The family was left unexpectedly and without warning: he resolved to divorce without his wifes knowledge.
Gregory left in an ugly, abrupt manner, vanishing without a word, never hinting to his wife, Emily, that he intended to end their marriage. When she returned home as usual, she saw an empty coat rack in the hallway and bare wardrobes. Emily wandered through the flat, bewildered and lost. Her husbands disappearance was a complete shock, leaving her unsure how to react. After changing, she warmed some soup, eating in quiet contemplation, occasionally smiling wryly to herself. “Ah Gregory, it seems I never truly knew you! What a fine wife I wasnothing more to say!” she mused while washing the dishes.
For nearly thirty years, they had lived together in Littlebrook. Their only son, Edward, had grown up, married, and moved to Spain. “Eddies gone, the house feels emptylets hope Greg doesnt get any ideas,” fretted their old friend, Beatrice. Emily had laughed carelessly then. “Oh, you worry too much! Overthinking, as usual. Or perhaps I dont know you at all, Bea!”
“You laugh now,” Beatrice huffed, offended. “Ive heard a thousand stories like this! The children leave, the husband gets restless, and the wife ends up alone and unwanted.” Emily chuckled again. “Beatrice, youve been a nuisance since we were girls, and nothings changed! If we hadnt sat next to each other in school, would I even bother listening to you?”
After Edwards departure, the couple began spending more time together. They went to the cinema, strolled in the park, visited their garden plot, hosted friends for barbecues. It was peaceful and pleasant, as though life had turned a new page, full of joy and trust in the future. Gregory had just turned fifty-six, Emily was past fifty. They could live for their own pleasure now, growing old together, visiting their son, awaiting grandchildren.
“Your Edward isnt in any hurry with children,” Beatrice remarked when the couple returned from Spain and Emily mentioned how well the newlyweds were doing. “Bea, Bea, must you always find something to gripe about? Cant you just be happy for them?”
“And why should I? Arent I right? Three years married and still just the two of them!” Beatrice insisted. “They want to explore the world, to know each other better! These days, people dont rush into parenthood like in our time,” Emily sighed.
A year and a half later, twins were born to Edwarda boy and a girl. Sophia and Arthur. The children were beautiful and healthy, a delight to behold. Every evening, the couple received video calls showing the little ones, and when they turned eight months old, stronger and more lively, Emily and Gregory flew to meet them, finally holding their grandchildren in their arms.
“Such wonderful babies!” Emily cooed, showing Beatrice the photos. “Look how Sophia resembles Edward! And Arthurjust like Jane!” “Hmph, resembles!” Beatrice scoffed. “Too small to look like anyone! Wait till they start walking and talking, then well see.” “Why must you be so prickly? If you dont want to see them, dont bother!” Emily gathered the photos and tucked them into a drawer, meaning to arrange them in albums later. She preferred keeping prints, selecting the best from the countless digital images to preserve them the old-fashioned way.
Beatrice had always lived aloneby choice, as she liked to say. Shed had lovers all her life, mostly married men. “Married fellows ask little and are ever so convenienthis wife gets the chores and laundry, while I get attention and affection,” shed declare.
She had inherited a cosy one-bedroom flat with a balcony near the Tube from her grandmother. Beatrice had fled her parents oversight the moment she came of age. “Ill live as I please!” she announced, and so she did. After moving in, she dyed her hair a vivid red, bought bright lipstick, and her first pair of high heels. “Come, Emily, Im throwing a little gathering. Youll meet some menyoull be surprised!”
It was at Beatrices gathering that Emily met Gregory, and not long after, she married him. “How dreadfully dull of you!” Beatrice exclaimed upon receiving the wedding invitation. “First fellow you meet, and straight to the altar! No comparisons, no second thoughts? Youre so tedious, I cant stand it!” But Emily believed firmly in Gregory, certain they were meant to be together for life.
For many years, that had been trueuntil suddenly, it wasnt.
“Bea, hello,” Emily called her friend one day. “Gregorys left me. Just gone, taken his things No warning, no note, his phones silent.” “When were you last on holiday?” Beatrice asked unexpectedly. “Holiday?!” Emily was baffled. “Bea, are you even listening? Gregorys left me. What does that have to do with holidays?” “Write your notice, Emmy. Youre coming to Cornwall with memy aunt lives there, remember?” Emily fell silent, thought for a moment, then agreed. “Youre right, Bea. Lets go to Cornwall.”
In Cornwall, where hospitality is so warm that once felt, its never forgotten. Beatrices aunt, the lovely Rose, had once married a Cornishman, Matthew, and moved with him to Truro. One after another, Rose and Matthew had four sons, each handsomer than the last. The boys grew up, married, had children, and the family grew larger still. Into this bustling, joyful household came Beatrice and Emily for respite.
The holiday proved so restorative that within days, Emily stopped agonising over herself, no longer searching for reasons why Gregory had left.
“Its as simple as two and two,” she thought, sitting in the garden, breathing in the scent of home-cooked meals. “He fell for someone else but hadnt the courage to say it. And it was never about me. Thats lifeno more to it.”
“Drink this!” Beatrice set a glass of fresh pomegranate juice before her. “Whats wrong with your face, Emmy?” She studied her friend closely. “What about it?” Emily asked, taking a sip of the tart, delicious drink.
“Your face somehow Looks smoother, younger.”
In Truro, a city impossible not to love, Emily met David. He had come to visit one of Beatrices cousins. They all sat late into the evening around a large wooden table, drinking rich wine, nibbling homemade cheese and fruit, singing boisterous Cornish songs in rough harmony. Emily caught Davids glances often, smiling back at his full-lipped grin. He was her age, tall and graceful, with thick silver hair. That night was so fragrant, so singular, she knew she would remember it all her life.
“Thank you,” Emily whispered, bending close to Beatrices ear. Without a word, her friend squeezed her hand in silent understanding.
