Two Decades Without a Gift: A Surprisingly Happy Marriage.
William Hartley had never bought his wife a present, despite twenty years of wedded blisswell, mostly bliss. Not that he was stingy, mind you; the right moment had simply never come along. With Eleanor, everything had happened in a flashtheyd met, fallen head over heels, and tied the knot within a month.
Their courtship hadnt been the stuff of grand romantic gestures. Hed whistle under her window in the tiny village where she lived, shed come barrelling out, and theyd sit on the bench by the gate, chatting idly until midnight. Their first kiss? Stolen on the day they got engaged. Then came the wedding, the daily grind, and the endless to-do lists. William proved a sharp businessman, turning his pig farm into a tidy little empire. Eleanor, meanwhile, kept their garden so lush the neighbours seethed with envy. Then children arrivednappies, frilly dresses, childhood snifflesand who had time for gifts? Holidays were celebrated with a nice roast and good company. Life wasnt glamorous, but it was steady, peaceful, and full of hard work.
One day, William set off to the market with his neighbour to sell potatoes and baconjust before Mothers Day. Hed cleared out the cellar, sorted the spuds, and figured he might as well flog the extra bacon before butchering the next pig. To his surprise, everything sold like hotcakes. The bacon vanished in a blink, the potatoes were snapped up like sweets. “Not bad,” William thought, pleased. “Eleanorll be chuffed.”
He stashed the empty sacks in his neighbours van and headed off to run Eleanors errands. Old habits die hard, though, so he stopped at the local pub firstnot because he was a drinker, but because skipping a celebratory pint might jinx his next sale. After a quick half, he wandered back out, whistling, eyeing the shopfronts and bustling crowds. Then, quite literally, he stumbled upon an unexpected scene.
Outside a boutique, a young couple stood gawping at a dress in the window. The girl, fresh-faced as a daisy, was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Sophie, come on, we cant stand here all day!”
“Look, James, its gorgeous! Itd suit me perfectly.”
“Pfft. Its just fabric.”
“You absolute plank! Its vintagetotally on trend! Get it for me for Mothers Day, yeah?”
“Sophie, were skint. If I buy that, well be living on beans on toast till payday.”
“Well manage, love! I want it so badly. Weve been married a year, and youve never bought me a thing, not even at Christmas!”
“Sophie, youre driving me mad”
“I love you,” she murmured, kissing him before dragging him into the shop.
The lad caught Williams eye and shrugged with a knowing grin, as if to say, “Women, eh?” Moments later, they emerged, Sophie clutching the precious bag, giggling like shed won the lottery. William lingered, staring at the dressa simple, floral thing, not unlike the one Eleanor used to wear on their bench. A long-buried feeling stirred in his chest. Nostalgia? Regret? A sudden thought struck him: “Ive never given Eleanor a thing. Too busy. And I always thought it was daft. But that lad would tighten his belt to make his wife happy. For love. Do I love Eleanor? I thought I did, once. Then life swallowed us whole. Just work, no memories Blimey, what a grim little life.”
The ache of stolen joy was unbearable. He wanted it too.
He marched into the shop. A sales assistant swooped in, all smiles.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Aye. That dress in the windowIll take it.”
“Oh, excellent choice! Vintage silk, very chic. Your daughter will adore it.”
“Not for my daughter,” he grumbled. “For my wife.”
“Oh, lucky her!” she trilled, wrapping it up.
“How much?”
When she named the price, William nearly choked. A small fortune.
“Whys it so bloody dear?”
“Its designer, sir,” she said, with the patience of a saint.
He hesitated. Then Sophies radiant face flashed in his mind. He slapped down the cash.
“Done.”
His neighbour was waiting when he emerged. The ride home was cheerfuluntil the neighbour started boasting about his profits.
“So, howd you do?”
“What?”
“Make a killing?”
“Since when dyou care about my earnings?” William snapped.
“Blimey, steady on,” the neighbour muttered, baffled by the sudden sour mood.
Back home, Eleanor was still at the farm. William fed the pigs, mucked out the sty, all while an odd tightness gripped his chest. Why the nerves? He shrugged it off, poured himself a whisky. Then another. That helped.
The door banged open. Eleanor marched in, her usual no-nonsense self.
“Youre back, then? Howd it go?”
“Fine. Heres the cash.”
She counted it.
“Somes missing. Bad day?”
“Nah, its justwell, the rest is in that bag.”
She pulled out the dress, suspicious.
“Whos this for? Lucy? Itll drown her. Wasting our money”
“Its for you,” he mumbled. “For Mothers Day.”
Silence.
“For me?” she whispered. “Really?”
“Aye, for you!” he said, relieved she wasnt shouting. “Who else?”
Eleanor burst into tears and fled to the bedroom. She returned ten minutes later, red-eyed.
“It doesnt fit. Im not twenty anymore.”
“What? But I remember you in a dress like this, on the bench”
“Oh, you daft old sod,” she laughed, voice wobbling. “That was twenty years ago! Things change.”
He met her gaze.
“Seeing those flowers I remembered. Maybe the best gift isnt the dress. Maybe its just us, like we were back then.”
