Christmas Shopping Blues.

Come on you coward, she thinks. Getting on a bus is easy, you used to do it every day of your life for nearly thirty-five years, and so why falter now when you spent the last week procrastinating over when would be the right time to go into town?
It’s pissing down with rain…well so it was yesterday and tomorrow and according to the forecast it will be like this for another ten days at least.
She steps outside the door, her shopping bag in one hand and her walking stick in the other. Her brolley is useless in this driving rain, so she slips it inside her bag. Maybe she should have taken her shopping trolley, but she hasn’t been outside her door for such a long time that it worries her to think that she might annoy people by taking up too much space on the bus.
It was like that when she had to go to the hospital the last time. Everything had changed so much that she wasn’t sure where to sit. Now there were spaces for wheelchairs or buggies and a sign said to give up a seat to a disabled person. What seat? where was it and was she entitled to sit in that seat? It was far too much fuss. Instead she had slunk to the back of the bus and her knees had ached where they cramped up in such a small space.
If only her small allowance would allow for taxi fares, but the last time she’d used a taxi it had cost so much and embarrassed her that she didn’t know what to do about opening doors and things.
Her thoughts are running away with her, trickling down like the rain against the windows. How to…no? …that should be?…If only she had someone there again, but her husband has gone and her family are grown up. This shopping trip was her idea. She could have sent the gift vouchers as usual, only with her grandson growing up she wanted to see his face when he opened her present to him. He’d climb on her lap and put his arms around her neck. That would make up for everything. For once she wanted to see her daughter’s face as well when she opened her special present. The main gift would be the vouchers, of course. There was no other way that she could possibly buy actual gifts and get them sent off as well.
The bus pulled up at the stop and she took out her bus pass, holding it up to the driver who merely nodded at her. She’d been scared for a moment that he wouldn’t let her on the bus…tell her the face on the pass wasn’t her. Well it didn’t look like her anymore. Only five years and she’d aged so much, as well as putting on weight.
It wasn’t her fault that her body was letting her down. She used to swim and then the council had closed the old baths, saying it was not cost effective in these days of leisure centres and combined activities. Why had they not thought of people like her and all the other elderly and disabled people who didn’t come under the remit for special transport five miles away to the nearest warm pool?
Damn! She was wool-gathering again, though it had helped her nerves as the bus edged slowly through the afternoon traffic. Once again she checked her list of what she had to do and in what order she would do it. Having a plan did help to calm the nervous twitching in her stomach. Too much of that and she’d need the toilet before she’d even started her shopping. She hated using public toilets because it was so difficult for her bend and pull her knickers down. Then there was all the bother of using a catheter. It would ease things but she hated using them.
Once you got older and your body started to let you down you were good for nothing, she thought. Try explaining that to younger people though…they would never understand.
Irritated with her own thoughts she thought of how she would start at the top of the town and work her way back to the bus depot. That was until the bus went through the roundabout and by-passed the stop she had planned.
She’d heard about the new Art’s Centre, of course, but this was the first time she’d glimpsed the building and her emotions went into shock. How had that building grown so quickly and why did it make her feel so uneasy?
She remembered the days when there wasn’t even a roundabout on that route, just one main road into the town centre and one leading towards the old docks. Now the roundabout passed over the river bridge and led outwards in four directions. It made her feel dizzy and terribly insecure. Perhaps she should forget the whole thing and get back on the bus and go home. But that was evading the issue. Not only had she planned to do some present shopping, but she wanted to buy an outfit that would see her over the Christmas visits.
The bus pulls up at the depot and she puts her weight forward on her good leg, the walking stick helping her balance. Once again she feels dizzy, there are road works everywhere, the bus depot in chaos.
The town can’t have changed that much in a year though. She thinks of using the toilets in the bus depot and pushes that thought away. It would be too busy and besides, she wants to be brave and resourceful. There are toilets in various places, she will use those if necessary.
What’s this? There are now steps from the depot where once there was a gentle incline. In fact, now she has time to look around nothing is familiar at all.

That walk up those stairs must be the bravest thing she has done since a year ago. What if everything else had changed completely as well? But the square is still familiar, apart from the absence of the great Xmas tree that always came from Norway. It was a tradition, something to do with the Allies in the last war. She can’t bear to think about that now, just put one foot in front of the other and keep her head braced against the driving wind and rain.
The brolley is useless. In less than a minute it blows inside out, it’s spokes pushing through the wet fabric. Spotting a rubbish bin she throws it away, no point in carrying a useless thing.
Her priorities have to change now, she can’t battle against this wind and rain too long.
If only she hadn’t decided to buy a new outfit? Well she didn’t want to show her daughter up again. The shop she needs is in a covered arcade just a few yards away now. Unfortunately it is also undergoing renovation due to the new Art’s centre.
She dodges past the roped off areas, seeing that the toilets she had relied on are not in operation. What can she do? A five minute walk back to the bus depot or carry on and hope she can manage to try some clothes on?
Inside Evans she feels a bit better. The shop is quiet, probably because of the weather. The assistants leave her alone which helps her to relax. Her budget is fifty pounds and that doesn’t go far. If she can only find one good skirt or a pair of trousers then a nice top to complement it she can always buy things from charity shops to eke out her dwindling wardrobe.
‘Buy quality.’ Her mother had told her many years ago. Her beautiful camel coat is drenched and her French boots are starting to leak, but they cost a lot of money and they still look good.
The same can’t be said of her cheap trousers and top, neither of her cheap underwear.
If only the assistants don’t see them she will manage to try something on.
She makes her choices quickly, knowing already what will suit her, though she does add something a little adventurous for her. The sizes are a problem, hers is popular and only a few garments are available in her size. The assistant says,’ try one a bit bigger, it will give you an idea of our sizes.’
The changing rooms are always the same. Too bright and cramped, they make you want to get this ordeal over as quick as possible and get out. The skirt is okay but doesn’t look anything expect plain. The jumper is better, but under the glaring lights they distort and make her feel she looks enormous.
She changes back into her own clothes, her bladder busting for relief. Leaving the shop she knows she will have to come back, but not for a while.
In the whole of the town centre there is only one lot of toilets open. Using these she wonders what to do next. Her heart says to buy the gifts for her family. To see them open these on Xmas day, knowing that she had chosen them carefully and had held them in her own hands before wrapping them up. But already her ankles are swollen and her coat is drenched.
Sometimes though the effort is worth while.
Wandering around the Body Shop is frightening… all those assistants for just a few customers. It’s her daughter’s favourite shop though, so she perseveres and spends a ridiculous amount that will keep her eating beans on toast for the next few weeks.
It’s easier for her grandson, she fingers the bright toys and smiles at the thought of his face when he opens the packages.
Tired now and wanting the toilet yet again she knows that she will have to make a second journey for her son-in-law. There are plenty of alternatives, but one present must be chosen by her own hand.
Weaving in and out of shops for her own purchases she ends up back in Evans, choosing to try on a few more outfits. Her feet are aching and bending to undo her boots hurts her back.
The depression that hovers over her constantly is back again. How can she see what will look okay on her when she doesn’t like her body anymore? But time is creeping up on her and what if she can’t do this again?
The skirt and jumper are adequate, they hide her bulky body and are tidy enough to carry her over Christmas. Once she loved being the centre of attention, now she wants to hide away.

The bus is crowded and her luck is out again. Why , oh why does she always seem to attract the drunks? He breathes his whisky breath at her as she tries to gaze out of the window and ignore him. It’s not easy when he’s digging into her ribs, blabbing nonsense. For one moment she could scream at him and in the other moment could wish to be like him, blithely unaware of everything…the buying of presents and choosing clothes that will never bring the blush of youth back to her cheeks. For God’s sake, she’s not that old, but time and ill-health has knocked her silly.
In less than three weeks time she will be venturing out again, this time on a train to London to stay for a few days with her family. The train journey will be worse than this bus journey, though she will do it because of love.
Her hand reaches up to wipe the condensation from the window, watching the raindrops running down like echoes of regret.
Her love for her family is endless, boundless and yet sometimes she wants to be left alone as once her own mother told her the same thing.
Why didn’t she listen then? Did she think she was doing her mother a favour by making her join in the whole Xmas experience after her father was dead?
Once or twice her mother had asked her to buy certain presents for the family because she couldn’t get into town herself. She had done it reluctantly…why was it always her when she had brothers and sisters?

The bus doors swish open and she gets down carefully. The walk from the bus stop is short, but the journey is far longer. Now she knows how her mother felt all those years ago before she too died after a long illness.
Feeling tired she wonders if she had pushed her own mother too much? Perhaps the gift vouchers were better after all? If she had said “no” then maybe towards the end she would have respected her mother’s right to a quiet Christmas?
Sometime in the future she will tell her daughter about today and how the strain gets worse year after year. But until then she will make the effort, as her mother did for her and her brothers and sisters.
That plain black skirt and jumper she bought today doesn’t seem that bad after all. In her spare room (empty since her daughter left home a long time ago), there is a scarf her mother had given her one Christmas. It’s a lovely shade of orange and purple swirls. Not something that her mother would have chosen, so maybe she hadn’t always been the one alone to help buy the Christmas presents?
Limping slightly she opens her door, sinks onto the sofa and thinks, “enough”.