She betrayed her fathers memory.
Lydia Simmons had been shuffling through the terraced estates for over an hour, although the bakery was only a five-minute walk from her flat. Yet this evening felt particularly bleak. She didnt want to go back to her place, where only a cold kettle, an unwashed kitchen floor, and Jasper her overweight tomcat awaited. Over the years, Jasper had become her sole companion, not counting the television which she switched on at first light and only turned off when she went to bed. The voices of the presenters gave her the fleeting illusion that real people still filled her home.
Her legs ached, her knee protested, and the weather was dismal, but Lydia still cut through the childrens playground where all the swings and benches glistened with rain, and perched at the edge of a bench beneath a rusty shelter shaped like a mushroom. She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her thick wool coat, the same shed worn for going on seven years. There was no sensible reason to buy another.
Once, when her husband Charles was alive, life was different. The flat overflowed with noise full, sometimes even cramped with their two children, Michael the eldest and Alice the youngest, growing up squabbling over toys in the narrow lounge. Charles had been gone fifteen years now. The children she had poured her soul into had flown far from London and built their own nests.
Michael, his wife, and their two kids had settled all the way up in Manchester; Alice had bolted off to Brighton, married some up-and-coming IT consultant, and now filled her life with meetings and world holidays. They remembered their mother on special occasions with a perfunctory, Happy birthday, mum, love you on WhatsApp, sending photos of grandchildren Lydia barely recognised. They never spent summer with their grandmother, being busy with language camps, Spain, piano tutors.
She sighed, watching as a plump crow hopped over the slick tarmac, pecking for scraps. Shed once believed her children would be her support, that in her old age shed be surrounded by grandchildren, phone calls each evening, frequent visits. Reality was much starker: Michael phoned once a month, if he remembered, always with the same lines: How are you, mum? All fine? Were up to our ears at work, everyones ill. You know how it is. Alice felt that, having sent a small bank transfer every month, shed done her duty and was free to live unburdened.
Retirement blurred into an endless version of Groundhog Day: up, TV on, feed Jasper, make some porridge or eggs, then more TV, lunch, a stroll, TV, sleep. Sometimes Lydia found herself speaking to the screen, commenting aloud on the morning show, or complaining when the presenters talked nonsense. Jasper would glance at her with disdain, flick his tail, and stalk off to sleep on the armchair.
This evening, she was particularly unwilling to return to that empty, stuffy flat. Even as the rain began to spatter down, she didnt move, but pulled her coat tight and lowered her knitted cap over her brow.
Liddie? came a voice from the side. Lydia, is that you?
She startled and looked up. Standing beside the bench was a tall, stooped man in an old-fashioned brown mac and flat cap. Silver hair at his temples, observant grey eyes. She recognised him at once it was George Wilkins, who lived in the neighbouring building and also wandered the courtyard with his walking stick. They bumped into each other sometimes by the lift, or the bins exchanged the usual British pleasantries about the weather, and that would be that.
George? Lydia looked up in surprise. Youll catch your death standing out in this.
And what about you? he smiled, laying an old newspaper over the wet bench and settling beside her. Saw you here from my window thought youd be off in a minute. But youve been ages. Decided Id better come check you were all right.
Oh, Im fine, she waved her hand. Just dont want to go home. Its too bleak, George. Feels like howling at the wind.
Believe me, I know, he replied, fishing a little hip flask from his coat. Brandy, he explained at her look. The doctors orders, honest for the gloom. Fancy a nip? I dont usually, but now and then… nothing like it for a bit of warmth.
She was about to refuse, but then thought: who cares? Nobody would see her, nobody would judge. She took the flask, sipped. The fiery liquid burned her throat, spreading a pleasant glow through her chest.
Thank you, she whispered, handing it back. What about you? Werent you married, back in the day?
I was, George sighed, taking a swig. Lost her three years ago. Our sons are in Birmingham, both of them, very busy lives, their own families, work only visit twice a year. Call on Sundays. So here I am. And you?
My children are far off, she replied quietly. Rarely call. My husband its been a long time.
So its like that then, George nodded. Two of us in the same pair of shoes. Two lonely people.
They lapsed into companionable silence, listening to the raindrops drumming in the puddles. The pause wasnt heavy but oddly comfortable, as though theyd known each other years and said everything that needed saying.
You know, Liddie, George said softly after a while, embarrassment in his tone, Ive been watching you for a long time. Youre always so smart, always out and about on your own… Thought about saying hello properly, but never dared. Today seemed like fate there you were, still as a statue in the rain. I took it as a sign.
She looked at him in wonder. Watching me? Why?
What else is there to do? he chuckled. I look out the window, see you in the same spot, you always walk at the same time, and when youre late, I start to worry.
Well, fancy that, she said with a surprised laugh, feeling a curious warmth inside someone cared, someone watched and even worried about her. I never realised.
So, shall we walk together from now on? George suggested, grinning. Its cheerier with two, and safer. I may be tottering on a stick, but I can stand up for you.
Fight off the crows? Lydia grinned, for the first time in years.
And the crows, if need be, he smiled back. Deal?
Deal, she nodded.
From that day, everything changed. Each evening, unless the weather was truly foul, they met outside and strolled together in the park behind their building. It turned out George was a retired engineer whod spent a lifetime at the car plant before taking up history, scribbling little articles for the local paper. Lydia, once an accountant, didnt know much about history, but she was a fine listener and asked good questions. For his part, George drank in her stories about the children, the little suburban house they built with Charles, and how theyd sold it for a pittance because the children didnt want it.
Their talks stretched into the dark. Theyd linger on benches, losing track of time, and when Lydia returned home, she caught herself smiling. The flat grew cosier she cooked more, thinking up little treats for George. She baked scones. Even Jasper, lured by the aroma, became more affectionate, brushing round her calves.
A month later, George spent his first night at her place. It happened without fuss; they lost track of time over tea and cake, and suddenly it was past midnight. Lydia, after a brief pause, said, Stay, George. The settee draws out Ill make it up for you.
Are you sure I wont be in the way? he asked, eyes hopeful.
Dont be silly, she said briskly. Theres room.
So he stayed. Once a week, then twice, and then gradually, almost without fanfare, he brought round his slippers, a toothbrush, eventually a battered suitcase. Lydia woke to the sound of him puttering in the kitchen and realised that life was easier, even joyful. The telly only went on for the news or the odd old film they had plenty to talk about without it. Jasper scowled and sulked at first, but soon settled at Georges feet.
George, lets make a shepherds pie tomorrow, Lydia suggested over tea and honey one evening. Ive always loved it, but seldom bother just for myself.
Why not, he said, eyes bright. Ill pick up the mince and you can get the potatoes.
And so they did, standing together in the poky kitchen, and it felt so right that Lydia almost couldnt believe her luck. Is it possible to find this happiness so late in life? she wondered.
Only one dark cloud shadowed this calm: her children. Lydia agonised over how to tell them about George. She knew Michael and Alice adored their fathers memory; Charles was their hero, and she dreaded theyd see George as a betrayal. Fifteen years had passed, but especially Michael, now more like his father than ever, always measured her actions against What would Dad have done? during their rare video calls.
Sensing her worry, George never pressured her. Your children are your business, he said. Youll tell them when youre ready. I can wait.
Time ticked on. Lydias birthday approached, and to her shock, the children announced a visit. Michael texted, Mum, weve decided to come down for your birthday all of us, with the kids. Let us know what you need. Well stay for three days, really missed you. Joy was immediately overtaken by dread. She paced the flat, biting her lip, not knowing what to do.
George, she said one evening over dinner, theres… something. The children are coming for three whole days. All of them. With the kids.
He calmly continued eating. Well, youll introduce us then.
Im not sure, George, she hesitated. They might not understand. They worshipped their dad. What if theres a row?
A row about what? George locked eyes with her. We didnt meet in some beach bar. Were two old souls keeping each other company. Were not flaunting ourselves we just live together, support each other. Dont you think theyll understand?
I dont know, she whispered. Michaels so blunt. Let me ask you, would you mind moving back to yours, just for a few days? Let me talk to them first prepare the ground. Then you can come over and Ill introduce you. Itll be less of a shock.
He sat in silence awhile, then put down his fork. Liddie… is that what I am to you? Your secret, to be hidden when the children are around? After all these months, am I just something to sweep back under the rug?
Dont say that, George. Its not forever just until I can talk to them, I promise.
Fine, his voice tired. Ill go tomorrow. But remember, Liddie: I love you. I wont be someones secret for long.
The next day, George left. The flat immediately seemed empty and cold, despite the radiators humming away. Jasper wandered through the rooms, meowing for George. Lydia stroked him and waited for her family.
They arrived that Saturday morning. Michael, his wife Helen, and their two boys, along with Alice, her husband Tom, and little Sophie. The flat filled with the sound of childrens trainers stomping, perfume, and noisy chatter. Lydia cooked, set the table, and kept glancing nervously at the cupboard where Georges slippers were hidden.
After dinner, when the children were asleep and the adults sat together with tea, Lydia braced herself. Heart pounding, she called Michael and Alice to the kitchen.
Children, she began nervously. I need to talk to you about something important.
What is it, mum? Michaels tone was wary. Are you ill?
No, love, she exhaled. Its just Ive met someone. George Wilkins. Hes been living with me for six months.
Dead silence. Michael froze, mug in hand; Alice folded her arms, a steely glint in her eyes.
What do you mean, living with you? Alice said coldly. Mum, have you lost your mind? How old are you?
Sixty-five, Lydia whispered. But Im still alive, Alice.
Thats not the point! snapped Michael, slamming his mug down. You move some bloke into Dads flat, where we grew up?
Hes not just some bloke, Lydia pleaded. Hes a lovely man, a retired engineer we
Dont care who he is! Michael barked. Mum, youve betrayed Dads memory! After all he did for us, after all those years, you bring a stranger into his home?!
Michael, keep your voice down, youll wake the children, Alice murmured, close to tears. Mum we know youre lonely, but this is too much. Did you even ask us if it was okay?
Should I need your permission to live my own life? Lydias voice trembled.
Live your own life? Michael scoffed. Youre sixty-five! You should think about grandkids, not about men! We came all this way and find you shacking up with someone? Where is he now, hiding?
Hes gone, Lydias voice wavered. I asked him to leave, so you wouldnt be confronted the minute you arrived. I wanted to talk to you first.
Talk to us? Alice shook her head. Well, here we are. Were shocked. Im ashamed, to tell you the truth. Didnt expect this from you, mum.
Dont say that! Lydias tears fell. Hes not just some fling hes a close friend. We walk together, eat together, watch telly together. Nothing improper!
Oh, you just watch telly, do you? Michael sneered. Just forget Dad, shall we? Move in any old fool you pick up in the park?
Dont speak about him like that! Lydia snapped. You dont even know him!
And I dont want to! he shouted. Heres how it is, mum: its either us or your George. If you keep seeing him, dont expect us to visit. Not us, not your grandchildren. We dont want them to see this.
Quite right, Alice folded her arms. Its a question of principle. Choose.
Lydia hung her head as tears dripped onto the birthday tablecloth. She wanted to say she loved them all, that George mattered too, but the words clogged in her throat. Michael and Alice exchanged glances, stood, and walked out, leaving her alone.
That night, Lydia didnt sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling, recalling how George brought her flowers, how theyd laughed together at some silly documentary, how hed gently stroked Jaspers fur, kissed her cheek goodnight. And then her childrens faces, tight with anger.
Morning arrived, her body numb with exhaustion. She went to the kitchen, where Michael sipped coffee. Helen cooked eggs in silence.
How are you, mum? Helen asked softly.
Fine, Lydia muttered, pouring herself some tea.
Mum, Michael set his mug down. We talked about it. Were leaving today. Dont want to stick around after all this.
But youve only just arrived she protested weakly.
Were leaving, Michael cut her off. Dont want my boys to see their grandmother like this. The gifts are in the hall. Well call you.
Michael, please But hed already walked out.
In an hour, everyone had gone. Helen seemed sorry, but wouldnt argue. Lydia stood in the hall, staring at the boxed presents, feeling cut down as though struck in the back.
She spent that day in the armchair, staring at the silent TV. Jasper jumped on her lap and purred, but she took no comfort. By evening, she tapped out Georges number with trembling hands.
George, she said, voice flat and broken, dont come. Not any more. We cant see each other.
Liddie, whats happened? Are you all right? he sounded alarmed.
Theyre against it, she choked. Utterly. They said if I see you, theyll cut me off them and the grandchildren.
There was a long pause. So youre choosing them? Liddie, cant you see theyre manipulating you? Theyve no right.
I know, she sobbed. But theyre my children, George. Youre wonderful, but please forgive me.
Lidia His voice faltered. Dont do this. We were all each others got.
She ended the call, switched off her phone, and wept with abandon wept harder than even when Charles died, because back then she still had her children. Now, she truly was alone.
Two months passed in the same hollow rut. Lydia turned the TV up louder, spoke to breakfast hosts, made porridge for one. Jasper would sit by the front door, staring back at her accusingly. Sometimes she reached for her phone, ready to call George, but remembered her promise to the children and set it down.
The children rang less and less. Michael sent brief texts: You ok, mum? Alice sent pictures of Sophie in a group chat, but never called. No one asked how she was coping, if she needed anything. Life went on, and Lydia realised shed become even less needed than before.
One evening, coming back from the shops, she shared a lift with Mrs Walker from the fourth floor, queen of the blocks gossip.
Liddie! Mrs Walker exclaimed. Wheres that lovely George? Havent seen him about. You two had a row?
No, Mrs Walker, Lydia replied quietly. We parted ways.
Such a shame, Mrs Walker sucked her teeth. You made a sweet couple. Besides, hes gone right downhill, poor dear seen him barely hobbling up the stairs. His son visited last week, but didnt stay.
Hes unwell? Lydias heart skipped.
Thats what theyre saying. Looks thin as a rake now, white as a sheet.
The lift stopped. Lydia left, pausing in the corridor as the doors closed behind her. The words circled: Hes ill. Alone. While I wait for children whove forgotten me. What am I doing? Why did I let him go?
She went inside, put down her shopping, stared at her phone for a long time. At last she dialed. One ring, two, three She was about to hang up when a weak, hoarse voice answered.
Hello?
George, its me, she whispered. How are you?
Liddie? He coughed. Why are you ringing? Got the childrens permission?
Dont start on the kids, please. Her voice wobbled. Are you ill? Why didnt you say?
What was the point? He gave a bitter laugh. You made your choice. Didnt want to burden you.
You old fool, she wiped her tears. Im coming over. Wait for me.
She threw on her coat, grabbed her bag, and hurried to the next apartment block. She rang his bell and waited; when the door finally creaked open, she saw hed grown thinner, his eyes tired but smiling that gentle smile that had melted her heart.
Liddie… Why have you come?
Because youre an idiot, and so am I, she replied, stepping forward to embrace him. Forgive me, George. I was wrong. The children barely care. Youre the one I need. Youre my family now.
He hugged her tightly and they stood in the doorway for a long time. She led him to the kitchen, made him sit while she unpacked groceries and started cooking.
Tomorrow Ill ring Michael, she said, putting the kettle on. Ill tell them: accept you, or forget me. I wont keep choosing. Ive made mine.
Dont fall out with your children over me, George pleaded gently.
I must, George, she replied firmly. Ive given half a lifetime to them, and now they threaten me. Thats enough. Im allowed a bit of happiness and you are it.
She fed him, put him to bed, and stayed with him that night. First thing in the morning, she called her son.
Michael, she said with no preamble, Ive made up my mind. Im going to live with George. We love each other. If you and Alice cant accept that, I wont force you. But I hope youll think it over. Im your mum. I have a right to a life. Charless memory is safe with me, and its not for you to judge.
A heavy silence. Then Michael replied, Mum, youre mad. We warned you.
You did, she agreed. But I choose myself. If you want to see me, youre welcome. If not, well, thats my fate. I love you both, no matter what. But I wont be ordered about.
She hung up, feeling lighter than she had in months as if a mountain rolled off her shoulders.
A week later Alice sent a message: Mum, Michael and I have talked. We dont approve, but if it makes you happy, you can visit the grandchildren whenever you want. Just please, dont bring up George its uncomfortable for us.
Lydia read the message, sighed, and put her phone away. She knew it wasnt full acceptance, but it was a start. The most important thing was that George was beside her again, Jasper curled in his lap, the telly flickering in the corner though they barely listened, lost in conversation with one another.
George, Lydia said with a smile, Lets make shepherds pie tomorrow, shall we? Ive got the potatoes.
Why not! he grinned, his eyes bright and young again. Ill fetch the mince, you mash the tatties.They laughed, Jasper weaving between their ankles, as Lydia sprinkled flour across the countertop. The storm outside drummed its steady song against the window, but the kitchen radiated warmth. As they workedshoulders occasionally bumping, flour dusting their sleevesLydia felt the heaviness she’d carried for years finally lifting, like curtains pulled back to let in morning light.
They ate together at the small table, sharing stories and quiet smiles, the world outside shrinking down to the soft pool of golden lamp glow. Later, as night fell, they sat by the window, hands entwined, watching rain stripe the glass.
Lydia didnt know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe Michael and Alice would grow to understand, maybe not. But as George squeezed her hand and Jasper rumbled contentedly at their feet, she realized her life was her own againstained with loss and longing, yes, but also ablaze with a late, stubborn joy.
She looked at George, at the life theyd built in the shadow of so much emptiness, and smiled. Sometimes, love came softly at the end, and sometimes, that made it shine all the brighter.
Outside, streetlights blinked in the puddles, and Lydia closed her eyes, finally unafraid of what others might call betrayal. There was only this: the clatter of dishes, the warmth of anothers presence beside her in the dusk, and the fragile, wondrous truth that it is never too late to choose happiness.
