Two friends, two destinies
Valerie gazes mournfully at her reflection in the mirror.
Old age has finally caught up with me, she sighs, noting the sagging cheeks, a double chin and deep lines. Im 66 nowno small number, especially after a life like mine. She struggles to fasten the hair rollers her daughter slipped onto her head this morning.
Today the village of Littlebrook celebrates the 50th anniversary of the opening of its secondary school. Valerie was among the first batch of pupils to graduate. The school is being decked out for the ceremony; officials from the nearby town of Ashford will attend, and the whole community gathers. Former classmates, now living far away, promised to come, though many will never make the trip. Some have already passed on after all these years.
A dog barks in the yard. Valerie looks out the window and sees a woman lingering by the gate. She pulls on an old cardigan and goes to meet the guest. At first she doesnt recognise her, but when the woman speaks, Valerie realises it is her old school friend, Gillian.
I received the invitation and thought Id finally come back home, Gillian says, eyes bright. I have nowhere else to stay. My own family isnt around any more. Will you let me stay?
Of course, Valerie replies, and the two women embrace, tears slipping down their cheekspart joy, part sorrow.
You look lovely and stylish, Valerie comments, admiring her friend.
Living in the city has its demands, Gillian answers. My husband was a respectable manager, so I had to keep up appearances. If I lived in a village, Id be just like you! Sorry if that sounds harsh.
Its fine, Im not offended, Valerie says. Youre about fifteen years younger than me, even though were the same age.
That evening, the women in their fineries head to the school. Only eight people have travelled from the city, and many of them struggle to recognise each other after so long. After the formal part of the ceremony, tables are laid out, drinks are raised to the reunion, and stories begin to flow. Laughter fills the hall as memories surface, and they finally part ways around midnight.
Gillian returns to Valeries house, still wide awake. They sit together until the early hours, talking. Gillian shares her city life: her husband was a good man, and they were close, but he died three years ago. Their only daughter lives in London, graduated from university and has married well. She and her husband are childfreea term Gillian pronounces with a hint of pride. Valerie explains that the phrase describes couples who deliberately choose not to have children.
Gillian is saddened by the situation, but theres little she can do. Her daughter visits only a couple of times, usually for workrelated reasons, and even missed her fathers funeral because of a demanding job. She doesnt invite her mother over, though she does send money. Thanks to that support, Gillian can afford a weekend at a spa and get by without counting every penny. Her own pension is tiny, as she never built a full work record; her late husband kept her from taking any jobs.
How are you holding up? Valerie asks. I heard youre also a widow. Did your Nigel drink heavily? Where are the kids?
Im as ordinary as they come, Gillian replies. Drinking was common among the village men, especially after the local timber mill closed and work vanished. Most of us men were like stray dogs, snapping out of control when we got drunk. My husband was sober and gentle; when he was intoxicated, he turned into a monster. I fought him back then, sometimes sleeping in my coat because I knew the drunk would storm in. I tried to keep a small pig farmtwo sows, a few pigletsto sell meat. I even raised a hawk, but it died of a disease. He finally quit drinking and smoking, but it was too late; his body was already ruined.
My children all stay in the village, she continues. Our daughter Lucy finished a teaching course and now works at the primary school; my soninlaw is the headmaster and also a local councillor. You saw him todaygood man, fought to keep the school from being cut down to nine grades by writing to the Department of Education in London. My twins served together in the army and now both work on rigs in the North Sea; the pays decent. I have six grandchildren, two per child, and they love having a big family. The boys rarely drink, only on holidays, and theyre proud of their heritage.
The next morning, Valerie walks Gillian to the bus stop, handing her a parcel of bacon slices, a slab of cheese and a jar of raspberry jam. Outside, the wind bites, and Gillian looks more polished than Valerie. Gillian is slender, bundled in a fashionable puffer coat, a fluffy fur hat, lowheeled boots and lipstick. Valerie, by contrast, wears an outofstyle coat, sturdy felt shoes and a woolen shawl.
A bus arrives. The friends hug, promise to call each other, and Gillian hops on with ease while Valerie trudges home, her steps heavy but her heart lighter.
It seems the two women started from almost the same point, yet life has taken them down very different roads. Chance? Luck? What unseen forces steer the destinies of women? Perhaps the answer is not as clearcut as it first appears. Who, after all, is the happier one?
