I could no longer live a lie, my friend confessed over dinner.
Are you out of your mind? How much does that cost? Emily almost let the menu slip from her fingers when she saw the dessert prices.
Margaret waved a hand, adjusted the scarf around her neck and offered that practiced smile she always wore when the house was in disarray and unexpected guests arrived.
Come on, Emily. Once a year you can treat yourself, her voice trembled despite her trying to sound carefree. Waiter! Two tiramisu and two coffees. Two Americanos, please.
The young waiter, his hair slicked back, nodded and vanished like a ghost. Emily stared after him, then turned back to her friend.
Margaret, youre retired. Where do you find the money for this? We could have sat in any café down the road, no need for she gestured at the marble walls, crystal chandeliers, pristine white tablecloths of the restaurant. Even the air smelled different, expensive, tinged with foreign perfume and fresh flowers in tall vases.
Because I need to. Right here, right now, Margaret squeezed the napkin until the skin on her fingers turned white.
Shed always cared for her hands, moisturizing them each night and wearing gloves in winter. Emily remembered how, as girls, theyd dreamed of having actresslike hands. Margarets were now wellkept, nails painted a soft rose colour, but they trembled now.
Margaret Clarke, whats wrong? Emily leaned over the table, lowering her voice. Are you ill?
The worst possibilities flashed through Emilys mind: cancer, diabetes, a heart condition. At their age, anything could happen. Their neighbour, Mrs. Nicky, had died just last month, seemingly healthy.
No I mean, yes. I dont know, Margaret slipped off her glasses, brushed the lenses with the edge of her scarf and put them back on. Her eyes were red, fresh from crying. Im just exhausted, Emily. So tired
The tiramisu arrived, a little masterpiece dusted with cocoa and a mint leaf on top. Emily picked up a spoon automatically but didnt taste it, twirling it between her fingers.
Exhausted from what? Life? Were all tired, love. Pensions are thin, prices keep climbing, the kids call once a month, the grandchildren only come for birthdays. Youre not alone.
No, Margaret shook her head, and Emily noticed her hair had lost its usual shine, despite trips to the salon. Im tired of lying. Every day, every minute. Lying to the kids, to you, to the neighbours, to myself.
Emily set the spoon down, her heart thudding strangely beneath her ribs.
What lies, Margaret? What are you talking about?
Margaret leaned back, closed her eyes. Her lashes, still coated in mascara, trembled. Even at sixtyeight shed kept her poise, something Emily envied; her own figure had long since softened, while Margaret remained slender and delicate.
Gordons gone, Margaret whispered, opening her eyes. Hes been gone a year and a half.
The tiramisu suddenly tasted overly sweet to Emily, though she hadnt even tried it. Her throat went dry.
How can he be gone? You just said last week he was going fishing with Mr. Peterson.
He died. Heart attack. Right at the cottage while he was digging a new garden bed. I found him that evening, face down in the soil, still clutching the spade, Margarets voice was even, as if recounting someone elses tragedy. His hand still grasped the tool.
A shiver ran down Emilys spine. She opened her mouth, but the words stuck.
I called an ambulance, Margaret continued, her hands shaking more fiercely now. They arrived, confirmed it. Then the funeral, then I buried him at St.Marys, where his parents lie.
Why didnt you tell anyone? We see each other every week! I could have helped, supported you
I dont know, Margaret finally lifted the spoon, scooped a bite of tiramisu, and set it back down without eating. At first I thought Id tell you after the burial. Then Lucy called from Manchester, asking how Dad was doing, and I said he was fine, tinkering in the garage. I stood by the window, looking at the cemetery you can see from the balcony, and I started to lie.
Oh, Margaret
Lying turned out to be easy, she smirked crookedly, without joy. The trick is to start. Lucy asks about Dad, I say hes out fishing, fixing the car, playing dominoes. Simon from London asked about him at his birthday in March; I told him he was ill, bedridden. He didnt push to see him, fearing infection.
Emily could hardly believe it. Gordon Gordon Harris, the schoolboy friend whod become Margarets husband after years of courting. Theyd shared holidays, visited each others homes, and now she hadnt known he was gone.
Why didnt you tell Mick? Emily asked, her voice cracking. He was his friend too.
Because Mick would have called Simon straight away, or Lucy. Everything would have collapsed.
Then why? Why all this? Emily grabbed Margarets hand; it was icecold. Have you lost your mind?
Maybe, Margaret pulled her hand under the table. When I buried him, the flat went silent. My shoes were still by the door, his coat on the rack. I sat on the sofa and realised I was scarednot of his death, but of what to do next.
She talked while Emily listened, remembering how theyd met as university students. Margaret had once dated a tall, handsome fellow, then broke down in tears when he left her. A month later shed met Gordon at a union hall danceshort, bespectacled, gentle. Shed said shed never marry him, yet he courted her with flowers and verses, and she fell in love without noticing.
We spent fortysix years together, Margarets voice broke, though she tried to hold back tears. Fortysix years! I cant function without him. In the morning I put the kettle on for two mugs, pour tea, and then I find myself pouring it out, watching the TV, turning around and theres no one. At night I wake, reach for his hand, only to feel the empty bed.
My dear, Emily said, hugging her tightly. Youre not alone.
Dont pity me, Margaret wiped a tear, smearing mascara across her cheek. Its my fault. I should have spoken up sooner, but I was scared. As long as I lied, he was still alive somewherein the garage, fishing, with friends. Once I tell the truth, it feels like the end, like I have to accept it.
Emily circled the table and embraced Margarets shoulders. The waiter shifted his weight nearby, unsure whether to intervene.
Thats why I brought you here, Margaret pulled a handkerchief from her bag, dabbed her eyes. I wanted to say it in a decent place, so you wouldnt scream or curse at me. To make it proper. Gordon loved beauty, remember? He always said lifes hard enough, but we should still try to prettify it.
I remember, Emily whispered, wiping her own tears with the sleeve of her cardigan. He used to bring you flowers every Friday.
Every Friday, Margaret nodded. Now I buy my own. I stop at the florist by the tube, pick up chrysanthemums, put them in a vase at home, say thank you out loud. The neighbour downstairs probably thinks Ive gone off my rocker.
Silence fell. Their coffee grew cold, the tiramisu softened and lost its shape. Outside, dusk thickened, street lamps flickered on, people hurried home, laughed, talked on phones. Life went on, while in that little corner by the window a tiny, selfmade world was crumbling.
What will you do now? Emily asked.
I dont know. I wanted advice. Calling the kids is terrifying. Can you imagine their reaction? Lucy will be furious forever. She adored Gordon, and Ive been feeding her a lie for a year and a half.
Shell be angry, Emily agreed, but shell forgive. Children forgive. Sooner or later.
And you? Will you forgive?
Emily thought. It hurt, of course. Theyd been friends since school, sharing everything. Yet she too had kept secretsMicks occasional drunken visits, the bruise shed claimed came from a fall, not a fist. Everyone lives in a web of lies; some are small, some are huge.
Ill forgive, she said. I already have. It just pains me that you bore this alone. I should have called; I would have come.
I know, but I couldnt. The moment I lifted the phone, words failed me. It was easier to spin another story about Gordon than to face the truth.
Margaret finally sipped her coffee, grimacing.
Its cold now.
Shall we order more?
No, thatll be enough. I need to get home, take my pills for the blood pressure.
She rummaged in her bag, pulled out her wallet. Emily reached to stop her, offering to pay, but Margaret waved it off.
I invited you, Ill pay. Gordon left a small insurance policy; its enough for this and the Friday flowers.
They left the restaurant. The October wind whipped at their coats, slipped under the collars. Margaret shivered, inhaling the chill.
Thank you for listening, she said. At least one person knows the truth now. Maybe it will lift some of the weight.
It will, Emily promised, though she wasnt sure. When will you tell the children?
Soon. In a few days. Simons coming over for his birthday, thatll be the moment. Ill also call Lucy so she can come too; itll be easier together.
Do you want me to be there? For support?
Margaret shook her head.
No, I have to do this myself. I tangled the knot, I must untie it. Just be there afterwards, when they leave and Im alone again. Come over for tea, or we can sit in silence. I dont mind, as long as Im not by myself.
Emily hugged her tightly, genuinely. They stood in the street, two elderly women, arms around each other like they did in youth when the world seemed kind and troubles were petty.
Ill come, Emily vowed. Ill even bring Mick so he can say goodbye to Gordon at the grave.
All right, Margaret said, wiping her eyes. I should be off; Im getting soggy.
She walked toward the bus stop, a small, frail figure in a grey coat. Emily watched her go, thinking how fragile life is, how easily it shatters, and how hard it is to piece the fragments back together.
A few days later Margaret called, her voice hoarse and tired.
I told them, she said briefly.
How did they take it?
Lucy bawled for three hours. Simon was silent, only pounding the table with his fists. He asked why I did it, why I lied. I tried to explain. I dont know if he understood.
Theyll understand. Time heals.
I hope so. Theyre at the cemetery now. I cant go any longer; I see it from the balcony every day. Emily, will you come?
Im on my way.
Emily arrived half an hour later. Margaret opened the door, pale, eyes red but somehow lighter, as if a weight had lifted.
Come in, Ive put the kettle on.
They sat in the kitchen, sipping tea with scones. Margaret recounted Simons outburst, Lucys promise to move in next month, how they all embraced and wept, each on their own.
You know, Margaret said, biting a scone, it really helped. It feels like I can finally breathe. No more making up where Gordon is, what hes doing. Hes dead, its awful, and I miss him so much my heart feels like itll burst. But thats the truth. My truth.
Living in a lie is always heavy, Emily agreed. I havent told you everything either. About Mick, for example.
I know, Margaret replied softly. I saw the bruises, heard your excuses.
Why did you keep it hidden?
Because everyone chooses what to keep quiet and what to speak. You hid Mick, I hid Gordon. Now weve both spoken.
Mick hasnt drunk in six months, Emily confessed. Hes sober, says hes fed up. He even brought a bouquet out of the blue the other day.
People do change, dont they?
They finished their tea. Margaret walked Emily to the door, gave her a hug.
Thank you, she said. For not judging, for being there.
No need, were friends.
Friends, Margaret echoed, smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks.
Emily walked home, reflecting on how each of us carries our own lies, our own truths, our own pain, and how vital it is to have someone who simply listens without judgment. Life is hard enough; theres no point making it harder by being alone.
Meanwhile, Margaret stood by her window, looking out at the distant cemetery, and whispered:
Im sorry, Gordon. I tried my best, and I messed up as usual. But thats it now. Ill live honestly from here on. I promise.
And that promise, kept to herself and to the man shed loved, warmed her heart more than any fire could.
