Im off to the young one, declared Granddad, age sixty-five, as he packed his suitcase, but he returned an hour later in tears.
Im off to the young lady! thundered Granddad, sixty-five years old, wrestling a stubborn tartan blanket into his old battered suitcase.
Frank Edwards made this announcement as if declaring a voyage to the Moon, or the discovery of a new continentloud and dramatic, hoping for the effect of a grenade tossed onto the calm of the household.
But the grenade didnt even fizzle.
His wife, Margaret, stood by the ironing board, slowly running the iron over Franks best white shirt. Steam hissed and puffed, pricking the peace of the flat.
I heard you, Frank, she replied evenly, eyes never leaving the shirt. Did you pack your thermal undies? Its November out there; dont expect your young lady to look after your kidneys.
Frank froze, one hand clutching a woollen sock mid-air. He expected anything: smashed crockery, a heart attack, pleading or threats to call their children.
But certainly not a matter-of-fact question about his underwear.
What have undies to do with it, Margaret?! he wailed, feeling his face glow red. Im speaking of love, a new life, a renaissance!
At last, he squashed the blanket in, pressed down on the suitcase lid, and jerked the zip closed. The case gave a groan of protest, sounding much like Franks own stiff joints, but finally shut.
And you come back at me about undies! Thats you all overpractical, dreary! He paused for breath. But theres flight, out there! Energy!
And whats the name of this energy? Margaret hung up the shirt carefully and offered it to him. Or is she just Bunny in your phone?
Shes called Emily! Frank straightened his back, taking the shirt. And shes not just a woman. Shes a muse.
Margaret coughed politely. She was well aware the only poetry Frank enjoyed was raising a toast at a mates birthday.
Emily, is it? A pretty name. And how old is your muse, then?
Twenty-eight! shot back Frank, his eyes challenging.
Margaret actually set aside her iron and inspected him, as one looks at an old but beloved wardrobe when its door suddenly falls off.
Frank, she said gently, but with an edge of iron. Youre sixty-five. You get a crick in your back after reading the paper on the loo, and youre on a strict diet for your liver.
She sighed.
What will you do with a twenty-eight-year-old? Read her poetry?
None of your business! he snapped, grabbing his suitcase handle. Well travel! Walk under the moon! Enjoy life! Ive still got plenty of go in me!
He tried to yank up the suitcase but it was treacherously heavy. Something twinged in his back, but Frank clenched his teeth and kept his composure.
No, he mustnt show weakness before his soon-to-be-former wife.
Dont forget your blood pressure tablets, you old Casanova, Margaret tossed over her shoulder, resuming the pillowcase ironing. Theyre in the top drawer. And your joint ointment.
I dont need pills, he lied, though his heart thundered in his chest. With her, I feel thirty! Thats it, Margaret. Goodbye. The flats yours, Im a gentleman.
Cheers, breadwinner, she nodded. Leave the keys on the sideboard. And take the rubbish out since youre going past.
That was the last straw. No drama, no arms flung about. Just take the rubbish.
He snatched up the bag by the door, held his chin high, and stepped out. The door didnt slam but clicked neatly shut behind him.
Frank found himself on the landing, where the air smelled of hopeless cats and next doors chips. His suitcase pulled at his arm, his back ached, and his pocketed phone buzzed.
Undoubtedly, that would be Emily, waiting for her knight.
He called the lift, and as he waited, fished out his mobile, his heart briefly fluttering. The message read: Darling, are you almost here? I booked us a table. By the way, a small hiccup…
Frank peered closely: I have to send Mum £5000 quickly for her medicine, but my banks blocked me. Can you help? Ill pay you back when we meet!
Five thousand pounds. Odd. Yesterday it was three hundred for a taxi. The day beforetwo hundred for her internet. A week ago hed sent a thousand for inspiration courses.
The lift arrived. Frank dragged the case inside, tapped the ground-floor button. In the mirror he saw a respectable older man with a cap, face flushed, eyes vague.
Im off to the young one, he repeated silently, but the phrase had lost its gleam.
Outdoors, the evening was rawfine rain, wind tugging the last leaves from the pavement. Frank hauled his case to the bus shelter, sat on the damp bench, and reached for his phone to transfer the cash. His fingers were numb, disobedient. He checked his banking app.
Balance: £480. The pension wouldnt arrive for another week.
Blast, he muttered.
He typed: Em, love, Ive only a little on my card. Ill bring cashI keep a stash at home.
The reply came instantly: an eye-rolling emoji. Then: Frank, dont be daft! Borrow it off someone! Mums ill! If you love me, youll find a way!
Frank. Not Francis. Not darling. Just plain Franklike the neighbours tomcat.
Something unpleasant stirred in his chestnot love, but sticky suspicion.
He suddenly realised hed never spoken to Emily on video call. Her camera was always broken, the internet rubbish. But those profile photosmodels, all of them.
He decided to ring her, just to hear her voice. He dialledlong ringsthe call was dropped.
A text: Cant talk, Im crying!
Frank sat clutching his suitcase at the bus stop, lorries spraying him with dirty water.
The cold gnawed through his shirt and thin jacket, his back ached so badly it was almost unbearable.
Emily, he said aloud, tasting the name. It felt synthetic.
Then the phone buzzed again: So? Have you sent the money? If notdont bother coming. I dont need a man who cant solve simple problems.
He stared at the screen, the letters blurring.
He remembered Margaret. The way shed quietly rubbed ointment on his back when it seized up yesterday. The steamed mincemeat cakes she made, which he despised, but ate anywayshe was right, his liver didnt belong to the Crown.
How she always knew where his socks were, even better than he did.
I dont need a man
He pictured Emilys flat: unfamiliar sofa, strange smells, rules hed have to guess. Always performing, trying to seem full of beans.
Pay, pay, pay. The price of youths company.
And then he imagined his back packing up at Emilys. Would she rub in ointment? Or just call him gross and leave the room?
Frank got to his feet, knees creaking. He watched the bus for the new flats appearand let it go.
The bus drove away, bathing him in exhaust fumes.
He waited another minute, then turned, hefted the heavy case, and trudged home.
The climb back took forever. The lift was outnaturallyso he lugged the case up three flights by hand.
On each landing he paused, panting, wiping sweat from his forehead. His heart poundednot with love, but arrhythmia.
At his own door, he stopped, set down the suitcase, and pressed the bell. Silence. No answer.
A wave of panic swept himcold, clammy. What if shed really left? Maybe seriously upset. Changed the locks?
Hed left the keys on the sideboard like a mug! He pressed the bell again, long and hard.
Margaret! he croaked. Margaret, open up!
The latch clicked, and the door swung open. There stood Margaret, completely composed, in her housecoat.
Frank stood before herrain-soaked, bedraggled, cap in hand. Tears trickled down his reddened cheeks.
Real tears, bitter with shameat himself, at his own foolishness, at age, which brought delusion rather than wisdom.
I he began, his voice cracking. Margaret There was a bus And rain And I started thinking
He couldnt confess the truth: that Emily was nothing more than a money-grabber. Too humiliating.
Margaret looked from him to his case, then sighed.
Did you take the rubbish out? she asked.
Frank looked at his empty hand. The bag was missingforgotten at the bus stop.
Forgot he mumbled, head lowered.
Margaret shook her head and stepped aside.
In you come, Romeo. The teas going cold. Wash your hands, youre filthy.
He dragged his wretched suitcase in. The familiar scent of laundry and a hint of medication filled his nose.
The best smell in the world.
Frank kicked off his shoes, went to the bathroom. The mirror showed a tired old man. He washed his face in icy water, scrubbing away the tears and humiliation.
In the kitchen, Margaret was already pouring tea into his favourite big mug. A plate of steamed meatballs stood on the table.
Margaret, he mumbled, sliding feebly into a chair. Forgive me. Daft old fool. The devil made me do it.
Eat, she answered shortly, without looking at him. Or itll be stone cold.
No, really. What Emily? What muse? Id be lost without you I wouldnt even know where the insurance is kept.
In the foldertop drawer, she replied automatically, sitting down opposite. Frank, please, dont start the drama again. Youre home now. Leave it at that.
He chewed a bland meatball, and it tasted better than any fancy restaurant fare.
As for herEmily, he chanced to lie, just to save a sliver of pride, Turned out not what I thought. Smokes, believe it or not! And swears like a navvy.
Margaret glanced at him over her glasses. There was a glimmer of laughter behind her eyes.
Dear me, how dreadful, she said with perfect solemnity. Naturally, being such a connoisseur, you couldnt stand it.
Quite! Told herMadam, your vocabulary doesnt suit your looks. And she
He waved a hand.
Anyway, I realised my mistake. A complete void, Margaret. Total vacuum.
I see, she nodded. Lucky you realised at the bus stop, not the registry office.
She stood up, fetched a tube of ointment, and set it by his elbow.
Pulled your back, did you, lugging that case?
Frank blushed.
A bit.
Shirt off. Ill rub it in.
He undid his shirt, groaning quietly, and felt her firm, capable hands work the ointment into his sore back. It stung, but it was a healing ache.
Margaret, he muttered, face turned down.
What?
You knew Id come back, didnt you?
Of course.
How come?
She gave him a playful smack on the good shoulderprocedure complete.
Because, Frank, there wasnt a single pair of undies, socks, or medication in that suitcase.
She smiled at the corners of her mouth.
All you packed was the tartan blanket and my old fur coat Ive been asking you to take to the cleaners.
Frank froze and slowly turned his head.
The fur coat?
The fur coat. I saw you ramming it in this morning. Thought I wouldnt notice? Youre blind as a bat without your specs.
A pause settled over the kitchen. Frank replayed it all in his head: hed set out to begin a new life with his wifes old coat and a blanket.
Suddenly, he laughed. First a little, then more. The laughter turned to a cough, and then to laughter again.
Margaret watched, her lips twitching too.
You silly old stump, she said without malice. Alright, wanderer. Finish your meatballs. Tomorrow were off to the allotment. Need to take the jars down to the cellarshould give you exercise and fresh air.
Lets go, Maggie. Well go for sure, Frank nodded, wiping the tears of laughter away.
His phone vibrated again in his pocket. Frank glancedEmily: Where are you?? Mums dying!! Send just a grand!!
He calmly pressed Block. Then Delete chat. He put his phone face-down on the table.
Margaret, maybe well skip the jars, he suggested, gazing at her afresh. Why not have a barbecue? Ill marinate the meat myself. Just as you like itwith onions.
Margarets brows shot up. That was certainly newFrank hadnt touched a grill in a decade.
Barbecue? she queried. And your liver?
Stuff the liver, he waved his hand. We only live once.
He took her work-roughened but gentle hand and kissed it, awkwardly, but genuinely.
Thanks for letting me back in, Marg.
She freed her hand, not sharply, but a bit bashfully.
Eat up, Don Juan. Or itll be ice cold.
Outside, the rain lashed harder, wind rattled bare branches at the glass, but the kitchen was warm and bright. His best white shirt hung on the chair; the room smelled of ointment and tea.
To Frank, that was a finer fragrance than any perfume.
He watched Margaret and thought, yes, twenty-eight is alluring.
But who else would know he could mistakenly pack a fur coat in his suitcase, and still let him back in?
Margaret, he called.
What now?
Ill take that coat to the cleaners tomorrow. I promise.
Do. Just empty the case first. And get the blanket outI need it for my feet.
Frank nodded, heartily biting into the meatball.
Life went onand dash it all, it wasnt half bad.
