**A Touch of Grey in the Beard. A Lifes Tale**
* Alright. Same as usual.*
* Fred, Freddie, come have dinner! I made those dumplings you love. Lets go, eh?*
* Not hungry.*
* Fred, Freddie, come on, eh? I waited for youdidnt sit down without you.*
* Listen, Tanya, must you be like this? Clinging like ivy, I swear! Youre suffocating me, dyou understand? Worn me down to the bone. What, are you a child? Cant eat unless Im there?*
* Fred, Freddie, dont shout, eh?*
* Fred, for pitys sake! Makes me sick to hear it! Arent you tired of it, Tanya? Why dyou grovel like this? Dont you know anything? You smother me, understand? I cant breathe with yousoon I wont have air left. Youre stifling, and this care of yours Im sick of it, Tanya. No strength left. I dont live with youI endure. And this Freddie, Freddie! How many times must I say it? Once is enough!*
* Fred, Freddie. Have a drink, loveease up a bit. Youre worn out.*
Tanya guiltily twisted the hem of her apron, eyes on her husband.
* Christ, are you daft or pretending? Even that bloody apron! Theres someone else, understand? Someone else! Shes who I lovewho I breathe for! Im leaving, Tanya.*
* Leaving? Thought it through, have you? Dont mistake softness for weaknesstheres no coming back. You know me. Walk out now, and dont expect welcome. Think the other one really wants you? Dyou reckon its easy, sitting at that table, knowing youve got another woman? Think hard, Fredis your love strong enough to wreck a family in one breath?*
* I wont be back. Dont wait.*
Fred, boots still on, trudged to the bedroom. Muddy prints soiled the handwoven rugs. He yanked out a rucksack, stuffing in his sparse belongings. Without a glance at Tanya, he strode through the hall.
Halfway across the village, his mind churned. Was this right? Twenty-odd years marriedtheir lad, a good soldier, though too far to visit. Howd he take the split? Old enough to understand, surely. Everything in Fred had burned outno respect left, not even for her endless *Freddie, Freddie!* Shed known all along, yet stayed silent, eyes full of reproach. Another woman wouldve scratched his face raw. But her? Just quiet looks. That was respect? Or just spinelessness?
And this daft antique obsession. Once sensible, now gone barmyfancying a kitchen straight out of Dickens, with copper kettles and rag rugs. Scouring the village for scraps like some madwoman, tearing up floors for wooden beams.
No, Stella was different. Even the name rang steel. Not old, thoughnearer their sons age. Couldve been their daughter-in-law, yet here she was, his new wife. With her, hed felt young again, breathing proper. No pies, no stews, no moth-eaten rugs. She spoke proper, toonone of Tanyas village twang.
Stella was modern. Bright cabinets, sharp clothes, a figure Tanya hadnt kept. Tanya had let herself gosoft as dough, always at his elbow, desperate to please. Well, hed done right leaving. Shouldve done it years back. Now, everythingd change.
***
Tanya sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the filthy boot prints on her rugs, crying silent. Hed never understood. Never grasped why shed wanted those rugs, that kettle. And shed hopedfool!
She tore up the soiled rugs. Who needed them? He remembered nothingno loyalty left. That *Stella*barely older than their sonswanned back to the village, all lipstick and heels, waltzed into the council office. Two years, and she was head accountant. The chairman fancied hersaw them canoodling. But hed kept his family. Not like Fredone crook of her finger, and off he trotted.
Would she even keep him? A vets wages wouldnt stretch far. No matterhed chosen. No way back.
***
She remembered their early years. Young, skint, but happy. A sack of spuds was a feast. Nights by the bonfire, eating charred potatoes, faces smudged, laughing. Their first homea widows cottage, left to rot. Shed scrubbed it raw, washed the rugs in the river with Fred, made it shine. Tea from that old kettle, evenings wrapped in warmth.
Shed dreamed of a bigger housewooden kitchen, proper rugs, carved cabinets. Growing old there, reminiscing.
When Fred strayed, shed thoughtif she rebuilt that kitchen, hed come back. But no rugs or kettles could mend what was broken.
The village whispered. Howd she borne it? Knowing, yet staying mute. And Fredshameless! That girl near his sons age!
***
She never let the hurt show. Worked, smiled, even nodded at Fred like strangers. Hed avoided her at firstwho knew what she might do? Then relaxed. These things happened.
Hed dragged his feet on divorce, doubting. Then slumped when she handed him the papers at work.
*Revolution*, that was. Hed expected tears, begging. Instead, she bloomed. Had she moved on? Unlikelyvillage tongues wouldve wagged.
***
* Tanya, came to talk. The houseours, but youre queen here, while were squeezed in that flat.*
* Want to move back in? Bit odd, all three under one roof.*
* Dont twist it. Youre not like thissoft-hearted, always.*
* What dyou want, Fred?*
* We sell the house. Not right, this limbo.*
* Just like that? Sell what we built?*
* Got buyers lined up.*
* No. Not to strangers.*
* Then buy me out.*
* Havent the money. Need to think.*
***
Through the bus window, Tanya watched the village shrink. First the town, then nearer to their son. Vadik had flats lined upshed not lack work. A vet with her experience? Theyd snap her up.
Sad, leaving half her life behind. But better than pitying stares, or watching Fred play house with near-his-daughter.
Autumn wedding, they said. Let them. His choice.
Did she regret the house? No. It had brought no joy. Let Fred keep itbetter than strangers.
***
Fred stared at Stellas garish cabinets, plastic flowers, fluffy throws. Even the tableglass-topped, with some daft pattern. How dyou eat here? Like a migraine in daylight.
He longed for that wooden kitchen, the kettle, the rugs. Tanya bustling at the stove, eager to please. What a fool hed been! Trading warmth for thisglossy outside, hollow within.
Yanking open cupboardsnothing. Instant noodles, microwave rice, boxed tea. Emptiness everywhere.
Outside, head in hands: *Fool. Fool. Fool.*
Hed cheered buying Tanya out. Reveled as they gutted the kitchen, chucking her rugs where her garden had been. Shed walked past, blank-faced.
Shed moved ontaken peace, comfort, faith with her. Nothing left but echoes. Like dirty footprints on clean rugs.
