ve got a lovely shine on it. But can I see a few grey hairs?” She chuckled. “My little girl with grey hair. Whatever next? Will those shoes be comfortable? It’ll be a late night.”

Hilary looked down at the black patent kitten-heel shoes she kept for special occasions. They weren’t especially comfortable, but she liked the look of them and she’d be sitting down for most of the evening anyway.

“If I were you, I’d put on those flat velvet pumps with the bow that you got last year. You’d feel much better in them.”

Hilary returned to her bedroom and did as she was bidden without a second thought. She returned her best shoes to their tissue-lined box and looked in the mirror on her dark wood wardrobe. Her mousy reflection stared back at her, face matt with pale powder, lips slightly pinker than normal, a suggestion of mascara on her lashes.

She returned to the living room for her mother’s approval and was reassured by the positive response.

“I wish you were coming too. I hate leaving you on New Year’s Eve.”

“You know I never do anything for New Year – can’t see the attraction. Your father and I never did anything, did we? Christmas was our thing, wasn’t it? It’s so nice of Suzanne and David to invite you to their posh do, though.”

“It’s not posh and you know all the people who are going. You’d enjoy it if you came, but I know you prefer to get to bed early. I’ll come and say happy New Year if you are still awake when I get in. I shouldn’t be late. It’ll finish after the fireworks at the golf club… They have a great view of the display from their conservatory. I expect the noise will keep you awake anyway. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No. Stop fussing. I can get what I need and you’re only across the road. There’s a James Bond film on that I don’t think I’ve seen. I’ll watch that if I get this crossword finished in time. So, you get off. Have a nice time. Give my love to them if they remember me.”

Of course, they’ll remember you, what a silly thing to say, thought Hilary as she kissed her mum on the cheek.

She checked the kitchen to make sure that everything her mother might need was to hand. She half-filled the kettle in case Phyllis wanted a cup of coffee, and put the chocolate biscuits and bottle of Baileys within easy reach. Then, collecting her coat from the cloakroom by the front door, she stepped out, calling “Bye” over her shoulder.

The cold hit her as she hurried across the road and up the drive to Suzanne’s imposing house. She could see through the brightly lit windows that everyone else was already there. She rang the bell, feeling a little nervous. The door was immediately opened by David and her muttered apology was swamped in a bear-like hug. Releasing her, he boomed, “Nearest one always last to arrive.” He took her coat, put a glass of Prosecco in her hand in one smooth movement and half pushed her into the middle of the living room, abandoning her to a chorus of “Hello” and “How are you?”, and air kisses from all directions. Then, just as suddenly, they went back to their conversations, leaving her marooned.

Suzanne rescued her, saying, “You’ve arrived just in time to give me a hand, if you don’t mind.”

Gratefully, she followed Suzanne into the immaculate kitchen, putting her glass on a sparkly counter already laden with all manner of dishes in various stages of readiness.

“Right, what would you like me to do?”

Her New Year’s Eve had begun.

#

In the living room, the noise level rose, as David made sure the glasses stayed topped up.

“Any more, ladies?” He bent towards the three women comfortably ensconced on the settee, grinning as they eagerly lifted their glasses towards him.

“Should we be doing anything?”

“Can we help?”

Janet and Carol spoke at the same time.

“No. Hilary’s in the kitchen helping Suzanne and I think I can manage in here. Just relax.” David topped up their glasses and headed for the other side of the lavish sitting room.

Liz sighed, “It’s lovely to do nothing for a change, isn’t it? Christmas was so hectic.” She rested her head against the settee, taking a big gulp from her glass before launching into a description of her ‘terrible’ Christmas. Liz had Jan’s attention, but Carol’s mind was wandering. She took a sip of her drink, remembering when she and Liz had first got to know each other. They had been to the same school and she had admired Liz from a distance, marvelled at her confidence, her ability to charm the other girls and the teachers, and how well she did, seemingly without effort. Carol kept her head down and worked, never quite seeming to please the teachers or her parents. Later, they met at the school gates with their own children, but they didn’t really get to know each other until one evening, after a rugby club do they’d both been persuaded to attend, when they’d ended up doing the washing up together. Even then, Carol had told Liz that she could manage, thinking that Liz ought to be socialising and not up to her elbows in greasy soapsuds. With a flourish, Liz had removed her numerous gold bangles, hooked them over a milk bottle on the windowsill, rolled up her sleeves, waved aside the proffered rubber gloves and taken over, saying, “I used to really envy you at school and then watching you with your immaculate children.”

“You envied me?” Carol dropped the tea towel in shock. “But you were a star wherever you were. I longed to be in your set.”

Liz replied, “You seemed to just sail through school, never asking questions or badgering the teachers. You just seemed to get everything. I always wanted to be like you, not having to question everything. You seemed to understand straight away. I thought you were so clever, consistently good, not coming to the attention of the teachers. You even had hair that behaved.”

Carol laughed, remembering the envy she had felt for Liz’s auburn curls. At school, her own straight hair had always been scraped back into a pony tail.

“I was too frightened to ask questions. I just plodded through. Kept my head down, desperately wanting to be exciting, even naughty. And as for immaculate children, I think you must have been looking at someone else’s.”

The intimacy of the warm, cramped steamy kitchen had invited more confidences, as they revealed that they had both battled the same fears and uncertainties over the years.

A deep belly laugh from the other side of the room brought Carol back to the present.

“I was just thinking of all the things we were going to do when the children left home. What happened?” Liz was saying.

“I remember longing for them to go so that I would have time for myself. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, but I have less time now than when I was working full-time and bringing up three children.” Carol took another long sip of her drink, looking thoughtful.

“I know. You always seem to be dashing somewhere.”

“It’s just as well Jonathan has cut back on work. He’s great with the grandchildren. With my mum and his dad in homes, it’s a nightmare.”

“At least my parents seem to be coping at the moment. Mum is a bit vague but Dad’s still great,” Janet said, absently rubbing at the lipstick smudge on the rim of her glass. “I envy you your grandchildren, but work keeps me occupied and I can’t see Claire blessing us with any in the foreseeable future.”

“What’s she doing now?” Liz turned towards Jan.

“Still the same. I wish she didn’t have such a long commute. It worries me her getting home so late, but she thrives on it.”

Suzanne appeared from the kitchen, managing to look elegant in an apron, her hair breaking loose from its complicated pleat. She perched on the arm of the settee and raised her glass to them.

“All sorted?” Carol asked.

“I think so.” She paused to take a smoked salmon blini from the plate offered by Hilary as she made the rounds with the canapés. “You can rest, Hilary. It’s all under control.”

“I’ll just take these around and then find my glass.”

“I can’t believe I heard her almost moaning about her mother just now,” Suzanne confided, as Hilary took the plate to the other side of the room.

“I can’t imagine how she puts up with living with her mother.”

“She’s never known anything different. She didn’t even go to university, did she?”

“I struggle when I have to spend more than an hour with Mum. We just about managed Christmas Day without killing each other,” said Liz. “She knows she’ll have to go into a home if it comes to it. We couldn’t have her at home and I certainly wouldn’t move in with her.”

“We usually spend Christmas with Mum and Dad, but this year, for some reason, Dad wanted us to have time to ourselves. It was lovely, but a bit strange. I think the last time it just the three of us was just after Claire was born.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t like that, Jan. I need lots of people to make Christmas real,” said Carol. “And we certainly had lots of people this year. Our little house was bursting at the seams.”

“I do love being at my parents’ for Christmas, but whenever I go back, I feel like a fourteen-year-old again. My sister and I start bickering, just like we did when we had to share a bedroom. Didn’t you move back in with your mum when she was ill, Suzanne?” asked Jan.

“Yes, I had to. Not an easy time, but there wasn’t an alternative.”

Hilary chose that moment to return with a bowl of nuts and her still full glass.

Suzanne rose and said, “Come and sit down. I just need to get a couple of things done in the kitchen.” She smoothed her apron over her velvet skirt and headed towards the kitchen door, pausing briefly to whisper in David’s ear.

The talk of moving back home had unsettled her.

Her father had died in his early forties, suddenly, of a heart attack. Suzanne remembered the anguish she had felt when she had been called to the headmistress’s office in the middle of double chemistry. She’d passed the tongs holding the test tube of sulphuric acid over the Bunsen burner to Amelia. Amelia had taken them reluctantly; she hated chemistry experiments and Suzanne always partnered her, covering for her ineptitude. Suzanne had even asked Mrs Beattie if she could stay until the end of the experiment. She could imagine nothing so urgent that it couldn’t wait for a few more minutes. That was before she heard the news that her father had collapsed on the golf course, that they hadn’t been able to save him, and that her mother needed her at home.

Suzanne was fourteen, just thinking about which O-levels to take. The all-consuming grief following her father’s death brought a lump to her throat even now. She had lost her way for some time.

It was her biology teacher, Mr Harcourt, who had put her on the path towards nursing. In front of the whole class, he told her that he wanted to discuss her low marks. She had been embarrassed and had to stay behind when everyone went to lunch. When she burst into tears, he had taken a crumpled tartan hanky from his trouser pocket and let her cry for a few minutes. Then, as if she were any other pupil, he had asked why she thought she had done so badly. He refused to accept her excuse that she couldn’t concentrate and that she couldn’t see the point of studying.

“You’re bright – with a bit of reading you could have done this last test blindfold.”

“I don’t have time. There’s too much else I have to read.”

And that was when it all came out – her obsession with the details of the heart and its workings, her need to know why her beloved dad had died. Mr Harcourt said, “Well, if you want to do something useful with all that knowledge, you’d better go into nursing or something.” It was like a light coming on in her head. That was it. She could prevent other people’s dads from dying too soon.

Later, she realised that he had probably said the first thing that popped into his head so that he could get to the common room to smoke his pipe, but it had somehow shaken her and stopped her wallowing in grief.

She developed a closeness and understanding with her mother that saw her through the rest of school, nursing training and leaving home. She could feel her father’s presence at her graduation ceremony, mirroring the pride that showed on her mother’s face. As had been destined, she worked in coronary care, relishing the work and the challenges it brought. She had a job she loved, her own little home, good friends and her mother nearby.

But just when her life felt ordered and steady, her mother developed Parkinson’s disease. At seventy-two, Jean was devastated by the diagnosis and, as the disease progressed, became depressed and anxious and less willing to go out alone. She was embarrassed by her inability to carry a cup of coffee or a tray in a café. The first time her legs stopped working, mother and daughter were at the supermarket together. Suzanne found Jean bent over her trolley, marooned in the centre of the aisle, other customers trying to manoeuvre around the obstacle she had become.

Suzanne took the lamb from the oven and left it to rest on the countertop. As she stirred the gravy, her thoughts returned to those difficult years.