By
Alice Parrant
As Molly approached the red brick building, she took a moment for herself, before walking to the front door. The breeze against her face caressed her hair. It felt like so long since anyone had held her. Somewhere nearby a blackbird was singing. She paused for a while, listening to its sweet song.
It had been a day very like today that she had first spoken to Frank. He had accidently kicked a football straight into her, leaving a large damp stain in the middle of her dress. She remembered how her cheeks had glowed when he ran over in concern.
A few years her senior, Frank had seemed far too sophisticated to talk to Molly. Yet after the football episode, he always smiled when he saw her in the village. It wasn’t until she turned twenty and was working in the town nearby that he called to ask if she would like to go out to the cinema. The rest just fell into place.
Molly pressed the doorbell and heard its chiming tune resonate through the hallway. She looked at the plaque on the wall: ‘Primrose Lodge’. The name made her think of a cosy countryside retreat by a quiet lake, where wild primroses might hide in the hedgerows nearby. She imagined majestic trees, high hills and wisps of wood smoke in clean, rural air.
This Primrose Lodge stood in a suburban street, without a primrose in sight. The floors were covered in a hard, clinical lino and the corridors smelt of school dinners. Monet and Renoir dotted the walls, as well as some photos of a Christmas party. Molly did not recognise anyone in them and suspected they had been taken a long time ago.
“How is he?” she asked the uniformed assistant who came to the door.
“Doing well, Mrs Pearson. He ate all his lunch and painted a beautiful picture.”
A beautiful picture! Molly thought of the muddle of blobs and smudges Frank usually produced. ‘Probably looks like something Ben might have done when he was tiny,’ she thought, as she pictured their teenage grandson. Frank had never been very interested in art, and it seemed rather silly to be encouraging this hobby so late in life.
Their shared passion had always been to dance. Having reached county level in ballroom, they had been pretty good.
Molly allowed her memory to take her back to those competitions and the rush of nerves and anticipation as they waited for the results. What was life without something to move, delight and motivate you? Becoming rather addicted, she had tried salsa, flamenco, tap and even took up belly dancing in her sixties. The fluid movement in her hips and finding her own type of wiggle made her feel new, alive and wonderfully attractive. Frank had watched entranced as she practised in front of the mirror.
“Who says old married couples don’t have any fun?” she’d giggled falling into his arms.
Molly felt her handbag drag on her shoulder. She didn’t feel old, not really, but belly dancing seemed like such a long time ago. Part of another life.
It had started small as these things usually do. Senior moments. Frank just seemed to have more of them than other people. She’d spied him watering a cactus and putting his reading glasses into empty coffee mugs. It was when he got lost on his way home from the garden centre and announced one afternoon that he’d better go and pick the girls up from school that Molly began to worry.
“I’ve told you before that I don’t want to buy anything,” Frank was sitting by the bay window in his bedroom in a flowery, upholstered armchair.
“Darling, it’s me, it’s Molly,” she said as brightly as she could. For some months now, Frank hadn’t recognised her. Often, he thought she was a member of staff but this salesperson thing was new. He had always disliked cold callers.
“How are you?” She sat down beside him.
“Can’t complain.”
“That’s good, love.”
Molly reached into her handbag for an old photo of Ben on his tricycle. ‘Shame he had to turn into a sulky teenager,’ she thought rather wistfully as she remembered his joyful, toddler laughter and the smell of his newly washed curly hair.
“Who’s that child?” Frank was leaning over.
“He’s called Ben and he’s our grandson,” Molly smiled. She was grateful that her family were around to support her, even if she didn’t see as much of them as she would have liked.
Frank’s face turned into scowl.
“I’ve just told you that I don’t want to buy anything. My parents will be coming soon to take me home. Go away.”
In public, Molly was generally able to put up an imaginary shield, but today, she scurried out of the front door before anyone realised that she was crying. The one thing she wanted was a cuddle from her husband and he didn’t know who she was.
On arriving home, Molly began a frantic session of ‘DeClutz’. This involved turning out drawers, shelves, wardrobes and storage cupboards, then dumping unneeded items into bin bags destined for the local charity shop. It was a cathartic exercise and her head always felt clearer afterwards.
Of late, Molly had needed more ‘DeClutz’ sessions than usual. She had already made one trip back to the charity shop to try and buy back some of the more impulsive ‘chuck outs’. Perhaps she could offer the service to her daughters, though Molly wasn’t convinced that it would be gratefully received.
Having hauled open the drawers in the spare room, Molly was greeted by a jingle jangle noise as a mass of scarves and jewels tumbled out. ‘So that’s where they are,’ she thought. Sparkle, glitter and vibrant colours along with a few cassette tapes filled the floor as Molly reacquainted herself with her old belly dancing kit. She picked up a golden hip scarf and sighed; it was designed to be shimmied into life, filling up rooms with laughter and delight.
Molly looked at the scarf and watched as its tiny bells and sequinned coins quivered slightly. She wasn’t sure if it would still fit and tentatively tried it for size. Shrugging off her fleece, she turned herself around in front of the spare room mirror. How lovely the swish of the fabric felt on her hips as they gently started to rotate! Gaining in confidence, she tried out a few of the old moves. Yes, she was carrying a little extra, yes, her hips creaked slightly, but yes, she still had it in her. And it felt so good.
***
“Oh, I’m glad you’re here,” Frank looked up from his flowery chair. “My knee’s giving me murder and my wife’s ready to murder me. I need some painkillers.”
“Your poor wife,” replied Molly, remembering when Frank injured his knee in a dance contest some forty years ago. He had been an absolute nightmare. She reached into her handbag and found a tube of spearmints. “This should do the trick,” she said, slipping one into his hand.
“Ah, you’re an angel,” he said happily, popping it into his mouth.
Molly was looking into her handbag once again. This time she took out a bright turquoise hip scarf, with silvery coins and bells sewn on. She wrapped it around her hips. Next, she produced a bracelet and carefully placed it around her wrist. It too was encrusted with coins which spread out over the front of her hand. The bracelet then wrapped itself into a ring around her middle finger. She took a moment to admire it, feeling all together transformed.
Signalling to the care assistant who was waiting by a stereo in the corner, Molly began to shimmy to the bright, Bollywood beat which had started to play. She wiggled her hips as she found her way into the dance. Any apprehension she might have felt, dissolved. She felt light, free and in touch with herself once again. It almost felt like the old days.
Molly looked up for a moment and watched how the light from the bay window had caught the shiny coins on her scarf and was sending dazzling orbs of light dancing around the room with them.
Molly risked a peep at Frank. He was staring at her in enchantment.
“My Moll,” he whispered and all of a sudden he was on his feet with her and they began a unique kind of waltz with some free style thrown in.