I never truly loved my husband.
Really? And how long were you together?
Well, let me see… We married in 1971.
But how is it possible to be together for so long, without love?
Two women, barely more than acquaintances, sat on a bench near a grave in an English cemetery. Each had come to tend to a loved ones resting place. Their chores completed, fate placed them side by side, and before long, a quiet conversation sparked up between them.
Is that your husband? The woman in a grey wool beret nodded towards the photo on the headstone.
Yes, thats him. Its been a year now, but I still cant get used to his absence. I miss him so much, it aches. I loved him deeply, the widow adjusted the corners of her black scarf.
They were silent a moment, then the woman in the beret sighed and confessed:
I never truly loved my husband.
Her companion turned, piqued by curiosity.
Yet, you were married for so many years?
All told… Lets see, we married in 1971.
How does someone live alongside someone so long, and not love them?
I married him out of spite, really. I fancied another lad, but he ran off with my best friend. So, I thought, Ill marry before they do! There was Michael a timid fellow always following me about, said he fancied me. And so…
And so, what happened?
Oh, I very nearly ran away on my own wedding day. The whole village was there for the reception, and I just cried. Felt like my youth had ended for good. Id glance at Michael and want to howl at the moon. He was scrawny, short, already receding at the front, and his ears stuck out properly. His suit fit him like a saddle on a cow. He was grinning, happy as Larry, those daft blue eyes never leaving me Oh, I thought, what have I done? But I had only myself to blame.
What became of you two?
Well, we started out living with his parents. They doted on him, and me by extension. I was a strapping girl, mind you strong as an ox, dark eyes, thick plait, barely fitting into my frock. Everyone saw he was an odd match for me.
Id wake, someone had cleaned my shoes, Michaels mother, of course. And I? I was ungrateful, lording it over them, even shouted at his mum now and again. All that because I pitied myself. No love at all. No wonder relations were strained.
Then Michael suggested we move said we should make our own way and stop living with his folks. I didnt mind Id have agreed to anything just to leave, truth be told. And so, a chance came up for a big job up north lots of young people were being called on to help with housing and railways. Michael pushed, managed to get us in, and soon enough, we were off first to Birmingham, later further north to Yorkshire.
Funny thing on the train, women in one carriage, men in another. Michael had no food, while I had my bag. But I didnt worry much; made friends straight off, we shared everything. I handed out all the pies his mum had baked for the journey. Later, rushing over at a station, Michael asked if there was any food left. I felt guilty, told him wed eaten everything. He saw my embarrassment and only said, Thats alright, love, were all being fed in the lads carriage, anyway. Then he dashed off.
I knew he was lying though. Hed never ask a soul for anything, too shy. He was just trying to make me feel better. I forgot about him minutes later.
When we got there, we were put in a big dormitory thirty-five women in one room, the blokes separate, while family rooms were to come. Not that I minded. I avoided Michael at every turn, always pretending I was busy or in a hurry. Eventually, the other women scolded me: Hes your husband, you know!
Hed stand out in the drizzle, waiting beneath my window. Yorkshire mists soaked him through, but I didnt so much as blink.
So, after two years of marriage, childless, still no love in sight, I decided Id divorce. Out of pity, sometimes I’d spend the night in the married quarters. But pity is a sorry sort of love.
Then along came Chris tall, dark, a great shock of hair. We were all worked off our feet back then, but there was fun too. Decent pay, German beer, fruit, sausages wed never seen back home. There were concerts, dances just for us.
Chris drew my eye. The other girls noticed him too, but he noticed me.
I fell proper head over heels.
Michael tried reasoning with me, said I was doing wrong, but I was dizzy from the excitement. I told him straight: Im divorcing you.
We had just got a family room in the dorms, too, but I wouldnt stay.
Michael still hovered nearby. Id be walking arm in arm with Chris and spot Michael following at a distance. But I didnt care. I was in love.
The woman in the black scarf listened intently.
How on earth did your husband cope?
He bore it all Because he loved me. Then Chris ran off with Kate, the accountant, flaunting it in front of everyone, even started saying awful things about me Id thrown myself at him because my own husband was a pushover.
Word got to Michael, of course. He was always the gentle type, but something snapped. He fought Chris behind the canteen. I wasnt there, only heard later that Michael was rushed to hospital.
I hurried over, angry and worried. Why did you get into a fight with him, Michael? Thats never like you. But he just said, It was for you.
Meanwhile, I was reckoning with myself. Chris turned nasty when I told him I was pregnant. Didnt want anything to do with me, said the vilest things, threatened everyone would know the childs neither Michaels nor his. Truth be told, I wasnt even certain myself.
I visited Michael in hospital, brought him bits and bobs. Out of duty, not love.
On his crutches, looking older than his years in those hospital pyjamas, he looked out the window and said, Dont divorce me. Lets leave here and start over. The child will be mine and nobody elses.
I didnt thank him, just replied: If you say so.
I left him staring after me, and as I walked away, my heart fluttered more at not having to go home, to have some help with the baby.
After that, we moved out to Lincolnshire. Michael, ever the quiet soul, was noticed at work. His training as a mechanical engineer paid off, and he rose quickly to foreman, always bringing home treats, never keeping anything for himself.
My wifes expecting, hed beam, showing off.
Id look away, ashamed. They gave us a house, and I got a job as an office clerk.
At the hospital, the baby arrived. Straight away he was Chriss, you could see by the dark hair. Michael never asked a thing, just looked at him with tears in his eyes as we took him home.
Max was a difficult child. Perhaps it was the way he was conceived. Sickly from birth, always crying. Michael wore himself out, falling asleep mid-sentence. Not that he ever complained.
A year later, I had a daughter, Mary, Michaels. Named her after Michaels mother, to make up for the grief Id caused. But for Michael, I still felt nothing. No love, no hate. The kids kept me busy, I only ever hoped hed help and he always did. Hed do the washing, tidy up, let me sleep late.
Once, he tried soaking some laundry, and I had to snatch the tub from him, worried what the neighbours would say, their boss at work scrubbing ladies knickers. But Michael just said, The waters freezing! Better me get sick than you. He didnt care a jot for gossip.
His constant devotion started to grate on me, though.
Max, by thirteen, was already getting into trouble with the police. I spent so much time at the local station that I got to know the community officer there Tom, a good man, single, even got through to Max in a way Michael never could. Michaels gentle nature meant he couldnt discipline Max, not properly. Id be stricter, but Michael would always try to shield him. And then Michael was sent to London for training.
We can manage if you dont want me to go, hed say. He already sensed the distance between us.
Go on, Michael, I replied.
Off he went, with heavy heart.
The community officer, Tom, started asking me to leave Michael, said Id never loved him.
And I
The woman fell quiet for a long while, brushed some autumn leaves from the table.
And you? prompted her companion, now calling her you instead of Mrs.
She frowned, the memory weighing on her.
I kept thinking, thinking, turning things over Michael sent me a letter Ive kept it all these years. He wrote that he realised hed ruined my life, knowing I never loved him, only tolerated him. He said hed keep sending half his wages to support the children, wished me well, no bitterness, no complaints, only kindness and hope Id be happy.
Golden leaves kept falling, the day was bright and calm, the sky blue overhead. The woman in the black scarf dabbed her eyes.
Crying, are you? asked the storyteller.
It just brings it all back. Strange how life is. So did you go, then? Did you leave him for the policeman?
I couldnt sleep a wink. Max was all over the place, and I was lost in the mess of my own making, clutching Michaels letter at night. There was another woman at the office, Sue, a bit older, wise. She told me, Youre a fool, Linda. Men like Michael are one in a million.
Then one morning, it hit me. What was I doing with my life? Michael had loved me, never once thought of himself, always put me first. I remembered the countless ways hed looked after me. When I was hospitalised for a gynaecological operation gone wrong, the doctors barely gave me hope. Michael stayed at my bedside, got the staff running circles, hired a night nurse, never left until I was safe. If it werent for him, I might not be here.
Once, a package meant for someone else landed in our housea supply helicopter dropped it off during a storm, parcels scattered everywhere. When we realised the mistake, Michael trekked through a blizzard to return it to the right people, ignoring my protests. Theyre waiting and counting on it, he said. He came back with frostbitten cheeks, falling ill from the cold.
And I realised, at last, that I didnt need or want anyone but him.
Could I write him? After all those years of indifference? Could words make up for it? I knew, deep down, that he was ready to leave, thinking Id found someone else.
Autumn bled on, warm, golden. I sorted the children and work, and then, I headed down to London to find him.
The train was agonisingly slow I wanted to see him so badly. I kept picturing his face, my Michael shy, balding, sticking-out ears and all, I loved every inch of him.
At the college, I found where he was studying and waited outside. When he emerged, surrounded by classmates, he looked so smart cap, short mac, briefcase under his arm. I was frozen, overcome. Theyd walked quite a way before I managed to call out to him.
He turned, stopped, staring as if he couldnt believe his eyes. We just gazed at each other, while the autumn leaves spiralled down, just as they are today.
His briefcase dropped, notebooks scattering. We rushed to each other and held on tight, unable to say a word.
What can you say, really?
His friends laughed, Thats real love! Look at them, married a lifetime and still meeting like this!
The listener in the black scarf blew her nose.
So, did you finally find love after all that?
Till the end, do you mean?
Well, I suppose is that your husbands grave, there?
Ah… No, thats our Max, our son. Lost him far too soon. He never managed to get his life right, even spent time inside. Michael and I suffered so much. Max drank himself to death, you see
But your husband… is he still…?
He is! she crossed herself. Thank goodness! He just dropped me here to tidy up and went to take care of something else for our daughter. Oh, there he is now, probably come to fetch me. Weve chattered on, havent we? Do you need a lift?
No, Ill stay a bit longer, visit a few more of my folks.
A stout, kindly-faced man approached, dressed in a black anorak and cap. He smiled warmly.
Tired, Michael? Bet youve been running around like mad, his wife brushed dust from his shoulder.
He gathered their things, yet she made sure she carried the heavier rubbish for him, worrying about his bad back.
They walked away together down the golden cemetery lane, arm in arm, past the gravestones.
At the turn, the woman in the beret glanced back and waved. Her husband followed suit.
And the woman in the black scarf turned to her husbands portrait on the headstone, thinking:
Happiness isnt something that just appears on its own it flourishes only when you finally welcome it into your heart.
And, whether early or late, the true gift in life is simply this: to love and be loved in return.
