copyright@gerryrose

Trish had recently been called in to her GP for what they called an MOT. She didn’t like being compared to a car, but is she was a car she would definitely have a few dints, worn tyres, dodgy steering and some worrying squeaks and wheezes. The GP who looked about 18, asked her some very personal questions. Of course she knew better than to tell the truth. He took her blood pressure and told her it was too high. She claimed she had ‘White coat hypertension’. He told her that he would send her next door to the nurse for some blood tests after her appointment. He was looking at a template on the screen of his computer and barely looked at her. She guessed that like most women of her age she was sort of invisible to him. He asked her how many cigarettes she smoked and she told him she smoked only 2 a day. He questioned her about her diet and she told him what she thought someone who lived in Lewes would tell him. She told him she was a great fan of blueberries and homemade muesli. She informed him that she just loved avocadoes. She boasted about the virgin olive oil she bought from a small producer in Spain and how many portions of oily fish she ate per week. She had looked up the Government alcohol guidelines and cut them by a third, as she had heard that whatever answer you gave a GP they doubled it anyway. She droned on about drinking lots of water and drinking herbal tea.
She didn’t tell many people that she still smoked. She was discreet and was able to pick and choose when to light up. She drank to excess and felt that was her choice and she wasn’t about to have some young lad tell her to stop. She had reached 73 without too many issues and had every intention of continuing her life as she wanted to live it. She read stories about people who lived to be 105 and had never smoked or drunk alcohol. Her opinion was that everyone had some sort of vice. She had no desire to live to be 105 if she couldn’t indulge in the things that gave her pleasure.
A few weeks later she got her blood test results and she realised that if you lie about your lifestyle, science will catch you out. She was told to stop smoking, reduce her drinking, eat more fruit and vegetables and exercise more. At least she was not told to lose weight. Trish had always preferred alcohol to cake.
She felt a bit down and knew what would cheer her up. She needed a holiday but she was struggling to find anyone who wanted to go with her. Babs seemed to be ignoring her. Her old journalist friends were mostly all reformed characters who were living in places like Sevenoaks, the Lake district, Cornwall, Devon and Dorset. Most of them had ancient partners who were not up for any adventures preferring to sit by a woodburning stove and listen to classical music whilst reading biographies of other ancient people usually men. Trish thought it was time to explore the solo holiday scene. It was early November and the thought of Christmas alone did not appeal to her. She would be 74 on Christmas day and she wondered how many more years she had left.
She wanted to find a holiday company that catered for people like her. She found a company called ‘Senior Singles Luxury Tours’, the brochure was full of silver haired hot men and women who were happy to stay in luxury hotels regardless of what it cost. She liked the message. ‘Being senior, single and wealthy is something to be proud of! So indulge yourself with us. No hiding in the corner on a table for 1.’ She booked herself on a trip to Venice staying in the Hotel Danieli. She had heard that some Solo’s holiday companies were so anxious to avoid passing on a single supplement to their clients that they tended to stay in hotels which were so far out of the city centre, that the ambiance of the city at night was completely lost. Trish wanted to be able to soak up the atmosphere of the city and she wanted very good food. She had heard that some Solo companies let people down at Christmas, by staying in 3 star hotels and expecting guests to eat in the hotel restaurant. Trish had learned very early in life that on the whole you get what you pay for. Pay very little and expect rubbish. However, she also hated restaurants who took the piss. She knew of a few of those in Brighton.
Whilst Trish was single she wasn’t wealthy. She would describe herself as comfortable. She felt a little less comfortable, when she saw how much her 4 days in Venice would cost her but she was determined to enjoy her Birthday, as last year’s Birthday and Christmas had been a bit of a damp squib. She knew that very few people had perfect Christmases. Those glossy magazines had a lot to answer for, as did Delia Smith. Once the holiday was booked, she arranged to meet up in London mid-December with an old journalist pal Tara who hadn’t put herself out to grass. Trish would shop for outfits that she might never find, or wear in Brighton and Hove as most of the residents dressed down. She knew there were cocktail parties and 3 dinners which demanded some elegant attire. She might never wear the outfits again but she was not going to look like a rag bag. She would keep it simple some elegant evening trousers with some sparkly pumps and some evening tops which added a little sparkle and style. She felt that during the day she probably had enough smart casual winter attire, but did feel a new winter jacket and some nice scarves would be good additions. She would meet Tara for cocktails and an early dinner before catching the train back to Brighton.
Trish was looking forward to her day out in London. On the train she reflected on the day ahead. She had enjoyed the time she had lived in London, but she did not feel that she would cope with living there now. She thought about her life in Hove. She felt that apart from Babs she didn’t have many close friends in Hove despite living there for over 35 years. She wondered why this was the case. Her oldest friends didn’t live in Hove. She found making real friends in later life very difficult. She had acquaintances in Hove, but Babs was the only person that she considered to be a friend and now Babs seemed to be ignoring her. Trish knew that she wasn’t a very tolerant person. Babs had told her once, that she came over as a little aloof and somewhat self-interested and self-absorbed. Babs did not mince her words. Trish wondered if she should make more of an effort to be more sociable and perhaps she should pursue a new interest. Babs told her that she hadn’t found her tribe in Brighton and Hove. Trish didn’t know who her tribe would be. Looking back on her life she thought that she had not been proactive enough and had never learned to have a good work life balance. She had put too many eggs in the work basket and had not really made much effort in her personal life. She was never one of the pretty girls and never learned how to flatter, or please men. She had never lived with a man and had never been married. She did have regrets about not having children, but never found a man who was worthy enough to get serious about. Her relationships had always been pretty whirlwind and passionate, but as quick as they started so they ended. She found the day to day reality of a relationship outside of the bedroom very disappointing and boring. Domesticity was very dull. The heady days of the relationship always seemed to come to an abrupt end for her. She probably wasn’t equipped to tolerate true intimacy which was often messy and unpleasant. Once she got to know a man she found their ways were not easy to cope with. Men were not always the cleanest of creatures and she found some of her boyfriends habits very hard to cope with. She wondered why novels about romance were so inaccurate. She felt that some men went to great efforts to woo women, but once they felt they had got their prize they stopped trying and showed their true messy flawed selves. Trish did not want messy and flawed. She knew this was a little unusual and some would say that she was odd, but she had stood her ground and ended relationships when the man became too complacent. She knew from friends that most relationships slipped into a sort of companionship after a while and both sides let their guard down. She was simply not prepared to descend into that abyss. The reality of her life now was that she was enough and wanted to do exactly what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it. She knew that the price for this was spending a lot of time on your own. She would rather be on her own, than tied into some sort of compromise. She had always known that she found it very hard to compromise.
Trish headed for Knightsbridge and did her usual perusal of what was in vogue and then went to cheaper shops to find the best copies. If she didn’t find the best copies she would return to Harvey Nichols and buy the best she could afford. She did not bother with lunch because she would be eating with Tara later. Time seemed to move very quickly and soon it was time to meet Tara armed with her purchases. They had agreed to meet at 5pm in the bar at the St Martins Lane hotel. Tara had been to Cuba and was now obsessed with rum and said the bar at the hotel had a great selection of rums and did delicious cocktails. Tara said they would go to Joe Allen’s afterwards. Tara was far less of a gourmet than Trish. Trish did like the food at Joe Allen’s as it was unpretentious and tasty and not far from the hotel. Trish was keen to hear about Tara’s holiday and knew that there would be some hilarious stories of Tara’s antics.
Tara was the same age as Trish and showed absolutely no sign of growing up. Trish and Tara had drunk their way through the late 70’s, 80’s, 90’s and noughties and they showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. At the Daily Rag they earned the reputation for women who shouldn’t be messed with. They were ruthless when it came to getting a story, loved a drink and their articles were always eye-catching, novel and memorable. They both liked to find stories which were challenging and ground breaking. Tara had exposed the dodgy practises of employment agencies in the late 70’s by working in one for a week. She discovered that the jobs which appeared in the windows to entice people in were usually made up. Agencies, who wished to boost their footfall of job seekers, would call people up on the pretence of finding a job that would suit them and get them to come in, only to be told after travelling in from the depths of Essex and beyond, that the jobs had gone.
Trish’s favourite London story was about the time she worked undercover at a well-known London hotel and wrote about rich widows propositioning the room service waiters for sex. She remembered the title, ‘I’d like a sausage on the side please-sex starved widows order a little of what they fancy at London Hotel.’ Unfortunately another story broke and hers got buried.
When Trish arrived Tara was sitting in the bar and was half way through her first cocktail. She was wearing a rather garish embroidered top. Tara rose to give Trish a hug and commented on the number of bags she had. Trish thought Tara looked thinner and despite her tan, she wasn’t looking that great. Trish knew that the older you get the more you notice friends you don’t see very often ageing quickly, you seem to spot a few more crow’s feet and a more pronounced turkey neck each time you saw them. She knew that Tara was looking at her and thinking the very same. Of course nothing was mentioned and the usual lies were expounded.
‘Trish you get younger every time I see you, it must be that sea air.’
‘Thank you darling and your holiday must have been great because you are looking fabulous. Did you buy that top in Cuba?’
‘Yes, I found a local woman who recycles things that tourists leave behind and uses local vegetable dyes.’
‘Gosh you must wear it when you come to visit me in Hove. You will fit right in if we venture into the North Laines in Brighton!’
‘I am having a Mojito and I recommend that you start with that and then I have given the Mixologist the recipe of my favourite Cuban cocktail and he said he would be delighted to mix it for us. It is called Death to all Americans and is pretty strong but delicious.’
Trish ordered a Mojito.
‘So tell me all about Cuba.’
‘Amazing! I met a man on my first night in Havana who wanted to introduce me to rum and salsa dancing. I was on a tour but I arranged to meet him the next night for drinks and dinner.’
‘How old was this man?’
’40 and divorced.’
‘Good lord.’
Trish’s Mojito arrived and she was glad for the distraction.
‘This is good Tara, I have always loved a well made Mojito and this is great.’
Tara was not going to be distracted from telling her tale.
‘He had no money of course, so I paid for him and in return he introduced me to the best rum cocktails, taught me some basic salsa moves and fucked me all night long!’
‘Goodness me.’
‘You should go Trish, it would do you the world of good. I have booked another trip next year and I am hoping that Jose will be able to see me again.’
‘Did you end up by giving him money?’
‘Yes and it was worth every penny. Do you know how much he earned a month? 25 dollars.’
‘Was he good looking?’
Tara took out her phone and scrolled through her photographs. She found a photo of her and Jose sipping Daiquiris in El Floridita. Trish thought that Jose looked a little skinny, but could see his charm and even though he looked like he was with someone old enough to be his mother, she still felt he was far better looking than a 73 year old British man. Trish knew that sex tourism was common for men. Anytime she heard about a single man visiting Thailand she always became rather suspicious of what he was getting up to. She knew there were older women who went to Ghana and Sri Lanka and ended up with young men. Trish’s investigative journalist was wondering if their was an article to write about older women going to Cuba.
‘Well he is far better than anything currently on Bumble!’
‘How do you know?’
‘Oh I have enough acquaintances who are still trying internet dating to know what is available.’
‘Ok, not tempted yourself?’
‘No because I have seen what is available and I compare it to the experience you have when you enter your favourite shop and head for the sale rail. You feel that you should buy something, because the price is reduced, but you don’t see anything you like. Some people will choose anything and later they will regret it. Just because something is available it doesn’t mean you have to compromise.’
‘That is quite a good analogy. I think the internet is always seducing us to try things which purport to be one thing yet turn out to be something else entirely. Are you ready for another cocktail?’
‘Yes having seen your photo I would like to have a Daiquiri.’
‘I think I will have one too! Fond memories of sex after several of those.’
Trish had heard enough and decided to change the subject.
‘How is your flat coming along?’ Tara had downsized from a 3 bedroom house to a studio flat about a year ago. She had stayed in Wimbledon and now had a small flat just off the common. She had released quite a bit of capital which was now funding her exotic holidays. Like Trish she had never been married but had lived with a much older man who had died leaving her his house about a decade ago. This had upset his children who had thought they should inherit the house.
‘The decorator finished whilst I was away. It suits me and now I can start on my next project.’
‘Which is?’
‘I am writing my memoire and you feature in it of course.’
‘I hope I am painted in a good light Tara and that you are not too accurate about some of our escapades. This Daiquiri is slipping down nicely but I will need to eat soon. What time is the table booked for?’
‘At 7pm but there is still time for the special cocktail. I was writing about the time we dressed in Burkas and visited that restaurant in Knightsbridge and met the two Arab Princes.’
‘God that was a night! We drank them under the table!’
‘We did a few other things under the table too, or have you forgotten?’
‘We were dreadful weren’t we. Whilst our peers were getting married and having babies we just focussed on our jobs and a lot of booze went with the territory.’
They downed the Daiquiris and Tara gave the Mixologist the go ahead to make the special cocktail. Trish looked at the other customers in the bar and guessed they must have been at least 40 years younger than them and they were still sipping their first cocktails.
The special cocktail arrived and it was a very long drink which surprised Trish. She took one sip and knew exactly how it gained its name, she could taste a Bourbon base and there was a hint of pumpkin spices. Tara insisted on paying the bill. They had 20 minutes before they had to leave to walk to the restaurant. Half way through the cocktail Trish felt a little unwell. She told Tara to go ahead to the restaurant as she was going to the bathroom. She left her bags under the table and made her way down the stairs. She made it to the loo but felt very light headed. She walked up the stairs and retrieved her bags and left the bar.
The next thing she knew was that someone was calling her name. She opened her eyes and realised that she was being spoken to by a nurse.
‘Patricia are you awake?’
No one called her Patricia anymore. She tried to sit up but was completely unable to move.
‘Where am I?’
‘You are in University College Hospital. Don’t try to move you have had an accident. What do you remember?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all.’
‘Do you know the date Patricia?’
‘That depends how long I have been here.’
‘Good answer. What is the last thing you remember?’
‘I was with my friend Tara and we had some cocktails.’
‘Yes Patricia and what happened after that?’
‘No idea.’
‘You were hit by a cyclist. You have broken your leg and have some nasty bruises and cuts.’
‘Do you have my shopping?’
‘I don’t know anything about your shopping. The Police would like to speak to you perhaps they know something about your shopping.’
‘How long does it take to recover from a broken leg?’
‘The doctors will talk to you about your recovery, but I have to warn you the older you are the longer it takes for bones to knit and sometimes they don’t.’
Trish felt this nurse was a proper thief of joy.
‘Have you got my handbag?’
‘Your property will have been put in your bedside cabinet.’
Trish tried to move to open the cabinet but she felt too bruised and uncomfortable.
‘Please can you open the cabinet for me.’
The nurse called over a care assistant.
‘Sarah can you help Miss Walsh please I have to check on other patients.’
Sarah was a rather sullen looking girl and didn’t look as though she had ever wanted to help anyone.
‘Sarah can you check if my handbag is in the cabinet please.’
Sarah opened the cabinet and said there was no sign of a handbag.
Trish now felt somewhat panicky. She had no phone, no wallet and no means of contacting anyone. All of her life was on that phone. She imagined that someone had found her wallet and had maxed out her contactless cards. She did not know anyone’s numbers by heart. She didn’t have her house keys. How on earth was she going to contact her bank. She hadn’t wanted to speak to the Police but now she wanted to talk to them and find out if they are able to help her out of this situation. She wondered what Tara was doing. Had she tried to find her when she didn’t turn up to Joe Allen’s. Trish knew one thing for certain about Tara, Tara would have waited a short while and perhaps she had called and left a voicemail, but she would have looked after Tara and would have ordered the burger which those who knew always ordered, even though it was not on the menu. Trish began to feel somewhat foolish. No fool, like an old fool her father used to say. She always knew that just because you had grown old it didn’t mean you had grown-up.
Then it occurred to her, how did they even know her name?