Buoyant

 

Buoyancy

 

The week after the funeral, Mrs Murray decided to learn how to swim. She had wanted to learn to swim for many years and now, after the difficult time she’d had with the sudden and violent death of her husband, it was the right moment. When she was younger it wasn’t thought necessary for girls to be able to swim and after her marriage there wasn’t much time for such frivolous pursuits.  Besides, the late Mr Murray didn’t approve of swimming women.  There were a lot of things that the late Mr Murray frowned upon: spending money, foreign foods, liberated women and too much merriment in general.  When he passed away, Mrs Murray shed some tears for all the good times they’d had and then proceeded with her life.  She had much to catch up with, such as learning how to swim.

The first hurdle was the purchase of a swimming costume.  Mrs Murray, although not used to fancy foods, had eaten well and the trim figure she’d had when she got married had long disappeared.  She decided to go to an old-fashioned underwear retail establishment, unable to cope with the display of garish colours that the department store offered.  The girl (Mrs Murray referred to anyone under the age of forty as ‘girl’) draped several bathing suits over her arm.

‘Would you prefer a bikini, a tankini or a one-piece?’ she asked.

What do you take me for, thought Mrs Murray.  At my age, in a pair of knickers and a bra in the pool?

‘A full sized, one-piece bathing costume please, miss.  One should never reveal too much flesh at my age, don’t you think?’

She finally settled on a nice navy-blue swimsuit.  With her largest towel, a rubber swim cap to protect her newly done perm and her costume she went to the local baths.  Adult lessons were on a Thursday and Mrs Murray was relieved to see that there were no other activities going on at the same time.  She was pleasantly surprised when she carefully lowered herself in the tepid water.  She felt lighter and more agile than she had in years, and she wasn’t a bit scared.  The lesson went well.   Afterwards, Mrs Murray felt buoyant.

Swimming accomplished; Mrs Murray looked out for other things to learn. She tried a pottery course but didn’t like the gritty feel of clay on her hands. A cookery course was more her style. In the kitchen of a large Indian restaurant, she learned how to make paratha, butter-chicken and samosa.

Mr Murray had particularly scorned Asian food and had adamantly refused to go into a restaurant that served Indian and Pakistani dishes.

‘Foreign muck with garlic’, he’d say, ‘makes you break wind.

But here she was, learning about the different spices used in samosas and curries. Once all the dished were made, the pupils sat down to eat. Mrs Murray loved it and ate every morsel. In the evening, when she farted in bed, she laughed out loud and just shook the sheets.

From that day onwards, she often invited her few friends to a buffet in the local Pakistani restaurant. The friends chatted, laughed and shared a bottle of wine.  Mr Murray would definitely not have approved. 

In her town, there was a branch of the University of the Third Age. Mrs Murray, who had left school at 16 at the insistence of her father, was drawn to this. After her recent accomplishments, she relished the thought of learning.  The University of the Third Age had much to offer: Irish History, Introduction to Gaelic, The Scottish Clearances, Poetry and Forensic Science. She attended an open day, where they showcased different courses and interest groups. In the spacious hall, she sat next to a man with an interesting face. He had laughter lines around his eyes, which were clear and grey.

‘I am Mrs Murray,’ she said, ‘Eunice,’ and she offered her hand.

‘Jason,’ he said, ‘Jason Borthwick.’

Jason turned out to be a retired detective of the local police force. They chatted, and Mrs Murray felt an instant connection. Jason was one of the course leaders for the University of the Third Age, teaching an Introduction to Forensic Science. Mrs Murray was immediately interested, being a fan of not-so-cosy crime shows on the telly.

They learned about blood spatters, crime-scene investigation and how to destroy DNA evidence.  The latter was of particular interest to Mrs Murray.  Maybe she could now finally get rid of the knife.