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Sixty-Six and Gabrielle Casey

By

Bridget Flannery

 At sixty-six Gabrielle Casey is taking stock of her life, remembering the past and looking forward to the future. Alone in the town her family have lived in for generations, she puts her feelings of rejection aside and embraces life with the enthusiasm of a young woman enjoying the simple challenges to life and the more exciting ones.

She gets herself into ship-shape order, advertises for a gentleman companion , helps a child from an inner city school and looks after a horse.

A trip to visit her son in Florida turns out to have an unexpected end, with a cruise on a super large boat and an attempted murder but her optimism remains undiminished.

 

“It’s either the beginning of Alzheimer’s or the start of a slow decline,” thought Gabrielle. The day had started badly. She got out her car to take the old ladies dog for its usual walk on the common and round the woods, reached the bottom of the road and stopped.

“Hells bells,” she said and reversed immediately back to pick up the dog. The walk was fine. They went passed brown hedges like tangled balls of wool and through last years grasses bent over by the wind. The dog as usual wagged her tail, sniffed at any discarded food and became quite excited at the smell of rabbits. They were well hidden and took no chances to show themselves. Back home Gabrielle locked the garage door and went into the warm kitchen.

“Hells bells,” she said again,”

“The dog.”

Oh dear, it was still in the garage and Gabrielle thought it would be hard to ask an old lady of ninety to keep a check on the mind of one much younger. “Well I’m glad you’ve remembered me. Just because I’m a dog it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings”. His eyes gave the game away.

“I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again,” she said.

The afternoon went much better. Despite poor conditions she and her partner played golf well so morale soared. She was pleased she was asked about her holiday, surprised that she’d even been missed. One doesn’t usually miss a single lady of a certain age. It had been nice to escape for a short time. Living in a small town had its limitations and some people thought it the centre of the universe.

It was always nice to play with a young woman with dark hair and the exotic looks of a Turkish delight. She was full of Eastern promise; her eyes were alive, her wit sharp and you could tell by her manner that she came from a cultured background. She was treated as an outsider by some, though not lacking in intelligence or money. Being a widow didn’t help. You had to have a man with connections to the right clubs which were filled with a fair selection of self important people, especially the Métis club where you had to be invited to join. Métis came from a Greek word meaning wise but Gabrielle thought their criteria must be very liberal. The Turkish delight had been in the doghouse the previous day for missing two putts and it was an important competition. Her partner, a very robust lady, health fanatic with developed muscles and who could have been mistaken for a Russian shot putter, said she was going to pieces. Gabrielle thought they might well have something in common.

An irritation was LettyYates, whose cheeks were smothered in rouge and who was often undecided as to whether to hit the ball above or below her bosoms. On and off the course she knew everything about everything, but lacked the reasoning and facts to support most of her views. She also had the unusual habit of beginning all her written words with capital letters. Most of all she’d married a man of wealth which immediately pushed her to the top of local society and was invited to all the dinner parties. Always full of flashy promotion and delusions of grandeur she was like a tree creeper, a small bird with a long beak.

It was hard to imagine the conversation at some dinner parties but belonging to the right groups was important; even funerals could be a social event. The deceased person might well have not had many frequent visitors whilst poorly but anyone who thought highly of themselves would be there. It was important to be seen and being a member of the right club supposedly enhanced a person’s social standing.

The Metis club held their meetings on Friday evenings in an up market country pub and on two occasions Gabrielle had been in an adjacent dining room. The men strutted out with airs of self importance. Simmons of flat roofs and fascias had eye-balls that swivelled round at great speed. Not a handsome face, but rather boastful that he had the pick of several ladies for his second wife. Clark,a former bank manager had very dark rimmed glasses, which seemed to exaggerate his baldness as he stretched his hand over his belly to give the royal wave to someone and Thompson who lived in the same road definitely needed to eat curries. Curcumin which gives the vivid yellow colour to turmeric helps keep the brain working well. Métis was an entirely inappropriate word to describe them for they were far from la crème de Ia crème. It certainly was a clean pants day though, best suits, well ironed shirts, smart ties.

Among some of their ladies the main topic of conversation would be the right clothes shops and the necessity to stay at the best hotels or go on an acceptable cruise liner. Certainly the mysteries of the universe would not be discussed or even the merits of a good film or book. Most wouldn’t even know what a broadsheet was, yet would be well acquainted with bank balances. Small talk and gossip were important and it was a great relief to Gabrielle that she had a good number of intelligent and cultured friends. At sixty-six Gabrielle was retired. There was plenty of thinking time. Thoughts of her family passed through her mind and although she regarded herself as still young it was time for some sort of evaluation. Still she couldn’t do that now. In one hour she had to be seated in the church for a wedding.

Maisiebell took off the antique dress. She looked a real old broad with her skinny arms and legs and her shoulders seemed quite pointed. It would be painful if she knocked them. There looked a lot of bone and little skin. Her legs seemed to come from one point near her tummy and spread out as they reached her feet.

“You guys have a shower first. We’ve had a lovely day and 1 think we’ll get on fine.”

There was no mention of a makeover; in fact by her smiles and softer voice Gabrielle assumed she was trying to create a nice atmosphere. She proceeded to get out bottles and tubes. Gabrielle looked to see if there was a special suitcase for them and there was a collection of pills that resembled the petals that young girls throw out at religious festivals.

Climbing up the ladder was easy but actually getting a leg over onto the bunk much harder and she hit her knee on top of the post.

“Oh God,” she cried it was so painful and not at all dignified. It wouldn’t do her arthritis any good either. Back home she pasted herself up with garlic and vinegar which worked fine but made her smelly; she couldn’t do that here. She thought of a whale floundering on a beach and was beginning to wish she hadn’t come on the boat. When she was settled Gabrielie cursed. She’d got the plastic beaker wedged up in the corner of the bunk but had forgotten to fill it. No way was she getting down again. Sometimes her mouth got dry in the night and she did like a small drop of water.

“Now Evie and Gabrie lie I’m going to give you a small tot of whisky. It will help you to sleep well especially if any of us snores.”

“Oh thank you, but I don’t like whisky.”

“Nonsense, you must have it. I’ve bought it especially for you.” She was reverting to type and simply despite protestations poured out two glasses.

“Get it down you and then I’ll collect the glasses.”

Within half an hour Evie was gently snoring away. Gabrielle had poured her drink into the empty plastic beaker, took deep breaths and pretended she was in the same happy state. She hoped she’d wedged the beaker up tightly against the wood and dreaded the thought of the contents spilling onto the day clothes below. The clatter of washed glasses against the hand basin stopped and Gabriefle wondered if Maisiebell was getting into bed. She wanted to see what she was wearing but didn’t have the nerve to lean over the side. All of a sudden she heard the door open gently and quietly shut. She sat up and peered over. No Maisiebell. Where could she have gone? The men had said they were all going to bed. What could she be doing? Perhaps she was having a cigarette on the quiet. What a hoot!

The next morning Gabrielle woke to find the beaker secure. Thank goodness, she thought. She moved her toes carefully.

“Good morning both of you.”

“Hi”, replied two voices.

“Did you both sleep well?” asked Maisiebell.

Evie and Gabrielle replied yes almost at the same time. In fact Evie said she’d never slept so well. Maisiebell was chirpy. After she’d taken more pills and put on the day clothes she shot out to get a coffee. Gabrielle picked up the beaker to empty it. At the bottom she noticed sediment. The beaker was clean and presumably the glass had been clean. To her knowledge whisky didn’t leave sediment. She was puzzled and decided to keep it.

After breakfast they went ashore. It was nice pottering round. Maisiebell decided to follow.