December
‘You two strong, beautiful women.’ As Stevie pulled up outside her house, Angela’s words echoed in her ears. She turned off the engine and sat staring into space. Were they? Or were they just two middle-aged ladies trying to hold back the years, trying to prove something to themselves?
An image of her ex-husband flashed before her; he was laughing with her about something the children had done when they’d spent a family weekend in a holiday cottage in the Yorkshire Dales. She remembered how much fun it had been there, the walk to Malham Cove and then on up the steep path to the side, right onto the limestone pavement: clints and grykes. Strange words, which the girls had giggled about at the time. Then, on a balmy evening, they’d walked all the way to Janet’s Foss from the village. The air had been scented with wild garlic, a smell that now brought back memories. There had been a certain warmth between John and her. Why had it been so fragile and transitory throughout their relationship? What had she been doing wrong?
She buried her face in her hands; they were still cold from being in the lake, slightly paler on the tips of her fingers than her palms. Cold seemed to seep from those ten tips right down into her core again and she just didn’t know whether she’d ever be able to warm through completely. Ever. Some days she didn’t feel strong or beautiful. She felt as old as her years and ten times as lonely. That burning fire in her belly that she usually felt after swimming hadn’t lasted this morning.
She questioned why she had suggested doing the winter swimming championships in the first place. Wasn’t it enough just to swim regularly with a couple of friends and then resume her quiet age-appropriate life? She frowned. What was age appropriate though? Just because she was in her fifties, did that mean she had to stick to certain rules and not live beyond society’s expectations? There was nothing wrong with putting on the kettle, slouching on the sofa, going to the book club, or having an early night with a book, but what if she wanted something different? What if she didn’t want to be single for the rest of her life? What if she wanted the full-blooded passion she had felt in her youth? What if she did want to be loved and adored by someone who wanted to rip her clothes off rather than watch Netflix? What if she really wanted to know what it felt like to be loved on a daily basis and to give such love in return?
It would certainly be far easier if she told herself she was happy to be on her own and truly believe that singledom was liberating, because it was sometimes just so damn painful to feel the energy – often sexual energy – flow from her core, especially after being in cold water. The world seemed to assume that when women went through the menopause, the desire for intimacy and sex disappeared along with your hormones. The tide seemed to be turning as more and more women spoke out about how they really felt, but Stevie preferred to observe from a distance and just navigate her own thoughts and feelings. What she wanted above all else was a relationship. She now felt ready, switched back on emotionally as well as physically. Arvid had been the trigger and her vivid dream about him afterwards clear proof that everything was well and truly functioning!
She couldn’t imagine herself going back to the Internet-dating profile she’d started to create to find a man for their swimming team or hanging around the pubs in town, though. That wasn’t the sort of experience she yearned for.
What does that have to do with pulling together a team for a swimming championship in the middle of winter? Come on, Stevie. Get a grip! She switched off the engine, grabbed her phone from the glove compartment and stepped out of the car. Easing back her shoulders, she looked up at the sky: please, someone, something, show me what I need to do. Show me where I can find someone to love.