Layers

By Carole Isaacs

Everyone hits a rut at some point in the road of life, whether it be from dissatisfaction with family members, finances, jobs or even spouses. At the turning point of their mid-life years, Rose and Greg exist in a stagnant tolerance of their marriage, one that began on such warmth and intimacy and is now ticking along with an acceptance of mediocrity. At the urgings of their close friends, they consider an unconventional holiday, a coach journey to Northumberland. After the arrival at their destination, a gorgeous isolated castle, Rose and her 23 fellow travellers are eager to make sense of their highly recommended but mysterious trip. Under the leadership of Leo, their guide, the group learns to, individually and collectively, dissect topics of intimacy and strive to achieve long-lost happiness and self-awareness. Layers is a moving tale of mid-life crises and of how, when determined, anyone can strive to peel back some of their own self-limiting layers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781784557539

Carole Isaacs

Carole lives in Yorkshire with her husband, Michael, and together they spend much time in Nottinghamshire with Matthew and Rachel, Christopher and Emma and their three grandchildren Olivia-Jade, Noah and Oscar.

Book preview

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About the Author

Carole lives in Yorkshire with her husband, Michael, and together they spend much time in Nottinghamshire with Matthew and Rachel, Christopher and Emma and their three grandchildren Olivia-Jade, Noah and Oscar.

Dedication

For Mike, who has put up with me for very many years.

Also, Nodge and Barry, who encouraged me to pursue my dreams.

Copyright Information ©

Carole Isaacs (2018)

The right of Carole Isaacs to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781786290205 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781786290212 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781786290229 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2018)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgements

I am indebted to the many folks who have inspired me to write over the years, but especially to:

Barry, who brought his own stories to life and encouraged the transition of life experience into words wherever possible.

Nodge, the tutor of all tutors who, from a dusty form room in Hull, could whip up an enthusiasm to crush all the doubting Thomases in her midst and set us all headlong on an unrelenting and miraculous course of adventure through words – relinquishing each of us only when we shone beyond our wildest expectations.

Also thanks to my own lifelong partner, Mike, for sticking around and my wonderful children, Matthew and Chris, for showing us how bright the future can be.

Chapter 1

In heavy downpours of rain, I like to tilt my head backwards to absorb the sensation of cool water hitting hard to produce a stippled penetration. Call me stupid, but I smile as I feel the rivulets trickling over closed eyelids and pursed lips to fall and make puddles around my feet. Don’t you sometimes ache for that kind of experience and feel a deep need to be out there and at one with it – shivers, clammy goose pimples and all? Wet and warm or wet and shivery, though all of the time bursting with exuberance?

Sadly though, later, when the pounding, driving and wetness have finished, when even the little drips have gone, there’s the puddle – the visions are fading and I struggle to get those feelings back. Sometimes I’ve been very silly, gasping for breath as I jumped and kicked in that puddle with a need to retain something; but when I look back – look back at the puddle that is – there it stands just a puddle and only a puddle.

Quiet, contented snores float now and drift across the top of my nose, accompanied with the faint odour of last night’s beer. I feel comfortable, warm and safe, cherished even, though distinctly old – as I drift into the dream-world where, just sometimes, I can go back to those heady days when downpours were freely available and where puddles dissolved in the sunshine which followed.

Hannah phoned last Sunday and related how Richard had appeared in their apartment doorway after work on Friday decked out in a clown’s outfit (baggy blue and white striped pants, red nose, huge cheery grin and all) to present her with a bunch of large red daisies, with centres looking like the sunshine on a ‘park and ice-cream day’ – her sentiments, and so good to hear that she remembered the ‘park and ice-cream days’.

How wonderful, was my reply.

You don’t understand, Mum, do you! she shrieked, exasperated.

Are you saying I don’t understand when a man is attempting to bring a smile to your face?

It’s a matter of priorities Mum, and, yes, it made me smile for a while, until I heard the downside.

Oh, was there a problem?

Only that he’s been made redundant; they’ll pay him to the end of the month, and then he has to go.

Oh Hannah, I’m so sorry, I attempted to console, but at least he was breaking the news to you in a happy way.

Not really Mum because, as we’re now strapped for cash, putting the money he spent on the outfit in the bank to pay the rent would have been much more appropriate.

Hannah takes after her dad and places high credence on monetary thrift but, I thought, what’s the price of the memory of that smile they shared before the gloom of the situation settled in?

Faced with the staid aspect of Greg at the kitchen table munching toast in contemplation of the day’s activities, coupled with his apparent deliberate attempt to avoid eye contact, made any attempt on my behalf to divert the proceedings with either a smile or speech superfluous and so our early morning cohabitation went without memory. Could it be any different, I wondered? Maybe not.

Wednesday was my mid-week day off – I’d been clever at organising it so that I only ever worked for two days at a time. Work at the University could be busy at the beginning of semesters since I worked in Admissions but, after the first few weeks had calmed, our department was considered cushioned from the turmoil which engulfed the rest of academia.

I had been senior secretary to Mrs Gladstone for the last four years and although I struggled initially with her stern exterior, I was soon able to accommodate her requirements to make life mutually beneficial for us both.

Wednesday was my day for completion of routine housework – washing and cleaning in the morning and after a break at lunchtime, ironing in the afternoon. The bit in the middle, the lunch break, had developed (although I was extremely reluctant to admit it) into one of the most enjoyable couple of hours of the week and my appearance at ‘Crags’, just off the Murphy Road, encapsulated a closeted freedom of speech and emotion which I relished.

‘Alison Wednesday’ (Greg’s terminology not mine), was there and waiting for me as usual. I could never quite manage to arrive first but, as she worked just down the road from Crags as receptionist in a doctor’s surgery which closes from twelve noon on Wednesdays, I could maybe forgive her for always being either on or before time. I supposed my name for Alison would be ‘Immaculate Ali’, which would suit her much better because she was always immaculate. Hair, teeth, eyes, ears and nails all perfect, complexion of a twenty-something and dress size ten. Yes, that was the bitch in me coming out but, in fact, I really liked her because she actually opened her mouth to tell the truth and, although it cuts really badly with some folks, for me that was what made her my very best friend. It was so refreshing to know exactly what was happening in a girly relationship instead of ‘going round the houses’ and pretending. I had known Ali since infants’ school and, believe me, that was a very long time.

So Rose, where’ve you been and what you been doing?

Usual first sentence – and the smile revealed I can say exactly that.

Oh, you know, nothing much.

Nothing much means a great deal, Rose, I keep telling you, nothing much gives you away, if you don’t want me to know, then tell me you have been doing something trivial – keeps me at bay.

Now what would be the point in that, Ali, you’d know I was lying?

In this absolutely fabulous relationship, Rose, I mean the one you and I share, why should it matter? So you’re lying and I know you’re lying and it doesn’t matter, because that tells me all I need to know.

Of course she was right, she always was. We did this to each other when we wanted to keep secrets – we made it obvious that we were lying – sounds silly to explain, but who cares, this was how our friendship worked. No-one took offence and everyone was easy and, yes, she was right again, ours was an absolutely fabulous relationship.

Well, I was thinking last night.

I’ll give it a try, I thought, because if there is a solution to my mixed up head, Ali will spot it.

Yes, Rose, that’s a start.

I was thinking of Greg last night, in bed.

Good, really good, you mean you were thinking of sex.

Not really, not exactly – well, yes, in a way. I was thinking of us, of how we relate, and wondering.

I’ll get food and drinks, Rose, and whilst I do, you mull this over. Is it sex or something else? We’ve done this before, remember. See you in a minute.

I did think and, yes, we had done this before, a couple of years ago now when we went really deep, or at least Ali went really deep into describing and trying to work through a similar problem with Kim. It took us a few weeks and I think we reached a conclusion, but that was Ali and Kim and not me and Greg. I suppose there could have been similarities – aren’t there in every relationship, especially when the main components have a lot in common? Anyway, sex or something else – I really thought it was something else, or at least I thought the something else was affecting the sex and not the other way around.

Okay, eat, and then talk.

To the point as usual, but she looked so great today, or maybe I felt so lousy, not sure. Anyway, the meal gave me the breather I needed.

I don’t want lemon, I want chocolate! screamed a six or seven-year-old over-privileged little girl in the corner of the café. The mother looked exasperated as her child cried loudly in a very high pitch, and when it became obvious she would not relent, she was embarrassingly paraded back to the serving counter to exchange the offending bun amidst stares from other customers.

Why do you think they do that, Rose?

Not sure, but I don’t think the mother should have given in because it leaves the child in control and gives her the space and room to do it again and again – it must be really embarrassing.

Nowadays it could be said, Rose, that children in the past, like ours for example, were ultra-disciplined. Do you think we were cruel?

No, children are like adults in a new relationship, they need to know the boundaries and, when they do, things become a lot easier for the parent and the child turns into a more resilient adult.

Talking of resilient adults, what about last night in bed?

Yes, it wasn’t the sex, Ali, I mean I’m not complaining about the sex, I think maybe it’s – well…

Predictable?

How come you always know the answers? Though, no, I wouldn’t say that either, not exactly. It’s just that I think it’s maybe me, perhaps I’ve stopped feeling, or at least don’t feel the same as I did about our relationship.

Doesn’t this sound familiar? Don’t you remember a previous conversation which went along these lines – it’s a while ago now and the boot was on the other foot then – remember?

Yes, if you mean you and Kim? I remember we discussed the situation for a few weeks on and off, but then I assume things settled because you didn’t mention it.

The problem stayed around until last July, Rose, and then, well, I think we told you both about last July.

Your holiday?

Yes, our holiday.

We couldn’t.

You could.

We discussed all this through with you and Kim after the event and you know Greg’s response.

Yes, but I’ve heard rumours things might have changed on that score.

What kind of rumours – rumours about Greg?

Yes – no, not what you think – he’s still faithful and all that but he’s started talking.

Talking to who?

Who do you think?

Kim – he’s actually been talking to Kim about us.

Is that so wrong, Rose, I mean what are we doing here? Do you begrudge them doing the same?

I just never thought, I mean, not Greg.

What did you never think about Greg?

That he’d talk about things like that.

He’s not an automaton, Rose, he has feelings too, and it sounds to me as though there’s something somewhere between you two that has stopped connecting. You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?

That there’s only one solution, I know, but he won’t accept it Ali – you know he won’t.

That’s just it, I think he might. Give him a try.

I understood exactly what Ali meant – last summer Ali persuaded Kim to go on a holiday – the holiday of a lifetime it seemed. They tried very hard to pass on to us a sense of how marvellous this break had been without going into too much detail, but we found it difficult to understand how a coach holiday to Northumberland could change a whole relationship perspective. Maybe at that time Greg and I didn’t really feel it related to us too much as we were much more ‘together’ then. Now though, a year later, I did find myself calling in at the travel agent on the way back from seeing Ali, clasping the details she had jotted down for me on a serviette.

Just four places left at the moment, the skinny girl behind the counter announced. You’ll have to bring the forms back by Monday though because he’s closing applications on Tuesday.

Applications? I queried.

Yes, there’s an application form for you and your partner to fill in and you’ll need to bring them back on Monday if you want to go.

You’d best give me the forms and I’ll take them home and get back to you.

I pushed the forms into my shopper and caught the bus home, pretending to myself I could forget about this episode until next Wednesday when Ali would bring it up and, by then, it would be too late, I was safe.

Chapter 2

I was aware of the familiar figure as it stood in the doorway, unzipping his coat and habitually pushing shoes off at the heel with alternate toes. Turning, our eyes met very briefly before I chilled as his gaze vanished to an undetermined point somewhere above my head which, presumably, provided a safer haven.

The bathroom scales that morning had told me that I shouldn’t, but would one small sherry whilst I prepared the evening meal make such a difference?

I’ve asked Hannah and Richard over on Saturday evening, is that okay? I spoke through the strength of my one small glass of sherry.

Yeah, be good to see them, not heard from them for a while have we?

Well, yes, actually, I spoke to Hannah last Sunday, didn’t I tell you? I knew I hadn’t told him because I was reluctant to embark on the inevitable debate about money, which would probably have ensued.

"No, you didn’t, are they okay?

Well, as far as I know they are physically okay but, unfortunately, Richard has been given notice of redundancy.

And you didn’t tell me?

Maybe I thought I would tell you but the opportunity didn’t arise and I forgot.

You forgot to tell me about a huge problem like that?

Well, is it a huge problem, and anyway is it our problem, doesn’t the problem belong to Hannah and Richard?

Rose, communication – what’s happened to our communication – I don’t understand why you would keep something like that a secret?

I suppose because I just knew it would cause yet another problem and to be honest, I can do without any more of them.

Okay, well, now we know we’ve got a problem what do we do about it?

There we went – a problem – and it never was a joint problem, but a problem for which I was responsible. By relating any problem to Greg, I was telling myself that I had to confront and sort it. During the evening meal it was decided – after the debate on how we might financially help with the dilemma, how it might stretch our own budget, etc. – that we needed to discuss things over with Hannah and Richard tomorrow.

Fancy a drink? Greg uncharacteristically queried as he dried the dishes.

It’s Thursday?

Yes, but Kim said he might go down the pub tonight with Ali and wondered whether we might want to join them.

Yeah that would be good. This was a treat as we didn’t usually venture out except at week-ends, but the pub always signified an escape because, with a pint of beer in front of him, Greg was a changed man. I had never been able to work out whether it was the pub atmosphere or the alcohol which brought about the change, but I knew for sure that the change would reverse when we were back on home territory.

Searching through for something to wear, I came up with a fairly old black top which I thought looked okay with jeans – it was only the local pub, wasn’t it, and I didn’t possess a lot of really ‘good’ clothes, not on the grounds that I couldn’t afford them, because I probably could, but more on the grounds that I felt them to be a waste of money. Why would you spend a lot of your hard-earned income purchasing ‘smart’ clothes which would make you feel uncomfortable when you already possessed a wardrobe of clothes which gave you the flexibility to feel okay? The only flamboyancy I had was in buying necklaces, believing that a plain top which felt comfortable, set off with a reasonable quality necklace, sat easier with me than something flashy. So, decked in my old black top and blue denims, I donned a beautiful butterfly necklace in silver and blue john (a wonderful dark-blue streaked stone) and felt I looked just about right for a Thursday night at the local.

You’ve had that a long time, Greg pointed to my necklace.

Yes, do you remember?

Castleton, 1981.

Thought you would have forgotten.

Now how could I ever forget that summer, he said with a grin.

I drifted back to our camping holiday in 1981, the small orange tent, the farmer’s field on which we pitched it, the bacon sandwiches we shared in the morning and the immensity of the beautiful sunny world which encapsulated and held us tightly together in the days before clouds bubbled and emerged on the horizon.

Ali looked superb as usual with a turquoise silk top floating over wide black trousers and heels which set her on an insurmountable pedestal.

Where did you dig that one from? she queried, pointing to my necklace.

Stretches back to the days of sunshine, I said winking.

Okay, she acknowledged with a nod.

Greg smiled somewhat dreamily and I began to feel his change in mood. Funny that, I felt we’d been together for so long (well we are ancient aren’t we) that I could now almost catch his mood as it shifted, and there appeared to be a definite shift tonight, or then again, it could be the beer.

Did you get the application forms, Rose?

I placed a finger up to my lips in response to Ali as I turned to see Greg rising to help Kim with the drinks.

Well? she persisted.

Yes, I collected them, but they’re rather lengthy.

Doesn’t take too much filling in though when you get round to it.

I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention it tonight Ali, ’cause I’ve said nothing to Greg yet, I pleaded as I watched him returning with the drinks.

Have you two had a look at the application forms yet? Kim announced. Funny coincidence that, I thought but, of course, Ali and Kim had been together for almost as long as us and so maybe the telepathy thing worked with them too.

I told you at lunch, Kim, that I’m not sure we would enjoy the kind of input a holiday like that would give us.

And what kind of input do you perceive that to be? questioned Ali.

Feeling relieved that the whole business of the application forms was now out in the open, I settled back into my comfy seat in the company of a large glass of red Merlot to hear Greg’s reply.

Well, he struggled, I suppose the best way to describe my thoughts on your description of the holiday is that it might be just a bit too personal for me and Rose.

Oh, Ali nodded at Greg and then turned to me. What about you, Rose?

Not sure, I gingerly ventured, sometimes personal is good, I suppose, if you want to broaden your horizons.

The application forms and the holiday had probably occupied a fair amount of unconscious thought since I picked them up, and I think I was beginning to believe that it probably would be a good idea for us, although I knew Greg would oppose it to the end.

There you are, Greg, Kim nudged him as I spoke. What have you got to lose?

Therein lies the problem, Greg replied. In a way, I suppose we maybe have nothing to lose, although of course it could be everything.

What was he talking about, I thought, a coach holiday to Northumberland – I knew it was not what we were used to because, up to present, the only person who has ever shared our holidays together was Hannah but, I mean, it’s only the journey there and back which we would share with other holidaymakers.

You’ve got it all wrong, Kim strove to reinforce. The sharing is the beneficial part.

How can I be sure of that?

Because I have told you; Ali will say the same and we are still in touch with a few of the folks we went with, who would also, if you wanted to listen, extol the virtues of the Northumberland holiday.

But you won’t go into details about it, will you?

No, I can’t because it’s different every year and so I don’t know what the details will be for this year.

It’s true, piped in Ali, we were told that each year was very different.

And we were also told not to give too much away, Kim added with a grin.

"I’ll