“With all this fuss you‘d think I was the first person ever to get electricity, not the last!” The young journalist was scribbling furiously, not wanting to miss any of Elsie’s wonderful quotes.
It was quite some story after all – not the gripping street riots and political shenanigans that kept some reporters busy – but the fact that a 93-year-old widow living in rural County Fermanagh was getting electricity in her home for the first time.
Somehow the paper had got wind of the story. Elsie’s daughter Sarah was not at all happy about the publicity, and had disappeared into town. While Elsie was proud to boast about how she had coped with hardship all her life, her daughter was more self-conscious about their lifestyle. Sarah was 54, and feared the world would consider her a sad spinster, which, Elsie supposed, wasn‘t far off the mark.
It had suited her okay. When Jim died nearly 30 years ago, Elsie needed someone to help her on the farm, and Sarah was their only child. Sarah had never had a romance, apart from one unfortunate incident many years ago. Elsie had to admit it, despite her boasting she would not have coped without her daughter.
“So you don’t have a bathroom indoors, or any hot water?” the reporter was asking. “How do you manage?”
“The way we always have done. We boil the water in the kettle and pour it into the tin bath in my bedroom. I’ve a gas fire in there, and a strong constitution, I don’t need to run to the toilet in the night, and Sarah keeps a poe under the bed, just in case,” Elsie replied, her voice full of pride.
She could see the young woman was itching to get a look around the tiny cottage, but that would drive Sarah mad. She hated their privacy to be invaded. Last time they had strangers in the cottage was 14 years ago when, at Sarah’s insistence, they had a telephone installed.
“So Elsie, now you’re all wired up, what do you plan to do next? Satellite TV, maybe, a luxury bathroom?”
Elsie laughed. “Well, me and Sarah were talking about knocking the whole place down and building us a fancy new house. Getting those electricity lines out here cost a bomb, but we’ve still a bit of money left from the sale of the land.”
She could see the disappointment in the journalist’s eyes. “That would be a shame,” the girl was saying. “It’s just so beautiful here, so quiet and quaint.”
“Yes, and darn cold in the winter, and there’s me without a man to warm me up….” The girl’s pen swung back into action.
It was quiet when the journalist and her photographer left. Elsie shuffled over to the stove, threw in another block, and pushed the kettle on to boil.
******
“Well, have they been and gone?” Sarah shouted as she came through the door after her weekly shopping trip. Something of a weekly highlight – her only other outings were to the monthly WI meetings in Ballinamallard, and on a Sunday Sylvia took her to church.
“That photographer must have taken a hundred pictures,” Elsie complained. “They mustn’t have too much to fill that paper. Is it time for Neighbours?”
Sarah chuckled. Elsie had become hooked on the soaps over the past few years, watching them on a little battery driven black and white television. Then she decided she would like to see the characters in colour. Thank heavens for East Enders and Corrie, thought Sarah. Had it not been for them electricity would never have reached Clyde Cottage.
Sarah would have loved a few comforts in her life, but before they sold the land there quite simply hadn’t been the money.
After Jim’s death, when Sarah was just 23, she had handed in her notice at the hotel in town where she was training to be a cook, and the two women had continued to run the little farm alone. Over the years the stock had dwindled, as had their income. Five years ago Elsie had finally swallowed her pride and sold their four fields. It had been a lucrative deal. The women had pocketed enough to keep them for several more years.
******
The local paper hit the streets on Friday and Pat from down the road called in to drop off a copy. “Look Elsie, you’ve made the front page!” he exclaimed. Sure enough, a colour picture of a rather nervous looking Elsie appeared in the top corner of the front page, above a heading which read “Elsie gets turned on at 93!”
“Very tasteful,” Sarah muttered. She was beginning to get worried about what was inside the article. Fortunately the journalist had managed to capture Elsie’s life in a simple heart-warming style, touched with gentle humour of Elsie‘s own making.
“Mother, what’s this about us rebuilding, you can’t be serious!” Sarah sounded angry.
“Just a little joke dear, got to give the readers something to talk about,” her mother replied. “Anyway, you’re the one always going on about getting a more suitable house. We could have a brand new one all ready for you when I’m gone.”
“Don’t talk like that mother. I meant buying a house not so far from everything.”
Her mother may joke, but Sarah was worried about what she would do once Elsie was gone. She would not stay here alone, she knew that much, but she was so awkward with other people, so uncomfortable out of her own environment. Sure she hardly opened her mouth at WI meetings. She thought they only tolerated her because she helped the branch collect the baking prize every year.
As she often did, she let her mind drift back to the summer she turned 18, the summer she fell in love. Brian had been handsome. It didn’t matter that he was practically her dad’s age. For years she had seen him only as father to her best friend Davey. Nothing more. But that summer things changed. When Brian’s wife Audrey died in a car accident, Sarah was there first for Davey, and later for Brian.
She recalled how she had visited the house on the first anniversary of Audrey’s death. Davey and the younger children were out, Brian was alone with his grief. As Sarah reached out to comfort him, he had pulled her to him and kissed her. Gently at first, then more passionately. She had not shied away. The age gap meant nothing. She loved him, and he loved her. How naïve had she been….
She had walked home singing, and burst into Clyde Cottage with a radiant smile on her face. Her father was suspicious. “What have you been up to young lady?” he demanded. Unable to help herself, she proudly told her parents she was in love.
At first Jim smiled. “Has young Davey finally got round to asking you on a date,” he teased.
“No.” Sarah looked at him surprised. “Not Davey. Brian.”
Well Jim’s demeanour had changed in an instant. “I’ll teach him to touch my daughter,” he thundered. “Just wants a skivvy to look after them youngsters. Well it won’t be you girl. You won’t go near that house again.”
Elsie and Sarah had watched helplessly as Jim stormed out of the house. What he said to Brian that day, Sarah would never know. But her father forbade her to see Brian or Davey ever again.
The family sold up and moved to Enniskillen, where Brian eventually remarried. He died two years ago. Davey had gone to university and was now a solicitor back in Enniskillen. Since that day 36 years ago, their paths had never crossed, but she often thought about them both.
******
As she was peeling potatoes for lunch the next morning a loud knocking almost made her jump out of her skin. Wiping her hands on her apron, Sarah walked over and opened the door.
Her heart stopped and her stomach did a somersault, for in front of her stood Brian. She felt a rush of blood to her ears, and then checked herself. Brian was dead.
“Sarah, are you okay?” the voice was soft spoken, full of concern. “Sorry, maybe I should have phoned first, I guess you recognise me then?”
She composed herself quickly. “My God, Davey. So sorry…Gosh, it’s been, what, years…? I just wouldn’t have been thinking of you.” Good job he couldn’t read her mind. “Come in, I’ll put the kettle on. Heavens, what a surprise…”
Davey entered the small parlour, his bulk practically filling the doorway. Elsie appeared out of the bedroom. For a minute Davey actually looked terrified, but belying her years the old lady quickly covered the space between them and stretched up to grasp his face between her hands.
“Good looking as ever, I see,” she said. Strange, Sarah thought, her voice seemed to be cracking a little. “So you’ve finally come back.”
“It’s taken me a few years,” he said. He held up a copy of the paper. “When I read this I thought it was time to take the plunge and see if there was any chance of the axe being buried?” There was a question in his voice.
“See Sarah, I told you some good would come of doing that interview. And it’s brought the prodigal son back to us. Now,” Elsie turned her attention to Davey, “I’m going to have a wee nap before my lunch. See you later.” With that she retreated back into her room and shut her door.
Any awkwardness soon disappeared. In no time Sarah and Davey were laughing at the article and how quaint it made Elsie‘s life seem. “Those newspaper people don’t know the half of it,” Sarah said smiling. “It’s a good job I made myself scarce, or it might have been a different story.”
“It wasn’t that bad, living here? Was it?” Davey asked, his eyes suddenly serious.
“Of course not,” said Sarah, “but I guess I feel life has passed me by. Now I’m old and wrinkled, I’ll be alone in the world before long, and I feel a bit deprived. What about you. You never married?”
“No. I just never found the right woman, not after…” His voice drifted off. There was an strained silence. Sarah was debating about plumping the kettle when he started to speak again.
“I guess I never quite got over you Sarah.” She started, confused. Davey carried on: “I don’t know what exactly went on between you and Dad that day. Your father made it sound like he’d molested you, attacked you against your will. He gave Dad a good hiding, warned him off, warned all of us off.” His eyes watched her face as he spoke.
“Dad’s pride was hurt, and he was still so vulnerable after Mum’s death. He told me not to go near you again. Said he didn’t want any more trouble. I was so angry for him, I agreed.” Davey’s head dropped. “If he hurt you Sarah, I’m sorry. But I’m sure he never meant to. He was just so lonely, and you were so beautiful.”
Beautiful! Sarah’s eyes opened wide with shock. No-one had ever called her beautiful before.
Davey carried on. “We missed Mum, but we were happy when he met Marie. She was lonely too, after her divorce.” He fidgeted with an invisible thread on his jacket sleeve. “When Dad died she moved to Liverpool to be near my step-sister. I’m on my own now, the others all moved away.”
Realising Sarah was staring unblinking at him, Davey trailed off.
“Did you really think I was beautiful Davey?” she asked in a small voice.
“I did, always, and you still are, Sarah.” He reached for her hand, a hand he had often held when they were walking together as children, and when they sat in the barn as teenagers and shared their hopes, their secrets, their dreams. So familiar. So tender.
He went on: “After what happened with Dad, I was angry too, with him and with you. He was proud. Even after your father died he didn‘t want me to have anything to do with you. I know it sounds foolish, but I had to respect that.”
Davey sighed. “But Dad’s gone now. It’s time for me to get on with my own life. And for practically all my life I’ve been wanting to ask you for a date. This article,” he waved the newspaper, “spurred me on. While Elsie may be happy with the simple life, I believe her gorgeous daughter deserves a little bit of luxury.”
Sarah was still staring at him wide-eyed, taking in his blue eyes, the thick, still dark hair, the cut of his jacket. He was so handsome, she thought, so like his father, and yet he was Davey, the best friend of her earliest memories. It had been Davey who taught her to ride a bike, who built them a secret den in a tree, who sat with her on the bus on the way to school. Davey had been her constant companion on those long summer holidays. Davey who had guided her onto the floor for her first dance. Davey, her best friend. How she had missed him.
Sarah took a deep breath. There would be battles ahead. Getting her mother to leave Clyde Cottage when she had just forked out thousands on electricity for one. But she wasn’t old yet. She had to get on with her life, and she could hardly believe that Davey had walked back into it. She was not going to miss this opportunity.
“Luxury eh. Well a wee holiday in a hotel that has en-suite bathrooms sounds like one luxury I just couldn’t turn down,” she said coquettishly, not realising Elsie had quietly come back into the parlour.
“At least that way she wouldn’t have to take her poe with her,” the old lady barked, smiling at the younger couple holding hands across the table.
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