**A Grey Streak in the Beard. A Life Story**
“Teddy, Teddy? How was work? Everything alright?”
“Fine. Same as usual.”
“Teddy, love, come have dinner. Ive made those dumplings you like. Come on, eh?”
“Not hungry.”
“Teddy, please, I waited for you. I wont sit without you.”
“Listen, Tessa, why dyou have to be like this? Clinging like a wet leaf, I swear! Youre suffocating me, you are. No room to breathe anymore. What, cant you eat without me? Lost the use of your hands?”
“Teddy, dont shout, eh?”
“Teddy, Teddyugh! Makes me sick, hearing it! Arent you tired of yourself, Tessa? Whats all this fawning about? Dont you know anything? You smother me, understand? I cant breathe with you. Soon therell be nothing left in me but dust. Youre stifling, your careits too much. Im done, Tessa. No strength left. Living with you isnt living, its surviving. That Teddy, Teddy!how many times must I say I can hear you fine without the bloody echo!”
“Teddy, love. Have a drink, eh? Might loosen you up. Youre tired, need rest.” Tessa looked at him guiltily, fingers twisting the hem of her apron.
“Christ, are you daft or just playing dumb? Still wearing that bloody apron! Theres another, understand? Another! Love her, breathe only for her! Im leaving you, Tessa.”
“Leaving? Sure about that? Dont mistake me for softtheres no coming back. You know me. Walk out now, but know this door wont open again. Think shell want you forever? Think its easy for me to sit at the table knowing theres another woman?”
“Wont be back. Dont hold your breath.”
Ted kicked off his boots in the hall, leaving dirty tracks on the clean rag rugs. He yanked a rucksack from the wardrobe, stuffed in his meager things. Without glancing at Tessa, he strode out. Walking from one end of the village to the other, his mind buzzed.
Was this right? Twenty years together, a good sonmilitary, though too far to visit often. Howd he take the news? Not a boy anymore; hed understand. Everything in Ted had burned out. No respect left, not even for Tessas endless “Teddy, Teddy!” Shed known for ages, just watched him with those quiet, wounded eyes. Another woman wouldve scratched his face raw. But her? Just silence. Respect? How, when she had none for herself?
And this antique obsession of hers. Lost her mind. A proper woman once, then she got it into her head she needed a bloody rustic kitchenwood panels, rag rugs, a samovar. Like some daft peasant, trawling the village for old cloths, tearing up the floor to nail in planks.
No, Stella was different. Even her name rang sharp, modern. A woman with steel in her spine. Young, toobarely older than his son. Couldve been his daughter-in-law, but no, now shed be his wife. With her, Ted felt alive again. No pies, no stews, no bloody samovars. She didnt chatter like Tessa. Tessa with her antiquesnot just the house, her head was stuck in the past. Stellas world was bright: glossy cabinets, sleek clothes. And her figureTessa had let herself go, bloated like a barge, still simpering, still feeding him, still trying to please.
Good riddance. Shouldve left years ago.
***
Tessa sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the muddy prints on her rugs, crying silently. He hadnt understood. Not the rugs, not the samovar. Shed hoped, fool that she was. And those stainslike footprints straight through her heart.
She tore up the rugs, furious. Who needed them? He remembered nothing, cherished nothing. That tart, barely older than their son, waltzed back to the village, all polished and pretty, wriggled into the council office. “Expert,” they called her. Two years, and shes head accountant. The chairman fancied hersaw them canoodling often enough. But hed kept his family. Ted? Led like a lamb.
***
Tessa remembered their first year married. Young, burning. No money? Who cared? They had a cellar of potatoes. Small, but who minded? Theyd light a fire in the yard, sit close, toss spuds into the embers. Eat them blackened, grinning.
Theyd moved into an old widows cottage. Tessa scrubbed it raw, washed the rugs in the river, hung them crisp and clean. Theyd drink tea from the samovar, dreaming of a bigger house somedaywooden kitchen, carved cupboards. Grow old there, remembering.
When Ted strayed, shed thoughtif she rebuilt that kitchen, hed come back. But no.
The village whispered. How could she know and stay silent? And Tedshameless. That girl could be his daughter!
***
Tessa never let on how the empty house ached. Avoided her dream kitchen entirely. At work, she smiled. Even greeted Ted like a stranger.
Hed dodged her at firstwho knew what shed do? Then relaxed. These things happen.
When the divorce papers came, he faltered. Shoulders slumped. Watched her walk away, baffled. Thought shed beg. But she bloomed. Had she found someone? Impossiblevillage tongues wouldve wagged.
***
“Tess, we need to talk.”
“About?”
“The house. Its ours, but youre living there alone. Were crammed in a bedsit.”
“Want to move in? Bit awkward, all three of us.”
“Dont twist it. Sell the house.”
“Sell? The one we built? Just like that?”
“Got buyers lined up.”
“No. Not to strangers.”
“Then buy me out.”
“You serious? Wherell you go?”
“None of your business. Strangers can buy my home, but you fret over where I sleep?”
***
Tessa watched the village shrink through the bus window. Off to the town first, then closer to her son. Hed scouted flats already. A vet with her experience? Shed find work easy.
Sad, leaving half a life behind. But better than pitying stares. Ted and Stella were marrying in autumn. Let them. His choice.
The house? No regret. It brought no joy. Just wood and nails. Let Ted keep it.
***
Ted stared at the garish cabinets, fake flowers, plush throws, the glass table with its silly swirls. A kitchen? How could anyone eat here?
He missed the wooden warmth, the samovar, Tessa bustling by the stove. What a fool hed been. Traded a loving wife for glitter and emptiness. Like these cupboardsbright outside, hollow within.
On the porch, he clutched his head. Fool. Fool. Fool. Threw away the best years for what?
Hed been thrilled scraping together the cash, watching Tessa sign the papers. Ecstatic as he and Stella tore out the kitchen, dumped the wreckage where her garden had been. Stella sneered, tossing rugs onto the pile. Tessa just walked past, indifferent.
Shed moved on. Taken everything real with herpeace, comfort, hope. Nothing left but hollowness. Like muddy prints on clean rugs.
