The rain was falling hard on the esplanade. The view from the apartment of sea and beach was obscured by mist.
‘How is he?’ Karen asked her mother.
‘He’s been in a temper since we moved here. Now he’s bitter as well.’
‘Bitter with you?’
‘With me, himself, everything.’
‘Doesn’t he have any interests apart from…?’
‘He’s spent his life in a box marked career. Now he’s out of it, he doesn’t know what to do and he’s angry.’
‘Can’t you…?’
‘I’ve tried! All my life I’ve tried. I’ve waited on him, made myself into different shapes to please him, and I can’t do it any more. I’m a state pensioner officially as of today. I want to live, Karen.’
‘Of course. And it seems a nice place to retire to.’
‘The summer’s OK, heaving with visitors. But then – autumn, look at it – holidaymakers gone, just mirk and rain.’
‘Not much to do?’
‘Every supermarket shopper’s trolley’s full of booze. It helps with the melancholy.’
‘Aren’t there others of your age about?’
‘There’re loads like us. They come here to recapture the pleasures of their youth. But all they discover is emptiness. But I go out, Age UK activities. I’ve not given up.’
‘Good for you. Where is he?’
‘Where do you think?’
‘The slot machine shop?’
‘Adult gaming centres, they call themselves.’
‘It’s your birthday for god’s sake!’
‘He started going to kill time. Too much spare time in this place, you think too much. Thinking brings on regret.’
‘Is he addicted?’
‘Maybe.’
‘How much does he…?’
‘Anything he can get his hands on. Most of my money’s gone. He raids my purse.’
‘Oh Mum that’s…! But you get a state pension from today, right?’
‘I’ll have to guard that around the clock. If he sees a chance, it’ll be gone too.’
‘I can’t believe he’s doing this. It’s shameful.’
Karen’s mobile pinged. She checked the text and said, ‘It’s Maisie. She wants me to pick her up after school.’
‘You go.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll come back soon. You’ve settled in and it’s lovely to… I’ll visit again pronto. Talk… we need to talk to dad and…’
She planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek and was gone.
Her mother felt the letter from the surgery in her pocket. She’d wanted to speak to Karen before phoning the doctor, was steeling herself to do it when Maisie’s message arrived. The truth was she in a bit of shock and didn’t know what to say. She read the couple of sentences once more: recent pancreatic cancer tests… results are in… telephone us urgently.
The rain was heavy now. Everybody was indoors, finding ways to occupy themselves. ‘I want to live,’ she said, ‘live for me. Is that so selfish?’ She hesitated then picked up her phone. What if she’d left it too late? What if it was cancer and it would stop her belated desire to be happy?
She pressed the surgery number.
