Lizzie ran the Sixty Plus Club but the only members still in their 60s were the volunteers! She couldn’t believe how spry and active the majority of her members were.
‘I hope I’ll be as nimble and alert when I’m your age!’ she often said to Gillian. ‘What’s your secret?’
‘Nothing special, but I do look after myself. I have a good walk every day and eat plenty of veg. I grow quite a bit in my garden now I’ve got raised beds. I’ve never been a big drinker, and I keep my brain active by learning new things. Did I tell you I’m learning Spanish?’
‘Really?’
‘It’s like an online game. The lad next door introduced me to it, and now I’m addicted. I’m even thinking of going to Spain next year to test it out.’
‘Good for you,’ Lizzie smiled. ‘You’re an inspiration!’
Every week Lizzie would call on her neighbour, John, and invite him along, but each time he’d have an excuse.
‘I think he’s melting,’ she admitted to Carol, another of the volunteers.
‘I just don’t like to think of him alone when he could be here, having a laugh and making friends.’
‘Some people are quite happy with their own company,’ Carol reminded her.
‘I know, but when Rosa was alive, he was a sociable person. He did things on his own, as well as with her.’
Unfortunately, when Lizzie next saw John at the post office, he’d been unenthusiastic about the Sixty Plus Club, so she decided to leave it a while before trying again.
So, she couldn’t have been more surprised when he turned up a week later just as she was setting out the chairs.
‘Am I OK to come?’ he asked.
‘No problem,’ Lizzie smiled, ‘There’s always plenty of tea and cake.’
However, this week, the rest of the gentlemen were celebrating Ron’s birthday with a pie and pint at the local pub, so the ladies were having a pamper session.
‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ Lizzie said as she handed him a cup of tea. ‘I’d have warned you. We normally play Bingo or have a quiz but today’s a bit different. I could give you a lift to The Wheatsheaf if you’d like?’
‘No problem,’ John laughed when she explained. ‘My grand-daughters used to paint my nails. They once gave me a full makeover, but my daughter soon put a stop to that. They’d used her expensive makeup! We were all in the dog house.’
The seniors took their seats as they drifted in. A few walked, others came on the community bus, one or two drove themselves and Gillian and Eileen cycled, despite being in their 80s.
‘Will you be alright with a cuppa and some cake?’ Carol asked John.
‘Aren’t you going to do my nails?’ John asked and chuckled at Carol’s embarrassment.
‘Of course, if that’s what you want.’
‘I’ll do him,’ Gillian volunteered, having taken off her high viz cycling jacket. She rubbed her hands; they were cold in spite of her woolly mittens.
He pulled his seat up to the table and chose a deep red colour. ‘My grand-daughters loved to pretend to wash and comb my hair,’ he told her as he ran his fingers through the few strands he had left. Gillian giggled as she carefully trimmed and tidied his nails.
‘Your hands are very dry,’ she said. ‘Do you use hand cream?’
‘You sound like my daughter,’ John smiled. ‘She gave me some for my birthday, said it was particularly good after working on the allotment.’
‘And have you used it?’
‘I would,’ he said. ‘But I can’t remember where I put it. I’m sure it was in the garage with my wellies, but I’m blowed if I can find it.’
‘It’ll turn up,’ Gillian said as she took one of John’s hands in hers and gently massaged in some moisturiser. He closed his eyes and relaxed.
‘John?’ Gillian said, ‘John, are you alright?’ there was panic in her voice. ‘John, speak to me.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said as he stirred. ‘Better than fine. It’s a long time since I had a young lady hold my hand. I think I must have drifted off, thinking of my Rosa all those years ago when we were first courting.’
‘Young lady!’ Gillian laughed. ‘I’ve just turned eighty!’
‘Well, I’m eighty-two, so you’re younger than me!’ John replied. ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you.’
‘Here, have a hot sweet tea, it’s good for shock.’ Carol passed a pale green teacup toward John but he looked at Gillian.
‘I think she’s more in need than I am,’ he laughed just as Lizzie rushed in with the first aid kit in one hand and her phone in the other.
‘No worries,’ Gillian smiled, still holding John’s hands. ‘You should moisturise your hands, and your feet, every night, before you go to bed.’
‘Do you?’ he asked. ‘Your hands are very soft.’
‘Of course. I take good care of myself,’ Gillian told him. ‘There’s no one else to do it.’
‘Have you finished with John now?’ one of the other seniors asked with a grin.
‘I haven’t painted his nails yet,’ Gillian told her.
‘Don’t worry, my hands look better than they’ve done in a long time. Thank you.’
Gillian moved on to her next ‘client’, while everyone chattered about the forthcoming festive Supper.
‘We’ve booked this room for Christmas eve. Gillian makes a great mulled wine and Lizzie’s ordered us a fish and chip supper. I’m sure we could squeeze in one more?’
‘Yes please! I hate spending Christmas eve alone.’
‘And what about the big day itself?’ Gillian asked. ‘I bought the smallest turkey there was, but I’ll still be eating it in January. You’d be doing me a favour by joining me.’
‘I couldn’t…’ began John but the other ladies chorused,
‘You could!’
‘Well, you’ll have to come to me next year,’ John told her.
‘I won’t promise,’ Gillian told him. ‘I’m considering a Spanish cruise.’
‘Phenomenal,’ laughed John.
‘You speak Spanish?’ Gillian gasped.
‘Rosa was Spanish and we often went to visit her family.’
‘Perfecta.’
‘Gillian, sit down a moment and let me do your hands. You deserve a bit of pampering too.’ Gillian sat and let John give her a welcome hand massage.
He gallantly helped ladies on with their coats at the end of the session, and passed Gillian her cycle clips.
‘You will come to the Christmas eve fish and chip night, won’t you?’ Gillian asked, clutching her helmet.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ he said. ‘And it’ll stop my daughter fussing. She’s got herself in a right tizz this year because it’s their turn to go to her in-laws and she says she feels guilty abandoning me.’
‘It’s a difficult time of year, and trying to please everyone is impossible,’ Gillian said quietly.
‘Well, you’ve solved the problem. I can honestly say, hand on heart, that I’m going out for fish and chips with friends on Christmas eve and have been invited out for Christmas dinner too. Gillian, do you want me to bring a Christmas pud and some wine?’
‘Why not?’ Gillian smiled. ‘I don’t normally bother with puddings. It’ll make it more of an occasion.’
‘I suppose I ought to thank you too,’ John nodded at Lizzie.
Lizzie smiled; her persistence had paid off, and that was more than enough.
About the author
Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She now has a collection of twenty uplifting short stories called Feel-Good Stories along with her large print novels available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter.
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