The Awakening

Jean opened her eyes to see the sun streaming through her bedroom window. Jumping out of bed, she hurried across to the window and took her first glimpse of Tenerife. But then this was her first trip to any foreign port. She and Ben, her husband, usually spent their holidays in England, mostly Devon or Cornwall. Yet, here she was on this lovely island – alone. She shook her head; it was all a terrible mistake.

Gazing across the bay, Jean recalled Ben telling her how his firm had decided to send him to the Highlands of Scotland on an adventure course.

“Advertising is a competitive business,” he had told her. “They want us all to be alert and responsive. I’ll have to go, Darling. It wouldn’t look good on my record if I refused, especially with possibility of a promotion looming.”

He had gone on to tell her how the course would last for two weeks and that mobile phones were banned. “There’s to be no communication with the outside world. We’re to find our own way around and survive the best we can.”

Jean remembered how angry she had felt. Her husband had worked with the company since leaving school; he could run the place single-handed. Yet he was constantly being passed over in favour of some bright spark with a degree and not one iota of experience.

She sighed. Ben shouldn’t be on this course at all. The management was already well aware of his capabilities. Nevertheless, at this very moment, he was probably swinging on a rope across a stream in the middle of the nowhere, simply to prove he was as fit as a man half his age. And even after all that, she knew he would be passed over again. Wasn’t he always? Yet he never seemed to see it. Or was it because he didn’t want to look inadequate? But he had nothing to prove to her, She was aware of Ben’s skills in his job. Nevertheless, it was so unfair how they treated him!

At Ben’s suggestion, Jean had decided to take a break on her own. Though it was late in the season, Devon would still be warm and the hotel they frequented would look after her. But she had made the mistake of mentioning her holiday to a neighbour.

“I suppose it’ll be Devon again, Jean,” she had sniffed. “Of course my husband and I are going to Spain.”

Jean had denied it hotly, in a brave act of defiance. “No! I’m going to Tenerife.”  However, after being bullied into a promise of sending a postcard, she knew there was no way out and she would have to go through with it. Even poor Ben didn’t know she was all the way out here. He had already left when she made the booking.

Fortunately Jean already had a passport, as she had been due to accompany Ben on a business trip the previous year. However, as usual, he had been asked to stand down in favour of some whiz kid.

A squeal of delight from the swimming pool jolted her back to the present and she suddenly realised she was hungry. Arriving late the night before, she had been so exhausted with the whole new experience of flying that she had gone straight to bed and missed the meal the tour operator had arranged for them all.

She dressed quickly and went down to breakfast. But looking around the bright, spacious restaurant, Jean felt uncomfortable. Her drab outfit, suitable for the countryside of Devon, looked all wrong here on this sun-drenched island. If only she had ignored her neighbour’s snide remarks, she would be safely installed in the Devonshire Hotel. But there was nothing she could do about it now. She was here for ten days and would have to put up with it.

Strolling along the promenade later that morning, she saw several people gathered together. She went to take a look and found an artist drawing a portrait of a young girl. It was very good. He had caught the features of his subject well. As Jean leaned over to take a closer look, she was jostled from behind and she stumbled forwards, colliding with the artist’s arm.

“You wish me to draw you?” He looked up at her.

Embarrassed, she shuffled backwards. “No! I was just watching. I’m sorry.” Jean smiled awkwardly.

The artist grinned. “I’d like to draw you anyway.”

Feeling uncomfortable, she turned to leave, but found she couldn’t get through the dense crowd.

The artist turned his attention back to the girl and with a few deft strokes of his chalks, quickly finished the portrait. Clearly delighted with the result, the girl paid and moved away, the crowd opening slightly to let her through. Jean tried to follow, but the artist reached out and caught her hand.

“You interest me. What’s your name?”

“It’s Jean,” she said, cautiously. “Why do I interest you?”

“Because, Jeannie, you look sad.”

She pulled away from him. “I’m not sad. And my name is Jean.”

No one called her Jeannie. Well – not anymore. Ben had called her that when they were young, but that was a long time…

“Your eyes say differently,” he interrupted her thoughts. “Let me show you.”

Jean took a step backwards. She looked around for an escape route, but the crowd had moved in closer, as though trying to listen to what was being said.

“Sit down, Jeannie.” His tone was soft, but firm.

She obeyed instinctively and watched him carefully as his hand moved swiftly across the page. Jean had to admit he was handsome; she would have been a fool not to notice that. His mature features reminded her of an actor, whose name she couldn’t bring to mind. Absentmindedly, she wondered what the artist was called.

“I’m José,” he said, as though reading her thoughts.

She lowered her eyes.

“No, Jeannie. Look at me.” Again his tone was firm. “I’m drawing your eyes. I must get them right. They say so much about you.”

“There, it is finished.” He held up the picture. “Now do you see the sadness in your eyes?”

Jean looked at the portrait. He was right. There was something about her eyes, which… Looking up, she saw he was watching her. “Yes,” she whispered. “How much is it?” She wanted to take the picture and run.

“There is no charge.”

“No, I must… ” She got no further.

“Take it,” José said, thrusting the portrait into her hand. “It is a gift.” He hesitated. “But, if you insist, allow me the pleasure of your company for coffee.”

Not giving her a chance to argue, he grabbed her arm and led her across the street. Over coffee Jean found herself telling him about her life. The reason she was here and how drab she felt in her dull clothes.

“I’ve never been what you would call fashionable, but I didn’t realise just how dowdy I looked until this morning.”

She told him about Ben. The stupid course he was on and how he kept being passed over for promotion.

“Yet, he’s a better man than any of them!” She banged her fist on the table.

“Aha! Now I see the fire in your eyes, Jeannie.”

She looked away. Why was she spilling her innermost feelings to a complete stranger? But José was so easy to talk to.

“Come with me, Jeannie.” He grabbed her hand. “You don’t mind me calling you that?”

She shook her head. Actually it sounded rather nice the way he said it.

He led her to a dress shop a few doors away. “Marisa, my sister, owns this shop. She’ll help you find something right for you.”

Before Jean could resist, she found herself inside the shop. José introduced her to his sister, a tall elegant woman, and explained her predicament. Though to be truthful there was no need; Jean felt her outfit spoke for itself.

However Marisa smiled warmly and looking her up and down, picked out a selection of clothes. “Try these.” She waved her arm in the direction of the dressing rooms.

Jean found the clothes far more daring than she was used to. The hemlines were too high, the necklines too low and the shorts were definitely… very short. But for the first time in years, she felt attractive. Choosing a number of garments, she enquired the price.

“As you are a friend of José, I will give you a discount.” Marisa looked across at her brother and smiled.   

“Why are you doing this for me?” Jean asked when they left the shop.

“I like you, Jeannie. Please say you’ll have dinner with me tonight. I know a charming little restaurant. You can show off one of your lovely new dresses.”

Jean knew she should refuse. She shouldn’t even have gone this far. Yet deep down she wanted to go with him. Pushing the doubts to the back of her mind, she accepted his invitation.

That evening, José was wonderful company. He was warm and funny – and he listened to her. The evening passed all too quickly. She was disappointed when it was time to leave.  Dropping her at the hotel, he asked her to have lunch with him the following day and she agreed. 

In bed Jean was much too excited to sleep. She lay awake recalling the past few hours. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. For heaven’s sake, she was a married woman with two grown up children. But it was a long time since anyone had made her feel this good. Ben was always so busy at the office and as for the children – they only came home when they needed money.

Rising early the next morning, Jean called into the hotel beauty shop and emerged with a whole new image. Catching sight of her reflection in a shop window, she hardly recognised herself.

For the next few days, José called for her at the hotel and she looked forward to seeing him. Some days he showed her the island’s tourist spots. Others were spent lounging by the hotel pool.

“Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the top of Mount Teide.” José said, one evening over a drink. He pointed at the snow-capped mountain peeping over the top of the buildings. “Up there the air is so fresh and pure. You can see for miles.”

But the next day, when they arrived at Mount Teide, Jean was alarmed to see the cable car swinging from a steel rope.

“Do we have to go up in that?” she gulped, turning pale.

“You’ll be okay,” José assured her. “It’s quite safe.”

Nevertheless, she was still very afraid and grasped his arm when the car lurched as the overhead wheels passed over a pylon. José looked down at her and smiled.
“Sorry,” she said, loosening her grip.
“I don’t mind.” Pulling her close, he kissed her. “Don’t be afraid, Jeannie. I’m here with you.”

The touch of his lips upon hers set her pulses racing; stirring passions that had lain dormant for years. Suddenly she remembered what it was like to be young and in love.

At the top of the mountain, she took some photographs. A passing tourist, believing them to be a couple, offered to take a picture of them together.

“We’re not…” she began, but José interrupted.

“Thank you,” he said, handing over the camera.

As he placed his arm around her, Jean looked up and gazed into his eyes. The world seemed to stand still.

That night she could resist him no longer and they made love for the first time. José was as passionate as he was gentle and she longed for the night to go on forever. 

The last day of her holiday came far too quickly. Today, José had promised to take her to the south of the island. Dressing, Jean wondered what it would be like to live here; waking each day to the warm sunshine and endless blue skies. It was a far cry from the dreary, rain-washed streets of London.

Yesterday José had shown her his pretty whitewashed cottage and had pleaded with her to stay on the island with him. It was so tempting. Here everyone was relaxed. No-one’s face showed the lines of worry that Ben’s did.

But he was overworked. When José had once asked what Ben’s hobbies were, she had found it hard to answer. The firm left him very little time for hobbies. However, thinking back over the years, she had remembered how he used to enjoy working with wood. He had even made small tables for their home and some lovely toys for the children. Laughing, he had once told her he would like to have done that for a living.

Images of Ben flooded her mind. Dear wonderful Ben, it had been a long time since he had laughed like that. She had given him little thought over the last few days, her mind having been so full of José. But right now, she couldn’t think of anyone else. 

Later in the day, José produced the photographs she had taken over the last two weeks. He pointed to the one of them standing together on the mountain. There was no mistaking the dreamy look in her eyes as she gazed into his.

“Stay with me, Jeannie.”

How easy it would be to say yes. Yet she hesitated.     

“Is it Ben?”

Jean nodded. Despite everything, she knew she loved Ben. “I can’t imagine my life without him.”

“He’s a very lucky man.” José paused. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Perhaps, one day. But Ben will be with me.” she hesitated. “If you and he should meet, he must never know…”

“He will never hear of it from me,” said José, taking her hand. His voice was low and sad.

“Thank you, José. I’ve had a wonderful time. You’ve made me feel the way a woman should. I do love you, but not the way I love Ben.”

Leaning over, she kissed him. “Now I must return to the hotel and pack my case.”

During the flight home, Jean made plans for Ben and herself. They needed to look at their lives and make some changes. By the time the aeroplane touched down, she knew exactly what they were going to do.

Ben was asleep in a chair when she let herself into the house. She was shocked at how tired and old he looked. Creeping back down the hall to the front door, she opened it, only to slam it shut again. 

“Hello, Darling,” she called out. “I’m home.”

Ben rushed into the hall. “You should have telephoned, I would have picked…” He looked at her in amazement. “Jeannie, what have you done? You look so wonderful!”

Jean caught her breath; for one fleeting moment he sounded like José. Pulling herself together, she hugged her husband.

“I haven’t been to Devon, Ben. I went to Tenerife and I’ve come back bursting with new ideas for us. I have some wonderful plans.”

“Tenerife!” He looked surprised. “But…”

“It’s a long story,” she interrupted. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Jeannie… I have something to tell you.” He looked away. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get the promotion.”

It was as she had expected.

“I’m glad.” She took his hands in hers. “I am so very glad.”

“You’re glad?” Ben sounded puzzled. “But why? It would have meant more money and… ”

“And more work,” she interrupted. “You’re resigning from that wretched firm; they’ve had their pound of flesh. We’re selling this house and buying a little shop of our own.”

“We are?” Ben didn’t seem able to take it all in.

“Yes, Ben, we are. You’re going to do something you’ve always wanted to do. You’re going to make things out of wood; toys, coffee tables, anything; and I’m going to sell them in our shop.” She softened her tone. “Ben, we’re going to start living again.”

Reaching into one of her bags, she pulled out two bottles of wine. “Open one of these darling; we’ll celebrate. I’ll only be a moment.”

Picking up a small bag, she went upstairs. At the top, she turned just in time to see Ben retrieve something from the floor. It must have fallen from the bag when she pulled out the wine.

Too late, she realised it was the photograph of her standing with José on the mountain. Her stomach turned over. Why on earth had she kept it?

Slipping into the shadows, Jean watched as Ben gazed at the picture. Even from this distance, she could see the expression of hurt and bewilderment on his face and her heart went out to him. 

What would he do? Would he rush up the stairs demanding an explanation? After staring at the photo for what seemed an age, he pushed it back into the bag and slowly walked towards the kitchen.

Crouching slightly, she saw him sink into a chair and place his head in his hands. 

“Have you opened the bottle, Ben?” she called out softly.

He didn’t move. “I’m doing it now,” he called out. His voice was choked with emotion. “Are you coming down?”

“Darling, why don’t you bring it up here? We’ve so much to catch up on; it could take a while.” Jean felt that, right now, she really needed to show him how much she really loved him.
She waited for his reply, but there was no response. The stair creaked beneath her feet and not wanting him to see her, she made her way to the bedroom.

“Ben, are you coming?” she called, as she sat down on the bed.

Listening hard, she heard a clink of glass, then a tread on the stairs. Would he speak to her, or simply leave some wine before disappearing back downstairs?

She held her breath as he entered the room. What would he do? What would he say?

But when he appeared around the door, he held the two bottles of wine and two glasses. And though his face still showed signs of anguish, he gave her the same boyish lop-sided grin she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

Joining her on the bed, he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. “I’ve opened both bottles, Jeannie,” he said holding her tight. “You’re absolutely right; we do need to start living again. And as we have so much catching up to do, I’m working on the theory it will take us all night.”

Copyright Eileen Thornton

Eileen Thornton’s articles and short stories have been published in a variety of magazines. Her first novel, The Trojan Project, a thriller, is due to be published this year. She also reviews books for newbooks. Eileen is a member of the Society of Authors, the Society of Women Writer’s and Journalists, the Women Writers Network, The Edinburgh Writer’s Club, The Borders Writer’s Forum and The Melrose Literary Society, as well as being an Associate Member of NAWG (National Association of Writers Groups). http://www.eileenthornton.co.uk

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