If Caitlin was right, I can achieve my dreams sooner than I could have hoped . . .
BY VAL BONSALL
I LOVE this time of year,” my cousin Caitlin says. I give her an “Are you mad?” look across the table in the café where we’ve met for our usual Saturday-afternoon cuppa.
I tell her that I doubt she will find many people agreeing with her.
What’s to love about the cold, damp weather, the bank statements arriving after the festive season, the way it all feels just so flat?
“It’s like the world’s waking up,” Caitlin continues. “Already you can see the days getting longer again.
“I’ve meant to ask you, Pip – did you make any New Year resolutions?”
“No point,” I reply. “I never keep them. But maybe I will next year. There are changes I’d like to make.”
As soon as I say that, I regret it.
“Oh, you don’t have to wait until next year,” Caitlin replies. “You can make a to-do list any time.”
Caitlin’s mum – my dad’s sister – died when Caitlin and her two brothers were still young.
It was terrible, but maybe made not so bad as it might have been for them by the family support they got.
For years, Caitlin and her brothers practically lived at our house.
So whereas technically she’s my cousin, in many ways our relationship is more like sisters, and my mum sees her as another daughter.
I smile. In fact, it often strikes me that Caitlin is more like Mum than I am!
This to-do list thing that I’m regretting leading Caitlin into – that’s straight from Mum.
As well as the increased number of children to care for that she suddenly acquired, she was active in my dad’s business.
I remember hearing people asking her how she did it all and her saying, “By being organised.”
In the café, Caitlin is now removing a notebook from her bag – one of those bags with multiple compartments so everything stays in its proper place.
Mum’s got one the same.
She hands a sheet of paper to me.
“OK, write down the three things you most want to achieve this year.”
“That’s not my way of doing things,” I protest.
“That’s true,” Caitlin concedes, “and look how far you’ve got. I’ll do it for you.”
“But –” “No, really,” she interrupts. “I know what it is you’re wishing you had now. I know you, remember?”
She takes the sheet back from me, scribbles something down, then returns the sheet to me.
