Its hard to shake off regret, especially now that I realise how rash I was to end my marriage. Clever men know how to keep their lovers as a celebration; I made mine into a wife.
Today, that spark I carried died the moment I parked the car and entered our block of flats. At home, predictability greeted me: slippers waiting right at the door, the tempting scent of dinner, tidiness, fresh flowers in a vase.
Nothing moved me; my wife was at homeas always. What else is an older woman to do with her days? Bake pies, knit socks, keep things spotless. The socks are an exaggeration, of course. But the point is the same.
Elizabeth greeted me in her usual way, with a pleasant smile.
Tired, love? Ive baked piescabbage and apple, the kind you like Then she fell silent under my cold stare. She stood there in her sensible trousers and homey jumper, her hair tied back with a scarfshe always wore it to cook.
Old habits, reallyshe was a chef her whole working life. Eyes tastefully done, a touch of gloss on her lips. Its just routine for her now, but it struck me as vulgar this evening. Why paint old age, I thought?
I probably shouldnt have been so blunt, but the words came out sharper than I intended: Makeup at your age is absurd. It doesnt suit you.
Elizabeths lips trembled, she didnt reply, but she didnt bother laying the dinner table either. Probably for the best. The pies sat under a tea towel; tea brewedI helped myself.
After my shower and dinner, I found my irritation melting, replaced by thoughts about the day. I donned my favourite bathrobe and made a show of reading in my armchair, my private seat. I thought back to a comment from the new colleague at work: Youre quite an attractive man, and interesting too.
Im fifty-six, head of the legal department at a sizeable firm. My staff includes a recent graduate and three women in their forties. Wed just hired someone to cover a maternity leavea new face, Alicewhom I only met today, having been away on business.
She entered my office and the room seemed to fill with her youtha waft of delicate perfume, an aura of freshness. A gentle face framed by light curls, blue eyes meeting mine with a steady gaze, lips full and expressive, a beauty mark on her cheek. She claimed thirty, but Id have guessed twenty-five.
Divorced, mother to an eight-year-old boy. Oddly enough, I thought, Good.
I flirted awkwardly, joked that she now had an old boss. She fluttered her long lashes and replied with words that stirred something I now recalled with a strange longing.
Elizabeth soon returned, no sign of her earlier hurt, bearing my nightly cup of chamomile tea. It irked me: always out of sync.
Yet I drank, enjoying it more than Id admit. My thoughts driftedwhat might Alice be doing this evening? Suddenly, that old, jealous feeling stung my heart.
****
After work, Alice went to Sainsburys. Cheese, a baguette, a bottle of kefir for herself. At home, she was neutral, not smiling. She hugged her son William mechanically rather than tenderly as he came running.
Her dad was in the spare room, tinkering with his tools, mum was making dinner. Alice dropped her shopping and declared she had a headache and wanted to be left alone. Truthfully, she felt downcast.
Since her divorce from Williams dad a few years earlier, shed found it impossible to become someones main woman. The decent men always seemed thoroughly married and interested only in simple affairs.
The latesther former colleaguehad, for two years, seemed hopelessly in love. Rented her a flat (really just for his comfort), but when things got serious, he told her not only did they need to split up, but she should leave her job as well. Conveniently, he sorted her new role himself.
So Alice was living back with her parents and her son. Mum was sympathetic; dad felt at least the boy should grow up with his mother, not just his grandparents.
Elizabeth had long sensed her husband was grappling with a midlife crisis. They had everything, but not what really matters. She dreaded imagining what he now considered important. She tried to smooth things: cooked his favourites, kept herself neat, didnt meddle with deep conversationsthough she missed them.
She tried to keep him busy with their grandson and the allotment, but Max was sullen and bored.
Maybe because they both craved change, Max and Alices affair began at lightning speed. Barely two weeks after she joined, he invited her for lunch and gave her a lift home.
He touched her hand, she turned to him with blushing cheeks.
I dont want to say goodbye. Shall we go to my cottage? he whispered, his voice rough. Alice nodded, and the car sped off.
On Fridays, I finish work early; still, it was nine before Elizabeth saw a text: Well talk tomorrow.
Max didnt realise how perfectly he’d summarised the comingand really, unnecessaryconversation.
Elizabeth knew you couldnt keep the flames alive after thirty-two years of marriage. But losing him would be like losing part of herself. However cranky, grumbling, and foolish he became, she was comforted just having him settle into his favourite chair, eat, and breathe near her.
Elizabeth couldnt sleep that night, searching for words that might prevent her world (meaning her own) from collapsing.
In her despair, she found their wedding albumso young and beautiful, both of them. So many had wanted her for themselves, she thought. He should remember that. Maybe seeing their fragments of happiness would convince him theres more to life than throwing things away.
But he returned only on Sunday, and Elizabeth realisedeverything was over. Before her was a different Max: utterly changed. He brimmed with adrenaline, no awkwardness or embarrassment.
Unlike her, riddled with fear of change, he welcomed it, planned it, spoke as if objection was pointless.
From now on, Elizabeth could count herself single. He would file the divorce tomorrow. Himself. Their sons family would move in with herlegally right, as the flat had come to Max by inheritance and was under his name.
Their sons family would move into Elizabeths larger flat, not worse off, and shed finally have company. The car, naturally, was Maxs. As for the cottagehe claimed the right to retreat there.
Elizabeth realised she must look pitiful and unattractive, but couldnt stop crying. She tried to plead: remember, reconsider, think of healthat least hers. That last point infuriated him. He stepped close, almost shouting, Dont drag me into your old age!
Would it be fair to say Alice loved Max and said yes that first night at the cottage simply out of passion? Nostatus mattered just as much as spiting her old flame whod left her.
She was tired of living in her fathers place, under his strict rules. She wanted stability. Max had that. Not a bad option, she admitted.
Despite being nearly sixty, he wasnt an old mantrim, youthful, respected at work, kind, and generous in bed. It was appealing: no more rented flats, money worries, or dealing with theft. Mostly positivesyet she was uncertain about his age.
Within a year, Alices disappointment grew. She still felt young, wanting excitement and adventureregularly, not just once a year or on special occasions. She loved concerts, wanted to visit a water park, spent sunny days at the beach in a daring bikini, nights chatting with her friends.
Her youth and lively spirit let her balance all this with family life. Even her son, now living with her, didnt slow her down.
But Max was flagging. Though a quick-witted lawyer, solving problems all day, at home he was simply tireda man craving quiet, clinging to his routines. Social outings, theatre, even the beachaccepted, but only in small doses.
He didnt object to intimacy, but then wanted to sleepsometimes by nine.
And Alice had to accommodate his weak stomachno fried foods, sausages, ready meals. His former wife had spoiled him.
Occasionally, he even longed for her steamed dishes. Alice cooked for her son, baffled how pork cutlets could give anyone a pain.
She never kept track of his tablets, believing a grown man can handle his own medication. Gradually, more of her life slipped away from him.
She took William out on adventures, joined her friends, made her own world. Oddly, Maxs age urged her to live faster.
They no longer worked togetherthe powers-that-be said it wasnt ethical, so Alice moved to a solicitors office. She was relieved not to be constantly amongst the staff with her husband hovering around, reminding her of her father.
Respect was what Alice felt for Max. Was it little or enough for happiness?
Maxs sixtieth approached; Alice wanted a grand celebration. Instead, Max booked a familiar table at a snug little restaurant hed long frequented. He appeared downhearted, which was fitting for his age, and Alice didnt fret.
His colleagues celebrated him. The couples hed once socialised with Elizabeth werent invitedit would be awkward. His estranged son was far away, unsurprised by his remarriage to a much younger woman.
Maxs relationship with his son was effectively overthe boy disowned him. Still, shouldn’t a man have a right to his own life? Marrying Alice, he felt having a say would turn out differently.
That first year with Alice was like a honeymoon: she brought him out, smiled, spent (not excessively), went to fitness classes, cheered him at concerts and wild films. At this high point, he made Alice and her son co-owners of his flat. Later, he signed over his half of the cottage he once shared with Elizabeth.
Behind his back, Alice convinced Elizabeth to yield her share too, threatening to sell her stake to strangers. Once Alice bought out the propertywith Maxs money, obviouslyshe put the cottage in her name. She argued its location by a river and forest was perfect for the child. So now, her parents and William spent every summer at the cottage, which suited Maxhe didnt care for his lively stepson. He married for love, not to raise someone elses noisy child.
His old family was hurt. With their share of the house sold, they split up for good. His son and family found a two-bedroom flat; Elizabeth, his ex, moved into a studio flat. Max showed no interest in their lives now.
And soit was his sixtieth birthday. So many people wished him health, happiness, love. But for me, the spark was gone. Year after year, I felt the same old dissatisfaction grow.
I did love my young wifebut could not keep up with her pace. I couldnt tame her. She smiled, lived her own way, never flaunted herself, but it bothered me all the same.
If only she had my ex-wifes soul! Someone to bring me chamomile tea, tuck me in when I drifted off. Id have loved gentle strolls in the park and long evening chats, but Alice couldnt bear my drawn-out stories. Even in bed, she was getting bored. I grew anxious, which didnt help.
Inside, regret gnawed at meId rushed my divorce. Sensible men turn lovers into celebrations; I married mine!
Alice, with her playful energy, will stay lively for another decade at least. Even then, shell remain much younger than me. Thats a gap which will only widen. If Im lucky, maybe Ill go quickly; if notwhat then?
These un-festive thoughts pounded in my temples, my heart raced in time. I searched for Aliceshe was lost among dancers, beautiful, eyes sparkling. Sweet, waking up next to her each morning, seeing her smile.
Seizing a quiet moment, I slipped out of the restaurant. I meant to breathe, clear my gloom. But guests and colleagues followed after me. When the tension inside grew unbearable, I flung myself into a waiting taxi, asking the driver to move quickly. Later, Id decide where to go.
I wanted simply to be somewhere I matteredto walk in, knowing Id be expected, where my time was valued and I neednt worry about appearing weaknever mind old.
I called my estranged son, almost pleading for Elizabeths new address. He responded with the sole rightful anger, but I begged, stressing it was a matter of life and deth.
I coughed up that today was, after all, my birthday. He relented a little, mentioning Mum might not be aloneno boyfriend, just an old friend.
Mum said they went to school together. Funny name. Think its Breadman or something, he muttered.
Breadman? I asked, jealous. Yes, hed loved her once. She had been bold, brilliant.
Shed planned to marry Breadman, but I, Max, had won her instead. That was ages ago, but it feels yesterday compared to my new life with Alice.
My son asked, But why do you need this, Dad?
His old way of addressing me struck a chordI was painfully missing all of them. I replied honestly, Im not sure, son.
He recited the new address. The driver stopped at my request. I stepped out, unwilling to confront Elizabeth with witnesses. It was almost nine, but she always was the night owl to my lark.
I rang the bell.
But it was not Elizabeth who answereda mans voice, muffled. He told me she was busy.
Whats wrong? Is she alright? I asked anxiously. The voice demanded I identify myself.
Im her husbandwell, ex, anyway! And you must be Mr. Breadman, I declared.
The man corrected me, saying he was her ex and I had no right to disturb her. He didnt think I needed to know she was taking a bath.
Old flames never die, eh? I said sarcastically.
No, he replied, they turn to silver.
The door was never opened.
