Since his holiday, George never returned
“Still no word from your husband, is there, Judy?” Vera asked, folding her arms, eyes sharp with concern.
“Not a letter, not a call, nothing for weeks, Vera. Nine days, forty daysthe mans vanished,” Judy chuckled thinly, tugging her pinny tighter around her sturdy waist.
“Off on a bender, maybe, or… well, you know,” Vera murmured, shaking her head with sympathy. “Just have to keep waiting, I suppose. Have the police had any luck?”
“Not a peep, Vera. Silent as the grave,” Judy replied, her voice weary. She swapped the broom to her other hand, sweeping the tumbled leaves from her path outside her cottage. The autumn of 1988 seemed never-ending, damp and cold. Every time she cleared the path, the wind scattered a fresh layer of leaves, so she doubled back, brushing them away again, only for them to fall once more.
It had been three years since Judy Wilkinson had retired, thinking she might finally have a quiet life. But last month shed had to take a cleaning job at the local council flatsher pension barely stretching far enough and other work proving impossible to find at her age.
Theyd lived like any other English couple. Nothing fancy, nothing miserable. Worked, raised their son, kept a roof tidy. Her George wasnt a heavy drinker, only had a pint or two at Christmas, and people at the factory respected himhe took pride in his work. Hed never so much as looked at another woman. And Judy, well, shed done her time as a nurse at the local hospital, awards on the mantel to prove it.
That summer, George had gone off on a seaside coach trip, courtesy of work, and simply didnt come back. Judy didnt worry straight away. No news is good news, she always thoughthe must be having a good rest. But when he didnt come back as planned, she started ringing up everywhere: the hospitals, the police, even the mortuary.
She sent their son, Peter, a telegram at his army barracks: Dads missing. Then she managed to phone through. Together, they discovered that George had checked out of his B&B, but never boarded the train home. Lost, just like that. Again, she started the endless callshospitals, mortuariesround and round.
At the factory, they only shrugged: “We issued him the company holiday, we did our bit. Whatevers happened beyond that, its not our business, Mrs Wilkinson. If he doesn’t show, well have to let him go for absenteeism.”
Judy wanted so much to go searching herself, but Peter talked her down: “You wont know where to start, Mum. Ill get leave soonIll head down there. Uniform helps, people open doors.”
Somehow, his words calmed her. She tried to stay busy, needing anything to drive out the dark thoughts. Going to the police station became almost routine by now, and shed taken this cleaners job partly to stay brave in front of folks. All day shed sweep, keep herself together, but come dusk, Judy would weep aloneberating herself and fate for handing her such trials in her later years. What weighed on her chest most of all was the not knowing.
Then, as suddenly as he left, George was standing before her one day.
There he was, in his same navy suit, no bag, no luggage. Just him, collar up against the wind, hands jammed in his trouser pockets, staring as Judy swept the yard.
She didnt even spot him straight away, not until Pete called over.
“George! Peter!” she cried, dropping her broom and rushing over.
Her arms flung wide, like a swallow returning home. She hurled herself at Georges chest, hugging him fiercely. He hesitated, then hugged her back, slow and unsure.
“Right, lets get indoors, you two,” Peter grumbled. She could hear the sourness in his voice, his marching steps.
“Peter, come here, let me hug youhavent seen you since spring!” Judy caught up with her son.
“Hello, Mum. Its freezing. Lets go inside.”
“You couldve called, you know, George! Id have cleaned up, made proper food…”
“Mum, Im not here for scones and tea. I said Id bring him. Here he is.”
Judy looked from her husband to her son, her heart twisting after months of worry. He was alive, saferight in front of her. She didnt want to quiz them, just to feed them and let them rest. George sat in stony silence.
“Mum, sit down for a moment, will you?” Peter urged.
But Judy bustled about, clattering dishes and mugs.
“Mum, I found Dad living with another woman,” Peter suddenly said, voice flat.
Judy spun to face her son, then stared at George. Her husband sat at the kitchen table, hands folded, head bowed, looking for all the world like a sullen schoolboy caught in troublethin, grey, and refusing to meet her eyes.
“With who, George? What on earth is going on?”
All those months, shed imagined him mugged, penniless, wandering the cities, scraping by. Anything but this.
“He never came homehes been living with Olivia Sandford in her little cottage by the sea. Didnt want to leave,” Peter answered.
Judy blinked at her husband, lost for words.
“You didnt want to come back?” she asked, voice trembling.
“No, I didnt,” George said, raising his voice just a touch. “Made me seeIve been living wrong. Its just been factory-work-factory, same old cycle. Allotment on Sundays. I wanted real freedom.”
“Freedom!” Judys cheeks flushed red with fury. “And you, Peter, whyd you drag this chunk of freedom back here? Wanted to shame me, did you? Couldve said he was dead, at least thatd be kinder. Ive sat here pining for him while hes beenat some woman’s beach hut!”
“Judy… maybe I just wanted to start over,” George tried meekly.
“No, George, you didnt want a new life, you just got sunstroke down there and lost your sensesran off like a scoundrel and hid with another woman. A real man would come home, get a divorce, then go live as he pleases. Youd at least have the guts to be honest. I dont want to see you. Get out!”
George rose and walked along the hall, slipping into the spare room.
“Nogo out properly! Like you never even came back!” Judys voice broke into a sob, her whole body shaking as she yelled after him.
“Dad, go,” Peter barked, heading to the corridor before his mother lost herself completely.
She didnt see George again for a fortnight.
Judy swept the path like always, brushing rainwater off the kerb side. George appeared at the end of the terrace, wearing an old coat, a battered flat cap pulled low.
“Judy,” he called softly, then louder, “Judy!”
She raised her head, eyes dull, face drawn. That man had broken hershe wanted nothing more than to forgive, but found she couldnt open her arms again. George stepped closer, uncertain.
“Im back here, got a job at the factory again. No supervisor yet, just on the line. Can I come in?”
She propped herself on her broom, meeting his gaze.
“I suppose you can,” she replied icily. “Because I need us to sign divorce papers. Urgently.”
“So you havent forgiven me? I understand,” he answered.
“If you understand, why are you here?”
“The truth isOlivia said if I went, I wasnt welcome back. So I did. Came home, Judy, came back to you.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “So, now its clearneither one of us wants you, George. No one does. Youre only back because Peter wouldnt leave without you. Go live your new life, dont get in my way. Youre trampling my doorstep.” With that, Judy swept her broom right over his polished shoes, again and again.
With a turn, she strode down the path, putting all her anger into the task, refusing even to glance back. After five minutes, she risked a lookGeorge had gone. She let out a shaky breath, lighter already. She knew she might have forgiven him, had he stayed. But usually, those hit hardest from behind are the ones who stand up front to protect you.
