Sue - Exercising at '95

The heart that wouldn’t quit

The snow is so soft and light that it sticks to the window panes and completely obliterates the view to the garden. Mary can only imagine how icy the driveway is going to be. With a mix of concern and excitement she waits by the window for her lift to the Bridge Club. At 95, Mary still runs her large 4BR home, with the help of cleaners and gardeners, and only uses a stick to negotiate the outside world.
Headlights sweep into the circular driveway, a door bangs and after a few minutes, loud clangs vibrate around the house. Mary swings open the timber door and there is Harry, her long-time partner. He’s dressed in his usual tweed suit and yellow cravat and his grey bushy beard makes his broad smile warm and friendly.

“Your arm, M’lady”, he grins.

“Oh, Harry. You are such a card”. She relaxes and gently hugs his tweed jacket sleeve.

“Let’s see what we can make of those devilish cards tonight. No more jumping to a grand slam, Harry”. She giggles. With a stick in one hand and Harry on the other, the two of them gradually and gingerly get to the car.

They always sit north south at the bridge table. That way they never have to move between the tables. That is, except for the strong cup of tea and shortbread biscuit served mid way through the session and the essential loo break when Mary is dummy.

Mary lines up her props. There’s a little wooden stand that holds her 13 cards so she can easily sort the cards. The fingers on her right hand are fine, but the knobbly, disfigured left hand just can’t hold her cards any more. Her half-moon specs sit on the end of her nose and she twiddles her new hearing aid to get the right balance of background and table noise. Then there are the little bidding boxes which she had eventually got used to, where each combination of bid is printed on a card and laid down onto the table in front of each player. As she waits for the first lot of boards to come to the table, she recalls the good old days when everyone used to bid out loud. There was a wonderful atmosphere of fun and excitement as the bids bounced around the room or there was laughter and giggles as people got their bids wrong, or bid out of turn. These days however, it was all quiet and serious.

But she loved it. She had loved the game from the days when she was a little girl, hanging onto Granny’s armchair, peering at the cards and trying to remember the sequence of clubs, diamonds hearts and then spades. No-trumps confused her immensely. How could a hand be played with no trumps?

The director calls the move for the night. Mary fills out the paperwork for the table, who’s who, the table and everyone’s pair number. And she always does the scores. She insists. It has been a brilliant way to keep her brain active and alert.

She grins at Harry. Harry smiles into his beard. They sort their cards for the first game of the night and Harry opens the bidding.

“1NT”. He says. They smoothly, with a minimum number of fancy conventions, bid to a final contract of 6H. Which, of course, Mary plays to perfection.

“Getta boyo”. She yells, unable to contain her excitement. The contract relies on the ace of hearts being on the right side and a favourable finesse of the queen of clubs.

“Well bid Harry”.