Husband by Bequest
A tall, boisterous lady marched out of the train compartment, scattering every source of ruckus like a gale in a tea shop. Remarkably, even the burliest and brashest men immediately fell in line, like sheep at the sound of a well-rattled feed tin.
She had hair as golden as a Norfolk wheat field, twisted into neat plaits and wrapped around her head, and her bright blue eyes twinkled above cheeks as rosy as blush apples. She cast a suspicious glance towards the lavatory, just as a diminutive, spindly man emergedhair as white and soft as thistledown, face so gentle and guileless youd want to wrap him up and post him home.
Johnny! I thought Id lost you! declared the formidable lady. I hear a proper hullabaloo, the train managers nearly in hidingI thought you mightve been trampled by some ruffian! You know what theyre like these daysstart trouble just for the sport of it!
Oh, Vera, dont worryI could have handled them! Whyve you wandered out, love? Youre a lady! Johnny mustered a timid smile and scampered into the compartment.
Vera surveyed me and a few other loafers with the air of a bouncer at a school disco. Satisfied neither she nor her other half were at risk, she disappeared inside.
Later, our paths crossed in the buffet car. The carriage was packed, so I snuck onto the end of her table. No sign of the delicate Johnny. After demolishing her steak and mash with gusto, Vera boomed, Names Vera Anne Gregory. But call me Vera.
Are you on your own, or is your husband joining us?
Hes resting. Wont be joining. Ive bundled his neck up with a scarf and dosed him with cranberry cordial. Who sets off on a journey and catches a cold? Only Johnny! Shot out to shake a rug in just a jumper. I blink, and there we aredown with the sniffles!
I suppose you must adore him. You were sure youd have to defend him from hooligans, and here you are still, speaking about him so fondly! I sighed in what I hoped was a charmingly wistful manner.
Oh, noits not love, said Vera, waving a hand. Hes my bequest, really. Not my husband exactly. Though we do share a flat. Hes still grievinghis first wife only recently passed on. She was an angel, truly!
Sorry, what was that? By bequest? I nearly choked on my tea.
So, Vera told the tale.
Johnny used to live with a woman named Lydia. Childhood sweetheartsgrammar school, then university together. Married young. He was a clever spark, always inventing something, commissions flooding in from companies. Money was never a worry, but as for lifes practicalities, Johnny was hopeless. Hed forget his change at the shop, cross the road anywhere but the crossing, absentmindedly hand cash to the wrong person, cheerfully float through life in a darling, utterly impractical way.
Your Johnnys not of this world, friends observed. Hes like an alien, misplaced here. God knows how he earns so muchmoney just flows to him! Meanwhile, were flogging ourselves and nothing sticks
Lydia never complained. She had enough common sense for both of them. Shed pack his bag for work, check he had his gloves and scarf, eventually drove him in herself after he once gave the taxi driver the wrong address. They were an odd but perfect pairing.
Until she ended up in hospital for a week. Came home to find Johnny nibbling dry noodles and sipping waterhadnt even boiled the kettle. All her food, untouched in the freezer.
Doesnt taste right without you. Lost my appetite, Johnny said, smiling sheepishly.
Their son, Andrew, was Johnnys double. Exceptionally bright, but just as bashful and absentminded. Andrews genius was actually prized, but for a wife he found a quiet girlOlivia, from a tiny village. No arguing who ruled the roost: Lydia, obviously. Shed geared up for years more managing of the household, especially with little grandson Alex about. Thencruel fateshe fell ill. And then she was gone.
The house became a mausoleum. Johnny, panicked and lost, did all he couldsought the finest London doctors, offered to pay any sum. But sometimes even Oxford Streets best dont have a tonic handy.
Lydia worried herself into knotsnot for herself, but for Johnny and Andrew. Without her, they were doomed, like planting an orchid in Yorkshire moorland, and expecting blooms. She prayednot for herself, but for some force to look after her little flock.
Then Vera appeared. A carer, she was a distant cousin of one of Lydias doctors.
First time Vera entered that home, she was greeted by a trembly man, delicate as a sherry glass and quiet as a mouse. The place was a disaster zoneheaps of washing, a mountain range of dirty crockery (despite a dishwasher lurking uselessly), a whiff of forlorn neglect.
On the bed lay Lydiafrail, wide-eyed, and smiling bravely. Vera rolled up her sleeves with a snap.
By tea time, the whole place gleamed with lemony freshness. The kitchen sang with the scent of shepherds pie, scones, and roast chicken. Lydia slipped off to sleep on crisp linen. Johnny, nearly scuttling out the door in a windcheater (hopeless with weather or coats), was arrested by Veras commanding bellow:
Hold up! Where do you think youre going, love, half-dressed in this frost? No more of that. Your wife needs you in tip-top shape. Here, take this jacket, scarflet me sort those ears out with a bobble hat. Off you go, chop chop.
Tears pricked Lydias eyes. After weeks choked with gloom, now there was warmth and boisterous bustle. And someone, crucially, with a good heart.
Thank you, Lord. Theyre safe for now, she whispered.
One afternoon, when things looked bleak, Lydia summoned Vera for a chat. Asked about Veras lifea two-bedroom in Croydon with her mum and sisters family. Rather cramped. Vera mostly kept busy at work; home could be a circus. No husband, a forty-five-year-old singleton. Had her dalliances, but never made it to wedding bells. Not that she was one to mope.
Then Lydia made her pitch.
Vera, look after him for me when Im gone. Im leaving you my husband in my willin a manner of speaking. Hes always catching a cold, trusts anyone who smiles at him
Vera was stunned. When she opened her mouth to protest, Lydia pressed on.
Please. Just keep an eye on him, at least at first. Id get on my knees if I could.
Vera promised.
Soon after, Lydia was gone. Vera rather thought, Well, thats that. Theyll say Ive swooped in for the flat. Besides, its not as though either of us is each others type. Hes like a pet tortoise, poor bloke
But shed given her word, so she went round to check on him. Knockedno answer. The front door was unlocked. In the old spare room was Johnny, clutching his late wifes dressing gown, face buried in it, sobbing like an abandoned puppy. Vera dashed in, he grabbed her hand and wept harder.
Oh, you poor thing. Lydia was right. You really are lost. Come on, lets get you some tea. Hold on, lovebreathe.
Vera was a soft touch, always was.
The house started to come alive again after that. Johnny would be waiting by the door on her arrival, like a little lad.
Eventually, Vera said, I moved in. I thought, whats the point in leaving him on his own? My family were delightedmore space for them! In the end, what Ive got is a grown child whos a genius with money, but utterly helpless otherwise. Insisted I give up workno need for me to be out caring for strangers. People whispered, of course, but I soon silenced that lot. I mean, people rescue stray cats and dogs, dont they? Why not a stray man? Some get flipped on their back like a tortoise, cant right themselves. How’s he supposed to manage? Ill help where I can. Hes a sweetheart, really, and now we both need each other. Off to see his son nowhelp with little Alex. I really dont mind, I could look after a whole football team of grandchildren at this rate!
Just then, in came Johnny, wearing a scarf that trailed to his knees and clutching a bunch of wildflowers.
Vera! I picked these by the platform for you! Well? Do you like them? he stammered, looking bashful.
Vera blushed deeper than before, adjusted his tea-cosy of a scarf, and patted his shoulder.
They got off the train early. Vera hoisted a trunk nearly her own size, Johnny trailed with a little bag. She gripped him firmly by the collar as the bustling crowd poured around them to keep him from wandering off, it seemed.
And so, with grins as bright as Wimbledon sun, they made their way outand it was clear Vera would, indeed, be his second wife. Without needing a solicitor or a proper will.
