Dancing Over the Hill: The new feel good comedy from the author of The Kicking the Bucket List
shared experiences, good and bad. It’s a lot to let go of, and we’ve muddled along together so far – plus even to think about it at the moment is bad timing.’
‘I agree, you can’t do it when he’s just been made redundant.’
‘Exactly. It would be like kicking a man when he’s down.’
‘So what’s changed, apart from him losing his job?’
‘Me. I can’t help asking if it’s enough to muddle on.’
‘And have you decided what to do about Tom?’
‘Not yet. I was about to delete the request to be friends but, and I know this might sound mad, part of me likes the fact that his request is there, like an unopened, unexpected gift. As long as it remains unopened, it offers all sorts of possibilities.’
‘You can’t be the only woman who’s had a secret fantasy, Cait. It’s not as if you’ve done anything, and I would have thought Debs would be sympathetic if you told her. You know how open-minded she is.’
‘Yes, but you heard her at the restaurant when she said I should be grateful that I at least still have a man. It’s true. I should be. Matt is one of the good guys. He’s dependable, hard-working, a gentleman in the true sense of the word. Maybe I’m an ungrateful old witch.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. No marriage is perfect and you’ve both been through a lot lately.’
‘It’s not just that, Lorna. Our marriage has gone stale. On the outside, it all looks normal, but is it? Do I have unrealistic expectations? Now he’s home twenty-four hours a day, I’m more aware than ever of the fact that we rarely talk about anything meaningful, never touch, not any more.’
‘Oh, Cait, I am sorry, but all marriages go through bad patches …’
‘This is a very long patch.’
‘And all relationships involve a degree of compromise. I very much doubt that Mr Perfect is out there – an older Darcy, in breeches and boots, aged like a dream. He doesn’t exist and for many couples, the passion wanes.’
‘It certainly has for us. Our sex life? Non-existent. These days, good in bed to me is to be tucked up with a book, and the only hot stuff I experience between the sheets is a cup of tea. I don’t like to ask friends how often they do it and is it worth it when they do.’
Lorna chuckled. ‘Most of us swapped those kind of conversations years ago for discussions of our and everybody else’s health.’
‘Yes, but I get the feeling from the occasional remark made by married friends that Matt and I are the only ones who don’t do it at all any more. I can barely remember the last time we made love. I feel I’m missing out.’
‘Which is why Tom Lewis getting in touch couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time?’
‘I suppose. I can’t help but wonder how he is, how his life has been in the last forty years. He looked good in his profile photo.’
‘In a fantasy, you can imagine him as perfect, but spend a bit of time with him and you’ll probably find he’s as flawed as the rest of us.’
‘Maybe. And not only him – me too. Sorry, I know it’s a silly dream. I just wanted to talk to you about it. I know I’m older now, no longer the young girl he’d remember me being. I’ve changed, and not only appearance-wise.’
‘Cait, you look great, always do.’
‘He might be disappointed if we met up. I couldn’t bear that. No. I know, better to leave the past in the past where it has the rosy glow of nostalgia, though sometimes I can’t help but wonder what might have happened if Chloe Poshgirl Porter hadn’t appeared.’
‘Who was she?’
‘The woman he left me for. Sorry. I know, it’s going over old ground. What could possibly be gained by accepting his friend request but trouble? Deep inside, I do know that, but I don’t know what to do to improve things with Matt. Any advice?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘OK. Here’s the ex-GP speaking. Work on your marriage. Do what you can to improve things. Delete the request from Tom. Come over soon and we’ll have a proper chat. In the meantime, stop acting like an idiot and get on with your life.’
‘Advice noted,’ I said. She was right, and talking to her had helped clarify my thoughts.
After our call, I was about to log into Facebook to delete Tom’s request, but first got up and went to the window to pull the curtains. As I did, I noticed a man zigzagging his way up the middle of the road, clearly very drunk. He looked vaguely like Matt. Christ, that is Matt, I thought as he got closer. What the hell is he doing?
I ran downstairs, grabbed the door keys and went out into the street. ‘Matt, Matt,’ I called. ‘Are you OK?’
He didn’t hear, and continued to stumble his way up the road, then he saw me and waved.
‘Harro, Cait,’ he called as he managed to get on the pavement then half fell into a laurel hedge next door.
‘Where have you been?’ I asked as I went to pull him out and back onto his feet.
‘Duncan. Drink. Cheer m’up,’ he slurred and laughed. ‘Bit pissed.’ He stank of red wine and beer.
‘Did you walk home?’
‘Nhh. Think so. Not. Taxi,’ he said, as he swayed back towards the bushes.
I hauled him back again. ‘Why didn’t you get the cab to drop you at our door?’
Matt grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. Dunno. Dropped me at end of road … ’membered live near here.’
I opened our gate, put his arm round my shoulder and walked, half carrying him, to the porch, where I leant him against the wall while I put my keys in to open the front door. ‘Harro, Cait, I bloody love you,’ he said with a big smile. ‘Lovely lovely Cait. Poor Cait. Sorry.’
He slid down onto the porch floor, then keeled over so that he was lying on the ground, where he turned on his side and curled into a sleeping position. In all the time we’d been together, I’d never seen him so drunk.
‘Not yet, you can’t sleep there,’ I said, and tried to lift him. He was too heavy so I grabbed his wrists and, with some effort, dragged him inside.
‘Wheee,’ said Matt as I pulled him in over the threshold. ‘Oof. Back. Mind my back.’
Once inside, I let go and caught my breath. ‘Come on, Matt, let’s get you to bed.’
‘Okee dokee. Bed.’
‘You have to get up.’
Matt looked bewildered at this request. ‘Up? How?’
‘Roll onto your side, push yourself onto your knees and get up.’
Matt attempted to do this but failed. ‘Woo, bit wobbly,’ he said as he tried again. As he floundered about, he let out a loud fart.
‘Urgh, Matt,’ I groaned and wafted the air.
Matt seemed to find this hilarious and lay back on the floor laughing. ‘Sorry, sorry, oops.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Smell. Sorry.’ He turned on his side. ‘OK. Going to sleep now.’
‘Fine, you do that.’ I went into the sitting room and found a blanket, which I took back and threw over him.
‘I bloody love you,’ said Matt, then promptly fell asleep.
‘Don’t forget you’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning,’ I said.
But he was gone.
I watched him for a few moments. And there