Katie Fforde: Going Dutch

Soon, she'd have to think about earning a living. Philip had given her quite a large amount of money and she looked on this as a redundancy payment. She'd had no qualms about accepting it. Eventually, when they got divorced, she'd probably be entitled to at least some of the value of the house, but until then, she wanted to keep as much of her lump sum intact as she could. And although having Dora would give her life more focus, she needed something else to do. Since she'd arrived on the barge she'd spent her spare time redoing the paintwork in the original boatman's cabin, which was her bedroom. This was a painstaking activity she mostly did when there was something good on the radio. It involved much sanding down and filling and she had only got to the painting stage quite recently. She looked on it as payback for being given somewhere to live at quite a low rent. But eventually, she knew, she'd have to get a job.

The trouble was, at fifty, she was virtually unemploy able. She hadn't been tempted to go to university and had done a secretarial course instead. Then she'd had office jobs. But those skills were no use to her now. Even if she went on a computer course, no one would take her on without recent office experience and her most recent office experience, if you discounted all the voluntary work she had done over the years, had been working for a manage ment consultancy in London over twenty-five years ago. She had had to beg for an electric typewriter.

She'd had a computer for several years now, and had used it to write minutes, create notices and, more latterly, to shop over the Internet. But she couldn't do spreadsheets, or use accountancy packages, or any of the things a modern office would require.

‘And even if I could,' she had said to Karen, 'no one would take me on at my age.’

Her daughter had tutted but acknowledged the truth of this.

So she'd have to create her own job and work for herself, but for now she had Dora to look after. And they both had a rally to take part in.

‘I'm shattered,' she called to Dora, who was scrubbing the grout round the kitchen tiles with a toothbrush. 'Are you hungry yet?'

‘Mm. Definitely. Do you want me to go for the fish and chips?'

‘We'll go together and I'll show you where the shops are. You deserve a reward. I truly am grateful for your help, especially on your first night here.’

As they passed the shower block Jo suddenly stopped. 'Oh, Dora, I'm so sorry, I've got a letter for you. Seeing where we pick up our post reminded me.' She burrowed about in her handbag and gave the envelope to Dora.

‘That's Dad's handwriting,' she said.

‘You don't have to open it now,' said Jo after a moment, when she saw the look on Dora's face. 'You can do it another time. Let's go. I can almost smell the vinegar.’

They ate most of their supper on the way home. 'After all, we don't want to make more clearing up,' said Dora, who was, Jo realised, a girl after her own heart.

‘I should warn you, I doubt if there'll be anyone remotely interesting to you,' said Jo to Dora as they made their way along the pontoon. They had watched the boat-handling competition that afternoon and were now on their way to the dinner. It was a warm evening; lights from the barges twinkled on the water. 'There are some young people who live on a barge at the end but they're away this weekend. I expect it'll all be old duffers. Possibly in blazers and white trousers. Cravats, even.’

Dora laughed. 'I don't mind. I'm definitely not looking for a boyfriend.'

‘I know that but it would be nice if there was someone under fifty for you to talk to. I don't want you to be bored out of your skull. Karen would have gone on for hours if I'd dragged her to anything she didn't enjoy.'

‘I probably would have done before, but now I just want to chat about the weather to people old enough to be my grandparents. Will you know many of the old duffers?’

Jo chuckled. 'I don't think I actually know anyone of that description. I'll know the locals, but there are lots of visiting boats, and people who haven't got barges but want them. They're doing research. Tilly, from Appalachia -that's the boat with the wooden decks and the tubs of flowers near ours – she's going to be there. She's great fun. You'll like her. Her engine is painted pink.'

‘Wow!'

‘Then there's the couple from Blackberry. They're lovely. Quite elderly, and they're not here all the time, but so kind. Doug sorted me out when I had to get gas for the first time.’

‘I'm never going to remember everyone's names.'

‘Don't worry about it. I won't introduce you all that much anyway, because I'm hopeless at remembering names too. I'll just say that you're Dora.'

‘And what else?' Dora stopped and grabbed Jo's arm, suddenly aware that she needed to have some sort of cover story.

Startled by her urgency, Jo turned to her. 'What do you mean?'

‘Well, you'll have to say why I'm here, won't you?’

Jo shook her head as she realised what Dora was talking about. 'Not at all. I'll just say you want to try living near London for a while and are staying with me because it's cheap.'

‘Well, that's true. It's been free, so far.’

Jo waved her hands in a dismissive gesture. 'You only arrived yesterday, and when you've got a job you can pay me rent. Now, do you think I look all right?’

Dora thought it would have been better if Jo had asked this when they were still on the barge and she could have made any necessary alterations, but for some reason she hadn't. Thus there was no point in suggesting powder, or pointing out that her trousers had paint on them. 'You look fine.'

‘You don't think this top is a bit bright?' Jo pulled at it. Dora considered and lied. 'Um. Not really.'

‘That means you do.' Jo let out a frustrated sigh. 'I deliberately left all my tasteful clothes behind. I wanted a new start.' They set off walking again.

‘Right.'

‘And I didn't want to be invisible.'

‘Why on earth should you be invisible?' Dora asked in surprise.

‘Women of my age are, you know. It's a well-known phenomenon.’

Dora cleared her throat. 'Well, you won't be, not in that top.’

Jo put a hand to her neckline, which was quite low. 'It's too revealing and too sparkly, isn't it?'

‘Not really. I mean, it's quite sparkly, but they're very discreet sequins and bugle beads.'

‘What about the revealing bit?'

‘It's perfectly respectable. Even my mother would wear something that low.’

Jo laughed in relief. 'Karen wouldn't be seen dead with me in a top like this.'

‘I will.' Dora tried to be reassuring.

Now the path was wider and they could walk side by side, Jo took Dora's arm in a friendly fashion. 'When Philip left me I bought a lot of very bright clothes, so people wouldn't just look past me. Not purple, of course.'

‘Why not purple?' Dora was mystified.

‘Because of the poem about growing old and wearing purple.'

‘I see,' said Dora, not seeing, but deciding it was easier to humour Jo – she was so different from her mother.

‘I don't want another relationship, heaven forbid, but I don't want people not to notice if I come into a room. That would be just too lowering.'

‘I'm sure they don't. I mean, I'm sure they do notice.’

Jo laughed. 'Wearing this top, they're bound to.’

Although she didn't say so to Dora, Jo's fear of becoming invisible was partly fear of the menopause. This Sword of Damocles had already descended on many of her friends, some of them younger than her. It couldn't be long now,she knew, and she was not looking forward to it. She didn't want to become non-sexual and feared that fate was inevitable – particularly now she was single.