A HUSBAND MORE PRECIOUS THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES
Edward, that was the final straw! Thats it, were done! Dont even bother getting down on one knee as you so love to doit wont help this time! I declared the end of our marriage, and I meant it.
Edward, of course, didnt take me at my word. My husband was certain things would play out as they always had: he would drop to his knees, apologise, buy another ring, and Id find it in me to forgive him. It had happened more than once before. But this time, I was determined to finally break the bonds of matrimony. My fingers were weighed down with rings, yet my life had none of their sparkle. Edward had slipped deeper and deeper into his drink.
Yet it all began so romantically once.
My first husband, Henry, vanished without a trace. It happened back in the 1990sthose wild and worrisome times. It was dangerous even to go about your daily business.
Henry was never an easy man. He seemed always to look for trouble. They used to say he had the eyes of a hawk but the wings of a sparrowa forceful presence, but always landing himself in scrapes. If things werent just as he wished, the whole house would know it. Im quite sure he met some gangsters end in a brawl or argument. I was left alone with our two little girlsElizabeth, five, and Mary, two. Five years passed in uncertainty after he disappeared.
I nearly lost my mind. Id loved Henry, tempestuous as he was. We had been inseparable, two halves of a whole. I quietly decided my life was overI would devote what remained to raising my girls. For myself, I gave up hope.
Those were hard days. I worked at the factory, and instead of proper wages, I was paid in, of all things, toasters. I had to sell them on to buy a loaf and a pint of milk. Most weekends, Id shiver by the market stalls, peddling my toaster wares. One bitter winter day, as I trembled so violently my teeth wouldnt line up, a man approached me.
Cold out, isnt it, miss? the stranger said gently.
Whatever gave you that impression? I replied, attempting a smile. But there was a warmth about him that thawed me inside.
A silly question, I suppose. Let me buy you a cup of tea and warm up a bit. Ill help you carry whats left of your toasters, if youd like.
All right, lets, I replied, nearly speechless from the cold, or Ill be found frozen stiff right here.
But we never made it to the café. I led the stranger closer to my block of flats, asked him to mind my bag of toasters, and nipped inside to collect the girls from nursery. My feet felt as if theyd turned to ice. But the thought of the kindly man waiting for me filled me with something that felt like hope.
When I returned, daughters in tow, I spotted Edward (hed introduced himself already) pacing outside, smoking a cigarette, stamping his feet for warmth.
Wait, my rescuer. Going already? I wont let you leave until I make you a hot cup of tea! I grabbed his coat sleeve with a frostbitten hand.
Well, I dont want to be a bother, he hesitated, glancing at the girls.
Bother? Dont be silly. Take the girls hands. Ill dash up ahead to get the kettle on, I said, worried Id lose this gentle giant if I let him out of sight.
Edward lugged my bag up six flights of stairs (for of course, the lift was broken). As I and the girls trudged behind, hed already begun his descent. But we beckoned him back for tea, the beginning of a new partnership. Over steaming cups, Edward offered me work as his assistant, earning more than Id make selling toasters all year.
Of course, I nodded my agreementhardly trusting my luck. If only people still bowed in gratitudeI was ready to kiss his hands.
Edward had been married before and was in the process of divorcing his first wife. He had a son from that marriage. Soon, we married, and Edward adopted my two girls. Life seemed a merry dance. We bought a grand four-bedroom flat, filled it with handsome furniture and all the modern conveniences. Eventually, we purchased a country cottage, too. Every year, without fail, we had a proper seaside holiday. It was a charmed life.
Seven years passed without a cloud. Perhaps, having scaled the mountain of contentment, Edward turned increasingly to the bottle. At first, I ignored it. He worked hard, surely he deserved a release. But when his drinking spilled into working hours, I began to fret. Pleas and reason fell on deaf ears.
I ought to mention: Ive always been something of a plucky risk-taker. Hoping to cure Edward of his fondness for drink, I decidedto have another child. I was already thirty-nine. My friends werent the least bit surprised.
Go for it, Annie! they laughed. Maybe well think about starting over in our forties, too.
I always said, If you do away with an unborn child, one day youll bite your elbows with regret. But if you have that little one, planned or not, youll never be sorry.
I gave birth to twinsanother pair of daughters. Now there were four girls to raise. Edwards drinking, sadly, only persisted. I bore it as long as I could, then craved a life in the countrya house with chickens, a bit of livestock. Itd be good for the childrens health, and surely give Edward better things to do than drink.
We sold the flat and the cottage, bought a house in a small village, and opened a beautiful tearoom. Edward embraced rural life, becoming a keen sportsman. He bought a shotgun and all manner of hunting gear; plenty of game in the woodlands nearby.
Life ambled on pleasantly enough, until Edward once again drank himself into a frightening rage. Ive no idea what spirit hed tippled, but he was like a wild animal. He smashed crockery and furniture, till there was not a dish or chair left unbroken, then grabbed his shotgun and fired at the ceiling.
With the girls, I ran to the neighbours for shelter. That night was pure nightmare.
In the morning, we crept back. The spectacle was ghastly. Pity the children had to see it: everything broken, nothing left to eat from, sit on, or sleep upon. Edward lay sprawleddead to the world, drunkon the floor.
I gathered what could be salvaged and, forming a procession with the girls, made our way to my mothers cottage nearby.
Oh, Annie, what have you and your troop landed me with? Mother fussed and wrung her hands. Go back to your husband. All families have their troubles. Itll all smooth out in the end, youll see. My mum always believed in keeping ones teeth clenched, provided the husband was a handsome one.
A few days later, Edward showed up. That was when I drew the line. He remembered nothing of the rampage. Didnt believe what I told him. But I had no heart left for it. I cut every tie, burned every bridge.
Whatever the future held, I decided it was better to go hungry but liverather than meet my end in a fit of his drunken madness.
I had to sell the tearoom for a pittance, just to get away. The girls and I settled in the next village, in a practically broom-cupboard-sized cottage.
The older girls found work soon enough and, thank heavens, both married well in time. The twins were still in primary school, both in Year Five. All the girls adored Edward as their dad and kept in touch with him. Through them, I heard all about his doings. Edward begged me through their messages to return; the girls too would coax me Mum, do stop being so stubborn. Dad knows he was wrong! Hes asked your forgiveness a hundred times! Think of yourself, you arent twenty-five
But I remained unmoved. All I wanted was a peaceful life, free of mad scenes and escapades.
Another two years passed. I began to feel Edwards absence acutely; loneliness gnawed at me. Every ring hed ever given me, Id pawned off, unable to buy them backa regret that stung. Memories of our past life began drifting through my mind. We had had love in our home. In truth, Edward had loved all the girls as his own, cherished me, and always managed a remorseful apology. Wed been a model family, in our way. Who was I to judge others happiness?
Now the older girls only phoned and never visitedno time, no time. I understood: youth must fly. Another short while, and my twins would spread their wings, and Id be left in solitary silence. Daughters, like ducklings, feather themselves and then fly off.
So, I put the twins up for a bit of investigation. I asked them to question their fatherwas there another woman? They drew out every detail: Edward was working in another town, dry as a bonenot a drop of drink. He was living alone, single. He left his address, just in case
Well, its now our fifth year back together.
And as I said, Ive always been a bit of an adventurerThe day I knocked on his door, Edward answered wearing an apron, flour dusting his hair. At first, he stared as if seeing a ghost. Then his face cracked, trembling, and he laughed that great booming laugh Id almost forgotten. We stood, neither moving, until he pulled me close, and I let myself lean into the scent of homebread baking, woodsmoke, and something older.
We talked for hours, sifting through rage, regrets, and hopes. He showed me his cupboard, lined with sparkling water and teas, no whisky in sight. Perhaps it was the years apart, or maybe the mountains wed already climbed, but his eyes were softer, his words humble. Edward apologized, properly this time. He promised nothing but what he could give that dayhimself, honest and flawed.
We didnt host a grand reunion or call the family for fanfare. Instead, we learned, quietly, to share a life again: afternoons in the garden, stories over tea, mending chairs instead of hearts (for they were mending themselves). The girls visited more, drawn by a peace theyd never known as childrenone that even laughter couldnt shatter.
I often wake before dawn, the house silent, and marvel at all the ways love can survive disasterfragile as eggshell, stubborn as spring after a hard winter. My hands, lined and work-worn, still fit Edwards perfectly. The memories remaina sharpness at the edgesbut they no longer cut. Instead, they make our mornings sweeter and our evenings kinder.
There are no more rings. Only the simple gold band we both wear now, plain and warm as bread just out of the oven. And I am content, after all the bitterness and breaking, to have chosen, and been chosen, not once but twice. My anger cooled, my loneliness eased, I know, at last, my husband is more precious than all my grievances combined.
