Some Time Away

Some Time Away

She had seen the answer in the travel agent's window. 'Cycle in France
for under ?200'. She walked through the open door and sat in front of a
girl, twenty years younger than herself. The girl smiled like the
adverts do. All false, all taught by selling skills courses. The smile
wasn't for her and she could see the pity shine ever so slightly
through the girl's blue gaze when she told her she'd be travelling
alone. 'The poor woman', she must have been thinking, 'how sad'.

'How sad', Julie repeated to herself as she approached the boarding
gate, searching for the other middle aged people that she would be
spending the next two weeks with. How sad.
Her girls had been surprised. Happy but surprised. Really she had done
it for them. She wanted them to think that she was alright, that the
void inside of her wasn't growing larger, that she would be back to
normal in no time. She was pleased to see the relief in her girls'
faces. She didn't want them to end up like her. Not like her, but not
like him either. She imagined his amusement when finding out her plans.
He and his woman would have laughed and laughed over an expensive
bottle of Rioja, then gone to bed both secretly happy in the thought
that they were not her.

'Time to start over,' Julie thought on the plane as a plastic tray
containing equally plastic food was put in front of her. They had
forgotten her vegetarian meal but she had been given an extra apple as
compensation. She stared at it blankly and drank her coffee instead.
Three cups, one after the other. The pressure of the cabin was making
her stomach ache. She closed her eyes for a moment until the pain had
subsided then turned and stared out the small, round window. They were
so high up. So high that if she jumped from it, it would take hours to
crash to the earth. Or maybe the sea. Would she plummet into water and
drown or would the fall break her neck first? She was reluctant to try.
She had read somewhere that the windows in planes couldn't be broken.
She was certain of that.

A small, bird-like woman sat next to her. She was reading the in-flight
magazine as Julie stared through the glass. She kept crossing and
re-crossing her little legs under the fold down tray in front of her,
trying to get comfortable. When the stewards took the trays away,
sighing at Julie's wasted food, the woman smiled at her. Julie
pretended not to see. She didn't like people to smile because in her
eyes it was always false. More so when they were people you knew. They
never meant it. It was just convenient.
"Whereabouts are you going then?" The woman asked. Julie turned to
her.
"France," she replied.
"Oh yes of course," she twittered, pushing her large round glasses up
her nose and crossing her legs again. She closed her magazine and slid
it into the seat pocket in front of her. "Whereabouts in France?
Somewhere nice?"
"I don't really know if it's nice," Julie said. "I've never been there
before."
The woman looked away and gazed at the seat in front of her. After a
moment she took out a bag of boiled sweets from her skirt pocket and
placed one in her mouth. Julie turned back to the window, trying to
ignore the clacking sound of the sweet against the woman's teeth.
"I'm going on a cycling holiday, around the Loire Valley," the woman
said through intermittent sucking noises. "To be honest, it's the place
I'm interested in, not the exercise. I'm not as fit as I used to be."
As she said this, she laughed and Julie turned her head. Fitness might
not matter to her, but it did to Julie. It was all she had left. But
she smiled at the woman anyway.
"That's where I'm going." Julie said. The woman pulled out her bag of
sweets and offered her one.

When the coach pulled up outside the farm house, the sun was beginning
to set. Julie wearily walked down the steps and paused on the driveway
as the rest of the group collected their luggage from the coach
compartments. She couldn't make out any detail, as the sun was behind
the building. Its red brick was a blur and the lights inside it were
off.
"It'd better have more to it inside." A man said as he swayed past
Julie carrying a suitcase in each hand. The woman he was with ignored
him but screwed up her face as she approached the building. She let her
husband struggle as she tiptoed over the gravel in shoes that were too
high.
"There'd better be air conditioning," she said.
One by one the party entered the building and each of the windows were
opened and each of the lights were switched on. Julie remained where
she was. She was thinking about how this party would fair on bicycles.
They were all so large, they looked like they had signed up for fat
camp. She knew she looked better than them. She felt superior. But the
smile didn't come. She noticed a couple in an upstairs window. A woman,
who was the width of the window itself, leant out of it, enjoying the
fresh air. The figure of a man stood behind her and when he touched her
back, she turned to him and he hugged her. His fat hands tried to meet
each other but couldn't. Julie watched them, with her rucksack by her
feet, and the smile didn't come.
"Are you coming in?" The woman from the plane was standing in the open
doorway. The coach had driven away and Julie's suitcase had been placed
by her side. The woman didn't insist on an answer or ask her what was
wrong. She just stood there, waiting.
"Yes, I'm coming." Julie picked up her bags and followed her
inside.

The woman's name was Petra, Julie learned as they sat in the corner of
the room away from the others who were playing crib. Each of them held
a glass of red wine in their hand and they spoke quietly to one
another. She hadn't expected her name to be Petra. For some reason she
saw her as an Ann or a Tina, but not Petra. It didn't quite fit her,
like a hat that wouldn't sit straight on the head. The name didn't
match her flat, comfortable shoes or faded denim shirt, or her bobbed
hair that was too wiry to sit still. Or her kind smile, the smile that
Julie had thought so intrusive earlier. She should have been wearing
heels and have black, shiny hair, grown long, to have a name like that.
At least that's what Julie thought as they sat there together. The
glasses would have to go too, she thought.
"I just wanted to do something, you know? Something different" Petra
took a sip of her wine. Julie nodded. She was looking at Petra's
wedding ring and the way she clutched her glass so tightly. Dangerously
tight. She instinctively touched her own fourth finger and her stomach
rolled as she felt the bare skin.
"He died two years ago." Julie looked up, confused. "My husband,"
Petra said. "You were looking at my wedding ring. That's why I'm here
on my own."
Julie sat up and shuffled nervously in her seat. "Sorry," she
said.
"There's no need to be sorry. You didn't kill him did you?" Petra
laughed and drank more wine. "No, I shouldn't laugh. It was hard at
first, when he went. I didn't think I'd be able to get out of bed the
next day, never mind come on holiday on my own. But, you learn to cope
with it." She pushed her glasses up her nose.
"How did he die?" Julie asked quietly. Petra put her glass onto the
coffee table in front of her and looked Julie straight in the
eye.
"Heart attack." She said bluntly. "Too much beer, too many
women."
"Women?"
"Yes. He'd get a bit carried away, you know? He never thought I knew
but I did. He wasn't the cleverest of sorts. He used to leave clues all
over the house." She laughed. "The knickers were the best."
"Knickers?" Julie leant forward and Petra picked up her glass, taking
a big sip.
"The fool left a pair of knickers in his suit jacket. Red they were,
and lacy."
"What did you do?"
"Put them in his underwear drawer. He opened it the next morning and
you should've seen his face. He turned exactly the same colour, then
quickly shoved them down the front of his pyjamas. He took the trash
out later. The first time in twenty years."
"You knew and you didn't do anything?"
"Didn't see the point. I had a happy life with him despite it all. He
wasn't all bad."
"But.."
"Not everyone understands. If he'd have treated me badly, if he'd have
been a bastard then I would have chucked him out. But he wasn't, so I
didn't."
Julie sat back in her chair, not wanting to continue the conversation.
She didn't understand. She didn't want to understand.
"Anyway, enough of all that. Are you excited about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?"
"You haven't forgotten the purpose of this holiday have you? Cycling."
Petra put down her glass again and stuck her arms out in front of her,
clutching imaginary handlebars.
Julie laughed. "I think I had forgotten."
"Well you won't be able to say that tomorrow." She stood up, downing
her wine as she did so. "We set off at eight. You'd better be ready.
Goodnight." Petra walked past Julie, towards the hallway door touching
her shoulder as she did so. As Julie turned to watch her leave she
noticed that the others had gone to bed too. All except a grey haired
man, snoozing on the sofa, and a lonely mosquito buzzing above Julie's
head. She got up and made her way to bed.

An enthusiastic woman in her twenties, with 'Sheryl' written on her
breast, stood in front of the weary group the next morning, cycle
helmet in hand.
"We will be cycling to the Chateau d'Usse this morning. Has everyone
got their rucksack's with money and maps?" The group groaned in
response. "Good. Now I'll be cycling up ahead and Pierre will be at the
back to make sure we don't lose anyone." Everyone turned towards the
Lycra-clad Frenchman standing in front of the bike shed. He raised an
understated hand to identify himself. "If anyone begins to feel like
it's too much, then just let one of us know and we'll pull over for a
break. Now, everyone secure your helmets tightly and we'll be
off."
The group slowly did as they were instructed. They put on their
helmets and shuffled over to the bicycles.
"It's a shame Pierre isn't at the front." Petra whispered to Julie as
she wheeled her bike away from the shed. "Now that would be an
incentive to cycle quickly!" Julie laughed and tightened the straps of
her heavy rucksack.

The group was quiet as they cycled. There were few cars to be aware of
and the sun, which highlighted the track in sections, in between the
tall trees, had a mesmerising effect. It created a rhythm to cycle to.
They moved from light, to shadow, to light as the pedals spun round,
one after the other, after the other. Julie enjoyed the light breeze on
her face and soon forgot about the heavy weight on her back.
When everyone had found their own position in the party, Julie looked
around her. Petra was a couple of bicycles behind and she looked as
though she was struggling to keep up. Her comments about her fitness
were true then, Julie thought.
Next to her cycled the man with the suitcases she had noticed the
night before. Like then, he was struggling with the exercise. His head
was bent low and each turn of the pedals forced a grimace onto his
face. His wife cycled beside him and her head was held high. She wore
Gucci sunglasses and Prada shorts.
"For God's sake Georgy, what was the bloody use of getting that
gymnasium if this is the result?!" She shouted.
He replied, in an automaton tone, "Yes Dear." Julie wondered if he was
listening to her at all.
The large couple were doing better than Julie expected. They cycled in
front of her, pedalling to the same rhythm and glancing over at one
another, smiling.
"They're on their honeymoon." Julie looked to her right. The
grey-haired gentleman, who had fallen asleep on the sofa, was cycling
beside her.
"Sorry?"
"Those two." He took his right hand off the handlebars and pointed to
the couple. "I found out last night they're on their honeymoon."
"Oh."
He returned his hand to the handlebars and changed to a higher gear.
"There's nothing like love in the sun." He turned to Julie and smiled
then quickened his speed, leaving her behind him.

"What did he want then?" Petra asked Julie as the group
dismounted.
"What? Who?"
"That man, Michael I think he's called." She pointed towards the
grey-haired man who was removing his jumper, revealing a bright red
t-shirt underneath.
"Oh, nothing." Julie said. Petra raised an eyebrow.
"Okay. Bit of a Richard Gere though isn't he?"
Julie laughed. "I hadn't really thought about it."

That afternoon, Sheryl and Pierre led the group around the garden's of
the Chateau. Every now and then, Sheryl turned to them repeating some
rehearsed speech about its history.
"This castle has been the inspiration and setting for many well-known
fairy tales," she said, lifting her arms in the direction of the
castle, like those models who advertise fancy cars. "When we go inside,
pay particular attention to the eighteenth century wood carvings and
tapestries." Sheryl pulled the smile then turned back round and began
to talk quietly to Pierre.
"That looks like the extent of her historical knowledge." Petra said
as she and Julie followed at the back. "I could have done better by
reading out of the guide book."
"I think she's got other things on her mind." Julie said, and she
gestured towards the guides. Pierre's hand kept touching Sheryl's and
it lingered too long to be accidental. Petra looked up at Julie.
"If I wasn't getting on, I'd be pleased for them. But now I'm just
intensely jealous."
"I wouldn't exchange places with them." Julie said.
"No? Why not?"
"Because that's the best it gets. That bit at the beginning when
everything's new and exciting. It wears off soon enough, and when it
does you start to think whether it was worth it in the first
place."
Petra didn't reply for a few moments. She continued to walk, looking
ahead of her then she turned to Julie.
"He hurt you a lot didn't he?"
"Who?"
"Your husband."
Julie touched her fourth finger but remained silent.

That evening after dinner, Julie walked out and sat against the trunk
of the large tree in the garden. It was cold and Julie had wrapped a
mauve cardigan around her shoulders. She pulled her legs tightly up to
her chest and rested her arms on her knees. She was tired.
Petra hadn't come down for dinner. She had gone for a nap when they
got back and ordered her dinner to be taken to her room. She had wanted
an early night. Julie had no one else to talk to. The others had formed
little groups, none of which appealed to her.
She leant her head back against the bark and closed her eyes,
listening to the crickets in the grass.
"Would you like a cigarette?" She opened her eyes. Michael was
standing in front of her holding out a packet of Marlboro.
"No thanks. I don't smoke."
"Do you mind if I sit down?"
Julie held out her hand, inviting him to sit. He did, and lit a
cigarette. "What a glorious evening," he said, looking up into the sky
which was clear and filled with stars.
"Um." Julie replied.
"Did you enjoy our trip today?"
"To be honest, it felt a bit like being back at school."
He laughed.
"I know what you mean. We were ordered around a bit weren't we? I
didn't think it would be so organised." He took a drag of his cigarette
and as he exhaled, the smoke floated over to Julie's face. She closed
her eyes and breathed it in.
"Are you sure you don't one?" He asked.
Julie thought for a moment then held out her hand. He smiled and took
out his packet.
"Had you quit?" He asked as she took one and lit it.
"A long time ago. I stopped when I was pregnant with my first
daughter. I didn't see the point of starting again."
"Kids mess things up a bit don't they?"
She inhaled the smoke and it made her feel dizzy. "Do you have any?"
She asked.
"Just one. A boy, nineteen, Joseph." She nodded in acknowledgement. "I
don't see him much, well, not as often as I should."
"Why?" She asked.
He looked around the garden slowly and took another drag of his
cigarette.
"Me and his mum split. It was messy."
"That shouldn't stop you from seeing him."
"I know. I'm just, busy you know?"
"Yeah." But she didn't know. She took another drag of the cigarette.
It didn't taste like it used to. She stood up and pulled the cardigan
tightly around her body. "I should be getting to bed. Thanks for the
cigarette."
"Anytime."
Julie walked towards the house and flicked the half smoked cigarette
into the bushes.

On the plane home, Julie and Petra sat in the same seats.
"What are you going to do when you get back?" Petra asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean just what I said. What are you going to do?"
"What I always do I suppose."
"Your job at Debenhams you mean?"
"Well, yes. What else is there?"
Petra folded up the tray in front of her and crossed her legs, leaning
over towards Julie.
"You need to change your life. You need to do something different."
Julie looked at Petra, puzzled. "You've got money saved up haven't
you?" She nodded. "And your girls have moved out?"
"Yeah."
"So what's stopping you from doing something? Nothing."
Petra looked away from Julie and took out a magazine from the seat
pocket. She didn't say anything else but left the question hanging in
the air, like a thick fog.

At Gatwick, they hugged and said goodbye. Petra handed Julie her number
but didn't wait for Julie's in return.
"I have to be off." She said. "Phone me if you like."
She trotted out of the building and Julie watched her hail a cab
through the glass doors. Julie looked at the paper in her hand. The
number had been written on a page of an in-flight magazine and Petra
had drawn a smiley face at the bottom of it. She folded it up, put it
in her jeans pocket and walked slowly out of the building to catch her
bus.