THE FIVE FACES OF TOMORROW
“Well, at least our children will look after us in our old agethats why we had them, after all. But you, Maisie, youve got a real problem,” Natty said with a teasing, pitying smirk, pouring her another glass of white wine.
The five women lounged in beanbag chairs beneath parasols at a beachside bar in Brighton. The evening hummed with salt, pine, and a whisper of melancholy.
When her friends had invited Maisie to join them at the spa retreat, she hadnt known what to expect. In her mind, “spa” conjured images of something from a bygone erastiff-backed nurses, medicinal baths, and dull routine. Maybe, if she was lucky, a bit of twilight flirtation.
But this was differenta sleek hotel, gourmet meals, massages, and woodland walks through emerald moss, where sunlight dappled the ferns and the air smelled of damp earth and pine.
The sea, though cold and shallow, still brought joy. Stretching left and right from the beach were nudist zones: ladies to the left, gents to the right.
The ladies side had them giggling. “Well, weve still got it, havent we?”
But the mens side that was a different story.
“Oh my, look at that blokeless to boast about than my grandson!” Lottie cackled.
“And that short oneits like hes tucked it all the way in!” Tansy added.
“Cheers, ladies!” came an unexpected male voice.
They burst into laughter, hurrying away with flushed cheeks. Theyd forgottenthis wasnt abroad, not really.
After dinner, no one wanted to leave. The treatments had left them invigorated. The bar played soft music, the sun dipped into the sea, and the conversation, as it always did, turned to aches and painsliterally.
One complained of high blood pressure, another of a stiff wrist, the third of sleepless nights. Then, inevitablyold age, loneliness, children too busy with their own lives.
Maisie tried to lighten the mood.
“Honestly, the worlds gone madwe might not even live long enough to worry about getting old.”
But her friends were already deep in it, swapping horror stories and fragile hopes.
Then, suddenly, Dee perked up.
“Remember when you lost me at the market? I met this old woman selling strange crystals. Bought this one off her.” She pulled a green-blue polyhedron with a chipped tip from her tote bag. “Said it shows the future.”
“Shows what?” Natty squinted.
“The future, apparently. Her English was patchy, but she said, Five visions left. And theres five of us. Why not try?”
They laughed but touched the crystal anyway.
First vision: Natty.
By eighty, Natty had been a widow for five years. She lived in her spacious flat, still sharp, though her eyesight was failing.
Her daughtera high-powered executive, too busy for love, let alone familyvisited out of duty, not warmth.
One day, Natty climbed a chair to fetch an old vase from the top shelf. She fell. No broken bones, just bruises. Her daughter gasped and whisked her away “for a few days.”
White kitchen, white walls, white silence.
Once, Natty spilled tomato juice.
“Mum! Why cant you just sit still?”
“Well,” Natty tried to smile, “at least it breaks up the monotony. Feels less like a hospital.”
The joke hung in the air, unanswered.
Second vision: Dee.
Dee had raised her son alone. Everything for him, everything because of him.
He grew up, became a brilliant programmer, married a German womanand suddenly, all his love belonged to her.
His wife was steel-cold. The house, signed over “for tax purposes,” became hers.
Dees heart fluttered, her breath grew shallow. They cared for herbut with gritted teeth.
“Mum, dont touch that. Mum, stop interfering.”
She hid in her room, cried softly at night, smiled by morning.
One day, she called Natty.
“I cant do this anymore.”
“Pack your bags. Move in with me. Well manage.”
And they did.
One saw poorly, the other walked slowlybut together, they managed.
They laughed at their frailty:
“Blimey, youve swept all the dust into the corners again!”
“But the middles spotless!”
Evenings were for debatespolitics, technology, happiness. They disagreed often, but it never mattered.
Then theyd turn on the telly: Natty listened, Dee described.
“Maybe its a blessing I cant see well,” Natty mused. “The worlds turned ugly.”
“Rubbish,” Dee said. “Were just relics. The world moves on.”
Third vision: Lottie.
Lottie had twin daughters. In old age, one took her in, the other visited with grandchildren.
The house buzzed with laughter, smelled of popcorn and baby shampoo.
“Gran, is it true you were born before the internet?” a curly-haired boy gasped. “Did you see mammoths?”
“Oh yes,” Lottie grinned. “And the tigers had swords for teeth!”
The boy shrieked and hid under the table.
Lottie stroked his curls and thought, “This is happinesstiny and warm.”
Fourth vision: Maisie.
Maisie, a doctor, had spent most of her life alone. Two divorces, countless shifts, hundreds of patients. She worked, saved for retirement. Knew she could rely on no one.
When her strength waned, she chose a care homemodern, cosy, with a garden and Wednesday dances.
And thenshe blossomed.
Shopping trips, bingo, new friends.
At the dances, a charming neighbour with a rollator once asked,
“May I have this cha-cha?”
Maisie laughed. “If you can keep up. Maybe start with something slower?”
Fifth vision: Tansy.
Tansy and her husband had always dreamed of a seaside home. They bought onein a faraway tropical country.
Now, they had paradise: a local woman cooked, cleaned, helped.
Her husband had suffered a stroke, but evenings, Tansy wheeled him onto the shore.
They sat, watching the sun drown in the ocean, talkingor sitting in comfortable silence.
“We made it just in time,” he whispered.
“We did,” she said.
When the visions faded, the women sat quietly.
The sky bruised purple, waves murmured secrets.
“Well,” Tansy cleared her throat, “not so bad, eh?”
“Quite the opposite,” Dee smiled. “Felt human.”
“Even beautiful,” Natty added. “Just fewer bruises next time. More wine?”
They laughed.
The waiter brought another bottle. The crystal on the table caught the dying lightdim but stubborn. Unbroken. Unfaded. Just clearer.
“Let it be,” Maisie said. “Each to her own, but all in allnot bad.”
“Old age is still life,” Lottie said, filling her glass. “Just a different time of day.”
They clinked glasses, and the sea sighed in agreement.
