THE FIVE FACES OF TOMORROW
«Well, our children will look after us in our old agethats what we had them for. But you, Mary, really do have a problem,» Nettie said with a mocking sort of sympathy as she poured herself another glass of white wine.
Five women lounged in beanbag chairs beneath the parasols of a beachside bar in Brighton. The evening smelled of salt and pine, tinged with the faintest melancholy.
When her friends had invited Mary to join them at the seaside resort, she hadnt known what to expect. In her mind, «resort» conjured images of faded grandeurstiff-backed chairs, medicinal baths, and the quiet despair of a bygone era. At best, perhaps a bit of harmless flirtation in the twilight of lifeif luck was on her side.
Instead, she found a modern hotel, excellent food, spa treatments, and long walks through emerald moss-covered woods, where sunlight dappled the path and the scent of pine filled the air.
The sea, though chilly and shallow, was still a joy. On either side of the beach stretched nudist areaswomen to the left, men to the right.
The womens side had them in stitches. «Well, were not so bad compared to some!»
But the mens side? That was a different kind of laughter.
«Oh, look at that oneless to boast about than my grandson!» Lottie exclaimed.
«And that little fellows gone the other way entirelyvanished into the roots,» Tessa added.
«Thanks for the honesty, ladies!» called out an amused male voice.
The women dissolved into laughter, hurrying away with flushed cheeks. Theyd forgottenthis wasnt quite abroad, just Brighton.
After dinner, no one wanted to part. The treatments had left them invigorated. The beach bar hummed with music, the sun dipped into the sea, and conversation drifted, as it often did, toward lifes sharper edgeshealth, solitude, the gnawing fear of growing old alone.
Mary tried to lighten the mood. «Who knows? The worlds mad enoughwe might not even live to see old age.»
But her friends were already deep in confessionsome sharing horrors, others fragile hopes.
Then, suddenly, Diana perked up. «Remember when you lost me at the market the other day? I met an old woman selling peculiar stones. I bought this one from her.» She pulled a green-blue crystal, its top chipped away, from her cloth bag. «She said it shows the future.»
«Shows what?» Nettie squinted.
«The future, supposedly. Her English was patchy, but she said, Five visions remain. There are five of us. Why not try?»
They laughed but touched the crystal anyway.
**The first vision: Nettie.**
By eighty, Nettie had been a widow for five years. She lived alone in a spacious flat, stubbornly independent despite failing eyesight.
Her daughter, a high-powered executive, was always busytoo busy for a family of her own. She cared for her mother out of duty, not warmth.
One day, Nettie climbed a chair to fetch an old vase from the cupboard. She fell. No broken bones, but the bruises were spectacular. Her daughter gasped and whisked her away «for a few days.»
White kitchen. White walls. White loneliness.
Then, a spilled glass of tomato juice.
«Mum! Why must you meddle?»
Nettie forced a smile. «Just adding a bit of colour. It was starting to look like an operating theatre.»
The joke hung in the air, unanswered.
**The second vision: Diana.**
Diana had raised her son aloneeverything for him, everything sacrificed.
He grew into a fine programmer, married a German woman, and somehow, all the love meant for his mother went to her instead.
His wife was cold as steel. The house, signed over «for tax reasons,» became hers.
Dianas heart fluttered now, her breath uneven. They cared for her, but impatiently.
«Dont touch that, Mum. Dont interfere.»
She hid in her room, wept silently at night, and smiled by morning.
One evening, she called Nettie.
«I cant do this anymore.»
«Then pack your things. Move in with me. Well manage.»
And they did.
One nearly blind, the other slow on her feetbut 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, the nature of happiness. They disagreed often, but it never mattered.
Then came the tellyNettie listened while Diana described the scenes.
«Perhaps its a blessing I cant see well,» Nettie mused. «The worlds grown rather ugly.»
«Nonsense,» Diana said. «Were just relics. The worlds moved on.»
**The 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, the scent of popcorn and baby shampoo.
«Granny, 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 fangs this long!»
The boy squealed and hid under the table.
She stroked his hair and thought, *This is happinesstiny curls and all.*
**The fourth vision: Mary.**
Mary, a doctor, had spent most of her life alone. Two divorces, countless night shifts, hundreds of patients. She worked and saved, knowing she had no one to rely on.
When her strength waned, she chose a care homemodern, cheerful, with gardens and Wednesday dances.
And then, unexpectedly, she blossomed.
Shopping trips, excursions, bingo, new friends.
At the dances, a dapper neighbour with a rollator once asked,
«May I have this cha-cha?»
Mary laughed. «If you can keep up. Maybe we should start slower?»
**The fifth vision: Tessa.**
Tessa and her husband had always dreamed of a seaside home. They bought onein a faraway Asian country.
Now they had paradise: a local woman cooked, cleaned, helped.
Her husband had suffered a stroke, but each evening, Tessa wheeled him onto the shore.
They watched the sun sink into the ocean, talkingor sitting in comfortable silence.
«How lucky we did this in time,» he whispered.
«We did,» she replied.
When the visions faded, the women sat quietly.
The sky turned violet, the waves murmuring secrets of their own.
«Well,» Tessa finally said, «not so terrible, is it?»
«Rather human, actually,» Diana smiled.
«And even a bit beautiful,» Nettie added. «Fewer bruises, though. Shall we toast to that?»
They laughed.
The waiter brought another bottle. The crystal on the table caught the dying lightdim but persistent. It hadnt shattered or dimmed; it had only grown clearer.
«Let it be so,» Mary said. «Each of us has her own path, but on the wholenot bad.»
«Old age is still life,» Lottie mused, pouring the wine. «Just a different time of day.»
They clinked glasses, and the sea murmured its quiet agreement.
