Lucy, youve lost your mind at your age! my sister shouted when I told her I was getting married.
I had only a week left before Tom and I were to tie the knot, and I needed to let my sister know. Of course she wouldnt travel to the ceremony we live at opposite ends of England and we werent planning a flamboyant reception with shouting Bitter! at our sixties. We would simply sign the register and have a quiet drink for two.
I could have skipped the paperwork altogether, but Tom insists. He is the kind of gentleman who holds the door open, offers his arm when I step out of the car, and helps pull my coat over my shoulders. He refuses to live without the official stamp on his passport. What am I, a schoolboy? he says. I need a serious relationship. And to me he does feel like a boy, even with a silvergrey head.
At work he is always addressed by first and last name only, a model of formality. There he is stern and respectable, yet when he sees me he seems to shed forty years. He grabs me in a hug and spins me round in the middle of the street. Im flattered but mortified. People will stare, theyll laugh, I protest. Which people? he replies. I see no one but you. When were together it truly feels as if the whole world has vanished, leaving only the two of us.
Still, I have a sister who must hear the news. I was terrified that Tess, like many others, would condemn me, but I needed her support most of all. Summoning my courage, I called her.
Lucyaa, she gasped, just a year ago Victor was buried and youve already found a replacement!
I knew my announcement would shock her, yet I hadnt expected her anger to centre on my late husband.
Tess, I remember, I cut in. But who decides how long we must wait? Can you give me a number? When will it be acceptable for me to be happy again without facing scorn?
She thought a moment and said, For propriety, at least five years should pass.
So I should tell Tom, Sorry, come back in five years while I stay in mourning?
Tess fell silent.
What will that achieve? I pressed. Do you really think five years will stop the gossip? There will always be those who love to chatter, and frankly I care little for them. Your opinion matters, though, and if you push me, Ill call off the wedding.
She sighed, Im not trying to be cruel, but marry today if you must! Just know I dont understand you and I cant support this. Youve always been clever, but I never thought youd outlive me this long. Have a conscience, wait at least another year.
I would not surrender.
You say wait a year. What if Tom and I have only a year left to live?
She snorted. Do as you wish. Everyone wants happiness, but youve lived a happy life for so many years
I laughed. Tess, seriously? You thought Id been happy all those years? I thought so myself. Only now do I see what I really have been: a workhorse. I never imagined a life could be joyful.
Victor had been a good man. We raised two daughters together and now I have five grandchildren. He always said family was the most important thing, and I never argued. First we laboured for the sake of our family, then for our childrens families, then for our grandchildren. Looking back, my life was a nonstop race for prosperity, with no lunch break. When my eldest daughter married, we already owned a cottage, but Victor wanted to expand, to raise livestock for the grandchildren.
We rented a hectare of land, strapped a yoke to our backs and tended the herd year after year. He never slept past midnight; by five in the morning we were already up. We spent most of the year on the cottage, rarely visiting the town except for necessities. When I managed to call friends, they boasted of seaside trips and theatre nights, while I never even got to the cinema, let alone the shop.
There were days when we went without bread because the animals tied us down. The only thing that kept us going was the sight of fed children and grandchildren. Our eldest daughter could afford a new car, the younger one had renovated her flat our hard work was not in vain. One day an old colleague stopped by and said,
Lucy, I barely recognised you. I thought you were out in the fresh air, recharging. You look barely alive! Why are you torturing yourself?
How else? I replied. The kids need help.
Your children are grown, theyll manage themselves. You should live for yourself.
I didnt understand what living for yourself meant then, but now I know it: sleep as much as you like, stroll through shops, watch a film, swim, ski. Nobody suffers. The children are fine, the grandchildren never starve. Most importantly, I learned to see ordinary things with new eyes.
If once I would have scoffed at a pile of fallen leaves at the cottage, now they lift my spirits. I toss them with my foot in the park and laugh like a child. Ive learned to love rain, not for the hassle of herding goats indoors, but for watching it through the window of a cosy café. I now marvel at the shapes of clouds, the colours of sunsets, the crunch of fresh snow underfoot, and I finally see how beautiful our town really is all thanks to Tom.
When Victor died suddenly of a heart attack, I was adrift. The ambulance never arrived in time. My children sold the farm and cottage, hauling me back to London. In the first days I wandered like a madwoman, not knowing what to do. I rose at five, roamed the flat, wondering where to go.
Then Tom appeared. He first took me for a walk, having helped move things from the cottage. He admitted hed initially seen a lost, despondent woman and felt sorry for her. Youre still alive and full of energy; you just need a push out of the gloom, he said. He led me to a park, bought icecream, and suggested we feed the ducks at the pond. I had tended ducks on the farm but never had a moment to simply watch them. They were absurdly funny, flopping and snapping up bread.
Its unbelievable you can just stand and watch ducks, I confessed. Ive never had time to enjoy them, only to feed, clean, and tend.
Tom smiled, took my hand and whispered, Wait, Ill show you so many wonders. Youll feel reborn.
He was right. Like a child, I discovered the world anew each day, and the past seemed a distant dream. I cant recall exactly when I realised I was utterly dependent on Toms voice, his laughter, his gentle touch, but one morning I woke knowing I couldnt imagine life without him.
My daughters fumed at our relationship, accusing me of betraying Victors memory. It hurt, and I felt guilty. Toms children, however, welcomed me, saying they were finally at peace with their father. All that remained was to tell my sister, a conversation I kept postponing.
Whats the date? Tess asked after our long talk.
This Friday.
Well, what can I say? Happiness and love in old age, she replied dryly.
On Friday Tom and I bought groceries for two, dressed in our best, hailed a cab and headed to the registry office. As we stepped out of the car, I froze. At the entrance stood my daughters with their spouses and grandchildren, Toms children with their families, and, most strikingly, my sister. Tess clutched a bouquet of white roses, smiling through tears.
Lucy! Did you fly in just to see me? I gasped.
I have to know who Im handing you over to, she laughed.
It turned out that in the days before the wedding everyone had arranged a table at a café and been waiting for the ceremony.
A few weeks later Tom and I celebrated our first anniversary. He is now everyones beloved man, and I still cant believe how wildly happy I am, as if I were dreaming.
Life has taught me that love knows no timetable, that it is never too late to start anew, and that true happiness comes from embracing each moment, no matter the age.
