Her passing had been very sudden. We had been sat together watching nothing in particular on the TV and she had slipped into a sleep that I realised, eventually, was death. The family had been caring, the funeral sensitive and then followed the lowliness -- that awful sense that something was missing in my life.
Our children had all left home, but living close, they had kept in touch, not oppressively, but supportively. The house was double the size without her in it although I found keeping it clean and tidy a relatively small chore - in fact it was, sadly, one of the things that distracted me from my loneliness.
I had retired early from a business that I had spent most of my life building and had sold out to my General Manager, a good man, a couple of years before. My life ahead should have been bliss. We had planned visits to long lost family and to parts of the world we both wanted to see, but never had. We were never to do it together.
They say that it takes someone up to two years to come to terms with the loss of a life partner. I had married at 19 and we had been together for twice that time.
I remember my sister-in-law saying after loosing my brother some years earlier how she, in the years after he died, found herself talking to his chair just as she had done when he was sitting in it and receiving, more or less, the same response, but it comforted her!
Slowly but surely I gained a foothold on a new life. I did begin to appreciate a life of my own, one that isn't vetted and approved by someone else. Morbidity gives way to optimism and you start to think of how to move forward.
A casual conversation with an old working colleague offered one way forward. He spoke of a 'club', for want of a better description, that organizes weekly outing to restaurants and the theatre for people such as me. I telephoned the organiser -- a chirpy woman who I would estimate to be in her early fifties. It was not a "dating agency of any kind" she was at pains to explain so I arranged to go to their next get-together -- a meal at a local gourmet restaurant.
Apart from business functions, it is a lifetime since I attended any function alone, but this first one proved enjoyable, not least that I was sat next to an attractive and, clearly intelligent woman whose conversation I found particularly stimulating.
She was in a similar position to me having lost her husband at the tender age of 40. His brilliant financial career had been terminated by a massive brain haemorrhage and although he had left his widow very comfortably off, she had spent the last fifteen years filling her life with charity works, but like me she was lonely.
I have to say that loneliness has strong magnetic properties, but I was not willing to embrace the first personable female I met just because our paths had run parallel for a few years. We parted cheerfully at the end of the first evening and I pondered our meeting on the journey home. Over the next few weeks I attended theatre trips and more restaurant outings - mostly, but not always, spending them in the company of the woman I had come to know as Beth -- she hated Elizabeth.
On one particular week a hill walk had been organised that finished at a country pub where a meal had been ordered. Again, I found myself walking with Beth and, with whom I have to say, by this time, I was beginning to feel extremely comfortable.
Beth and I also ate together at the pub, albeit in a crowd of twenty and enjoyed our usual free exchange of views although our choice of food remained at odds; her grilled salmon salad contrasted with my steak pie and chips. I hated to tell her it was an occasional extravagance and my diet was usually more feudal. As we left we exchanged contact details and agreed to meet outside the 'club' environment.
******
I answered the telephone on the third ring, "Hello". Out of habit, I didn't give, either my name or number, when answering the home telephone. "Alistair?" The voice was familiar. "Yes, is that you Beth?" "I though it was your voice. Look, I don't know whether you are interested or not, but I have tickets for the Leeds - Newcastle match on Saturday. Would you like to come? " "That depends" "On what?" "Whether you support Leeds or Newcastle." "Well, Leeds, silly. I hardly have a Geordie accent do I?" "That's OK then, shall I meet you there?" "I thought that we could have a bite to eat first and then go to the match."
Her logistics were faultless. We were to meet at a pub a couple of miles from Eland Road and leave our cars in its car park. After eating we would get a taxi to the ground and back again after the match.
It worked a treat! And we won -- first time in a while, but we won.
Arriving back in the pub car park around six we, for the first time, felt a bit awkward with each other. "What's on your agenda tonight?" she said eventually. "Home, slippers, tele and scotch," I replied rather thoughtfully -- if truthfully. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, my itinerary is - home, bath, tele and a glass of wine" "Still sad - but cleaner," I responded and it raised a short laugh from her.
"I have an unopened bottle of fifteen year old Glen Livet in my drinks cupboard if you would like to sample it?"
At that moment, I don't know which was most appealing, Beth or the malt whisky but I said, "sounds perfect."
I followed her small French car to a modern detached house in a suburban cul-de-sac that turned out to be situated only a couple of miles from where I lived, and parked on the road outside.
I followed her into the hall still feeling somewhat uneasy. She had left some lights on which gave the house a welcoming glow as we entered.
Her home was modern, but comfortable and I felt embarrassed to think of my own, rather dated, house. It wasn't that I was an old fuddy-duddy as my house was just as comfortable as Beths. But, to be honest, I really wasn't interested in changing things that I had lived with for years.
She sensed my discomfort and took my jacket, "Make your self at home. Take your shoes off and I'll get us a drink," then disappeared, leaving me to sink into the fawn leather couch in her living room.
"How do you like your Scotch?" came her voice from somewhere else.
"Fifty, fifty with plain water, please."
She re-appeared, sans coat and boots, but with a very large malt and a glass of wine. She offered me the scotch and sat besides me.
"Cheers."
She proffered her glass, which I chinked before downing a large mouthful of the smooth amber liquid.
"Now what?" I thought.
As a habitual sipper of any drink held in my hand, I put the glass down knowing that sip would follow sip which would be followed - eventually by oblivion -- not a good impression on our ( even though I had not thought of it this way previously) first date.
She placed her glass next to mine and said, "Are you hungry? I'm Starving - let's order a take away. Fancy Chinese? I have a menu next to the phone."
So organised. I was impressed. After a brief discussion, we ordered something and waited.
