A Gift to Herself

A GIFT TO HERSELF

Helen Smith an attractive, blue-eyed brunette in her early fifties, curvy yet with an elegance that experience brings, stood by the window of a five-star hotel suite, sipping hazelnut liqueur and musing:

Well, Ive made it… Divorced, middle-aged, all alone in a hotel for lovebirds. At least its a suite, not some roadside inn overlooking the car park that would have been the final humiliation.

She was sure: romance had packed its bags two decades ago, around the time her children slammed the last doors and outgrew their teenage years. Men came in and out of her life like London buses, always ending in disappointment just shy of despair, and shed decided relationships simply werent her cup of tea.

But then He appeared a virtual admirer. He wrote her messages that made her cheeks glow and her back straighten without thinking. Messages so wonderful they deserved to be printed and pinned to the fridge, both to reread and to serve as a reminder to steer clear of late-night snacking. At times, Helen suspected her suitor either attended a poetry club or was blessed with far too much free time.

She found herself becoming Ellie again. She bought a dress so gorgeous it made her colleagues jaws clench with envy, a bra that cost as much as a flight to Barcelona, and even joined a gym. She squatted with the determination of someone who believed the fate of the nation was at stake.

If I die from lunges tomorrow, bury me in this dress. Let my ex eat his heart out, she would grumble, half-joking, to her friends.

The meeting went ahead. It was a success details best left to the imagination. Suffice it to say, the reflection in the mirror afterwards belonged to a younger, glowing Ellie.

The second date, though, was a different story. Theyd picked a charming seaside town for maximum romance. Helen planned, prepared, worried only for his health to betray him at the last minute with a bout of high blood pressure. And so there she was: alone, in a fancy hotel, feeling adrift in a foreign town. Clearly, stresses like these dont come for free. Fate seemed to wink: Steady on, love. Dont push it.

She sat at the window, glass in hand, trying to find the humour:

Never mind. How would I tell the grandkids, anyway? Granny, how did you catch your second wind? Why, in an airport car park, waiting for a chap and his blood pressure pills. Bit of romance for you!

The next morning, she visited the spa and vowed, Right, darling, thats enough. Now the party is for me. Im going all out. The spa ladies assured her she was absolutely glowing. She stared in the mirror and concluded the only thing glowing was her skin, thanks to liberal amounts of oil, not a miracle of reversal aging.

The city tour was a delight. The guide tall, silver-haired, voice as smooth as velvet captivated her. Some old dear in joggers chattered away beside her, but Helen only heard him. While the guide discussed medieval English battles, Helen thought: men have warred over cities for centuries, women have always vied for attention. The balance never really changes.

You simply must try the treacle tart, insisted the guide, ushering the group into the citys best tearoom, his gaze meeting hers.

The tart was heavenly; so perfect Helen nearly fell in love again but this time, with pastry and golden syrup. At least you can always count on treacle tart, far more reliable than men, she mused with a sly grin.

Shopping followed: an amber pendant, a turquoise dress that hugged her curves so well she winked at herself in the shop mirror. It was so daring she wasnt sure shed ever wear it in public. But that didnt deter her.

On the plane, Helen glanced out the window at the receding town, letting go of her romantic expectations as the city slipped away beneath the clouds.

Well… perhaps theyd meet again, perhaps not. Thankfully, life doesnt end here.

Ahead of her were a new wardrobe, a couple of holidays, and maybe another treacle tart with or without a man.

And if its without, at least let it be with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, she smirked, settling back as she drifted into a peaceful nap.

Sometimes the best gift you can give yourself is your own company, sprinkled with a little sweetness and a hearty laugh at lifes unpredictability.