Something In The Air

Caroline Mackay

1988

It was September 1988 and heading towards an Indian summer. I was a stranger in this white-washed, clay-walled public house and struck by the unfamiliarity of my surroundings.

My friend, Charlotte, had recently moved ten miles out of town to this quaint little village on Scotlands east coast. She was making a real effort to acquaint herself with the local community and had organised a fundraising disco for the playgroup. Keen for a girlie night-out, Id taken up her invitation to join her for the evening and had caught the bus through, leaving my husband, Bert, at home, in town, babysitting our two young children.

I love dancing and right at that moment it seemed like years since I had had the chance to let my hair down. The atmosphere was electric - whether due to the music, the sticky evening air, or some subliminal awareness of what was to come Ill never know, but it felt good. God, it felt good to feel free again, joyful! Go on! Charlotte smiled encouragingly. Its too early to go home now. You dont have to, you can stay with us, you know. Buses were few and far between in those days, and the last bus back to town was woefully early. I didnt take much persuading.

The function suite, where the disco was held, was on an upstairs floor which wasnt directly joined to the main bar. You had to leave that part of the building entirely and find your way to the downstairs public bar in order to use the phone. I pushed the door open a little hesitantly, unsure of what type of man would be propping up the counter. Even now, I regularly become tongue-tied on the receiving end of some ribald quip.

I found the phone and lifted the receiver. Of course, Bert was less than delighted to hear I wasnt coming home, but by that time I was past caring whether or not I riled him.

Truth be told, things hadnt been going well for us. Bert seemed unable to hold down a job for any length of time, putting considerable stress on our small family. In the short time wed been together, we had managed to produce a three-year-old daughter and a six-month-old son, the latter the clichd patch-over-the-cracks baby, poor sod. Six weeks after his birth I had found myself back at work, bringing home the bacon, when I desperately wanted to be a stay-at-home mum. I wanted a man I could rely on to back me up, not some big girls blouse. So, what? Thats no big deal, I hear you cry!

Perhaps not - and perhaps less so now in these days of house-husbands and equality for all. But back then it wasnt the way I had intended to bring up my children. It wasnt what Id dreamed of. On my wedding day to Bert, my mother had blithely remarked, You dont have to go through with this, you know, and although I had since worked out that she was right - and that I shouldnt have gone through with it - I fully intended to do my best to prove her wrong. Sadly, any small respect I had had for Bert had vanished with the realisation that he was worse than useless. He didnt want to work, he didnt want to mind the children; he wanted to chill out in front of the TV all day, dreaming and spending the little I earned. Feelings were running high.

I was ripe for a fall, and fall I did.

On ending my call, I replaced the receiver and as I did so caught the eye of the most gorgeous-looking, tall, slim man I had seen in a long, long time. He was bent over the pool table lining up the black. His dark, wavy hair curled softly at the nape of his neck and his slate grey eyes focussed intensely as he took aim. Shot! A triumphant smile lit up his face as the ball clacked soundly into the pocket. I took my aim just as intensely.

It was no surprise, then, when a short while later Sean, for that was his name, followed Charlotte and me over to the disco. Dont for a moment think it was a done deal, though! Sean was striking, popular, supremely confident, he knew it and so did every other female in the room under sixty! All the same, we got chatting and I discovered that he also had two children, a boy and a girl. He had recently separated from their mother and was a less of the Jack-the-lad than he first appeared.

You know when you really, really want something so bad the essence of it settles on the tip of your tongue? When every nerve cell prickles with anticipation and you can hardly breathe for need?

It was no surprise when Sean finally followed us home.

Before the month was out, wed moved in together. I was a harlot, a home-wrecker, a whore. Two quite messy divorces followed amidst much wailing and gnashing of teeth. But its true what they say, when youre young and in love you're indestructible.

Twenty years later, Sean and I are still together. We have a son of our own, whos now eighteen. We still live in the village where I met him and all five of our children remain close. Were even the proud grandparents of three-year-old Baby Sean with a second grandchild due in December.

And if I hadnt gone to make that call...?