- By Admin
WHEN THE DREAMS HAVE GONE
Rosemary stood on the top of the hill the wind howling around her. The sea was rough in the distance but it still reminded her of her time spent in Gibraltar. She smiled. Gib – as it is known to ex pats even though they were British – always brought warm, happy thoughts to the fore. The memories kept her going. Sun, good friendships and interesting Spain over a short, if troublesome border, was her happy place in life.
Life back in the UK was not great. Her pension hardly went anywhere and now in her late seventies she was not considered for work of any kind. Not even waitressing. She was fit and healthy, possessed of good strength and physical work was not a problem for her – but apparently it was a problem to potential employers.
Rosemary had never been technical so had in her youth relied on her stunning good looks doing lots of promotional modeling. The money gave her a lifestyle that let her live and rent in Gib – but as time went on and the work dried up, she had to return to England. Gib was not a cheap place to live and unfortunately had not allowed her to buy property there. She had managed to buy a house back in England which she rented out for extra income but now she was living in that house. She didn’t hate it but thoroughly disliked it and the area. The area was fine for renters who worked in the many heavy industries but to Rosemary it was pure anathema for many reasons.
It was an unattractive area. Industry had seen to that. Constantly windy – hence the massive amount of off shore wind turbines – rubbish was an unsightly and major problem in the town. No sooner was it cleared up – if it was cleared up – it was back a day or so later. Gulls didn’t help tearing at rubbish bags that spilled out from overstuffed dustbins. Too many gulls, now that they were protected, fought for food. Why were these aggressive birds protected Rosemary often wondered. If you had the misfortune to have a nesting pair on your roof and the roof needed repair, it was not allowed to touch them – nor would you wish to. A parent gull is a nasty bird and builders had been attacked by them just by working on a nearby property. She sighed and as a shaft of sun came out from between the clouds lighting up the whole place, she wallowed in the sudden warmth and sparkling light.
The sea often sparkled but she forgot that when the numerous grey days prevailed. Her dog nudged her, bored with being stationary. She automaticall bent down to stroke his head promising they would leave soon. She always stayed out as long as she could because her outside space was only a small back yard in a terraced house. Childhood had been in a big house with acres of land with room for pets. Two dogs and two donkeys. Her memories flooded back making her smile then the sadness set in.
It was her own fault she hadn’t kept all the money that her family left her – she had thought she was invincible with modeling work and her wealthy background but it was her lifestyle that was her undoing. She had lived the good life to the full. Expensive, frequent personal foreign travel with clothes to match, took their toll. The situation had crept up on her without her noticing – when she looked at her bank balances seeing them plummet there always seemed enough left for one more adventure, one more expensive meal out, the outfit she just had to have – it would be ok. Then one day it wasn’t. It was a shock. Finally she had to admit age had caught up with her, tipping her lifestyle into chaos.
The dog nudged again and Rosemary slowly set off back down the hill. Her house wasn’t far away – she never called it home. It was a place she happened to live. The sun stayed out and she went into her yard where the afternoon sun was beginning to creep in. She got a cold drink as the yard was so sheltered it was hot there and she sank onto a garden chair incongruous in the setting but so pretty she had bought it anyway - from a charity shop where did most of her shopping.
She looked around the yard filled with plant pots and flowers on different levels. A riot of colour it pleased her to see it every day. Most plants and flowers came from the big cemetery where people threw them away long before they were over. She was often seen taking things out of the large plant rubbish bins but she didn’t care. People she talked to understood and agreed it was a waste of money when the flowers would last much longer – usually two weeks after being thrown away. Many of the people just walked their dogs here and had no problem with her rescuing things – she called it ‘plant murder’ which amused them. She had many acquaintances here, often going to dog friendly cafes with them. Too many café visits. Her pension groaned.
She reflected as she sat in the sun and the dog joined her sitting in the shade near the yard gate that maybe – just maybe – life was tolerable. The ugly tops of the houses opposite – back to back – showed, but her little yard painted in sunshine yellow was glowing at the moment. At least she had a house, a yard, a dog, small debts because she still spent too much - and she was healthy and fit. She looked at her phone and saw an invitation to a lunch out. Of course she would accept.
An advert popped up – want to be an old – er, model, to fit in with the reality of advertising for an older population. She stared at it. Yes – she would investigate. Just maybe there was another dream to be had.