**Grey Hair, A Fools Heart**
*A Life Story*
Alright. Same as always.
Fred, Freddie, come on, lets have supper! I made those dumplings you love. Come on, eh?
Not hungry.
Fred, Freddie, hows that then? I waited for you, didnt sit down without you.
Listen, Tina, must you be like this? Clinging like a bloody limpet, I swear! Youre suffocating me, dyou hear? No room to breathe. Dyou think youre a child, cant eat without me?
Freddie, dont shout, eh?
Freddie! Ugh, makes me sick just hearing it! Arent you tired of it, Tina? Why dyou grovel like this? Dont you know anything? You smother me with your fussing, understand? Im sick of it. I dont live with you, I endure you. This Freddie, Freddiehow many times must I say I can hear you fine without the repetition?
Freddie, just have a drink, love. Youre worn out. You need a rest.
Tina guiltily twisted the hem of her apron in her hands, eyes downcast.
Christ, are you daft or just pretending? Still wearing that bloody apron! Theres another woman, understand? I love her, shes the air I breathe! Im leaving, Tina.
Leaving? Thought it through, have you? Dont mistake me for softtheres no coming back. You know me. Walk out that door, and its shut for good. Dyou really think shell want you? Think its easy for me, sitting at that table knowing theres someone else? Think on it, Fred. Is your love so strong youd wreck twenty years in a blink?
I wont be back. Dont wait.
Fred didnt bother taking off his boots, tracking mud over the handwoven rugs in the bedroom. He yanked out a backpack, tossing in his meager belongings. Without a glance at Tina, he strode through the hall and out. As he walked from one end of the village to the other, his mind churned.
Was this right? Leaving after twenty years, a son grown, a life built? Their boy was a good lad, military now, though too far to visit often. Howd he take the news? Not a childhed understand. Everything between him and Tina had burned out. No respect left, not even for her endless Freddie, Freddie. Shed known for ages, just stared at him with those wounded eyes. Another woman wouldve scratched his face raw. But Tina? Silent, patient. Maybe thats why hed stayed so long.
And then there was Stella. Even her name sounded modern, sharp. Not like Tina, lost in her old-fashioned whimswooden kitchen, bloody samovar, those rugs shed scavenged from half the village. Like a fool, shed torn up the floor just to nail down planks. Stella was different. Bright, bold. No stews or aprons with her. She spoke differently, dressed sharper, held herself like a woman who knew her worth. Tina had let herself go, soft and shapeless. Stella made him feel young again.
It was time. Past time.
***
Tina sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the muddy prints staining her rugs. He hadnt understood. Not the rugs, not the samovar, none of it. Shed hopedfoolishlythat if she rebuilt their past, hed remember. That hed come back.
With a snarl, she ripped the dirty rugs from the floor. Who needed them? He remembered nothing. No loyalty, no history. And Stella? That tart, barely older than their son! Swanned back to the village all done up, slithered into some office job. Two years, and she was head accountant. The chairman fancied her, everyone knew. But hed stayed with his wifeflings were one thing, wrecking a home another. Not Fred. Led by the nose like a calf.
She remembered their early days. Young, broke, in love. A shed of potatoes counted as wealth. Nights by the fire, eating spuds blackened in the embers, faces smudged, laughing. Theyd been given this cottageold, dusty, but hers. Shed scrubbed it to life, those rugs washed in the river, the samovar polished to a shine. Theyd dreamed of a proper house one day, wooden beams, carved cabinets. Growing old together, remembering.
When Fred strayed, shed convinced herself the kitchen would bring him back. If she recreated their beginning, hed remember.
But nothingnot the rugs, not the samovarcould fix what was broken.
The village whispered. How could she stand it? Knowing, staying silent. And Fred? Shameful. That girl could be his daughter!
***
Tina didnt let on how the empty house ached. Avoided the kitchen shed built with such hope. At work, she smiled. Even nodded to Fred as if they were strangers. At first, hed ducked away, wary. Then relaxed. Life went on.
But he delayed the divorce. As if unsure. Until the day she handed him the papers.
Hed actually looked jealous. Thought shed beg, didnt she? But here she was, blooming. Probably found someone else.
***
Tina. We need to sort the house. Cant have you living there alone like its all yours.
What, you want to move back in? Awkward, dont you think?
Dont twist it. Youre not like this. Youre kind.
Out with it, Fred.
Were selling. Stella and I agreed.
Just like that? Tear apart what we built?
Got buyers lined up.
No. Not to strangers.
Have to. Courtll decide otherwise.
No need. Buy me out.
Youre serious? Wherell you go?
None of your concern. Strangers can have it, but not where I sleep?
***
Tina watched the village shrink through the bus window. First to town, then closer to her son. Vadik had scouted flats near the base. Shed find worka vet with her experience? Theyd snap her up.
Half a life left behind. But better than pitying glances, than watching Fred play house with that girl. Autumn wedding, they said. Let them. His choice.
Did she miss the house? No. It held no joy now. Just things. Let Fred have it.
***
Fred stared at the garish cabinets, the plastic flowers, the fluffy rug. Was this a kitchen? How could anyone eat here without a headache?
He missed the wooden beams, the samovar, Tina bustling at the stove. What a fool hed been! Trading warmth for glitter.
He yanked open a cupboard. Empty. Instant noodles, microwave meals. Like his heart. Like his life.
Outside, he buried his face in his hands. Idiot.
Hed been so pleased scraping together the money, watching Tina sign the papers. So proud smashing up the old kitchen, dumping the wreckage where her garden had been. Stella had tossed the rugs like rubbish. Tina just walked past.
Shed taken more than her share. Shed taken peace, comfort, the belief that happiness could last.
Nothing would be right again.
Like mud on clean rugs.
