Page 1 of One Snowy Day
1ST DECEMBER
8 A.M. – 10 A.M.
1
JESSIE MCLEAN
Jessie McLean tucked her boobs into her comfiest bra, pulled on her white towelling dressing gown over her pyjama bottoms, slipped her feet into her marshmallow-soft pink slippers and padded downstairs, leaving Stan to snore alone. It was that or put a pillow over his face until the noise stopped, but that option came with a risk to her husband’s life that she wasn’t prepared to take. The poor soul couldn’t help it if he sounded like the revving engine of a sit-on lawnmower every time he closed his eyes.
Down in the kitchen, she poured a glass of water from the tap, added a slice of lemon from a Tupperware box in the fridge and then flicked on the coffee machine so that a cup would be brewed by the time her first hydration of the day was done. Drinking more water had been one of the resolutions she’d made on her sixty-fourth birthday one year ago today – along with taking up meditation and doing 10,000 steps a day. Achieving one out of three wasn’t bad. Actually, it was one out of seven, but cutting out caffeine, shunning alcohol, giving up chocolate and religiously following a skincare regime that would give her flawless pores had all been non-starters on her last birthday, when she’dconsumed a bottle of Prosecco, two Irish coffees and a slab of chocolate sponge during dinner with her pals, before falling asleep with her make-up on. Maybe sixty-fifth time was a charm and today would be better.
A soundtrack of ‘Happy Birthday To… Me’ began to play in her mind.
Six and a half decades. How had that happened?
Usually, her birthday coincided with the opening of the first flap on an advent calendar, a slightly tacky tree and a truck-load of twinkly lights going up, the festive to-do list being started, a dance around the kitchen to Last Christmas, and the bookings at her hairdressing salon coming in thick and fast, with people preparing for work nights out and family parties. But not today. Today was the first day of her retirement. Her last full day in this house. Her final day in the village she loved. And tonight she was throwing a party that would be her big farewell to her working life, her family, her friends and a whole world of love and purpose.
Today was the day she’d been secretly dreading for months now.
Before she could ponder the way-too-rapid passage of time, her mobile phone, on the charger next to the toaster, burst into life. She’d stopped charging it on her bedside table when she’d heard that radio waves or some such thing could give you brain fog. She’d had enough of that in the menopause and was only just starting to remember whether she left her socks in the washing basket or the freezer.
At this time of the morning, on this day, she knew it would either be her daughter, Georgie, or her son, Grant.
‘Happy birthday, Mum!’ Georgie’s voice boomed so loudly, Jessie had to take the phone away from her ear. ‘I’d sing to you, but as you know, I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.’
‘Thank you, love, and much as I think you’re wonderful in every way, you’re right about the singing voice.’
‘So, what’s the plan for today then?’ Georgie asked breezily.
Anyone listening in would be fooled, but Jessie wasn’t. Her daughter was thirty-eight years old, and Jessie could read every single tone and underlying sentiment in her voice. Today, Georgie’s words were being delivered by fake cheeriness, barely concealed sadness, top notes of stress and an undercurrent of dread. And Jessie was about to volley back with the fake cheeriness too.
‘Well, this morning I’m having coffee and cake with Aunt Cathy and Val at Once Upon A Time…’ That was the café on the Weirbridge Main Street, directly across from Copper Curls, the hair salon Jessie had owned since the eighties, named after her own mane of hair. Back in the day, copper had been her natural colour, but now it was assisted by a monthly touch-up to hold back the grey invasion. ‘After that, we’ll come over to the salon so you can beautify us for my party tonight.’
‘Not that you need beautifying, but I’ll make you gorgeous as ever. How are you feeling about leaving? I’m going to miss you so much, Mum.’
Jessie swallowed hard. ‘Don’t mention it, love, unless you want to make me a blubbering wreck at this time of the morning.’
‘Okay. Right. I’m changing the subject.’ There was a distinct wobble in Georgie’s voice too. They’d worked together in the salon since Georgie was in high school and earning extra pocket money by washing hair and sweeping floors on Saturdays. Jessie hadn’t pushed her, but she’d been delighted when Georgie had chosen to join her full time when she was sixteen, and since then they’d spent twenty-two years side by side. Their new reality was going to take a bit of getting used to for both of them. Georgie cleared her throat and came back with, ‘I did Val’s roots on yourday off last week, so I’m up to speed with her life…’ Val was one of Jessie’s oldest friends, another lifelong resident of Weirbridge, a bustling little village about twenty minute’s drive from Glasgow. ‘But how’s Aunt Cathy doing?’
Technically speaking, Cathy wasn’t actually an aunt to Jessie’s children, but they’d always called her that. She was Georgie and Grant’s second cousin once removed – or was it first cousin, twice removed? She could never remember. Jessie and Cathy had met back in 1978, when eighteen-year-old Jessie had got a job as a junior stylist, floor brusher, tea maker and all-round dogsbody in Cathy’s salon in the west end of Glasgow. Five years later, she’d left with all her hairdressing qualifications, and a fiancé called Stan McLean, a handsome big devil and a younger cousin of Cathy’s husband, Duncan. Stan had come in for his monthly free haircut and Cathy had played Cupid and fixed them up on a date. Poor Duncan had passed away years ago, and now, in her seventies, Cathy had remarried last year to Richie, the high school sweetheart that she’d found again after decades apart.
It was impossible to think of Cathy’s new chapter in life and not smile. ‘She’s still floating on a cloud of love’s young dreams.’
‘I’ll have one of whatever she’s having,’ Georgie quipped, laughing. ‘Anyway, Mum, I need to go and so do you. Can’t believe it’s your last day here…’
‘Let’s not go there,’ Jessie cut her off. ‘Let’s just focus on the good stuff today, and think about everything else tomorrow.’
‘Deal.’ The barely concealed sadness was back, and they didn’t need to discuss it to know they both felt the same – they weren’t ready to say goodbye.
Why hadn’t she given herself more time here? Why had she agreed with Stan that they could leave tomorrow, move lock, stock and barrel to Tenerife, to the wee holiday home they’d bought just outside Los Cristianos thirty years ago? She alreadyknew the answer – because it had always been his dream. For all these years, they’d rented it out most months to help pay it off, but now they were selling up their Weirbridge home and moving there full-time, with a plan to only come back to Scotland for short trips or special occasions. It had seemed like a great idea about ten years ago, when Stan had first raised the prospect of retiring to the sun.
No, that wasn’t true. Even then, she’d bristled at the thought of leaving her life here, but she’d gone along with it because she didn’t think he’d actually ever do anything about it. This was the man who’d left every detail and organisational task to her for the last forty years. She had a three-page to-do list before every family holiday and would show up at the airport exhausted and frazzled, in charge of luggage, children, transport, tickets, snacks and every other detail of their lives, while he waltzed in with a holdall containing nothing much more than seven pairs of pants, his swimming trunks and two interchangeable golf kits. He woke up every Christmas morning, in contented assurance that the Festive Fairies would have taken care of every little thing that made the day special. When anyone in the family had a birthday, he had a practised ‘of course I know what’s in the gift you’re about to unwrap’ face, even though Jessie had given up telling him what she’d bought for everyone sometime back in the nineties, because he was happy to leave it all up to her.
So it was a perfectly reasonable state of denial to assume that his plans to spend their retirement in Tenerife would be a pipe dream that she could put off indefinitely by just not getting around to making it a reality. But no. In an uncharacteristic burst of activity, the bugger had gone and planned out the whole thing. Leaving tomorrow morning on a 10a.m. flight. The For Sale sign was going up outside their house at some point today, and the estate agent was going to handle the viewings after they weregone. They’d taken his advice to leave the place furnished while they were in the process of selling it, and they would pop back for a few days after the sale had been agreed and dispose of everything then. She’d suggested keeping the house here, so they could come back for long holidays, but Stan had rightly pointed out that it was a hassle and an expense they didn’t need, and they could always stay with Georgie when they were here, especially as their daughter had two spare rooms now. Jessie knew he was right and that’s why their cases, with all their personal stuff, were sitting packed in the hall, ready to go.
‘Okay, sweetheart, I’ll see you later. Love you.’
‘Love you too, Mum,’ Georgie replied. ‘I’ll see you later and we’ll make sure you have the best day.’
