A HEART BEATS AGAIN
Mary gave birth to her daughter, Emily, under circumstances that caused many whispers. She had slipped, as the old aunties said, and had a child before marriage.
Yes, Mary had a young man courting her attentively. He was handsomestriking, evenand unfailingly polite, but marriage was a word he never uttered. Mary would walk with him arm in arm, chin high, past the gathering of old ladies who sat like sunflowers in the entryway of the flats, craning their necks after every passer-by.
The young man didnt seem to work anywhere. He was a drifter, happy to let life carry him along like a moth to the lamplight. Mary cooked for him, gave him a warm bed, and was ready to smooth the path ahead of him with every sacrifice.
Then, one fine day, her beau declared he was desperately bored with Mary, that she didnt appreciate him as a woman should, and, really, if she loved him, why hadnt she whisked him off to Brighton for a little sea air?
Mary spent a week sobbing into her pillow. Then she tore up every photograph of her half-loved suitor and burned them to grey ashes. For a month, she was consumed by loneliness. Until she met Victor.
One morning, rushing late for work, Mary fretted at the bus stop. A taxi drew up, the driver flinging open the door and offering her a lift. Mary, thinking little of it, hopped into the car.
The driver struck up a conversation. Mary took his measure in an instant: middle-aged, neat, freshly shaved and pressed. What drew her in most was his gentlemanly manner. Mary decided, for no reason beyond hopefulness, that he must be the product of a caring mothers hand.
Victor, as he introduced himself, was the very opposite of her first heartbreak. Without hesitation, Mary gave him her number, eager to see him again. That was the first and last time she had a free ride in a taxi.
They soon began to see each other regularly. Victor lavished her with flowers and gifts, and adored her tenderly.
One spring afternoon, Mary and Victor took a ramble through the woods, lighthearted and full of laughter. Mary began to gather bluebells, and Victor, charmed by her enthusiasm, joined in. When the picking was done, Mary settled into the car with her small bouquet while Victor, careful as ever, laid his own cascade of bluebells on the back seat. Marys heart fluttered: For his wife? she wondered, but didnt askjust in case. Shed grown so used to his company by that point, she chose to ignore the unsettling thought.
But one day, Victors wife appeared at Marys door, two small children in tow.
Here you are, dearie. Take them if you pleasetheyre ever so fond of Daddy.
Mary, stunned, could only murmur, Im sorry, I had no idea Victor was married. Ive no wish to break apart your family. I wont lay claim to another womans nest.
That very evening, Mary ended things with Victor for good.
Her next suitor was George.
George was from Yorkshire, brimming with life. Their affair came and went with the force of a gale. Mary met George at a friends birthday party, and he wasted no time sweeping her off her feet. She didnt resistno one could, really, with his broad warmth and infectious optimism.
Life was never dull with Georgehe was always whisking Mary off to one event or another, a new adventure awaiting every weekend. With George, it seemed as if troubles didnt exist. Mary would have followed him to the ends of the earth. But it wasnt meant to be.
For a year, George carried Mary in his arms, then returned to Yorkshire, unable to settle in London. The climate didnt suit him, or perhaps his mothers frequent illnesses called him home.
Mary felt abandoned and adrift, a woman discarded. She vowed shed had enough heartbreak. Better to live alone than in tears.
It was just as she began to make peace with solitude that fate intervened. A new life was growing beneath her heart. The news left Mary breathless. Who would be the father? What would become of them? How would she stay sane?
A little girl was born. Mary named her Emily. Emily became Marys reason for being. The child had Georges curly hair, dark eyes, and enchanting smile. This fact cheered Mary, perhaps because she had loved George as no one else. Looking at Emily transported Mary back to those lively, carefree days.
At times, despair and envy for her married friends wracked her soul. But raising Emily took all her energythere wasnt time for tears.
On her first day of school, Emily was seated beside a boy named Daniel. She took against him immediately, and Daniel called her a daft curly-head.
They couldnt stand each other. The teacher had no choice but to split them up. Yet, Daniel and Emily still managed to scuffle at every break.
Mary visited the school to discover why Emily was returning home with fresh scratches. The teacher sheepishly supplied Daniels address, urging Mary to discuss matters with his parents directly.
Without a second thought, Mary set out to defend her daughter. She arrived at the given address.
A young man opened the door, wiping his hands on a tea towel slung round his neck.
You looking for me? Please come in, Ill make you a cuppa, if you dont mind waitingjust need to feed my little rascal first. And with that, he bustled off to the kitchen.
Mary slipped off her shoes and entered the modest flat. It was clear a womans hand hadnt touched this place for ages: belongings strewn about, dust floating, and a thick haze of tobacco.
Well, goodness Mary mused.
The host soon appeared with a traytwo china cups of rich, fragrant coffee.
(The aroma would stay with Mary her whole life.)
What brings such a lovely lady to my door? he asked with a smile.
Im Emilys mum, Mary replied.
Ahh, now I see. My Dans smitten with your girl, he grinned.
So thats why my Emily comes home scratched up? Mary shot back.
Hmm? I dont follow, Daniels father said, genuinely baffled.
Well, please sort things out with your son. Thank you for the coffee, said Mary, gathering herself to leave.
Dont worry; Ill have a word. No need to fret, he promised, reassuringly.
The little rascal (Daniel) sat quietly at the table.
Mary returned home.
That night, sleep wouldnt come. She found herself thinking back to Daniels fatherthere was something that caught her heart in that (so homely) man. Not a man, a dream! That perfect, lingering coffee! Not a single suitor had ever shared a simple cup of coffee with heronly champagne, port, or gin flowed freely. But coffee? Never. She craved to know more of this family.
Soon, in her mind, Mary had aired out the flat, tidied the mess, placed fresh flowers by the windoweven felt an urge to gently stroke the rascals tousled head.
In the morning, Mary awakened in high spirits. She urged Emily to be kind to Daniel at school, not to provoke.
The weeks melted away
At the next parents evening, Mary met Daniels father againher fanciful dream man in the flesh. There, she discovered that Daniels mother was gone; otherwise, a mother would have come to the meeting, not just a father. This gave Mary the courage to be bold.
Afterwards, Daniels father offered to walk Mary and Emily home. December dusk was setting in. Mary agreed.
The man introduced himself: Im Charles.
Mary. Pleased to meet you, she replied, feeling lighter than she had in years.
It was clear that Charles fancied Mary. He even suggested they see in the New Year together. Mary, her patience for fairy-tale princes long exhausted, decided she had nothing left to lose
Besides, how many times could a woman shy away from happiness after being burned by love? Seven years of lonely womanhood made Mary accept his invitation.
Later, Charles would explain that hed been divorced for ageshis wife remarried his best friend, but he refused to hand over his son.
Neither of them expected how much Charles would yearn for a womans kindness or how much Daniel would crave a mother. Simply put, Charles confessed his love to Mary. From the moment he met her, he had not stopped thinking of her. He saw a good wife and a caring mother for his son in Mary.
So, Mary and Emily moved in with Charles, but not before the adults asked for the childrens consent. Emily and Daniel, somewhat reluctant, nodded.
Life began anew. Charles, joyful, moved mountains for his new family. Together, they bought a spacious house. Mary devoted herself to home and children; she cherished Daniel as her own, while Charles adored Emily, treating both girls with the utmost tenderness.
Time passed, and the children grew up. Daniel and Emilymarried each other.
Charles and Mary blessed their unexpected union. For their honeymoon, the young couple departed for Paris, and Mary suggested she and Charles finally take a seaside holiday.
Charles was reluctant.
Mary, darling, better to treat yourself to something nice with that money.
But Charles, wouldnt it be wonderful for us to spend time togetherjust the two of us at last? Lets breathe a little freedom for once! Mary pleaded.
He conceded in the end.
They spent a blissful week in a small seaside town. It was the happiest, most carefree week imaginable. Charles outdid himselfgifting flowers, showering Mary with compliments, professing his boundless love.
On the last day, Charles and Mary went to the beach to bid farewell to the sea. It was early morning; no soul was about. Charles pressed a gentle kiss to Marys lips and, with a certain sadness, said,
Mary, I do love youso very much.
Ill just take a quick dip.
Mary never saw Charles again.
He drowned.
The sea was calm, but the rescue teams never found him.
Mary returned home alone. For a long while, she drifted in a daze. Charles sudden, senseless death shattered her world.
Why him? Hed been a strong swimmer. Why must she become a widow at fifty-five? Why hadnt she told her husband, as he took his leave on that fateful morning, that she too loved him madly?
Yeshe had been saying goodbye. She hadnt realised
And so many whys she cast heavenwards.
Mary drew into herself. She loathed the sea. The world lost its colour. She found nothing could comfort her, not even a grave to visitthere was none.
Her soul ached, as if torn to shreds. She barely wanted to breathe. Perhaps its better to burn with heartbreak seven times than to be widowed once! They say time healsbut it isnt true. It doesnt. It only dulls the pain, the aching longing for your beloved. You think its settled, but scratch the surfacetheres that unbearable anguish again. Memory never releases its hold, forever reviving the bitterest of sorrows.
Now, Mary would be seen holding the hands of her grandchildrenKatie and Max, her three-year-old treasuresstrolling through the autumn park.
It had become ritual to stop at the café, where Mary bought ices for Katie and Max, and, for herself, ordered a cup of that same fragrant coffee. The scent would make her head spin pleasantly. She felt Charles was near, watching over his Mary, knowing all her secrets.
Years passed, and after enduring the unbearable, accepting everything with humility, Mary began to give thanksto fate, for sending her Charles, for the twenty-five years of happiness as his wife.
Life comes to an end, but never loveAt last, Mary forgave the sea. She realized it had not stolen Charles, but had kept a piece of her happiness safe for her all the samea bright warmth tucked inside every sunlit wave and every briny morning breeze. She taught Katie and Max to skip stones, and when they squealed in delight, Mary felt Charles there: in the laughter of children, in the echo of her own steady heartbeat, which still answered his after all those years.
Love, she discovered, does not disappear. It changes formbecomes the shade of evening, a familiar hand at your back, the taste of sweet coffee shared across decades. Mary understood, at last, that her heart could break and be mended anew, over and over, until it expanded with the quiet wisdom of life truly lived.
One golden afternoon, as the grandchildren napped on her lap beneath the wide old linden, Mary closed her eyes. She listened to the gentle whisper of leaves and heard the unmistakable echo of Charless voicesoft, playful, alive:
Mary, my love. All is well.
In that moment, Mary smiled. The ache faded to a gentle, grateful warmth. And so, with childrens laughter behind her and love inside her, Marys heart, at last, beat bravelyagain, and again, and always.
