**THE FIVE FACES OF TOMORROW**
«Well, at least our kids will look after us in our old agethats why we had them, right? But you, Mags, really are in a pickle,» Nat said with a mix of mockery and sympathy, refilling her glass with white wine.
The five women lounged on beanbags beneath parasols at a beachside bar in Brighton. The evening carried the scent of salt, pine, and a soft melancholy.
When her friends had invited Margaret to join them at a wellness retreat, she hadnt known what to expect. In her mind, «retreat» conjured images of dull Soviet-era sanatoriumstrade unions, back pain, medicinal mud, and boredom. Maybe, if she was lucky, a little harmless flirting as life wound down.
Instead, she found a modern hotel with delicious food, spa treatments, and long walks through forests blanketed in emerald moss, listening to the whisper of pines and chasing sunbeams.
The sea, though shallow and chilly, was still a joy. Stretching in both directions were nudist beacheswomen to the left, men to the right.
The womens side had them giggling. «Were not so bad ourselves, if you think about it!»
But the mens side? That left them laughing in shock.
«Good lord, look at that blokehes got less going on than my grandson!» Lottie exclaimed.
«And that short fellow? The opposite problemburied in the roots!» Tessa added.
«Cheers, ladies!» a male voice called out unexpectedly.
The women burst into laughter and hurried on, hiding their faces. Theyd forgottenBrighton wasnt exactly abroad.
After dinner, no one wanted to leave. The treatments had left them invigorated. Music played at the bar, the sun dipped into the sea, and conversation drifted toward inevitable topicsaches, pains, and the creeping shadow of age.
One had high blood pressure, another a sore arm, a third couldnt sleep. Then came the heavier talkloneliness, fear, children with lives of their own.
Margaret tried to lighten the mood. «Honestly, with the way the worlds going, we might not even make it to old age.»
But her friends were already deep in it, swapping horror stories and fragile hopes.
Then Diana perked up. «Remember when you lost me at the market the other day? I met an old woman selling strange stones. Bought this crystal from her.» She pulled a green-blue prism with a chipped tip from her tote. «She said it shows the future.»
«Does what?» Nat squinted.
«Shows it, supposedly. Her English was patchy, but she said, Five visions left. Theres five of us. Why not try?»
They laughed but touched the crystal anyway.
*First vision: Nat.*
By eighty, Nat had been a widow for five years. She lived in her spacious flat, keeping spry despite failing eyesight.
Her daughter, a high-powered executive, was always busytoo busy even for a family of her own. She looked after Nat out of duty, not warmth.
Once, Nat climbed a chair to fetch an old vase for her daughter. She fell. No broken bones, just bruises. Her daughter gasped and whisked her away «for a few days.»
White kitchen, white walls, white despair.
One day, Nat spilled tomato juice.
«Mum! Why must you meddle?»
Nat forced a smile. «At least it adds some colour. Feels less like an operating theatre.»
The joke fell flat.
*Second vision: Diana.*
Diana had raised her son alone. Everything for him, everything because of him.
He grew up, became a successful programmer, married a German womanand handed her all the love that once belonged to Diana.
Her daughter-in-law was steel-cold. The house, signed over «to avoid inheritance tax,» became hers.
Diana, frail and breathless, was tolerated but resented.
«Mum, dont touch that. Mum, stop interfering.»
She hid in her room, cried silently at night, smiled weakly by morning.
One day, she called Nat.
«I cant do this anymore.»
«Pack your things. Move in with me. Well manage.»
And they did.
One couldnt see well, the other moved slowly, but together, they coped.
They laughed at their frailties.
«Youve swept all the dust into the corners again!»
«But the middles spotless!»
Evenings were for debatespolitics, technology, happiness. They disagreed often, but it never mattered.
Then theyd turn on the telly: Nat listened, Diana narrated.
«Maybe its better I cant see well,» Nat mused. «The worlds grown… ugly.»
«Dont be daft,» Diana said. «Were just relics. The world moves on.»
*Third vision: Lottie.*
Lottie had twin daughters. In her old age, one took her in, the other visited with grandchildren.
The house buzzed with laughter, popcorn, and baby shampoo.
«Gran, is it true you were born before the internet?» a curly-haired boy gasped. «Did you see mammoths?»
«Oh yes,» Lottie chuckled. «And the tigers had sabre teeth!»
The boy hid under the table in delight.
Lottie ruffled his hair and thought, *This is joytiny curls and all.*
*Fourth vision: Margaret.*
Margaret, a doctor, had spent most of her life alone. Two divorces, countless night shifts, hundreds of patients. She worked and saved, knowing shed have no one to rely on.
When her strength waned, she chose a retirement homemodern, cosy, with gardens and Wednesday dances.
And there, she bloomed.
Shopping trips, excursions, bingo, new friends.
At a dance, a charming neighbour with a walker asked, «May I be your cha-cha partner?»
Margaret laughed. «Only if you keep up. Maybe we should start slower?»
*Fifth vision: Tessa.*
Tessa and her husband had always dreamed of a seaside home. They bought onein a far-off Asian country.
Now they lived in paradise: a local woman cooked, cleaned, helped.
Her husband had suffered a stroke, but evenings found them on the shore, watching the sun sink into the ocean, talkingor sitting in comfortable silence.
«We made it just in time,» he whispered.
«We did,» she replied.
As the visions faded, the women sat quietly.
The sky turned violet, waves murmured secrets.
«Well,» Tessa finally said, «not so terrible, is it?»
«Quite the opposite,» Diana smiled. «Almost… human.»
«Even beautiful,» Nat added. «Just fewer bruises. More wine?»
They laughed.
A waiter brought another bottle. The crystal on the table caught the sunsetdim but stubborn. It hadnt cracked or dulled, only grown clearer.
«Let it be,» Margaret said. «Each of us has our own path, but in the endits not so bad.»
«Old age is still life,» Lottie mused, filling her glass. «Just a different time of day.»
They clinked glasses, and the sea sighed in agreement.
