Ping

By Wendy Taylor

Ping.

‘Hi from Zanzibar got a cute boy to take this photo for me might seduce him later’

Kathleen peered at her phone screen. Claudia. Claudia, dyed blonde bob, tucked behind her ears, in a barely there, white muslin dress, arms raised, legs stretched in front of her, toes pointed, balanced in a cane chair, swinging from a tree, smiling coyly at the camera. Kathleen tipped her head on one side and studied the photo even more intently. That smile was definitely for the boy, not the camera. Kathleen snorted as she dropped her phone into her apron pocket. Claudia, like Kathleen is seventy-eight, so the boy taking the photo Kathleen reckoned, is probably fifty-eight. But then again knowing Claudia, he is just as likely to be twenty-eight. And Zanzibar, that was a new one. Last time it had been Nepal. Or was it Barbados? The trips were frequent and locations always exotic. Well, they were in Kathleen’s eyes. She had barely been out of her own town.

Ping.

Kathleen retrieved her phone. Another photo from Claudia. Taken by Claudia this time. White sand, bright blue ocean and a cloudless blue sky. No boy though.

‘This is my view send me yours wish you were here’

Kathleen scanned her kitchen. Right now, she wished she was with Claudia, relaxing, wearing an itsy-bitsy sun dress. Chocolate cake batter splashes adorned the tiles. Mixing bowls, spoons, and other dishes a mountain of haphazardness covered every surface. Rain smashed against the windows and the single kitchen light barely cast enough glow to see by, even though the clock showed it was eleven in the morning. Kathleen wiped her chocolate-stained fingers on her apron, which she was only wearing to keep her skinny jeans and merino roll neck clean, aimed her phone camera at the mess, clicked and pushed send.

Ping.

Claudia fished in her bra for her phone. Handy being well endowed when you were dressed in very little. A photo, from Kathleen, of a disaster site of a kitchen. However, Claudia mused, knowing Kathleen, who zipped through life, it would spotless in no time. She could see a very large cake on the kitchen island. Claudia smiled. Kathleen was a whizz in the kitchen. Then she remembered. It was Harold’s eightieth birthday today. They had been married for ever, Harold and Kathleen. Kathleen, twenty and Harold twenty-two at the time. Claudia had scooted back from France to be bridesmaid; well as much as you could scoot from anywhere in the sixties. She had better send birthday wishes.

Ping.

‘Happy birthday happy birthday happy birthday to Haaarold That is me singing’

Kathleen smiled. That is typical Claudia, always full of mischief. Friends since the first day of high school. An odd pair. Claudia, an Amazon, and bubbly, adventurous, not fazed by anything. Kathleen, elfin and wired, a stress bunny. They were inseparable at school. After school and at the weekends they shared secrets and dreams, one day at Kathleen’s the next at Claudia’s. They kept in contact after they finished school even though Kathleen stayed and worked at the local bookshop, while Claudia headed overseas with a denim clad surfer. That only lasted months. The surfer not the bookshop, where Kathleen still worked part-time. Once interaction was via long missives on filmy blue aerogram paper, or letters and photographs in large envelopes, weeks in transit out of date by the time the receiver read them. Now it is txts and snaps. Instant, via smart phones. She typed a reply.

Ping.

‘Thanks I’ll pass it on not gonna sing tho’

It was Claudia’s turn to smile. Kathleen, not one for dancing and singing, prefered to observe from the sidelines. Harold the same. A perfect pair. Still devoted to each other after all these years. She saw the way they gazed at each other, the rare times she went back to her home town and visited them. A knot in her chest. Envy. Where had that come from? Claudia had never married or even contemplated it. Not once. Her longest relationship, five years. They couldn’t keep up with her. Bankers, artists, teachers, doctors, builders, she had sampled them all. The men, some older by many years when she was young, younger by many years, now she was older. No-one at present though, although the bar tender looked promising. Holiday flings were always the best. A little pang of loneliness flitted through her veins, catching her unawares. Maybe having someone there all the time, like Kathleen and her Harold would be rather wonderful. Sharing the ups and downs. She gave herself a little shake. Come on girl. She picked up her phone again and typed a message.

Ping.

‘I guess you have loads of family coming’

Kathleen brushed a stray silver-grey lock off her forehead. Yes, there would be about twenty. Right now, she was too tired to think straight. As she aged it was getting harder and harder to whip up a multi-generational feast, even though everyone contributed with dishes of hot pots, salads, desserts and platters of nibbles. Despite this, Kathleen always worried there would not be enough. She was such a panic pants. As well as the cake cooked in a roasting pan so that there was enough to go around, Kathleen had cooked two chickens yesterday and they were sliced up on platters in the fridge. Two trays of roast vegetables were currently cooking in her ancient oven. She could so do with a double oven. Claudia who never cooked, always had one in the kitchens of the numerous mansions she had owned over the years. Houses way too large for one, in Harold’s opinion. Houses that would have been ideal for their large brood rather than the three bedroom one they had squashed into. Kathleen didn’t begrudge Claudia her shiny, expansive abodes. After all she had worked her ass off for them. Kathleen and Harold were still in the home they bought when first married and although it was now just the two of them, most days it was filled with extended family draped over every surface, knocking into each other, and sending stuff flying off shelves. At present the house was quiet. Any minute that peace would be shattered. Lying on a beach, the lullaby of waves rolling in and out, looking at the talent like Claudia, was surely preferable to the barging, squabbling, elbows and snot that is about to explode through her front door. Scowling she typed a reply to Claudia.

Ping.

‘Yep 20ish’

Claudia shook her head. Twenty. Not likely. More like thirty. Kathleen had given birth to four children, and they produced multiple children and those children were now spitting them out. Claudia had long lost count. An there was a second marriage and step children and half siblings in the mix too. Another clutch of envy in her chest. Maybe children, grandchildren and great grandchildren would be nice. Who would look out for her when she was old and doddery? Don’t be silly she admonished. She was not going to get doddery. Older, yes, there was no stopping that. She typed a reply.

Ping.

‘More like thirty’

Kathleen laughed. Yes, true, there probably would be closer to thirty family members turning up. Could have been more. Some could not make it, as they lived overseas. To keep track of everyone she had a little notebook with their names and birthdays recorded, which she consulted daily, fearful she would forget someone. Oh dear.

Tomorrow it was the youngest grandchild’s birthday. Should she mention it today, or should she ring them tomorrow? The child would only be three, but could handle a cell phone like a pro once it was handed over by a parent. She fought back a yawn. A morning of cooking had taken it out of her and the day had hardly begun. The thought of the family and their issues were overwhelming her today; the constant juggling of egos. Listening sympathetically, to all their problems, smoothing out arguments and feuds, and making sure everyone was treated equally, emotionally and financially. Oh, to be Claudia, travelling the world, no family to tie her down, a new man in every port. How cool would that be? Kathleen gulped. What was wrong with her today? Envious of Claudia and her family free life. Claudia had never wanted children. Even at school she had declared she would never shackle herself to domesticity and it was certainly “no” to procreation. Ironically, she was a professor of fertility, world renowned, many of her travels revolving around conferences and presentations. That life suddenly seemed very appealing. Exciting, but with plenty of down time. Time to think your own thoughts and catch your breath. No chance of that here. Ever. Again, she wondered what was wrong with her? She was way past the hormonal ups and downs of her younger self. Maybe, a cup of tea would settle her, before she tackled the kitchen clean up. First a reply.

Ping.

‘You are probably right stopped counting after twenty-three haha’

Claudia sipped her pina-colada while gazing at Kathleen’s txt. She had moved to a rattan stool at the bar. She was alone. She felt alone, which was weird because she liked her own company. Even the barman had disappeared. Claudia rubbed her face. As if that would rub away the self-pity. She just felt worse. Today as every day, Kathleen would be surrounded by love and laughter. Oh dear, what had gotten into her? She was way past the hormonal issues of her younger self. Another pina-colada, if she could locate the barman, might do the trick. A noise to her right, loud arguing and crying children. A family, all in bright beach wear, a couple, red faced and shouting and three children, with surly expressions, gulping back tears. ‘Some holiday,’ shouted the female. ‘You are always on the phone.’ The male, fists clenched shouted back. ‘How would we pay for all this without me working day and night, even when we are on holiday?’ Claudia shuddered. What was she thinking? Tied down by family. Not for her. Freedom. Her life. Perfect.

Kathleen clicked the kettle on. She heard a car pull up, doors slamming, giggles and the front door banging open. A little voice, then chubby arms clutching at her knees. She looked down. Wild curls, deep brown eyes and an impish grin. Her youngest great-grandchild. The one with the birthday tomorrow. Her heart blew right out of her chest. What was she thinking? A childless life on the move. Not for her. Her family. Her life. Perfect.