A Bench for Two
The snow had long gone, but the ground in the park still clung to a damp, dark hue, and thin lines of grit marked the winding paths. Margaret Wilkinson walked slowly, keeping a secure grip on her shopping bag, her gaze fixed on the paving stones ahead. Shed learned, over the years, to note every dip, every pebble underfoot. Not because she was overly cautious by nature, but ever since shed broken her arm three years ago, a quiet fear of falling had taken residence somewhere in her chest and was stubbornly reluctant to leave.
She lived alone now, in a modest two-bedroom flat on the ground floora place that had once overflowed with laughter, the scents of freshly baked bread, and the familiar slam of doors. Now, it was silent. The telly burbled away in the background, but more often than not she found herself staring blankly at the constant crawl of headlines, the words passing without meaning. Her son would ring her on Sunday afternoonshastily, between pressing matters, but it was a call nonetheless. Her grandson would wave at her through the little screen, showing her his toy cars. She was glad, truly, but when she ended the call, the hush of the room always crept back in, thick as ever.
She kept to a routine. Mornings began with a set of gentle exercises, her tablets, and a bowl of porridge. Then, a short stroll to the park and back to get the blood going, as her GP had advised. The afternoons she filled with cooking, catching the news, sometimes a crossword. In the evening, a drama serial and some knitting. Nothing remarkable, but as she often told Mrs. Brown on the landing, it kept her going.
Today the wind had a bite to it, though it was dry enough. Margaret reached her usual bench by the childrens playground and eased herself down onto one end. She placed her bag by her feet, double-checked the zipper. Two small children in bright coats tumbled about nearby, their mothers chattering away, barely glancing at passers-by. She would sit for a short spell, she decided, and then head home.
Across the green, Henry Barnes was making his own slow progress towards the bus stop. He, too, kept a count of his steps. It was seventy-three to the newspaper kiosk, a hundred and twenty to the surgery, ninety-five to the bus stop. Counting was somehow easier than wondering if anyone waited for him at home.
Years ago, hed worked as a fitter at the local factory. The jobs, the rows with the supervisors, a laugh and a fag with the ladsthose were days long gone. The factory had shut down, most of his old mates had either retired to the seaside, moved in with their children, or were long resting in St. Marys cemetery. His son lived in Birmingham now, visited once a year for a few days but always seemed in a rush. His daughter was just across town but had her hands full: two children, a big house, a mortgage. He told himself he didnt mind. Still, on some evenings, with the radiators hissing and the windows black against the night, hed listen acutely, hoping the lock in the door might just twist.
Today hed set out for a loaf of bread and planned to nip into the chemist as well, just in case he needed another pack of his blood pressure tablets. The doctor had told him not to let things slip. He kept the shopping list tucked into his coat pocket, written in large scrawling letters. His fingers trembled slightly as he checked it, making sure hed not forgotten anything.
As he reached the stop, he watched the number 25 bus rumble away from the kerb. A few people wandered off. A lady in a pale grey coat and knitted blue hat sat on the end of the bench, her bag beside her, watching the park rather than the road.
He hesitated. Standing was uncomfortablehis back ached. There was plenty of room, but he was always wary of sitting beside a stranger, let alone a woman. You never knew what people might think. But the wind gnawed at his bones, so he finally decided.
Mind if I join you? he asked, dipping his head politely.
The woman turned. Her eyes were pale, the corners crinkled with fine lines.
Please do, she said, nudging her bag to the side.
He sat carefully, bracing his hands on the chilly edge of the bench. Neither spoke for a while. A car went by, trailing a faint smell of exhaust.
Buses run as they please these days, he remarked, breaking the quiet, Blink and you miss them.
She nodded. I was waiting nearly half-an-hour yesterday. At least it wasnt raining.
He glanced at her, trying to place the facehe didnt recognise her, but there were plenty of new faces these days, what with more blocks having appeared.
Do you live nearby? he asked, cautious.
Just across the way, she gestured towards the flats by the corner shop. First entrance. And you?
Behind the park, in the big block, he said. Not far at all.
They lapsed into silence again. Margaret thought to herself that a bit of bus-stop conversation was nothing unusual. You exchanged a few words, then got on with your day. But the man beside her looked tired, out of sorts, although he was doing his best to sit up straight.
To the surgery? she asked, nodding at his bag with the chemists logo.
Yes, picked up some medication, he replied, showing her the bag. Blood pressure likes to act up. And you?
Just the shops, she said. Bits and bobs. And its good to get out, otherwise youd never leave the house.
As soon as she said it, she felt a twinge in her chest. The word house sounded much too hollow.
The bus came into view around the bend. People gathered, stepping closer to the kerb. He stood up, hesitated for a moment.
Im Henry, he said, as if taking a plunge. Henry Barnes.
Margaret Wilkinson, she replied, rising too. Nice to meet you.
They boarded, and the shifting crowd quickly separated them. Margaret gripped a pole near the door as the bus bumped along, her eyes seeking out Henrys over a sea of bobbing heads. He caught her look, nodded. She tipped her head back.
A few days later, they crossed paths again, this time in the park. Margaret was on her usual bench when she noticed a familiar figureHenry, now using a walking stick. Must have been something recent, she thought; he hadnt used one before.
Oh, bus stop neighbour, he greeted her, that wry smile ready. Mind if I join?
Of course, she answered, unexpectedly pleased.
He settled beside her, resting the stick in the space between them.
Its pleasant here, he said after a moment, surveying the branches, the children shrieking over the climbing frame. Much better than staring at four walls.
Do you live on your own? she asked, finding it a fair question.
On my own, yes, he nodded. Lost my wife seven years back. The kids are busy with their own lives. And you?
Me as well, she replied. Widowed many years ago. My sons in Manchester now; rings me up, but.
She left the rest unsaid. He understood.
Calls are good, he agreed. But you dont hear much when the phone goes silent at night.
His simple words warmed her in an unexpected way. They lingered, chatting about the weather, the prices at the shops, the new GP none of them could keep up with. They parted ways, but the next day, both seemed to time their walks for the very same hour.
And so, their regular meetings began. At first by the bus stop and in the park, then outside the shop, sometimes even by the clinic doors. Margaret soon caught herself rearranging her errandsnot that she would admit itto coincide with the times Henry might appear. Shed rise earlier or later, depending on her mood and when she fancied making her porridge.
Theyd walk together to the surgery, exchanging woes about blood tests and appointment slots, grumbling about the online booking system Margaret simply could not master.
You have to go through the NHS website, the young girl at the counter would explain. Book online, its easy.
Whats all this Internet malarkey? Margaret would mutter as they shuffled back into the corridor. My phone barely does texts, let alone booking doctors.
Henry would listen, chuckling.
Let me help, he offered one day. My lot got me an old tablettheres a way in there to get the appointments. We can muddle through together.
She waved him off at first but later gave in. They sat outside the surgery, Henry squinting, tapping at the screen, searching for the right menu. Hed sometimes hit the wrong button and swear softly. Margaret would laugh, her laughter light and unforced.
There you go, he finally declared. You can pick your doctor, pick your date. Just need to remember the password now.
Ill write it down, she assured him. Got a little notebook for these things.
Other times it was Margaret helping him decipher his utility bills. Henry would trudge up with a bundle of paperwork, lay it out on her kitchen table and sigh.
It used to be easy, hed grumble. Walk into the post office, hand it over. Now its codes, barcodes, machines. You need a university degree!
Lets take it slow, Margaret would say, sorting the bills. This is electric, thats water. Just keep them straight.
Theyd sit in her kitchen, sipping tea. Shed get out her homemade blackcurrant jam; hed bring some fruitcake. Outside, children would whizz by on their bikes. Margaret found comfort in watching Henry, the care with which he stacked his papers, the way hed seek her advice or argue the toss.
No need for you to pay for me, he said one day as she offered to use the terminal, his attempts having failed. Ill manage.
Its not paying for you, she protested. You give me the cash, I just help. Dont be daft.
He coloured, but agreed. Deep down, gratitude and awkwardness mixed. He disliked being beholden, even in small things.
Now and then, they quarrelleda bit peevishly, always softly. Once, after a trip to the supermarket, they talked about their children.
My boy keeps telling me, Henry said, Dad, sell the flat, move in with us. Why sit alone? But Id just take up their sofa. Theyve barely space as it is. Besides, this is my place.
My Simon says the same, Margaret sighed. Come live with us, youll have your own room. They have a large house. But I always put it off. This is where my Arthur rests, where my friends are. Sometimes I think, maybe I should
Oh, dont, Henry said, almost fiercely. Youd be miserable. They get home tired, kids have homework, clubs Youd huddle in the corner. Ive seen it happen.
And who needs me here? she asked quietly.
He didnt reply. The way she said here stungwas that a dig at him too? A flush of irritation rose within.
Well, pardon me, he muttered. I thought maybe wed got
He trailed off, the word friends too grand, too clumsy for their age.
I didnt mean you, she said gently, noticing his stiff posture. I mean, in general. Sometimes I think, if I did leaveeverything would unravel here. It frightens me.
He nodded, but they finished the walk in silence. At her door, he bid her a curt goodnight; later, staring at the ceiling, he fretted over having spoiled something.
For days, their paths didnt cross. The weather turned, cold rain slanted against the windows. Margaret, set in her ways, still went out for her short walks, but Henry was nowhere to be seen. She tried not to worry, but the uneasiness lingered.
On the fourth day, coming back from the shops, she found a note in her letter box. In bold, shaky letters: To Mrs. Wilkinson. Im in hospital. Henry B. No address. Just that.
Her hands trembled. She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the scrap of paper, worries tumbling in her mind. Heart attack? Stroke? Whod helped him? Why hadnt anyone called?
Then she rememberedhed once mentioned the old ward at the district hospital. She pulled out her little address book, found the number scribbled years back. She called, waited through the long hold music. Finally, a weary voice answered.
Im looking for a patient, she said clearly. Names Henry Barnes. Admitted recently, I think.
They shuffled her from person to person, told her to wait. At last, a room number and visiting hours.
She’d never been fond of hospitalsthe scent of antiseptic and roast dinners strangely mixedbut the very next afternoon, when visiting hours began, she was there. Shed stopped for a few apples and a packet of shortbread on the way. Perhaps he oughtnt to have sweets, but she brought them just the same.
The ward held three men. By the window, an elderly gent snored; near the door, a young man with his arm in a sling. Henry lay on the middle bed, propped up, reading the Times. Seeing her, he looked startledand then relieved.
Margaret! he exclaimed, setting aside the newspaper. How did you find me?
Followed the clues, she said, placing her carrier on his locker. What happened?
Heart attack, he admitted. At night. Ambulance took me in. A few days here, they say.
She examined him sharply. He was paler than usual, shadows under his eyes, but the familiar spark was there still.
Do your children know?
My daughters been in, he said. Brought me some soup. Havent told the boy yet; dont want to worry him.
He tried for a calm tone, but she heard the strain. Then, after a pause, he added, My daughter asked about you, by the way. Whos the lady that left a note? I said you were a neighbour, handy to have about.
Margaret felt a mild sting. Handy neighbour sounded formal, almost distant. She sat down.
Well, its true, isnt it? she said, steadying her voice. We help each other with things.
He glanced at her, and realised how pathetic that sounded.
It wasnt how I meant it, he blurted. She just you know how daughters are. If I said you were a friend, shed go onDad, youre not a teenager any more! They think were daft at our age, chasing after lost youth.
We arent teenagers, Margaret smiled. But were still people, Henry.
He nodded. There was a lulla peacefulness, even. The man by the window feigned sleep.
Lying awake here at night, Henry said quietly, I found Im not so scared of dying. What really frightens me is if something happened, and no one knew. Youd lie there, staring up at the ceiling, and not a soul would be any the wiser. Familys too busy, too far off. But then I thought of you. Made me feel less alone. At least someone would notice Id vanished.
A lump rose in Margarets throat. She turned her gaze to the window sill, where a lonely flower drooped in a plastic cup.
Im afraid, too, she said. But I always pretend Im notto Simon, the neighbours. Then at night, I count out my tablets. Silly, isnt it?
Not silly, he replied. I do the same.
They looked at each other, then both smiled. There was a secret in those smilesa kind of solace.
At just that moment, a woman in her forties entered with a bulging Waitrose bag. The family resemblance was unmistakable.
Dad, she said, unwrapping a Tupperware box. I brought you soup. Whos this?
She directed a cool, evaluating gaze at Margaretpolite, if a bit guarded.
This is Mrs Wilkinson, Henry answered without fuss. Agood friend. She helps with the appointments, the bills, that sort of thing.
Nice to meet you, the daughter said, still guarded but not unkind. Thanks for looking out for him. Hes stubborn, thinks he can manage it all.
Hello, said Margaret. We just take our walks together.
The daughter nodded, setting about adjusting her fathers sheets, unpacking the lunch, peppering him with questions. Margaret felt herself dismissed, and after a time, rose to go.
Ill come by again, she promised at the door.
If youre able, he said.
Its no trouble, she replied, and left.
At home, Margaret mulled it all over. A good friend was modestperhaps fitting for their years. All that mattered was that, when frightened, hed thought of her.
Henry stayed in hospital for two weeks. Margaret visited every other day, bringing pears, fresh socks, the newspapers. Sometimes they simply sat in companionable silence, listening to the rush of trolleys in the corridor. Sometimes, they reminiscedabout the factory, about their schooldays and gardens now sold.
His daughter warmed to Margarets presence. Walking her to the lifts one afternoon, she said, Thank you. I work shifts, hard to get here as often as Id like. Good hes got company. But dont feel you must do everything. If its serious, ring me, alright?
Margaret replied evenly, No intention of taking over. Your lifes yours, mines mine. But Ill help, as long as Im able.
Henry was discharged at the end of April. The doctor instructed him to stroll daily, avoid stress, keep up with the medicines. His daughter drove him home, helped air out the flat. The next morning, with the aid of his stick, he made his way back to the park.
Margaret was waiting on the bench. She stood as he approached.
And how are you? she asked, scanning his face.
Still breathing, he grinned. Could be worse.
They sat side-by-side in easy silence, listening to the buzz of spring. Then Henry spoke.
I did a lot of thinking in hospital. I want you to know, I dont wish to be a burden. Truly, it pleased me when you visited, but I hate the thought you put off your own life because of me.
She shrugged. What life? Groceries, the surgery, telly soaps. Lets not pretend its very grand.
Still, he insisted. I dont want you feeling youve got to look after me. Im no invalid.
Margaret looked at him, level.
And what makes you think I want to be anyones burden? she asked. Thats my fear too. Always doing it myself. But Ive realised something. You can sit at home, scared of disrupting othersor you can make a pact. Dont promise the impossible, just be there, as best you can.
He pondered those words.
How do you mean?
She counted off on her fingers. Dont ring at midnight just to chatIm not the NHS hotline. But if you need to get to the doctors and its dauntinggive me a shout. If the bills are a mess, come over. If youre just being lazy, and want the shopping done, you need to get on and do it yourself. Im not the postman.
He smirked. Tough deal.
Fair one, she corrected. The same goes for me. If Im laid up, Ill call. But I wont demand you drop everythingyour kids need you, your grandchildren. I respect that. You respect Ive got Simon worrying about me, too.
He nodded. Something about this honesty felt freeingthere was no need to pretend to be helpless, or heroic.
Deal, he said. Help each other, but no fuss.
Exactly, said Margaret, and they both smiled.
Their companionship settled into an even, reliable pattern. They still met at the park, kept their surgery dates together, sometimes shared a cup of tea at home. But both knew the boundaries.
When Margarets kitchen tap sprang a leak, she rang Henry.
Would you have a look, please? Im worried it might flood.
Ill check, he said. If its serious, well get a plumber. I cant crawl under sinks like I used to.
He came, gave it a try, then helped arrange a plumber. While they waited, they sat in her kitchen, sipping tea. Henry reminisced about how, in his day, he could fix anything mechanical, but now his hands werent like they used to be. Margaret listened, thinking that perhaps ageing meant knowing when to let others help.
Sometimes they ventured to the market together. The place was livelymarket traders hawking potatoes, the fishmonger bellowing his best deal. Henry haggled fiercely over carrots; Margaret hunted for the freshest chicken. On the way home, they griped about the prices, but both knew that it was this ritual that gave the day its shape.
Their children had their own ways of reacting. Once, Simon rang and asked cautiously, Mum, you keep mentioning some Henry Barnes. Whos that?
Neighbour, she answered. We go on walks, he helps with the tablet, I help with the paperwork.
Just be careful, Mum. No giving out bank cards or signing things. People take advantage.
She chuckled. Im not daft, Simon. I know what Im about.
Henrys daughter also expressed concern. Dad, dont go depending on this neighbour lady too much. Shes not a carer. Youve got to think about things.
Weve got an agreement, hed say. We dont take more than we give.
What sort of agreement?
Our pensioners pact, hed joke.
Summer crept in quietlyleaves shimmered in the park, benches filled up. Mothers, teenagers with headphones, pensioners. But for Margaret and Henry, their spot was always there, as if their presence had reserved it by long custom.
One evening, as the sun wavered above the rooftops but the sky still blushed with light, they sat watching boys chase a football across the field. The evening breeze carried the scent of cut grass and earth. Henry rested his stick against the end of the bench.
You know what Ive been thinking? he asked, his eyes still fixed on the children. I always thought old age meant the end of everythingwork, friends, love, all of it. Only pills and the television left. But now some things can begin after all. Maybe not like when we were young, but in a way.
Talking about us? she teased gently.
About us, too, he allowed. Im not sure what youd even call itcompanionship, partnership in queues, something like that. But its steadier, not so lonely.
She looked at his hands, marked with age, the veins pronounced. She glanced down at her own; they were much alikehands that had lived through a lot.
Same for me, she said. I used to think, if I didnt wake up one morning, who would know? Now at least I know someone would wonder why I hadnt come out to the park.
He chuckled softly.
Id do more than wonder, he said. The whole block would hear about it.
Good, she smiled.
They sat a while longer, then got up, walking side-by-side at an unhurried pace, each keeping to their own side of the path. At the crossroads, they paused.
Surgery tomorrow?
Yes, she nodded. Blood test. Will you come?
Ill come. But only as far as the treatment roomI wouldnt want to bleed you dry with my chatter.
She grinned. Its a promise.
They said their goodbyes and headed to their separate flats. Margaret climbed her steps, unlocked her door, and let herself into the quiet. She set her bag down, filled the kettle. As it came to the boil, she wandered over and peered through the window into the quiet square below.
Down there by his door, she could make out Henry fussing with the lock. He looked up suddenly, as if feeling her gaze, and gave a little wave. She waved back.
The kettle whistled. She made her tea, cut herself a chunk of bread, and sat at the kitchen table. Her knitted shawl lay on the chair opposite. She rested her hand upon it, noticing for the first time that her silence at home was not what it once was. It wasnt truly empty, this hushbecause somewhere close by, just across the lawns and a few walls away, lived someone who, tomorrow, would come with her to the surgery, sit companionably in the corridor, grumble about the staff, and ask how she was.
Old age would no doubt remain with its aches, with its pills and rising prices. But now, amongst it all, shed found a small new foundation. Not a miracle, not a rescue. Just another bench in the story of her lifea place to sit awhile together, catch her breath, and rise once more. Each in their own step, but side by side.
