Margaret had never suspected her husband was seeing their next-door neighbour until the afternoon she popped round to borrow some salt for her batch of pickled cucumbers.
It was Henry who opened the doorher Henrydressed in nothing but his saggy boxers and a vest.
Henry? It was all Margaret could manage, breathless.
He paled, then turned crimson, then pale again.
Maggie Let me explain, please
Behind him appeared Dorothy, the widowed neighbour who had lost her husband years ago. She was wearing only a dressing gown, clearly pulled hastily over bare skin.
Henry, whos at the she began, then went silent as she saw Margaret. Oh…
The three stood frozen, staring at one another. Then Margaret turned and hurried back to the gate, almost at a run.
Maggie! Wait! Henry chased after her, forgetting all about his lack of trousers.
Everyone on the cul-de-sac, with its twelve holiday cottages lined in neat English rows, came out for a look.
Here was Henry Peterson, respected chairman of their cottage association, racing down the lane in his underwear after his wife.
The circus has come to town, muttered Michael, the neighbour on the left.
Margaret darted into her house and locked the door behind her. Henry knocked and pleaded.
Maggie, open up! Let me explain!
How many years? she shouted from inside.
What?
How many years has this been going on?
Henry went silent, then barely above a whisper, said:
Eighteen.
Margaret slid down the door to the floor. Eighteen years. Their youngest, Simon, had just turned eighteen.
The gate groaned, and Dorothy came into the garden, now fully dressed and hair brushed.
Margaret, come outside. We need a word.
Clear off, you snake!
Were adults, Margaret. Lets not have a scene.
Margaret pulled herself together and stepped out, sitting down heavily on the steps. Dorothy sat beside her. Henry waited awkwardly to one side.
Eighteen years, Margaret muttered. How did it happen?
Remember when you did your back in? You were in hospital for nearly two months? Dorothy began.
Margaret remembered well. Surgery, a long and tedious recovery. Henry had ruined the cucumbers, let the tomatoes rot. Shed even wondered how he managed without her.
I helped him, Dorothy continued. With the garden, the cooking. And well…
And it went from there, grumbled Henry.
Eighteen years! Margaret was on her feet. You made a fool of me for eighteen years!
Nobody thought you a fool, Dorothy stood too. You lived your life. We lived ours.
Ours? Hes my husband! The father of my children!
So what? He didnt stop being your husband. The children were raised, werent they? The cottage well cared for?
Margaret raised her hand, but Henry caught it.
Dont, Maggie.
Dont touch me!
She wrenched free and stormed inside. By now a crowd had gathered, everyone gossiping.
Move along! Henry bellowed. Shows over!
But no one budged. Linda from number three piped up loudly:
I always knew it! Saw them together!
Dont fib, her husband retorted. Youre blind as a bat.
Says you! I see everything!
That evening, Margaret sat out on the porch. Henry paced in circles.
Maggie, say something. Anything.
What is there to say? Divorce?
Divorce? Were sixty now!
And? No one gets divorced after sixty?
Maggie, dont be daft. Forty years, weve been together!
And for eighteen youve been with Dorothy.
Ive lived with you! Just sometimes Id see Dorothy.
Sometimes?
Well twice a week.
Twice a week for eighteen years is hardly sometimes, Henry. Thats a full system.
He sat across from her.
Maggie, listen. I love you. But Dorothyshes different.
Better?
Not better. Just different. With you its the home, the kids, all the chores. With her, I get a break from it all.
You get a break! Id like a break! But Im the one pickling the cucumbers!
Thats exactly it! Youre always busycucumbers, jams, tomatoes Sometimes I just want to sit, have a drink, chat.
And Im never up for a chat, am I?
With you, its always about the children, the grandkids, the allotment. With her we talk about life, and books.
She reads? Margaret raised her eyebrows. Shed known Dorothy as just a simple country woman.
She does. Loves her poetry. The classics, even.
Margaret nearly laughed. Henry and the classics!
So now what?
I dont know. Its up to you.
Me? And you?
Well Maggie, Im sixty-two. Not much point in drastic change now. Just want a peaceful end.
With whom? Her or me?
Henry was silent. Then he muttered,
Cant I have both?
Margaret seized the closest objectan empty pickle jarand hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall.
Get out!
Henry left. To Dorothys, naturally.
That night, Margaret did not sleep. Forty years together. Two children, grandchildren. The cottage they built together.
Eighteen years of lies.
Or was it even a lie? He never promised her eternal faithfulness. Never swore undying love. He just simply lived. With her, and with Dorothy.
The next morning, Jean from number five popped by with an apple tart.
Margaret, hang in there.
Thank you.
If you want, my Dave could give Henry a good whack.
No need. Were not children.
So, what are you going to do?
Nothing, for now.
Id have thrown him out. Traitor!
Jean, doesnt your Dave pop into Lindas from number three?
Jean blushed scarlet.
Whered you get that from?
I saw them in the raspberries.
Thats not what it looks like!
What is it, then?
They were talking about the veg patch!
Clasped together?
Jean stormed off, slamming the door.
By lunchtime, Michael came over.
Mrs. Peterson, er, do you want me to dig over the garden? Help with anything?
Thank you, no.
Well, Henry says hell be by to pick up his stuff this evening.
What stuff? His saggy boxers?
Er dont know. Just said to tell you.
Message delivered. Thanks.
Michael shuffled off.
That evening, Henry did come round, head bowed.
Ive come for my things.
Take them, then.
He went inside. Margaret followed.
Henry, why Dorothy? Whats so special about her?
He paused.
I dont know. With her, things are easy.
And with me its difficult?
Not difficult. But you always know best. How to pickle cucumbers, when to plant potatoes, how much pocket money to give the grandkids. Dorothy doesnt know. She asks me.
So you feel clever around her?
More needed, really.
Margaret sat on the bed.
Well, I dont know everything, Henry. I dont know how to go on, when your husbands been seeing the neighbour for eighteen years.
Maggie
I dont know how to face the kids. What to say to the grandkids, when their granddads moved next door.
Dont tell them anything!
I have to. Alex is coming tomorrow with his wife and the baby. What do I say to them?
Say we had a row.
Henry sat next to her.
Maggie, lets try to forget this ever happened?
How?
Well just pretend, act like nothings changed.
Oh, brilliant. Dorothy over the fence, you see her all the time, and we all just pretend?
So what do you suggest?
Margaret stood and looked out the window. There was Dorothy, watering her cucumbers, that same dressing gown now entirely fitting.
You know what? Live where you want. But youll explain things to the grandkids yourself.
Maggie!
And cucumbersyou can pickle them yourself this year.
But I dont know how!
Dorothy will help. Shes the learned one. Im sure shell manage.
Henry left, bundle under his arm. The street watched hungrily.
That night, Margaret was woken by noises. Someone moving in the garden, muttering under their breath. She stepped outside. Henry was at the greenhouse.
What are you doing?
Checking the tomatoes. Hot weather tomorrowthey need airing.
Henry, you moved out.
I have. But the tomatoes are mine! I grew them!
So?
So, I cant let them wither!
He opened the greenhouse and slipped back over the fence.
Alex arrived the next morning with his family.
Mum, wheres Dad?
At the neighbours.
Visiting?
He lives there now.
Alex sat down, confused.
You mean?
Margaret told him the simple truth. Briefly, without drama.
Eighteen years?! Mum, does that mean
Yes. When Simon was born, it had already started.
Alex strode to Dorothys, raised voices echoing, then the gate slammed. He came back.
Dad says he loves you both.
Arent we lucky.
Mum, maybe he does love you both?
Could you, Alex? Love two women at the same time?
Me? No. But Im not Dad, am I? Dads special.
Thats right.
Her grandson burst in from outside.
Nana, whys Grandpa living at Auntie Dots?
Because, love, Grandpas helping her with her garden, Margaret replied smoothly.
Alex laughed.
Oh Mum you dont miss a beat!
Again, that night, noise in the garden. Margaret found Henry watering the veg beds.
Henry, have you lost your mind?
Its a drought! Theyll die otherwise!
Your new familys garden needs tending. Water theirs.
Dorothy has her own patch!
Well, look after that one, then!
But these matter too!
Margaret picked up a hose.
Here, Ill help. Or youll be faffing until lunchtime.
They watered in silence, side by side. Then sat on the bench.
Be honest, Henry. Who do you love more?
Maggie, what kind of question is that?
A perfectly normal one. Who?
Henry thought for a moment.
Both of you. But in different ways.
Hows that, then?
Youre my right hand. Steady, familiar. Cant do without you. Dorothys something else. Like a holidayrare, but joyful.
And what if I werent here?
Dont say such things!
But, really, would you marry Dorothy if I wasnt around?
Probably not.
Why?
Shed just become the right hand. No more holidays.
So you need both of us?
Seems so.
They sat in silence, gazing at the steady spread of stars.
Henry, maybe I need a holiday too.
Henry leapt up.
What?! What do you mean?
Another chap, perhaps. Michael did offer to help with the garden.
Michael?! Ill!
What will you do? Youre living with Dorothy.
Thats beside the point!
Whys that?
Maggie, youre not like that.
How do you know? Maybe I read the classics too?
You dont!
I can start.
Henry stood.
Be serious, Maggie. What do you want?
But what did she want? For everything to be as before? But things couldnt go back.
I want a quiet life. To pickle cucumbers. Look after the grandchildren.
And?
And nothing else. Live where you like.
Meaning?
If you want to stay with Dorothy, do. If you want to come home, come home. Just dont lie to me anymore.
And if Michael does come calling?
He wont. Hes seeing Natalie from number nine.
How do you know?
Im not blind, Henry. Just kept quiet. Like everyone else.
Next morning, Henry returned with his belongings.
Maggie, are you sure I can come back?
The sofas in the shed. Blow up the air mattress and sleep there. Youll manage.
He dropped off his bag and went for the mattress.
Neighbours watched, whispering. Dorothy watered her cucumbers, acting as though nothing had happened.
Alex stepped onto the porch.
Mum, is Dad back?
Hes inflating a mattress in the shed.
Youre a saint! Forgiven him already?
Not a saint, just a fool. Bit late for changing now.
Within a week, Henry moved from the shed back into the house. Within a month, Margaret stopped noticing when he slipped off to see Dorothy twice a week. Within a year, no one on the street mentioned the story at all.
There were new tales instead. Linda from number three went off with Peter from number five, and Jean moved in with Lindas husband.
Margaret pickled her cucumbers. Henry built a new greenhouse. Dorothy sat on the other side of the fence, reading a book.
In the end, what is love? To live together forty years, raise children, build a cottage, plant a garden.
And to learn that nothing is ever perfect. Not even love.
Especially not love.
