FIVE FACES OF TOMORROW
«Well, at least our kids will look after us in our old agethats why we had them, after all. But you, Maisie, youve got a real problem,» Natty said with mock sympathy, topping up her glass of white wine.
The five women lounged in beanbag chairs under parasols at a beachside bar in Bournemouth. The evening smelled of salt, pine, and a whisper of melancholy.
When her friends had invited Maisie to join them at the spa retreat, she hadnt known what to expect. In her mind, «spa retreat» still conjured images of Soviet-era sanatoriumstrade unions, bad backs, medicinal mud, and crushing boredom. Maybe, if she was lucky, a bit of twilight flirting.
Instead, she found a modern hotel, delicious food, pampering treatments, and a forest carpeted in emerald moss where she could wander for hours, listening to the sigh of the pines and chasing sunbeams.
The sea, though shallow and brisk, was still a joy. Stretching in either direction from the beach were nudist zoneswomen to the left, men to the right.
The womens side had them in stitches. «Well, were not half bad, compared!»
The mens side, though? That was a different story.
«Good lord, look at that blokeless to boast about than my grandson!» cackled Lottie.
«And that short fellow? Practically inverted,» Tamsin chimed in.
«Cheers, ladies!» came an unexpected male voice.
They burst into laughter and hurried off, faces burning. Theyd forgottenjust because its the seaside doesnt mean no one speaks English.
After dinner, no one wanted to leavethe treatments had left them oddly energised. The beach bar played soft music, the sun dipped into the sea, and the conversation drifted, as it always does, toward lifes achesboth literal and metaphorical.
One had high blood pressure, another a dodgy wrist, the third couldnt sleep. Then came the real talkageing, the fear of being alone, children too busy with their own lives.
Maisie tried to lighten the mood. «Honestly, with the way the worlds going, we might not have to worry about getting old at all.»
But her friends were on a rolleach swapping horror stories or fragile hopes.
Then Diana perked up. «Remember when you lost me at the market the other day? I met this old woman selling strange crystals. Bought this one,» she said, pulling a green-blue stone with a chipped top from her tote. «Said it shows the future.»
«Does what?» Natty squinted.
«Shows the future, supposedly. Her English was patchy, but she said, Five sessions left. And theres five of us. Fancy a go?»
They laughed but touched the crystal anyway.
**First vision: Natty.**
By eighty, Natty had been a widow for five years. She lived in her spacious flat, keeping up appearances, though her eyesight was fading.
Her daughtera high-flying executive, perpetually busyhadnt even had time for a family. She looked after her mother out of duty, not warmth.
One day, Natty 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 misery.
Natty once spilled tomato juice.
«Mum! Why must you meddle?»
«Well,» Natty smiled weakly, «now youve got an accent wall. Was starting to look like an operating theatre.»
The joke hung in the air, unanswered.
**Second vision: Diana.**
Diana had raised her son alone. Everything for him, everything sacrificed.
He grew up, became a brilliant programmer, married a German womanand gave her all the love that shouldve been his mothers.
His wife was steel-cold. The house, signed over «for tax reasons,» became her domain.
Dianas heart faltered, her breath grew thin. They cared for herbut with irritation.
«Mum, dont touch that. Mum, youre in the way.»
She hid in her room, cried quietly at night, smiled by morning.
One day, she called Natty.
«I cant do this anymore.»
«Pack a bag. Move in with me. Well manage.»
And they did.
One half-blind, the other slow, but together, they coped.
They laughed at their frailties.
«Youve swept all the dust into the corners again.»
«At least the middles clean!»
Evenings were for bickering over politics, technology, happinessviews clashed, but it didnt matter.
Then the telly went on: Natty listened, Diana narrated.
«Maybe its better I cant see well,» Natty mused. «The worlds gone a bit ugly.»
«Rubbish,» Diana scoffed. «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 popcorn and shampoo-scented chaos.
«Grandma, is it true you were born before the internet?» gasped a curly-haired boy. «Did you see mammoths?»
«Oh yes,» Lottie chuckled. «And the tigers had swords for teeth!»
The kid yelped and hid under the table.
Lottie patted his head and thought, *This is happinesstiny curls and all.*
**Fourth vision: Maisie.**
Maisie, a doctor, had spent most of her life alone. Two divorces, countless 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 suddenly, she bloomed.
Shopping trips, excursions, bingo, new friends.
At the dances, a charming neighbour with a rollator once asked,
«Care to be my cha-cha partner?»
Maisie laughed. «Only if you can keep up. Maybe we should start slower?»
**Fifth vision: Tamsin.**
Tamsin and her husband had always dreamed of a seaside home. They bought onein Thailand.
Now, they had paradise: a local woman cooked, cleaned, helped.
Her husband had had a stroke, but evenings, Tamsin wheeled him onto the shore.
They sat, watching the sun drown in the ocean, talkingor sitting in comfortable silence.
«So glad we made it,» he whispered.
«We did,» she said.
When the visions faded, the women sat quietly.
The sky turned violet, waves murmured secrets.
«Well,» Tamsin cleared her throat, «not so bad, eh?»
«Quite the opposite,» Diana smiled. «Almost human.»
«Even beautiful,» Natty added. «Fewer bruises would be nice. More wine?»
They laughed.
The waiter brought another bottle. The crystal on the table caught the dying lightdim but stubborn. It hadnt cracked or dimmed, just grown clearer.
«Let it be,» Maisie said. «Different paths, but none too shabby.»
«Old age is still life,» Lottie said, pouring more wine. «Just a different time of day.»
They clinked glasses, and the sea sighed in agreement.
