Page 4 of The Art of Loving You

‘We could do that tomorrow.’ I wrapped my arms around his neck, my chin resting on his shoulder.

‘Tomorrow, I have plans. Tomorrow,’ his voice sultry, ‘I’m going to strip,’ his voice warm, ‘the paint from the front door.’

‘You’re so hot.’ Laughing I pushed him away as his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket. ‘It’s the care home,’ he said.

He jabbed the accept button and Sid’s weatherworn face appeared.

‘Hello!’ Sid shouted. ‘Helen’s helping me do Face-to-Face Time with you.’ He turned his head to the side and we could hear him ask his favourite care assistant, ‘Am I doing this right?’ Helen’s soft reply reassured him that he was and he didn’t have to shout.

He turned back to us. ‘Are you in yet?’

Jack panned the phone around the kitchen. ‘We just got here.’

‘Have you found it? My surprise?’ The excitement in Sid’s voice made it easy to visualise him as the eight-year-old boy he once was and not the eighty-one-year-old man he was now.

‘No. Where is it?’ I asked.

‘You have to find it yourselves. Like a treasure hunt,’ Sid said.

We began to head towards the hallway.

‘Don’t go away from the larder!’ Sid said.

‘Is it in the larder?’ I tried to keep a straight face.

‘I couldn’t possibly tell you, duck. You have to find it yourself.’

The box was sitting on the shelf. I lifted it out.

‘That’s where Norma used to store all our homemade jams and chutneys,’ Sid said. ‘She’d use fruit and veg from the garden. See that little room off to the back?’ Jack walked towards it with his phone and stepped inside. It was only a few square feet, empty, too small to have a purpose, but the view from the window was stunning. ‘We would sit there in the evenings, catch the last of the sun, and eat cheese and crackers heaped with chutney, scones piled with strawberry jam. There was just room for our two burgundy leather armchairs and a small table. I got rid of the chairs when Norma passed. Couldn’t bear to go in there. Look at it now.A shell. Take me back to the kitchen.’ He flapped his hand as though he could propel Jack. I gently closed the door on Sid’s memories, wishing we could have met Norma, the love of his life.

‘Right,’ Sid said. ‘That’s enough of the maudlin stuff. I’ll leave you to open the box now.’

‘Don’t you want to—’

‘No.’ Sid cut me off. ‘It’s a special day and you two should celebrate together.’

‘Jack will come and visit on Saturday,’ I promised. ‘I’m not sure about me, I’m still getting over the flu and even though I feel so much better than I did, I don’t want to pass on any germs.’

‘That’s thoughtful of you, Elizabeth, but we’re a tough old bunch. Think it’s ’cos we ain’t like your generation – all vegan and pesky whatever where you only eat fish. We all like a good steak here. Well those of us that still have teeth.’ His laugh morphed into a hacking cough and we waited until it passed before we said our goodbyes and turned our attention to the box. ‘Shall we open it together?’

We each slid our fingers under a cardboard flap, pulling them open simultaneously.

From inside Jack lifted out a wooden skittle, while I retrieved a warm bottle of ale with a faded label.

‘I don’t get it?’ Jack shook his head.

‘There’s an envelope.’ I pulled out a letter written in Sid’s shaky handwriting.

Dear Jack and Elizabeth,

If you can be a tenth as happy in this house as Norma and I were then you’ll be living a life full of joy. There’s a bit to do, I know it needs a good clean and a lick of paint,but on the days it gets a bit much I’ve left a reminder to you that life ain’t all beer and skittles but as I’ve said to you before – everything will be okay. It usually is.

Lots of love, Sid.

P.S. The nearest pub is The Crown and if you pop in for a pint, best not mention this. Their nine pin table hasn’t been quite the same with only eight skittles.

We both laughed. ‘Should we make another toast with the ale, now? You know, in case toasting with water before cursed us.’

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