A HUSBAND WORTH MORE THAN BITTER RESENTMENTS
Graham, that was the last straw! Thats it, were getting divorced! You can save yourself the kneeling this time, like you always doit wont work! I put a resounding full stop at the end of our marriage.
Graham, of course, didnt believe me. My husband was sure everything would go as it always had: down to his knees, apologizing with a shamed face, another ring and Id forgive him. Itd happened often enough. But this time, Id finally resolved to cut the ties of matrimony. All my fingersdown to the littlestwere crusted with rings, but life itself was missing. Graham constantly drowned himself in drink, as if our home was the back room of an old village pub.
But it all began so romantically.
My first husband, Edgar, went missing. That was back in the late nineties. Those dayslife itself creaked with unease. Edgar wasnt the easiest of men, always picking fights and finding trouble. As they say, eyes like a hawk, wings of a gnat. If things didnt suit him, hed kick up a show of it. Im sure he ended up on the wrong side of something shady. I heard nothing from him, not a letter nor a trace. I was left alone with two daughtersfive-year-old Emily, and Rachel, a toddler of two. Five years drifted by after his strange disappearance.
Thought I was losing my mind. I truly loved Edgarexplosions and all. We were inseparable, two halves of a single thing. Id told myselflifes over, now I must raise these girls. Drew a line under myself. Yet
The times were not kind. I worked at the factory, but my wages were paid in kettles instead of pounds. I had to shift those kettles to get food on the table. Every weekend, shivering through the cold on the market, I flogged kettles with numb hands. One biting winter day, as I was turning blue behind my stall, a man approached. He must have pitied me.
Chilly out, isnt it, miss? he asked, gingerly.
And how did you guess? I tried to joke, though my teeth fairly rattled. But his nearness warmed something in me.
Silly question, I suppose. Would you fancy warming up in a café? Ill help you carry your unsold kettles.
Oh, lets go, or the frost will finish me off soon, I managed to stammer.
We never made it to the café. I tugged the strangerhe introduced himself as Grahamcloser to my building, asked him to mind my kettles at the front steps, as I had to fetch the girls from nursery. I was off as quick as stone legs would allow, but inside I felt snug, a comfort Id not known in years. Returning with my girls, I spotted Graham waiting, shifting from foot to foot, cigarette curling up into the dusk. I thought, Offer him some tea, let fate do what it will.
Graham hefted my bag up the endless flightssix cramped floors with the lift out-of-order, of course. By the time the girls and I had heaved up three flights, Graham was on his way back down.
Wait a minute, my rescuer! Wont let you slip away without at least a cup of tea! I grabbed his sleeve with a near-frozen hand.
Oh, I wouldnt want to intrude He looked from me to the girls, uncertain.
Not at all! Take the girls hands, Ill dash ahead and get the kettle on, I said, not a whisper of doubt.
I couldnt bear the thought of losing this man. As the steam from our mugs curled up and filled the stale kitchen with warmth, Graham offered me a proper job as his assistantmore pay than kettles could fetch in a year.
I noddedno words left in me but wanting to kiss his hands in thanks.
Graham was in the midst of divorce from his second wife and had a son from the first. In a whirl, our lives tangled.
Before long we were married. Graham adopted my girls. Life danced along to a lively step: we bought a four-bedroom flat, filled it with plush furniture and all the newest gadgets. Soon we had a country cottage built by the green lanes and every summer wed take a jaunt to the sea, children squealing with sand in their hair. Life was the very picture of English joy.
Seven years of cloudless happiness drifted by. Then, perhaps, Graham, having reached a peak of comfort, began peering too frequently into a bottle. At first, I turned a blind eyehe worked so hard, everyone needed some way to unwind. But once he started turning up to the café tipsy, I worried. Pleading, cajolingnothing landed.
Ill say thisIm a hopeless adventurer at heart. To pull my husband away from the bottle, I decided to give him a baby. At the time I was already thirty-nine. My friends, hearing of my idea, werent even surprised.
Go on, Susan! they laughed. We might just have a go at being new mums in our forties too.
I always said, If you let a child go, you might regret it bitterly later. But should you have the baby, even a half-planned one, youll never be sorry.
Graham and I were blessed with twins. Now there were four daughters bustling round the house! Graham still didnt stop drinking. But I carried on, long-suffering, and soon I longed for greenery and fresh air; to keep chickens and let the girls run wild. Perhaps then Graham would have no time to drink.
So we sold our flat and the country cottage. Bought a small house in a market town. Opened a smart little café. Graham discovered a passion for huntingbought a shotgun and all the kit, with enough game in the woods to keep him going.
Life trundled along, more or less steady, until Graham went on another bender. I still dont know what caused that spellperhaps he drank some wicked brewbut Graham raged, smashing crockery, kicking in the furniture, and then, while we huddled, he grabbed his gun and fired a shot into the ceiling!
The girls and I ran, barefoot and wild, to our neighbour. It was a waking nightmare.
In the small hours, all calmed. We crept back homewhat a sight. The place was in pieces; too bad the girls saw such a mess. Everything worth sitting, eating or sleeping on was broken. Graham, dead to the world, lay sprawled on the bare floor.
I gathered what we could salvage and, single file, led my girls to my mothers. She lived nearby in the same dull town. Mum wrung her hands
Oh, Susan, what am I to do with your flock of girls? Go back to your husband. Anything can happen in a familyitll all blow over, youll see.
Mum believed in the old saying: teeth in your apron, but at least your man is handsome.
A few days later, Graham showed up. Thats when I drew the final line. Of course, Graham remembered nothing of his ballet. He wouldnt believe my stories. But I no longer cared. I cut the ties and burned all the bridges.
How to carry onI could hardly imagine. But Id rather go hungry than end up dead and memoryless at my husbands hands.
We had to sell the café for a song, hustling to leave that town behind. Settled in a cottage in a tiny neighbouring village.
The older girls found work and, by some miracle, soon married. My twins started year five. All the girls adored Papa Graham and kept in touch, so I was always kept abreast of Grahams life. Through the girls, my ex-husband begged to have me back. The girls too pressed meMum, stop being so proud! Dads truly sorry, hes asked for forgiveness a hundred times! Think of yourselfyoure not twenty-five
But I was steadfast. I wanted a quiet life, no more drama or mad adventure.
Two years glided by.
And soon I started missing Graham. Loneliness gnawed. All the rings Graham had given me ended up in a pawnshop, never to return. It stung. I started thinking of old times, pondering. There was love in our home. For all his faults, Graham had cherished all four girls, cared for me, and always managed an apology. Wed been a shining family. Everyones happiness is their ownyou cant fit inside anothers. What more did I want?
The older girls now only ring; theres no time for visits. I understandyouth is in a hurry. And in no time at all, my twins will fledge as well, and Ill be left all alone in my empty little nest. Girls are like ducklingsgrow their feathers, and off they fly.
So, I nudged the twinsask your dad for more details about his life. Is there an auntie now? The girls wormed it out of Graham. Turns out he lives and works in another cityhadnt touched a drop, and was quite alone. No woman, nothing. He left the girls his new addressjust in case.
And so, here we are, year five together.
I did say, after all, Im an adventurer at heartOne rainy autumn evening, the kettle whistled its old familiar tune, and I watched the twins drawing by the window, their laughter echoing through the cozy cottage. A sudden knock broke the stillness. My heart thuddedno one ever called unexpectedly here. Through the rippled glass, I could barely make out a man in a well-worn coat, shoulders hunched against the drizzle.
Before my mind caught up with my feet, Id flung the door wide. Graham stood there, awkward and drenched, holding nothing but his cap and a shy bundle of wildflowers. He looked oldermore human, shrunken a little, but his eyes were the same.
Forgive me, he said, voice trembling. I thought Id come to ask if you had a drop of tea left for an old fool.
For a heartbeat, I saw in his gaze every apology hed ever made, every promise broken, every moment when wed stitched our small family back together. All the bitterness, the sharp words, the ruined nightsthey loitered at the back of my mind, insistent, but fainter now than the warmth from the lamp above our table. I let him in. The damp air closed behind us.
Around the kitchen, the girls watched wide-eyedhope flaring beneath their curiosity. We sat for hours, talking gently, sometimes barely above a whisper. No grand gestures. No rings. Just two people weather-beaten by life, remembering how much gentleness there could still be between us, if only we let it.
Later, as Graham dozed softly in the armchair, the twins climbed onto my lap and curled close. Rain brushed against the window, and beyond it, a faint silver dawn crept in, painting everything new.
Perhaps forgiveness, I realized, weighed less than bitterness, and held more warmth in winter. Life wouldnt offer certainties, but even after all, it could grant small merciesa knock at the door, an honest heart returning, and, sometimes, the chance to carry on together, knowing exactly what were worth.
