Page 24 of A Wish For Wilma
Wilma suddenly craved a long, soothing draw on a cigarette, or the less satisfying waft of vape aroma. Instead, she had a vile cup of tea and two faces looking at her incredulously.
‘Heisa decent man. One of the best. And I have no problem going off with him for a bit of rest and relaxation. That’s all it is: two people enjoying each other’s company. Is there a rule book that says you cannae do that when you’re old?’
Rob looked at Kath. She looked away, then looked at Wilma. ‘Of course not. You know we only want what’s best for you. If it makes you happy, then go to Trumpton with Gus.’
‘It’s Plockton, darling.’ Rob chortled at Kath’s puzzled frown. ‘A picturesque village in the Highlands. You’re thinking of that kids’ TV show from back in the dark ages.’
‘Excuse me, but the seventies was a time of magic moments.Jim’ll Fix It, Gary Glitter, Fleetwood Mac…’ Wilma faltered. The first two had turned out to be monsters but Fleetwood Mac remained unsullied, as far as she knew.
‘Mum, we just want what’s best for you. But if you and Gus decide to get married in Las Vegas, can you give us a heads up?’
‘As if! If I marry again, it’ll be a full-on white-dress gig with blushing bridesmaids, and you steering me up the aisle in all my wrinkled glory.’
Wilma’s wedding to Eric had been a budget affair: no frills, no fancy outfits, just the two of them and a handful of friends. Spam fritters on the menu — she still liked spam — and lots of laughter. She remembered the moment when Eric whisked her onto the dance floor at the tiny village hall and told Wilma that he was the happiest man on the planet.
‘You’re incorrigible,’ said Kath, with a chuckle.
‘Aye, and you widnae have me any other way,’ said Wilma.
Refusing Rob’s offer to run her home, Wilma relished the walk back. She had two calls to make: one to Gus to confirm their trip to Plockton, the other far less appealing. She could imagine Jinnie’s face at being stuck with DJ for several more days.
Back in her cosy bungalow, Wilma rang Gus first. Hearing his deep, calming voice soothed her anxiety about the second call. And his obvious delight at her acceptance of his offer warmed her more than any heated car seat. With arrangements made for Gus to pick her up at 11 am on Friday morning, Wilma braced herself.
Jinnie’s phone rang and rang. She answered as Wilma was about to hang up, her voice breathless and agitated.
‘Are you all right, pet?’ Wilma said, fiddling with the volume control. ‘It sounds like you’re in a car wash or a wind tunnel.’
A few moments passed, then Jinnie’s voice sounded clearer. ‘Not quite. We’re at Portobello beach with DJ and it’s a tad breezy.’
‘That’s mighty brave of you.’ Or totally insane.Portobello beach in October?
‘I was going stir crazy stuck at home. Anyway, he’s having a ball building a sandcastle with Sam. We’ll take him for hot chocolate and cake when my bits turn blue.’
‘Ah, enjoy,’ said Wilma. ‘And send DJ my love, because the thing is—’
‘DJ, stop whacking Sam on the head with the spade! Sorry, Gran, he’s getting fractious because one of his turrets collapsed. What were you going to say?’
Wilma sucked in a breath. ‘Gus is taking me to the Highlands for the weekend. So I hope you’re OK looking after DJ a wee bit longer.’
Total silence. For a second, Wilma thought Jinnie had hung up. Then…
‘Wow! That’s great, Gran! So you’re officially a couple now? Sam! Sam! Wilma’s off for a dirty weekend with Gus. Oops, maybe shouldn’t have shouted that in front of DJ.’
Sex, sex, sex. That’s all young folk seemed to think about these days. Mind you, Wilma was still prone to the odd lustful thought — particularly since a certain gentleman had sidled back into her life. ‘Wash your mouth out with soap, young lady. The only thing dirty about the weekend will be my favourite jumper if I don’t stick a wash on. Dribbled bolognaise sauce down the front of it.’
‘Take a bib with you.’ Jinnie sniggered. ‘It’s always best to carry protection in these situations.’
Wilma raised her eyes to the heavens. Still, she was off the genie hook for a bit longer.
‘Have a fantastic time, and maybe we’ll see you on Monday?’ Jinnie sounded hopeful.
‘Unless I’ve been mauled by a Highland coo or been roped into a ceilidh — in which case I’ll be in A & E — I’ll see you Monday. Not early, though. I’ll need my beauty sleep after a weekend of wining, dining and putting the world to rights.’
Wilma ended the call. She hadn’t been joking about the jumper — she needed to figure out appropriate attire for an entirely clean weekend away. She hadn’t been anywhere beyond Jinnie’s, her son and daughter-in-law’s and Sadiq’s shop for an eternity.
‘If I could wish right now, I’d wish for Sophia Loren’s genes, Jane Fonda’s style and Dame Maggie Smith’s pithy putdowns.’ Wilma had done some research into famous women in their eighties. Plenty of them were still kicking around. And she planned to be kicking around herself for the foreseeable future.
CHAPTER18
