Gwen, youll be the one whos responsible for his death! Whose fault is it, you ask? Of course its yours, Toby! Yes, you heard right! No surprise there! And who was that pretty girl sitting on the bench yesterday, her bare knees glowing in the dusk? How dare anyone stare like that! Tobys mind is as fragile as a moths wing Hes probably only ever seen a pair of bare female knees on a school PE field, and that was ages ago. So what if there are a dozen girls in miniskirts around town? You compared them! Its a different storyher knees, yoursToby sees a world apart!
The voice on the receiver grew hard:
Im not making this up. I can see him now, scribbling a dying note Hes saying, I cant live without her, right into my ear, pleading. You understand, dont you? He writes it, he cries, and he never looks at me. He mutters something about a pint I mean, hes going to die! Yes, the word die is clear as day. How can I not see it? Im looking through my grandfathers field binocularseverything comes into focus!
The line fell silent for a breath, only the panicked inhalations of the woman on the other end could be heard:
Oh, my dear, were too late, Gwen Were late, and the knife is already sharp, already plunging blood You think you can make it in time? Run, run, save your prince!
Granny Mabel, her sharp eyes narrowed, watched with grim satisfaction as the stouthearted Gwen burst into Tobys shabby flat, bearing untapped love, a pot of broth, and a dream of a bustling household.
Toby had no chance. The gaunt, daydreaming youth lived alone; six months earlier his mother remarried and moved to Devon, leaving him the threebedroom terraced house. Shed sternly ordered him to marry and produce grandchildrenany grandchildrenimmediately. No delays.
Hed agreed; the idea of a cosy family appealed to him. But finding a girl proved impossible. A whiz with electronics, he was quiet, selfconscious, and shy. He couldnt muster a proper courting line, and he fled at a touch from any assertive maiden faster than a fighter jet. Granny Mabel approved; shed had enough of a cheeky neighbour.
Then there was Gwen: robust, tidy, courteous. Not a knockout, but pleasant, with a round freckled face that warmed the room. All it took was a moments attention, a conversationsomething the young men of today seemed incapable of. Their gadgetsugh, what a loathsome word!could only spit out a snapshot or a short clip. Even a TikTok star like Nina never managed what Gwen did, unlike the clingy brash girls Toby feared like fire. Their makeup, their looklike witches at a coven! Modern girls were to Gwen what a circus clown is to a ticketseller at the box office. No matter how sweet the ticketseller, you remember the clown, not the clerk. The clerk at least exchanged a few sentences.
Toby, glancing now and then at his neighbour Gwen, could never quite grasp his own happiness. He might have died a wandering soul, thought Granny Mabel, starved of warmth and affectiondead from hunger, cold, and the lack of a womans gentle touch. At home he resembled a lost hedgehog in the fog, subsisting on instant noodles and frozen dumplings, occasionally remembering to lift a pot off the stove. He was, however, a sandwich virtuoso, and his coffee was passable at best.
At that moment he was attempting to dice a cucumber for a salad, slipped, and bled from a cut finger. He scrambled for a bandage and some antiseptic, when a frantic rap came at the front door. Ignoring the bleeding wound, he flung it open.
Gwen, eyes wide with alarm, lunged at him. What she whispered, what she tried to convince him ofGranny Mabel never heard. The binoculars transmitted no sound, and that was a pity. Yet the cunning local matchmaker, Granny Mabel, later saw Gwen in her own flat, feeding Toby a steaming bowl of broth, ladling potatoes with mince patties, a vinaigrette of beetroot and cabbage, and a sweet compote. By the look on his face, the food was a feast.
Tobys lips broke into a grin, loneliness fleeing his eyes, his life shedding its wanderers weight and its doubts.
A month later they stood hand in hand, newly married. Granny Mabel was invited, presented with a slice of rich Victoria sponge, the biggest piece saved for her. As they said goodbye, the bride Gwen giggled and asked the old lady:
So he really was about to die, wasnt he? Like you said, he started stabbing himself, right? Right in the finger! Oh, Granny Mabel, you have no idea how embarrassed I was when I promised to save him, and he held out his wounded finger! Oh, Granny Mabel!
