For the next few days she was really attentive, cooking him his favourite meals, and always sitting next to him on the sofa once the kids were in bed. She would bring him cups of tea and lift his arm to slide under it and into his embrace, something she had seen her late sister Jen do with him all the time. Brian would be sat in his narrow armchair of course; any attempt to sit on his lap would have meant him not being able to see the TV.
Perhaps with a mind to their new closeness, on the Thursday evening as she turned to ask him something he smiled at her, such a wonderful warm smile that stopped her in her tracks,
"I have an idea," he said.
"Careful," she grinned back at him.
"Why don't we have a weekend away?" said Chris, "the TV weatherman promised a sunny and warm weekend".
"What? Just you and me?" She giggled.
"Yeah, we'll leave the kids with enough Coke, crisps and cake to last and order pizza for tomorrow..." she giggled at his ridiculousness, and he added, "Yeah and like they'd let us go without them."
"What kind of weekend away?" she asked sipping her tea.
"Camping," he said.
"Camping?"
"Camping. What's up, you never been before or something?"
"Nope, well not since was Robert's age at least."
He smiled,
"The kids have sleeping bags don't they?"
"Yes,"
"So you need to get one then."
"Why?" she moved closer to him putting a hand to his cheek and giving him a very knowing look, "Can't I just get in with you?"
"I'm not sure the children would approve," he said, "Look, I've got all of the gear, all you need is a sleeping bag," he picked up the cup. "I'll pop into the garage and load all of the stuff into our cars, we both come home as soon as we can tomorrow night and we can be eating fish and chips under the stars by half seven. What do you think?"
"What clothes do the kids need?" she said, her mind thinking like a mother and not a lover for the first time since the conversation started.
"Oh, jeans, shorts, T-shirts and sweatshirts – pyjamas of course - nothing to go mad with, only two nights"
"I'll do the clothes, you do the cars." She said.
Other than the pile of gear in the boot of her hatchback covered by a blanket, the car didn't seem to have changed much.
Over breakfast he'd said that she should leave work as soon as she could and meet him at home.
She arrived a few minutes before him and was changing into the new jeans she'd bought that lunchtime.
Since they'd all lived together, the choice of food had improved; basically, now there actually was a choice, and the stodge that Brian had insisted upon was now the occasional rather than every meal. Chris was a great cook along with everything else, and included lots of vegetables and fruit and he hardly ever used the big heavy frying pan that had been a permanent fixture in her last kitchen preferring the grill.
To add to this she was also taking exercise; Chris liked to walk and had encouraged her and her children to join him and his. She'd bought a bike, her work was a lot closer now and on clear days she used it, and she'd also started an exercise class on Wednesday lunchtimes with some of the girls from her office.
Because of this, she'd gone from a baggy size sixteen down to a form fitting 10 and the hipsters one of the girls had bullied her into trying on in 'Next' looked fantastic.
She had started to go out with the girls as well, they had of course noticed, with approval, the change in her personality and appearance that widowhood had brought. They had asked her out once the move was completed but said she was too tired. She told Chris – he grinned widely,
"Go!" he grinned, "I go out with my mates and you babysit for me, you go, it'll do you the world of good."
Without her late Husband's influence her clothing choice had become so much more confident and age appropriate.
Perhaps conscious of their age difference, Brian had always balked at the idea of her showing flesh and looking attractive. Her low cut cleavage exposing tops would have given him a heart attack, her skirts had to be pleated and not pencil and, well, she could only guess at what language he would have called her at the sight of her walking out of the house with such a shapely denim clad arse that she now possessed.
Clothes aside Brian was totally against a married woman going out without her husband. She could come down the Legion with him any time she wanted if it was just for a drink, and the kids could come as well.
Nights out, like a lot of things from her past, didn't hold good memories. God forbid Brian would have babysat while she went out, and had lost count of the hen nights and wedding receptions she'd had to turn down because he would invent a hundred different reasons why she shouldn't go or he couldn't babysit – unless they were at the Legion or the kids were invited as well of course.
All of those Tuesdays or Thursdays or Fridays he had disappeared down the Legion on his own 'because the bloody club don't run itself', only to invite her on Saturday.
Eventually she learned to feign a headache or something, because she didn't want to sit in the Legion trying to keep two under stimulated, over-tired children occupied while trying to make small talk with women she didn't understand or have anything in common with, most of whom had at least twenty years on her. He never seemed to argue.
If she did go with the kids, and occasionally she had to, she had to make sure they didn't go near yellow lines painted around the bar or get too close to the pool table, or snooker table or dart board, or committee room, or function room, while he stood with his mates oblivious to the fact that Daniel was bored rigid with the football on the widescreen TV that no one was watching. Once Daniel asked the barmaid to change the channel to one with music, and she had done with a smile.
Daniel had started to dance with his mum and sister, and some other bored mums and kids had joined in.
Only until Brian noticed; he snatched the
controller from behind the bar and turned it back to the football. The barmaid remonstrated with him demanding to know what right he had to do that and pointed out that she had turned it over for the boy as no one was watching the football, and he should let everyone dance.
Brian simply pointed at a hand drawn, badly photocopied poster and growled that the bloody children's disco wasn't for another three weeks and smacked Daniel across the back of the head for his trouble.
The room went quiet, the barmaid snarled about hitting children until Brian eventually picked up on the terrible atmosphere he'd caused and apologised rubbing the back of Daniels head with a smile – Cathy had tried to disappear into the chair she was sat on.
Another of the committee members turned the TV back to the music but the last thing anyone wanted to do was dance again and Daniel sat hugging his mother, while his father looked on crossly at them.
With Dan almost a man and now safely ensconced in his room, or playing on Chris's games console, or listening to his music or out at one of his many friends' houses, she felt she could put that part of her life behind her.
So for a few Fridays, wearing something smart she and the girls took in a movie or a restaurant in the same complex that was by day an outlet village. More often than not this was followed by a few drinks and a dance. Mind you, with Chris at home she still hardly wanted to go out.
