Just how one grows old is, as has often been observed, a matter of choice. At least it is sometimes, illness and other circumstances permitting. It has to be considered a sadness though, surely, when those we had planned to accompany us into later life seem to adopt an entirely contrary philosophy to our own in this vital matter...




Sisters Dear

Outside, the rain lashed down through the evening darkness as one of the never-ending series of autumn storms made its slow way along the Thames valley. Its drumming against the panes was distinct although perhaps not as pronounced as a while ago.

  By contrast, the hubbub at the dinner table was reaching a crescendo now that the Merlot had worked its usual magic and the dessert course was approaching... even though the subjects aired tended to be somewhat academic and abstruse.
 

   Jenny excused herself to attend to bringing the carefully-prepared crèmes brûlées from the kitchen, still harbouring less than charitable thoughts towards husband Nigel for his total conversational ineptness. Why was he seemingly so utterly useless at simple, dinner table repartee? You would think a college don, after thirty years of social interaction of all sorts, might manage the occasional witticism or lively bit of banter. She wasn't expecting rhetoric worthy of Cicero but, well, at least something original and thought-provoking might surely not be too much to ask? Just occasionally? Did he really think that 'Some Aspects of Prime Number Theory' was going to make it to the bedside table of anyone else here? Honestly?

  As she brought the tray with the desserts into the dining room, she pondered whether she was being fair to Nigel. These dinner parties hardly seemed to bring out the best in him, true, but then was he any worse than her sisters' husbands? She eyed tubby Diarmuid, sitting there next to her younger sibling Kate and trying desperately to sound cultivated when he was so clearly and so narrowly obsessed with the minutiae of middle ages archaeology, scarcely knowing a symphony from a novel.

  Middle ages! Jenny found it hard to suppress a smile. Yes, that was what the menfolk hereabouts suffered from. A physical and mental decline into genteel, fifty-something, middle aged boredom... and boring-ness. Her older sister's baggage, Michael, was even more of a liability. Inordinately fond of his food, he had passed the eighteen stone mark years ago and was now flabbing his way gently towards twenty. Redeeming features being all but non-existent - unless you called a fixation with obscure college rules interesting - she could never understand what Anne saw in him apart from the obvious, concomitant opportunity to live in Oxford and call herself a Senior Tutor's wife. Exactly like the others, she judged, he was becoming just a teensy bit of a bore. Dear God, no excitement either wanted or sought.

  She distributed the bowls carefully around the table and in doing so could hardly help noticing what a distinction there was between the husbands and the wives seated here. She and her sisters had always been so vivacious and interested in others, always delighting in doing things together and exploring new possibilities. That had dimmed hardly if at all over the years. They still enjoyed weekly coffee mornings together, still visited exhibitions and shows as a trio and still read each other's latest book finds. They were forever urging each other on to keep in shape; they played tennis; they shared and discussed all things from recipes to films and fashion tips. In short - and very unlike their husbands - they looked for interest and spontaneity in life rather than humdrum predictability. Physically, yes, they might be past their prime of femininity - all three now wore glasses routinely and childbirth and the ageing process do take their toll on firmness of bust and bottom, granted - but at least they tried to do something about it.

   Jenny caught sight of herself in the mirror on the wall opposite, hanging above and beyond Nigel's head. Yes, her black, black hair, the pride of her life, still lustrous after all these years. Still with that natural swirl... and carefully groomed, as ever.

  The men by comparison were beginning to resemble dried-up husks both mentally and physically, increasingly locked away in their own little, self-absorbed worlds, interested but little in anything outside of college life and certainly uncaring of personal appearance. Not even the challenge afforded by a gentle walk, she pondered, looking at the pudgy and wrinkled thing her Nigel was becoming, let alone any regular, meaningful exercise. It just was not within the man's mental horizons. Why should it be? After all, what had exercise to do with partial differential equations? As for any other "physical side" to life... she thought back, wistfully... and then dismissed the thought with no little bitterness as now being too remote a possibility... it was doubtful that he ever thought of his own wife's body...

  The sigh she heaved on sitting down and re-assuming the standard hostess's genial smile was lost in the general gossip.

  'And actually', Michael was saying as he lost little time in demolishing the dessert set before him, 'I think it's spot on that you girls have found yet another outlet. It must be boring, being at home all the while... at least we guys go out to work. What was it again? You know... your thing... on... Wednesday evenings... wasn't it..?

  His voice trailed off, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air and indicating with stark clarity that he scarcely took the slightest interest in his wife's doings.

  The wives looked at each other knowingly.

  The pause went on too long. At last, as dutiful hostess, Jenny gave dry utterance.

  'Actually, it's our keep fit session at the gym, Mike... and it's on Tuesday evenings...' she added for good measure, '... you ladies both coming next week..?'

  'Absolutely...' Anne gave forth, grinning. Kate made an enthusiastic thumbs up sign...

  '...all girls together!'

The traditional chorus rang out...

                                                                                                               ~


  Peering through the windscreen at the dark evening, Jenny applied her foot to the accelerator with gusto as if the act would banish the effect of the recent re-setting of the clocks. She felt a slight chill but thought this stemmed from the fact that she had forgotten her track suit top - simply having an anorak as a final layer was not proving sufficient.

  'Let's hope Anne's ready this time,' she grinned at Kate in the rear-view mirror, shivering slightly.

  'You know her,' retorted her sister from the back seat, 'always a good excuse for being late'.

  The banter was good-natured and fears of being delayed were actually misplaced, as it proved. When they drew up outside Michael and Anne's ivy-covered, Victorian, red brick villa in the Oxford suburbs, she was already waiting on the front step, raincoat firmly wrapped around her gym attire and clutching her sports bag.

  'Wow, my dear,' said Jenny as her sister climbed in, 'what's brought about this sudden and unwonted burst of punctuality?' She trailed off in a giggle. Anne took the jibe serenely.

  'Well now, come off it...' she said drily as she settled in alongside Jenny, '...you know how much I enjoyed the first couple of sessions we arranged.'

  'Ok, everyone ready?' Jenny looked around queryingly.  'Off we go then. All girls together!'

  'Sisters forever!' came back the conjoined, traditional response, followed by copious giggling.

                                                                                                               ~


  In Oxford in the middle of the Michaelmas Term, the evenings draw in and the air is often cold and clammy. You shun the damp streets. You welcome being indoors. Bright lights are normally the antidote to the outside gloom, both to stimulate mood and lift spirits. To find these, and also to raise the pulse and achieve a warm, physical glow, one might indeed visit the local gym.

  There are however other ways of raising spirits, pulses... and sweats.

  The car drove unhesitatingly past the leisure centre, its bright lights... and its gymnasium...

  It followed a course into the fringe of the city centre and arrived at a restaurant car park where it pulled up. Leaving their sports bags - and their glasses - inside, the three women, almost arm in arm, made their way determinedly further into the maze of streets and colleges, eventually finding their way under a gothic-arched doorway, past a porters' lodge, around two sides of one darkened quadrangle and a short way into another. Two flights of stairs were negotiated and a knock was applied to a door...