Love
One evening, while tidying up the nurses office, I heard the door creak openheavy, like someone was leaning their whole self against it. I turned aroundblow me! There stood, apparently, Michael, our well-respected handyman from Riverside. If there was anything neededplumbing, joinery, you name ithe could fix it. But Michael always had a full grey beard, smelling of sawdust and roll-ups, looking a bit Father Christmas-y. Yet there in front of me was a chap with bare, pale cheeks, a plaster stuck to his neck, and reeking so strongly of Old Spice cologne my nostrils stung. Had Michael completely shaved off his beard?!
Michael Roberts, I said, dropping the rug, is that you? Or have you sent over your younger brother?
He fidgeted, nervously twisting his cap in his hands and avoiding eye contact. Its me, Valerie. Yes, me Can you, well, give me something for my heart and nerves?
Straight away, I adopted my professional nurse stance and sat him on the couch, pulling out the blood pressure monitor.
Whats happened? Where does it hurt? I asked.
Everywhere, he muttered. Its banging inside me, like someones hammering a tin. I cant sleep. And my hands, they tremble.
Pressure, 160 over 100rather high for a bloke whos never seen a doctor and can bend nails with his fingers.
Well, I said crisply. Lets get straight to it. Overdone it on the workshop or rowed with Linda?
At his wifes name, he twitched, face reddening, jaw clenched. Linda Roberts is quiet, modest, has stuck by Michael her whole life like needle and thread, never saying a harsh wordalways Mike dear this, Mike dear that. But our Mike has a temperament like a gnarled logtough to get close to.
Just give me the drops and spare the questions. Healings your job, so heal.
I gave him some Corvalol and popped a Valium under his tongue. He sat a while, caught his breath, grunted thanks, then left. Through the window I saw himwalking fast, almost youthful.
Oh, I thought, has the old devil fallen in love in his twilight years?
Our villages like a big beehive: sneeze on one end and before you know it the others telling everyone youve croaked.
Next evening, Lucy the postwoman dashed up, breathlessly: Valerie! Have you heard about Michael? Hes gone bonkers! Not only has he shaved his beard, but he went into town on the bus, came back with shopping bags, hiding them under his coat. Nancy from the fabric shop called and asked why your Michael was buying materials and popping into the jewellers!
My heart practically skipped. Blimey, he really has found someone! But who? Everyone in our village is visible as tea in a clear mug.
And Linda? I asked quietly.
Lucy pulled her most sympathetic face: Poor Linda gloomy as a raincloud, eyes all teary. The neighbours reckon he sent her packing to sleep in the summerhouse. Said, Dont disturb me, Ive got a project. What kind of project does a carpenter have at night? We all know
A couple days later, Linda herself shuffled inpetite and frail, wrapped in an old knitted shawl.
Valerie, she whispered, may I?
I settled her by the fire and poured hot tea with raspberry. She hugged her cup, warming her hands, but stared blankly forward.
Hes leaving me, Valerie. Forty years, soul to soul, raised children, saw grandchildren And now its all over.
Why do you think that, Linda? I tried to reassure her, though my insides felt like a cat scratching.
Hes changed. Shaving daily. Always that cologne she grimaced. Yesterday I found a receipt in his jacket from Golden Thread shop. Hes lying to me, wont meet my eyes,silent, bitter tears, the kind that carve deeper wrinkles. Why rummage in my marriage chest on the attic, with old dresses? I walk inhe snaps, Whatre you spying for? and slams the door. Hes old and not dashingbut Im old too.
I stroked her bony shoulder, thinking: Men, what are you playing at?
Hold on, Linda, I told her. Maybe it isnt as bad as it looks.
How else? She gave a dry laugh. He sings now. Locks himself in the shed with the hammer and sings Oh, blooms the rosenever sang before. Hes in love, Valerie. Definitely in love.
She left, and I couldnt sleep all night. Surely Michael, sturdy as an oak, wouldnt break his family after all these years. Stern, yes. Silent, sure. Not malicious, though.
A week passed. Tension in the village rose like yeast. Rumours became almost science fiction: from the young town librarian to someone supposedly buying a cottage in the next village.
Meanwhile Michael wandered about with wild eyes, thinner, but uplifted somehow. And oblivious to everyone.
Saturday, getting towards evening, a neighbours lad rushed in. Aunt Val! Grandpa Mikes collapsed in the garden! Granny Lindas calling you!
Cross bag slung, I dashed out. Galoshes skidding, just one thought: Please, not a heart attack. Lord, dont let it be
I rushed into their gardenMichael was flat on the grass, his face grey, lips blue. Linda was kneeling, cradling his head. The yard was scattered with planks, carved rails, paint tins, and amidst the chaos stood a half-built, lacy gazebo.
I hurried to Michael, checked his pulserapid. Blood pressure: still high.
What happened? I asked.
Picked up heavy board Michael gasped. Everything went dark back went and here pointing to his chest.
Clearly overexerted. I gave him a couple of shots for pain and lowered his pressure. After resting a while, his breathing steadied.
Right, I ordered, Linda, fetch the neighbour. He needs moving inside, not lying on cold ground.
We got Michael onto the bed.
Mike, Linda asked gently, why this gazebo? Its autumnwinters practically here.
Michael looked at her for ages, sighed deeply, and fished out a velvet ring box and a tattered old notebook from under the pillow.
I had different plans, Linda, he said, voice trembling like a schoolboys. Remember what tomorrow is?
She paused, furrowed her brow. Twentieth of OctoberSunday
And forty years ago?
Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh heavens, Mike, I forgot with all these worries. Our ruby wedding anniversary!
Michael handed her the notebook. Your old diary, Linda, found it in the marriage chest in the attic.
You read it? she blushed.
He nodded. Forgive me, old fool. I read it and my heart cried.
I froze, barely breathingonly the tick-tock of the clock broke the silence.
You dreamed we’d have a house, a garden, and a white gazebo by the stream, for tea and the old record player. Youd have a blue lace dress But I just workedbuilding, sawmill. Built the house, but always later for the gazebo. No money, no time, no strength. And you, you just put up with me and my bear ways.
He turned to his wife. Now lifes nearly passed, and I never gave you your fairy tale, or a blue dress. So, I rushed to town for fabric and a ring. Olivia the seamstress made the dress from your old measurements. The gazebowell, didnt reckon my strength, silly old stump that I am. Wanted a surprisebut ended up only tiring you out and making the village laugh.
Linda knelt by the bed, pressing her face to his work-roughened hand.
You silly fool, Mike, she whimpered through tears, so much happiness in her voice you could ladle it. What an idiot you are I thought youd found someone new, younger, and stopped loving me. But it was the gazebo.
Whatre you saying, Linda? he stirred. Another woman? Look, your dress is in the wardrobe, in the bagtry it on. Will it fit?
Itll fit, she nodded, not lifting her head. Even if its tight, Ill still wear it.
I sniffedeyes wateringand quietly packed up my blood pressure kit.
Right, in my sternest nurse voice. Patient, bed rest for you. No boards, no hammers. Ill check on you tomorrow.
Michael gave me a grateful look. Valerie You know dont gossip about this in the village. Theyll mock. Say the old mans lost his marbles.
What do they know? I waved. Rest up. Chin up!
I stepped onto the porchclouds parted and the big yellow moon appeared. The air was crisp, smelling of damp leaves, woodsmoke, and oddly enough, apples, though the season was over.
You cant hide anything in the village. Someone spread the word that Michael had worn himself out preparing a surprise for his wife.
Next morning, people streamed inmen arrived with tools, the blacksmith brought fancy hinges, the carpenter brought paint. Work buzzed as if the place was on fire!
By evening the gazebo stood white and proud, looking almost bridal. They set a table inside, covered with an embroidered cloth, complete with a kettle and cups on saucers. Beautiful! Folks sat in and around the gazebo.
And then Linda emerged from the house in a blue lace dress, ring sparkling, hair done, lips coloured, eyes shining like lanterns. Beside her, pale Michael in his best suit, labour medals pinned, tie straight.
Michael brought out his pre-war gramophone, swapped from a junk dealer in town. He placed on a record. It crackled and out poured an old songHeart, you never find peace
He invited Linda to dance and they glided, slowly, unsteady feet, but oh, the way he looked at her! As if forty years had been but forty minutes since their first meeting.
The whole village watched. The women dabbed at tears with their hankies. The men smoked, staring at their shoes, each probably thinking about his own wifewhen he’d last brought her flowers or just said thank you.
And I thought, how much effort we waste on grudges, suspicions, and idle talk when lifes far shorter than we think. All thats truly precious is the warmth of a familiar hand, the glow in the eyes that shines, just for you.
