This story was published in the May
2000 edition of Yours, a magazine for the
young-at-heart.
Whatever happened to that magical sparkle? by Rosalind Adam
We’d been married 45 years and I
was determined to have a party. When I mentioned it to Jack at breakfast he
didn’t seem very keen. He looked at me with the sort of expression that he used
to reserve for the children’s birthday parties.
“Oh, Mary, have you really thought
it through?” he said. “There’s the shopping and cooking and all those people.
Why ever do you want to create such a lot of hard work for yourself?”
“It’s 45 years, Jack, and anyway,
it’ll be fun. All those people, as you call them, are our friends and family,
and it’s not that hard entertaining, not if we decide to spend a bit more and
get ready-made stuff from the supermarket.”
I could tell from the twist of his
lips that he didn’t approve of what he calls ‘unnecessary expense’ but he
didn’t say anything. He just shrugged and went out into the garden.
I watched him through the window as
he edged the lawn, the knees of his trousers all mud-stained and an old tartan
hat pulled down over his forehead. He did look a sight and, what’s more, he’d
be out there all day. I’d hardly seen him since he’d retired. In fact, I think
I saw more of him when he was at work.
I settled down at the kitchen table
to start planning our party. The radio was playing away to itself. I was
concentrating on sausage rolls and salmon sandwiches.
“And now for some songs from way
back when…” I barely heard the voice from the radio but then the song began and
it overwhelmed me.
“Wonderful,
wonderful Copenhagen…”
Danny Kaye’s voice was stirring up
long-forgotten memories, memories of our first date. Jack had taken me to see
Hans Christian Andersen at the Odeon and it had been magical, especially when
Jack held my hand. I was in love and when I got home I’d sung that song over
and over again until my Mother had insisted that she couldn’t stand it any
more. It was such a happy memory. Why did it make me feel sad?
“You are daft,” I told myself as I
went and put the kettle on. “Jack” I called through the open door, “are you
ready for a cuppa?”
“Not just yet, love. I’ve only got
this strip to edge, then I’ll be done.”
Yes, I thought, and then there’ll
be the vegetable patch to weed or the roses to deadhead. I started to sing
along with Danny Kaye, just as I had done all those years ago. I took out cups
and saucers from the cupboard but my mind was somewhere else. I was back in my
parents’ front room, Wonderful Copenhagen
was playing on my father’s gramophone, and Jack was asking me to marry him. I
clutched the empty teapot in my arms as a magical sparkle rushed through my
body, making me shiver. Just for the moment I was young and in love again.
It had been exciting showing my
ring to everyone, making all those plans, and of course this song became even
more special to us after that evening. I’d had wild dreams of going to
Copenhagen for our honeymoon but I knew we’d never be able to.
“Maybe we could go to Torquay,” I’d
said to Jack. “It’s a lovely place for a honeymoon.” I can remember his reply
clearly.
“But we’ll need a kettle and pots
and pans and things,” he’d said. “They’ll be much more use than an expensive
holiday. Be sensible, love.”
Sensible! I’d spent 45 years of my
life ‘being sensible’. I slammed down the teapot and went to turn off the
radio. I’d had enough of nostalgia for one day, but then the music made me
stop. It was Jonnie Ray and he was singing Walking
my baby back home. He sounded so close and so young. It was as if the years
were all layers of heavy clothing that had fallen from my shoulders. I was
light and free and 18 again. I could smell Evening
in Paris dabbed behind my ears and I was walking along the street with my
very own version of Jonnie Ray. His name was Gerry and he was really handsome.
Fancy thinking of him. I’d
forgotten he existed and yet I could see him in my mind as clearly as if he’d
just walked me to the gate. He used to sing this song to me whenever he saw me
home. It always made me laugh, the way he pretended to be Johnnie Ray.
“Where’s that cup of tea then?”
asked Jack coming up behind me and making me jump. While we were drinking our
tea I tried again to talk to him about the party arrangements but he was
obviously not interested. He was more concerned about a patch of moss he’d
discovered down by the path. I felt thoroughly miserable all afternoon.
That evening I decided to try once
more. I waited until we’d cleared away the supper things and were settled down
in front of the television.
“Jack, about his party…”
“Can’t it wait ‘til after the
news?”
“No!” I muttered to myself. “It
can’t wait until after the news.”
I rushed into the kitchen and stood
staring out of the window into the darkness, remembering again those days of
Johnnie Ray and dances in the Church Hall… and Gerry. We were only kids really,
but it had been such good fun. He was always doing wild, crazy things, like the
time he tried to balance on the top of our privet hedge. One minute he was
there and the next he’d disappeared from sight. My Father was livid.
“He’s a bad influence on you. He’s
unreliable and unpredictable. You can do much better for yourself, my girl,”
he’d said.
What I wouldn’t give for a little
unpredictability right now, I thought. I wanted to do something wild and crazy
and spur-of-the-moment. I could hear the newscaster on the TV still droning
away. Whatever happened to Gerry? I wonder if he ever got married. Does he
still live around here? I glanced at the phone book.
“Just a little peep,” I said to
myself and suddenly I was scooping through the pages. Gerry Maywood… there
wouldn’t be many Maywoods in the directory… and there he was… G R Maywood… Gerald
Robert. So he was still around. I decided not to look at the address. That
would be wrong, and anyway, I now knew where to find it.
A tingle of excitement fluttered
through my body. What would he look like now? Would he still be as crazy as
ever? I glanced at the phone and bit my lip nervously. Had I really got the
courage to ring him?
“Are you making a cup of tea before
we go up?” For the second time that day Jack made me jump.
“No! I am not making a cup of tea
before we go up and do you have to say the same thing every night?” I turned
and stomped up the stairs to bed. I felt frustrated with the boring repetition
that had become my life. I heard Jack come up the stairs soon after I got into
bed but I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
Thoughts of Gerry wouldn’t leave my
mind. Surely there would be no harm in a phone call, for old times’ sake. We
could meet up for a coffee, maybe. I don’t know how long I lay awake with
enticing thoughts rushing around in my head but I did finally slip into a
restless sleep.
I woke up just as a grey light was
edging its way around the side of the curtains. The excitement of last night
had turned to sadness and emptiness. I was lying on my side with my back to
Jack. I didn’t want to move. I thought of his grubby trousers and shabby old
hat. Whatever happened to that magical sparkle we once had?
I remembered our first Christmas
together. He’d brought me up a cup of tea in bed and he was wearing a bright
scarlet Santa Claus cape and an enormous white beard made out of cotton wool.
We laughed so much we almost spilt the tea in the bed.
Did I really look up Gerry’s phone
number last night? How could I even have thought of such a thing? I slowly
became aware that there was no movement from Jack’s side of the bed. What if
he’d had a heart attack while I’d been dreaming about another man? I twisted my
body around and, to my surprise, he’d gone.
Before I could go to see where he
was, he came in through the door, carrying a tray with a vase containing one of
my favourite orange roses. Next to the vase were two cups of tea and a card
with my name on it.
“What’s all this about?” I said
creasing my forehead into a frown.
“It’s about you trying to organise
an anniversary party,” His cheeks were flushed and he hesitated for a moment.
“It was supposed to be a surprise, but I can see I’ll have to give it to you
now otherwise it’ll all go wrong.”
I carefully opened the card. Inside
were two air-tickets to Copenhagen and confirmation of four nights in a hotel
overlooking Tivoli Gardens. The flight was to depart on the morning of our
anniversary, the day I’d been planning to invite all those people round.
I sniffed the rose and placed the
tray on the floor. I put my arms around Jack and held him tightly. That magical
sparkle – we still had it after all.
