April 12, 2025
I never thought Id end up in the same situation as the old men on those TV soaps, but here I am, writing about my unlikely marriage to my neighbour, Arthur Penrose, whos just turned eightytwo. I did it so the council wouldnt whisk him off to a care home in York.
Are you mad? my sister Margaret practically choked on her tea when I told her.
First, hes eightytwo, not eightytwo years old, I replied as calmly as I could. And second let me finish.
It all started when I overheard Arthurs children arguing beneath his kitchen window. They only visited twice a year a quick checkup to make sure their father was still breathing then vanished again. This time they arrived with glossy pamphlets for retirement villages.
Dad, youre eightytwo. You cant live alone, they implored.
Arthur snapped back in his hoarse, warm tone, Im eightytwo, not eightytwo illnesses. I still cook for myself, go to the market, and bingewatch dramas without a single nap. Im fine!
That evening Arthur knocked on my flat door, a bottle of red wine in hand and the look of a man about to make a desperate yet important confession.
I need a favour a bit odd, he said.
A couple of glasses later, that odd favour turned into a proposal of a very formal sort.
Just on paper, he explained. If Im married, my kids will find it harder to shove me into a nursing home far from the streetlights.
I stared into his blue eyes, still flickering with mischief and stubbornness, and thought of my quiet evenings: an empty flat, the telly muttering, and the hollow echo of solitude. He was the only one who asked me how my day went.
Whats in it for me? I asked.
Half the bills, a Sunday shepherds pie and someone wholl be glad youre back home, he replied.
Three weeks later we stood at the register in the local register office. I wore a simple dress Id bought on a clear morning; he was in an old tweed suit that smelled faintly of mothballs and memories. Our witnesses were Mrs. Hargreaves, the corner shop owner, and her husband, both struggling to keep a straight face.
May you kiss the bride, the clerk announced.
Arthur planted a kiss on my cheek so loud it might have ripped the envelope open.
From then on everything settled into a surprisingly smooth rhythm. He rose at six, performed his legendary five pushups; I sipped yesterdays coffee and stayed up late after work.
Thats not coffee, thats torture, he muttered.
And your exercises are a parody of sport, I shot back.
Sundays filled the house with the aroma of shepherds pie and laughter. He told stories about his late wife, the love of his life, and about his children, who seemed to see him more as a burden than a father.
One afternoon his daughter, Cressida, burst in, eyes as cold as a winter wind.
Shes using him! she accused.
I can hear you perfectly! Arthur shouted from the kitchen, and by the way, your coffee tastes worse!
Whats the point of this marriage? Cressida pressed, drilling me with that steely stare.
I looked where Arthur was humming while pouring me another cup.
Whats the point? Because Im not alone. I have someone to sit down with on Sunday evenings. Someone to say, Im home. Someone who smiles at my jokes. Is that a crime?
The door slammed shut, sealing their arguments in silence. Arthur brought over two mugs.
They think Ive lost my mind.
Theyre not wrong, I smiled.
Youre mad too.
Thats why were perfect for each other.
Your coffees still poison.
Your pushups are a cartoon.
Still, its family.
We clinked mugs against the backdrop of a setting sun and a love that felt both real and unreal at the same time.
Six months on, nothing has changed: he still gets up at the crack of dawn, I still ruin the coffee, and Sundays still smell of shepherds pie and contentment.
Do you ever regret it? I ask him.
Not for a single second, he answers, and thats the answer I give every time someone questions us.
Let them call our marriage a façade. To me, its the most genuine thing that has ever happened in my life.
Lesson learned: sometimes the most unconventional arrangements bring the deepest sense of belonging, and a little madness can be the perfect match for an ordinary life.
