Weve lived together for forty years under one roof, and now, at sixty-three, you suddenly want to change your life?
Margaret sat in her favourite armchair, gazing out of the window, trying to forget the events of the day. Only a few hours earlier, she had busied herself preparing supper, waiting for Charles to return from fishing. Hed come back, not with a catch, but with news hed long meant to share, though he’d never had the nerve.
I want us to separate, and Id ask you to understand, Charles said unexpectedly, unable to meet her gaze. The girls are grown, theyll understand, the grandchildren wont care either way, and theres no need for argumentswe can simply put a full stop to it all.
Forty years we’ve shared our lives, and now you decide to make a change? Margaret couldnt comprehend. I have a right to know what happens next.
Youll keep our flat in London, Ill move to the cottage in Kent, Charles replied, clearly having thought it through. Theres nothing left to divide, and in any case, all of it will someday pass to Alice and Lucy.
Whats her name? Margaret asked in a tone heavy with resignation.
Charles flushed, began gathering his things, and pretended not to hear. His reaction left Margaret certain another woman was involved. In her youth, shed never imagined such heartbreak, nor guessed that old age might mean being abandoned for someone else.
Perhaps everything will come right, comforted her daughters. Dont fret over Dads behaviour.
Things are finished, Margaret sighed. No sense in uprooting everything now. Ill live out my days and share in your happiness.
Alice and Lucy drove down to Kent for a serious word with their father; they returned more troubled than ever and were reluctant to tell Margaret what they’d learnt. Instead, they changed their tune and insisted she might well be happier alone, with no one else to care for. Margaret understood, but didnt press for details, just tried to go on living. It wasnt easyrelatives and neighbours buzzed with questions and idle curiosity.
Imagine, all those years together, and now hes run off to someone new in his later years, muttered her less tactful neighbours. Is she younger or richer than you?
Margaret had no answers, though she herself often wondered about this rival and wanted to see her for herself. One afternoon, she made her way to the Kent cottage on the pretext of fetching her homemade jams, hoping for a glimpseand ran straight into her.
Charles, you never said your ex would be popping by, complained the flamboyant woman with garish make-up. I thought youd sorted everything and shed stay away.
Youve traded me in for this? Margaret asked, appraising the brash woman.
Are you just going to stand there and let her insult me? the woman squawked. For the record, Im only a few years younger and look miles better.
If she honestly thinks bold looks count for much at our age Margaret murmured, trying to catch her former husbands uneasy glance.
On the walk to the bus stop, Margaret heard the other womans shrill cries ringing after her; she fought back tears, but wept freely once home, ringing her sister Edith and asking her to visit.
Oh, come now, Edith said, brewing her usual peppermint tea. You said yourself, Charless new wife isnt a beauty and doesnt strike me as clever.
Perhaps shes right and I do look my age, Margaret wondered aloud.
You look very well, honestly, Edith reassured her. Frankly, its a mistake to wear leopard leggings or mini-skirts in one’s seventies. A woman is lovely at any age if she knows how to carry herself and dresses appropriately.
Margaret studied her reflection and realised Edith was right. She was still in good shape and rarely complained of ailments. She dressed nicely, and her daughters kept her supplied with makeup. Shed never been vulgar, nor wanted to resemble a parrot, so she couldnt imagine acting as her former husbands new partner did.
Well then, Edith went on, Youre a free woman now! Enjoy yourself. The girls are independent; theres plenty of opportunities for trips out, learning and culture at our age. I wont let you wilt, not for a minute.
Edith kept her promise, whisking Margaret off to plays, strolls in Hyde Park, and concerts. Before long, a group of lively contemporaries gathered around them; one gentleman even tried courting Margaret, but she quickly declined and refused private meetings.
Heard youre running around theatres these days, making new friends. Maybe youll even remarry? Charles couldnt help commenting when they chanced upon each other at the grocers.
And what brings you this far from Kent for shopping, arent there any shops closer? Or is the new wife not much in the kitchen? Margaret retorted.
Ive always shopped here, habit, you know. Hard to change those at our age, Charles grumbled.
Margaret didnt pursue the subject, pretending she was rushed and heading home. At that moment, Charles had a powerful urge to catch up and admit how much he regretted everything. He truly had lived for his wife and daughters all his life, until lively Patricia swept him off his feet.
At first, life seemed exciting with Patricia. Later, he discovered she disliked the housework and preferred gossip, the company of men, and boisterous parties.
More and more, Charles wished he could return home, especially after seeing Margaret. She did not make scenes or squabble, only carried herself with quiet dignity, coping as best she could. He never imagined hed miss that peace and homely comfort, which hed only ever felt with Margaret.
Youve bought dried apricots again, I wanted prunes, Patricia scolded, eyeing the groceries. The cheese isnt the right kind, and you’ve forgotten mayonnaise.
Margaret used to do the shopping, or we did it together. Youre expecting me to do it all, Charles snapped.
Im sick of being compared to your ex. Go on, say you regret leaving her for me, Patricia shrieked.
Charles truly did regret it, but he knew it was useless to say so now. Margaret never schemed, she just carried on being herself, and Charles, desperate, longed for her forgiveness.
He knew perfectly well that she would never trust or take him back. A few times he nearly phoned her; after another of Patricias rows, he even went so far as to stand at the door of the flat that had once been his home.
Do you need to collect anything? Margaret asked, keeping him at the threshold.
I wanted to talk do you have a moment? Charles mumbled, smelling her famous plum pie drifting from inside.
I havent the time or inclination, she replied calmly. Take whatever you need, Im expecting guests.
He had nothing to retrieve, but much to sayonly the words wouldnt come. He drove back to Kent, made his own supper, since Patricia was off again, parading through the village. When she returned, tipsy and carefree, Charles was finally decisive, telling her to pack her things.
After Patricias dramatics, Charles thought of calling Margaret to pour out everything, but changed his mind. He knew her too wellthe hope of forgiveness or rekindling was futile.
Maybe, by and by, hed bring himself to visit and apologisethey might talk properly at last. It was something he felt must be done for peace of mind. He still hoped for forgiveness, but knew nothing could restore what was lost; Margaret would never forget the betrayal, and Charles had known that from the start with Patricia.
Now, life had given him existence at the cottage, while Margaret lived in the city flat, her days filled with daughters, grandchildren, and the happy bustle of theatre trips. Her former husband no longer fit inside this picture.
A long time has passed since those days, and sometimes I look back, remembering how seasons turn, how choices shape us and, in the end, there are some hearts we can never quite return to, no matter how deep the longing.
