Last Love: “No, Irochkina, I really haven’t any money! I gave my last to Natasha yesterday! You know she has two children!” Deeply upset, Anna Ford hung up the phone. She did not want to think at all about what her daughter had just said. “Why is it like this? I raised three children with my husband, did everything for them. Put them all through university, now they all have good jobs. But now, in my old age, I have neither peace nor help.” “Why did you have to leave me so soon, Walter? Life was easier with you,” Anna thought, speaking to her late husband in her mind. Her heart squeezed painfully; her hand reached habitually for her tablets: “Only one or two capsules left. If I get worse, there will be nothing to help me. I must go to the chemist.” She tried to stand up but sat down immediately: her head spun terribly. “It’s fine, the tablet will work soon, and all will pass.” But time went on, and she felt no better. Anna dialled her youngest daughter: “Natasha…” was all she managed to say. “Mum, I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you later!” She dialled her son: “Darling, I’m not feeling well. I’ve run out of my tablets. Could you, after work…” Her son didn’t even let her finish. “Mum, I’m no doctor, and neither are you! Call an ambulance, don’t wait!” Anna sighed heavily. “That’s true, he’s right! If I don’t feel better in half an hour, I’ll ring for an ambulance.” She carefully leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, counting to one hundred in her mind to relax. From far off, a sound reached her—what was it? Ah yes, the telephone! “Hello!” she said, struggling to open her mouth. “Anna, love, it’s Peter! How are you? I just had a bad feeling—I wanted to call you!” “Peter, I don’t feel well.” “I’m on my way! Can you open the door?” “Peter, I always leave the door open these days.” Anna let the phone slip from her hand and didn’t have the energy to retrieve it. “So be it,” she thought. In her mind’s eye, memories of her youth began playing like a film: here she was, a young girl—a first-year at the London School of Economics. Two charming, dashing military cadets stood on either side of her, both holding balloons. “How funny,” she’d thought back then, “big lads with balloons!” Ah, of course! It was the ninth of May—VE Day! Parade, street parties! And there she was, between Peter and Walter, holding balloons. Back then, she’d chosen Walter. He was bolder, perhaps, and Peter was shy and reserved. Then fate parted them—she and Walter moved to Surrey for his service, Peter was posted to Germany. They met again in their hometown years later, both men retired. Peter had always lived alone—no wife, no children. They’d ask him why it happened that way… He’d just wave it off, or make a joke: “Unlucky in love—perhaps it’s time to take up poker!” Anna heard voices around her, conversation. She managed to open her eyes. “Peter!” He was beside her, with what was clearly a paramedic. “She’ll be fine now,” said the medic. “Are you her husband?” “Yes, yes,” Peter replied. The medic gave Peter instructions, and Peter sat, holding Anna’s hand, until she began to recover. “Thank you, Peter! I feel so much better now!” “That’s wonderful. Here, let me get you some tea with lemon.” Peter bustled away, making things in the kitchen, fussing over Anna, too concerned to leave her on her own. “You know, Anna, I loved you all my life; that’s why I never married.” “Oh, Peter, Peter! Walter and I were happy—I respected him, and he loved me. You never said anything in our youth; I never truly knew how you felt. But what use is there talking about it now? Those years are gone and can’t come back.” “Anna, let’s spend whatever time we have left happily—however long God gives us, let’s be happy together!” Anna rested her head on Peter’s shoulder, took his hand and said, “Let’s!” She laughed, her laughter light and full of joy. A week later, Natasha finally rang. “Mum, you called—I couldn’t answer, then I got busy and forgot…?” “Oh, that… It’s all fine now. Since you did call, I don’t want a surprise: I’m letting you know—I’m getting married!” There was silence on the other end, then the sound of her daughter sucking in a breath, smacking her lips in disbelief. “Mum, are you in your right mind? You’ve had one foot in the grave for years, and now you’re getting married? And who’s this extraordinary man?” Anna shrank inside, her eyes filling with tears. But she found the strength to reply, calmly and clearly: “That’s my personal business.” And she hung up. She turned to Peter: “Well, get ready—the whole gang will turn up tonight! Prepare for a siege!” “We’ll manage! We’ve survived worse!” Peter chuckled. That evening, all three children arrived: Greg, Irene, and Natasha. “Well, Mum, introduce us to your Casanova!” Greg sneered. “Nothing to introduce, you know me,” Peter said, stepping out. “I’ve loved Anna since our youth. When I saw her so ill a week ago, I realised I couldn’t lose her. I proposed and she kindly accepted.” “Listen here, you overgrown clown—have you completely lost your minds? Love at your age?” Irene screeched. “And how old is ‘your age’, exactly?” Peter asked calmly. “We’re barely seventy—still plenty of life in us. And your mother is still a beauty!” “I suppose you’re angling after Mum’s flat, is that it?” Natasha asked in her solicitor’s tone. “Children, for heaven’s sake—what does my flat have to do with it? You each have your own homes!” “Nevertheless, we have a share in this flat,” Natasha insisted. “Look, I want nothing! I have somewhere to live,” Peter said flatly. “But I will not sit by while you insult your mother. It’s disgusting to listen to!” “And who are you to be opening your mouth here, you ancient playboy? Who asked your opinion?” Greg puffed himself up like a fighting cock, moving threateningly towards Peter. But Peter didn’t flinch. He drew himself up to his full height and looked Greg directly in the eye. “I’m your mother’s husband, whether you like it or not!” “And we’re her children!” Irene shouted. “And tomorrow, we’re putting her in a home or in the madhouse!” Natasha joined in. “Not a chance! Come on, Anna, we’re leaving!” They walked out together, hand in hand, never looking back. They didn’t care what anyone thought. They were happy and free. A lonely streetlamp lit their way. And the grown-up children watched after them, unable to understand how there could possibly be love at seventy.

THE FINAL LOVE

Maisie, I don’t have any money! I already gave the last of it to Sophie yesterday! You know she has two children!
Deflated, Annabelle Turner set the phone back in its cradle.
She didnt want to dwell on the things her daughter had just said to her.
Why should it be like this? She and her late husband raised three children together, always trying their best for them. Every single one of them had been given a good education, each with a proper job. Yet here she was, in old age, with neither peace nor help to her name.
Oh, David, why did you leave me so early? Annabelle thought to herself, turning in her mind to her late husband. It was always easier when you were here.
A dull ache pressed against her heart. Her hand instinctively sought out the pillbox down to its last two capsules. If things got worse, how would she help herself?
Shed have to walk to the chemist.
Annabelle tried to rise but slumped back into her armchair; her head spun in unpleasant loops.
Its fine. The tablet will kick in soon, itll pass, she tried to reassure herself.
But time crept by and there was no relief.
She dialed her younger daughter:
Sophie she managed.
Mum, Im in a meeting! Ill call you back!
Next, Annabelle dialed her son:
Oliver, sweetheart, Im not feeling well. Im nearly out
Mum, Im no doctor, and neither are you! Ring for an ambulance if its that bad, dont wait! he cut her off.
Annabelle sighed heavily. Hes right. Ill give it half an hour, then ring 999 if it doesnt go away.
She cautiously reclined in her chair and closed her eyes, counting to one hundred in her head, trying to relax.
Somewhere far off, it seemed, a noise pealed. What was that? Ah the phone.
Hello? Annabelle croaked, struggling to move her lips.
Annabelle! Its me, Peter! Are you all right? I suddenly felt I ought to ring you.
Peter, Im not well.
Ill be right there! Can you open the door?
Its never locked these days, Peter.
The phone slipped from Annabelles hand. She couldnt muster the strength to pick it up.
Let it be, she thought.
Images glimmered before her eyes, strange as scenes played on a flickering screen flashes of her youth: a bright-eyed university fresher at St. Edmunds College, two handsome military cadets laughing with balloons in their fists.
How odd, shed thought at the time, grown men with balloons?
Ah yes! That was the 8th of May VE Day festivities. Parades, people dancing in the street. She, flanked by Peter and David, each holding a balloon.
Shed chosen David, simply because he was bolder, while Peter was always reserved and shy.
Life scattered them soon after; she and David had moved to Surrey for his commission, while Peter was posted to Germany.
Years later, they met again in their hometown, both now retired. Peter was still alone no wife, no children.
When people asked why, hed just wave them off with a joke,
Not much luck in love perhaps I need to try my hand at cards!
Voices swam around Annabelle; she peeled her eyes open.
Peter!
Beside him stood perhaps? an NHS paramedic.
Shell be right as rain in no time. Are you her husband?
Yes, yes! Peter replied, barely missing a beat.
The paramedic muttered instructions to him.
Peter never left Annabelles side, holding her hand until she began to feel a little better.
Thank you, Peter. I truly feel much better now.
Splendid! he beamed. Here you are a nice cup of tea with lemon.
Peter bustled in the kitchen, fussing over Annabelle all evening. Even when she felt stronger, he refused to leave her alone.
You know, Annie, Ive loved only you all my life. Thats why I never married, Peter confessed, his eyes shining with a gentle earnestness.
Oh, Peter, she sighed, David and I had a good life. I always respected him. He loved me, and I never really knew how you felt you never said, in those days. Theres no sense talking about the past; its all water under the bridge now.
Annie Lets spend the rest of what life we have together, happily. However many years are left lets make them good!
Annabelle rested her head on Peters shoulder, her hand in his.
Lets, she agreed softly, bursting into a bubbling, youthful laugh.
A week later, her daughter Sophie finally called back.
Mum, what was all that about the other day? Ive just been rushed off my feet and forgot
Oh, that. Nothing, really. Since youve rung, though, I should tell you so its not a surprise Im getting married!
There was only the sound of her daughter inhaling sharply, lips smacking as she grasped for words.
Mum, are you quite all right? Youre practically due a long-service badge at the cemetery, and youre getting married? And whos the lucky soul, might I ask?
Annabelle shrank, tears springing to her eyes, but she steadied her voice.
Thats my business, Sophie, she said, and hung up.
She turned to Peter.
Well, thats that. Theyll all be round tonight. Best brace yourself!
Well manage! Peter chuckled. Were not beaten yet.
Evening came sure enough, all three appeared on the doorstep: Oliver, Maisie, and Sophie.
Well, Mum, introduce us to your Don Juan! Olivers tone was all mocking cheer.
Whats to introduce? You know me, Peter marched in from the next room. Ive loved Annabelle since we were young. When I saw her so ill last week, I realised I couldnt lose her. I proposed, and she kindly accepted.
Listen here, you daft old clown, have you completely lost your marbles? Love at your age? Maisie shrilled.
And whats your age? Peter shot back pleasantly. Barely seventy between us! Life ahead of us still. And your mothers a beauty, always has been.
I suppose you plan to snag her house, eh? Sophie put in sharply, with the air of a solicitor.
For goodness sake, children! What does my house have to do with it? Youve all got your own homes!
Still, Mum, our shares in that house! Sophie added tartly.
Settle down. I dont want anything, Peter said mildly, Ill always find somewhere to live. But dont you dare speak to your mother like this!
And who do you think you are, ageing Casanova? Oliver squared up to Peter, like a bantam cockerel.
Peter didnt move an inch, just met Olivers stare head-on.
Im your mothers husband, whether you like it or not!
And were her children! Maisie wailed.
That settles it tomorrow were putting you in a care home, or at the very least, getting your head checked! Sophie piped up.
Not a chance! Get your coat, Annabelle, were off!
Hand in hand, the two slipped quietly away, not glancing back. They simply didnt care what anyone else thought happy and free at last! Only a solitary streetlamp cast a golden trail through the mist for them to follow.
And the children watched after them, bewildered, unable to fathom what sort of love could possibly happen at seventy?