Love
One evening, I was tidying up in the village clinic, when I heard the door creakheavy, as if someone was leaning on it. I turned around and, oh my goodness! There was someone who looked just like Michael, our well-known handyman from Riverside, respected by all. But Michaels usually got a proper Santa-like beard, always smelling of sawdust and pipe tobacco. This chap’s cheeks were clean-shaven, pale, with a plaster stuck to his neck, and the scent of Old Spice cologne so thick I thought I might sneeze. Did Michael really shave off his beard thatd been with him since forever?
Michael, I called out, putting down the rug, is that you? Or did you send your younger brother to see us?
He fidgeted, twisting his cap in his hands, eyes cast down. Its me, Margaret, really I just could you give me something? For my heart. And for my nerves.
I immediately switched to professional mode, sat him on the couch, grabbed the blood pressure monitor. Whats happened? Where does it hurt?
Everywhere, he grumbled. Feels like someones hammering away inside me. Cant sleep. And my hands shake.
His blood pressure was sky-high160 over 100. Too high for someone like Michael, who never saw a doctor and could bend nails with his bare hands.
I was strict: Come on, tell me straight. Overworked, or are you and Emily in a row?
He twitched at his wifes name, face bright red, jaw muscles clenched. Emilys always been quiet and gentle, forever calling him Mike and hardly ever raising her voice. Mike, though, has the personality of a stubborn old oak, impossible to budge.
Just give me something and dont ask, he muttered. Your jobs to fix me, not quiz me.
I gave him some valerian drops and a tablet under his tongue. He sat for a bit, got his breath back, mumbled thanks, and left. I watched him stride off fast, looking almost sprightly.
I thought, Crikey, has he fallen in love again? At his age?
You know how villages arelike a big hive. You sneeze at one end, and theyre planning your funeral at the other.
The next evening, Lucy the postwoman burst in: Margaret! Have you heard? Michaels gone off his rocker! Not only did he shave his beard, but he went into town by bus, came back with bags stuffed under his coat. Ann, the shop assistant, rang to ask why Michaels at the fabric department buying bits and bobs, and even popped into the jewellers?
My heart skipped a beat. Definitely taken a fancy to someone! But who? Everyone knows everyone in this place.
And Emily? I asked quietly.
Lucy pulled a sad face. Well, shes gloomy as storm clouds. Looks like shes been crying. Neighbours say he sent her to sleep in the summer kitchen, said: Dont bother me, Ive got a project. What project does a carpenter need at night?
A couple of days later, Emily came to see me. Tiny, frail, wrapped up in an old woollen scarf.
Margaret she whispered, can I come in?
I sat her near the stove, poured her hot tea with raspberries. She warmed her hands round the cup and stared into the fire.
Hes leaving me, Margaret. Forty years together, raised our children, watched the grandchildren grow Now its over.
Come off it, Emily! I tried to reassure her, but inside I felt sick with worry.
He’s become a stranger. Shaves every morning, bathes in that cologne she grimaced. Yesterday, I found a receipt from Golden Threadthat fancy shopin his jacket pocket. He lies to me, wont meet my eyes. The tears fell, silent and bitter, deepening the lines on her face. Hes opened the old chest in the attic, the one with my wedding things. I walked in and he snapped: Why are you snooping? then slammed the door in my face. Yes, Im old now, not pretty. And neither is he
I rubbed her thin shoulder, thinking, Men! What are you doing?
Hold on, Emily, I said. Maybe its not as it seems.
How? she gave a bleak smile. He sings now. Shuts himself in the shed, hammers away, and sings. Scarborough Fair! Hes never sung before. Must be in love, Margaret. Im certain.
She left, and I couldnt sleep a wink that night. Michaelsolid as oakbreaking up his family after all these years? No, I just couldnt believe it. Gruffyes. Silentsure. But not cruel.
A week passed. Tension in the village rose, like yeast in a proving bowl. The rumour mill churned out all sortsfrom the young librarian up town to some city lady supposedly buying a cottage nearby.
Michael drifted about, lost in thought, eyes shining, thinner but almost light-footed, completely oblivious to everyone else.
Saturday evening, the neighbours lad dashed in: Aunt Maggie! Grandad Mike’s fallen in the yard! Grandma Emily wants you!
Bag packed, I rushed out, feet slipping in my wellies, praying, Please, not a heart attack! Please, please
I burst into the yardMichael lay grey-faced on the grass, lips blue. Emily knelt beside him, holding his head close, sobbing. The place was littered with planks, ornate rails, paint tins. In the middle stood an unfinished, delicate, lace-like gazebo.
I ran to Michael, checked his pulse. It was racing. Blood pressure? Still high.
What happened? I asked.
Lifted a heavy plank he whispered. Everything went dark back hurts and he nodded at his chest.
Clearly overdone it. I gave him a couple of jabs, painkiller and something for the blood pressure, and got his breathing back to normal.
Right, I barked, Emily, grab the neighbour, lets get him inside. No more lying on damp ground!
We got him settled on the bed.
Mike Emily asked softly, Why the gazebo? Its autumnwinter soon.
Michael looked at her for a long moment, took a deep breath, rummaged under his pillow and pulled out a velvet box, and an old battered notebook with yellowed pages.
I pictured it all differently, Emily, he said, voice wobbling like a boys. Do you know what tomorrow is?
Emily paused, frowning. Twentieth of October Sunday
And forty years ago? What happened?
She gasped, covered her mouth with her hand. Good grief, Mike, I completely forgot, what with all the worry and mad thoughts. Our Ruby Wedding Anniversary!
Michael handed her the notebook.
Its your old diary, Emily. Found it in the attic chest.
You read it? she blushed.
I did, he nodded. Forgive me, old fool. Read it and my heart just broke.
The room went so quiet I barely breathed. Only the ticking of the wall clock.
You wanted a house, a garden, and a white gazebo by the stream for tea and vinyl records. You dreamed of a blue lace dress I worked all my life: building sites, timber yards Built the house, but the gazebo was always later. No money, no time, no energy. You never complained, just lived with my grizzly ways.
He turned to her. Lifes nearly gone by, and I never gave you a fairy tale or that blue dress. So I decided to try and manage, in time for our anniversary. Popped into town, bought fabric and a ring. Olivia the seamstress made a dress from your old measurements. The gazebo well, I overestimated myself, silly sod. Wanted it to be a surprise. Ended up making a fool of myself and draining you.
Emily slowly approached, knelt beside him, pressed her face to his rough carpenters hand.
You daft thing, Mike, she whispered through tears, but she sounded so happy you could scoop it with a spoon. How silly you are I thought youd found someone else, a younger woman. Thought youd stopped loving me. But you the gazebo
What, Emily? he perked up, What other woman? Go on, check the wardrobe, theres the dress, in the bag. Try it on. See if it fits?
Itll fit, she nodded, still crying. Even if it doesnt, Ill wear it anyway.
I sniffed, feeling my own eyes getting teary. I quietly picked up my blood pressure monitor.
Alright, I said, pretending to be grumpy, Patient, youre on bed rest. No more planks, no more hammers. Ill check tomorrow.
Michael looked at me with gratitude.
Margaretkeep quiet about this, will you? Peoplell laugh. Say the old mans gone soft in the head.
They know nothing, I waved him off. Get some rest. Chin up!
Outside, the clouds parted and a huge yellow moon peered through. The air was crisp, smelling of wet leaves, smoke, and somehow applesthough they were gone long ago.
In the village, nothing stays secret. Word got out that Michael had tried surprising his wife and came a cropper.
By morning, villagers began flooding into Michael and Emilys homemen brought tools, the blacksmith delivered fancy hinges, the joiner brought paint. The work kicked off in earnest!
By evening, the gazebo stood readywhite, beautiful, like a bride. Table set with an embroidered cloth, samovar bubbling away, cups and saucers out. Such a sight! Neighbours gathered in and around the gazebo.
Then Emily walked out in the blue dress, a ring sparkling on her finger, hair styled, lips painted, eyes shining bright, next to a pale Michael in his best jacket with his medals, tie straight.
Michael brought out an old gramophone hed swapped for in the city. He played a record. It crackled, then out came Vera Lynn: Well Meet Again
Michael invited Emily to dance. They drifted slowly, legs not as young anymore, but the way he looked at her! As if forty years had been forty minutes since their first meeting.
Everyone watchedwomen cried, dabbing eyes with scarves. Men smoked in silence, each probably thinking about his own wife, the last time he brought flowers or simply said thank you.
I thought to myself, how much energy we waste on grudges, suspicions, empty talk, while lifes much shorter than we think. All that really matters is the warmth of a beloved hand, the look in their eyes, the special light shining just for you.
