Time to take Stock.

Story contd.

My trip to America brought my life into focus. It was a new decade; I was forty, in the next few years the boys would be leaving home and they were the glue that was holding our marriage together. William and I discussed this and he – half jokingly - suggested we should buy two separate maisonettes which had little appeal to me. I really loved my home and it suited the whole family. We had put a table tennis in the cellar and the apple loft over the stable had been converted into a teen-agers room.

# 1 son asked if he could have his birthday party there, minus adults, and we said yes provided there was no alcohol. He said no alcohol - no party - so there was no party. The good thing was he didn’t intend to deceive us which I applaud him for. We both took parenting seriously and spent as much time with them as they would allow. We often went to places of interest on Saturdays and I remember one that had a fortune teller in a caravan. William persuaded me to give it a try.

She spent some time studying my hands and she said I was not happily married but I would be eventually and would marry someone from my past. What a load of old codswallop I thought. I couldn’t think of a single person I would want to be married to. On Sundays we did ‘the walk’ and William would take us further and further each time, and then there was always a panic wondering if we would get to the pub before closing time.

The boys although both blonde and blue eyed were very different and had different tastes and talents. They both went on ski-ing and camping trips. I used to give them mini lectures about the importance of hygiene and the dangers of drugs. At least some of it got through; when I went to pick up the younger son after a cub week- end the cub-master was quite worried as my son hadn’t eaten all week-end. When I saw the trestle tables displaying uncovered food I understood why. I had told him never to eat anything a fly had been on. (Look it up -we did it in Biology). Between us we somehow managed to turn out two decent young men I think.

We had a glorious two weeks in Spain and that was the last time the four of us went on holiday together. We had a hairy drive to Granada which was so lovely and as a great treat we had a first class lunch in some beautiful grounds. We went to a bullfight and amongst others saw the matador de nos jours -El Cordobes - but the younger boy was disgusted and walked out. I felt I owed it to Hemingway to see what all the fuss was about but I never went again. Both boys would go sailing with William, the younger one would go youth hostelling and the elder would go on various holidays with either of us, in Scotland and later in France with me, mainly so he could drive as a learner with us chaperoning.

One year William and I took the rare decision to go on holiday together but with one of my old nursing friends (as referee?) – Vanessa who he approved of. It was to be taking a boat on the canals. William was always at his best on a boat and Vanessa and I enjoyed each other’s company and knew the boating couldn’t be too arduous on a canal.

The shop was running smoothly and we had a great team. The boys were now at secondary school and doing well according to their different capabilities; I had made some good friends in the theatre club and got plenty of acting and directing opportunities. I still had the odd upsetting dream about Jamie but on the whole I was content. Maddie had started working for publishers which meant travelling in Europe twice a year so she was a frequent visitor. She went to a Reunion in Oxford and saw both Liam and Jamie. She said later Jamie had problems but didn’t elaborate and I didn’t press her.

Just before we were due to go on the canal holiday with Vanessa, William walked into my room in the middle of the night and said he didn’t feel well. I put the bed-side light on, took one look at him and knew he was having a heart attack. Trying not to let him see my panic I sat him down and told him to just hang on and I would get the doctor straight away. I flew down to the hall and she answered immediately. She had just been out to a house in the same street – also a suspected heart attack- so that until we got the results we clung to the hope that it was just some infection. The doctor arrived very quickly – she said she could tell from my voice how urgent it was.

She did various tests with me still clutching William’s hand and trying to reassure him. The ambulance arrived soon after and the doctor told me to get dressed and to follow the ambulance in my car. I rushed into the boy’s bedrooms and told them that Dad wasn’t very well and I was going with him to hospital but he was going to be fine and I’d be back soon. They had no recollection of this the next morning and were furious with me. I phoned Vanessa and asked her to cancel the canal holiday. We were all in a state of shock.

Hair today!

Story contd.

Mum came down to stay and I really wanted to get her to do something about her hair. It was soft and silky – a strawberry blonde colour – that’s titian in my book - but she wore it in a long plait which she wrapped round her head like a hairy Alice band. I had my own hair done regularly by the top stylists, when they used me, but my personal choice was a Mr Ralph, who was employed by a new, up and coming hair dresser.

Although hairdressers were keen to use me, they found my hair (soft, fine and fly away) difficult until they got used to it. I would tell them the best way to cope with it, but hairdressers never listen to clients – it’s in their DNA. Once a whole session was ruined when the stylist put brilliantine on my hair in spite of my warning her what would happen. Not only did I look as if I had jumped in the pool; the sticky goo had to be thoroughly washed out again.

Mr Ralph was different – quiet and unassuming and a gifted stylist. Mum was doubtful about having her hair cut so I suggested she watched him do mine and then see how she felt. Thoroughly reassured she decided to go ahead. I rejoiced as I saw her lose the dreaded plait and at least fifteen years in the process. She now had a soft pretty style which allowed her natural curl the freedom it had been denied for years. Everybody was delighted – I just hoped Dad would feel the same.

I had chosen this particular salon as my regular salon, because it was a fun place – with rocking music, a real buzz, and discounts for the modelling profession. Some of the Mayfair salons were full of ladies dripping in mink and diamonds, which weren’t my scene. I had met the owner when he was just a young apprentice and he had been given the unenviable task of attaching a solid rubber ring to my hair to represent a ‘Juliet’ hair style. It was an impossible task and the brushing got more and more violent until finally he flung down the brush, said he was a hair stylist not a (censored) genius.

He became world famous for his geometric hair styles – closely associated with the fashion icon Mary Quant. My type of hair was anathema to him and we had a friendly agreement for the rest of my modelling days that I would never ask him to cope with my hair again. My favourites of the many famous stylists were Steiner; who did wonderfully romantic styles, and French of London.

During Mum’s stay we had lots of chats but I didn’t talk about my marriage – I remembered her retort when Maddie’s was in trouble:

“You’ve made your bed – you must lie on it.”

We did talk about starting a family – she was just eighteen and Maddie not much older when they started their’s. I suddenly realised the next birthday I would be twenty –six; the bookings were pouring in and unless I made a stand, another year would fly by. But how would I break it to Paula? A fait accompli seemed the only answer; so my New Year’s resolution was to start a family. It was a wonderful release to discard all the family planning paraphernalia and by the end of January I was preggers.