Post 180: Date Night at the Local Curry House.
A walk in town is all we need
To eat and drink, love’s guaranteed
———
“Stay in bed today,” my Darling said as she stood at the door of my recovery room early, after brushing her teeth but still in her dressing gown.
“I’m tired and going back to bed, but I’ll get your breakfast — so stay there.”
This appeal was just up my street, and the TV, that was on all day, was red-hot by 4:30 in the afternoon, by which time I’d decided to get out of bed. I felt light on my feet and, after dozing much of the day, was full of beans — especially handy, as we were off to the curry house soon.
My health has improved greatly this last week, and my spirit has soared now I realise that this bit of a break from the hospitals is a time for me to make hay — not sit around waiting for another side-effect monster to get me.
In all honesty, I’m only on the pain-relief pills now, and the routine is set and kind to me — so why not stop acting like a patient? I’m fit to enjoy the world’s offerings again.
The seaside retreat is still pending, and hotels and B&Bs are not booked, but there’s an ever-present yearning in my soul to grab my Darling’s hand and do something, nearly every day. It’s really up to me to push it, and I’m trying my hardest to make efforts and make memories.
I put on a nice shirt and slid into some longs in a small effort to shape up and look the part if I’m to take the date-night meal more seriously. It made me happier anyway.
The walk into town in the ebbing of the day was nice, and we chattered all the way.
I caught her up with last night’s conversation with my eldest about her party and the planned stay-over with us. We also started to talk about Christmas arrangements, and she cut in excitedly and told me that while I was sleeping this afternoon she’d gone Christmas-cake-making shopping and got the ingredients for the four cakes she was going to bake.
Oh, great, I thought — I do like a heavy traditional fruit cake — and it’s fantastic to think that my Darling has at last found the energy to do things like that again, outside the clutches of the pain and uncertainty we’ve been in all year. It also means the house will fill with beautiful baking smells all week. I can’t wait.
It’s another little sign that we both are on the mend.
We were guided to our window seats in an empty restaurant and made ourselves comfortable.
“Two house reds and some water — and a couple of poppadoms, please,” was our primary order as we continued to chatter while the street outside filled and emptied with takeaway traffic to all the food outlets this end of town. Everyone’s hungry tonight.
After a nice meal I paid up and checked the booking details for my Darling’s big birthday meal in a couple of weeks. The deposit needs to be paid next week, and all is well.
We strolled off home with darkness wrapping us in a tight hold. The street lighting was poor and the pavements bumpy, so there was always a good reason to hold each other tightly — perfect for a date night.
By the time we got home I had everything in my head to extend the evening — in a quiet way, but a nice way.
First, open that expensive bottle of red I’ve been saving for an occasion like this. Then find a rom-com on Netflix I saw advertised last week she might like, and sit together enjoying something we used to do but has been so sadly lacking for years —sharing a bottle of wine.
The bottle resisted my weak arms when it came to getting the cork out, but after putting it on the floor and trapping it between my feet, I did prevail. It goes to show my arms have lost a bit of conditioning.
Note to self: get a screw-top next time.
We settled down to the rom-com after a longer search than it should have been to find it. At least it wasn’t the marathon of choosing a film with the kids — that can take hours.
“Cheers, Darling.”
“Cheers, Kev.”
Both of us knew what we needed. Drinking this particular wine was always going to be accompanied by the spirit of late brother Kev.
The film was really great — a bit close to the mark at times. There’s a storyline in it whereby the leading man’s mum is having a lavish costume party in London for herself — a memorial that allowed her to listen to the kind words and eulogies of all her friends before she dies of lung cancer.
A living memorial.
(Something to think about, perhaps — it’s crossed my mind before now, too.)
Earlier in the day I had written a text to Kev’s widow, rambling on as I’m likely to do, and getting all emotional myself when it’s her I should be consoling or distracting, supporting. I mentioned that no matter how many times I talk to Kev, asking him for a sign so that I can tell he’s ok whenever he is — yes, I know it’s a bit cheesy — but I do need to know sometimes. It’s hard not to know.
But anyway, going back to date night —
We were on the third refill of our precious tall ‘Fiona’ Waterford crystal glasses when I missed the stem and pushed the bowl, knocking the red out of the glass and off the side table. Panic!
Most of my wine jumped straight onto my mobile phone on the footstool, which luckily saved the crystal by total fluke. My second snatched grab rescued some of the wine, and my Darling laughed and helped me out with a calming hand and bit of a surprised look — It’s just not me who does that kind of thing.
And here’s the laugh — I have rarely ever spilt wine in my life, but we do know someone who did. The fact that I caught the glass from impending disaster just like that other person was a big reminder of the three times Kev knocked over coffee, water, and wine glasses when we were with him in New York earlier this year. He became a clown for it (in a nice way). The Tiffany’s restaurant knock was the funniest and most easily remembered.
Thanks for the sign, Kev. I now know you’re safe — but can you not mess around with my hand-to-eye coordination, please? 
Whatever makes me (or you) feel better is good enough. Sometimes we all need to just believe.
I went to bed early — tired but in great spirits.
A big kiss for my Darling and off I went happy. I’ll leave her with her TV catch-ups.
P.S.
Rugby tomorrow if we’re lucky — that’ll be a first since school.
