My Former Wife…
It all unfolded two years ago. My posting in London was drawing to a close, and I was soon to return home to Wakefield. Having bought my train ticket, I decided to wander through the city for a while, as I still had three hours before departure. As I meandered past the Thames, a woman approached mesomeone I recognised instantly.
It was my first wife, Emily, though wed parted ways twelve years before. Time seemed to have passed her byshe looked just as she did, only her face had grown terribly pale. I could tell at once that this unexpected meeting had unsettled her as much as me.
Id loved her fiercely, almost painfully, which had become our undoing. My jealousy was relentlessI begrudged her time with anyone, even her own mother. If she was delayed the slightest bit, my heart would race and panic would crescendo inside me, certain something dreadful had happened.
At last, Emily couldnt bear my constant interrogations: Where were you? Who with? Why so late? One evening, I arrived home after work with a tiny puppy tucked into my coat, hoping to delight her. Yet the flat was empty. On the kitchen table, only a note.
Shed written that she had to leave, although she loved me still. My suspicion had worn her down. She begged for my forgiveness and pleaded with me not to seek her out
And now, twelve years since our parting, here she was before me as I wandered London on official business. We spoke for a long while, the city blurring around us, until I remembered my imminent train. Nervous, at last I said, Im sorry, but I really must goIm running late for my train.
But Emily stopped me: James, could you do me a favour? I know youre in a hurry, but for the sake of what was once good between us, dont deny me this. Theres an office nearby I need to visitits terribly important, and I cant possibly go in alone.
I agreed, but insisted, Just quickly, please! We entered a vast, old building; corridors stretched endlessly, and we wandered from wing to wing, up and down staircases. It seemed no more than fifteen minutes had passed. People passed us in the hallschildren, elderly folk, all mingling together. I didnt question then what business children and pensioners had in such an administrative placeall my thoughts were tangled around Emily.
At one point, she slipped into a doorway, pausing to look at me as she closed the doora strange, sad farewell. Its so peculiar, she murmured, I could neither live with you, nor without you.
I waited by the door, desperate to ask what she meant. But she didnt return. Suddenly, awareness crashed back inI was late, standing there as my train was due to leave! Glancing around, dread rose in me. The once grand building was derelict, windows gaping like wounds in the crumbling walls.
There were no stairsjust splintered planks, over which I clambered carefully down to the street. I missed my train by a full hour, forcing me to buy a new ticket with the last of my pounds.
As I purchased another fare, the clerk informed me: the train I had missed had derailed, plunging into the river outside Oxford. None of the passengers had survived.
Two weeks later, I found myself at the door of my former mother-in-law, Mrs. Mildred Howard, whose address Id tracked down through a registry. Kindly but firmly, she told me that Emily had died eleven years ago, only a year after our divorce. I didnt believe her, assuming she simply wished to keep her daughter safe from my obsessive affections.
But when I pleaded to be shown Emilys grave, Mrs. Howard agreed. So it was that, in the cold dusk of an autumn afternoon, I stood at a mossy gravestone. Etched into the stone was the same gentle smile that I had loved my entire lifethe one who, in some impossible way, had just saved me.
