THE UNGRATEFUL GEORGE
That morning, Ritas husband rang her straight through to her desk to announce that after work, hed be off to the Smiths house to celebrate his annual professional holiday.
“If you fancy it, come along,” he added, just as indifferent as ever, confident shed stay home, likely to bury herself in a book or spend the evening scrolling on her laptop.
Fine, she replied with equal lack of enthusiasm, but during her lunch break, she made her way to Marks & Spencer to find a gift for George. The womens perfume and cologne counter was swarming with ladies clutching this and that.
Ritas eye was immediately drawn to a pricey bottle of cologneon its black glossy box, a gorgeous chap posed in a carelessly slung jacket, sporting a cheeky squint and a mocking half-smile. The very image of her George.
The shop assistant had turned wrapping gifts into an Olympic sport, whizzing through ribbons and glitzy foil. Suddenly, a little old lady shuffled up and remarked, Ah, girls, you buy your men all these colognes and fancy ties, but itll be someone else getting a whiff and admiring the results.
A ripple of laughter ran through the girls, but Ritas thoughts clouded. All her life, shed done everything for George, whod turned out to be everyones delight but hers. When they were younger, shed loved him madly while hed graciously allowed it. Hed enrolled part-time at unished written his coursework well into the night. When the children came, Rita took on every responsibility.
At first, shed sensed some gratitude. But as time wore on, George accepted her sacrifices as no more than his birthright. Outwardly, they probably seemed the picture of marital bliss: decent income, peace, clever, well-behaved kids. But the children grew up, moved away, and left Rita alone with her husbandand a gaping sense that something was missing.
Her mother, twenty years back, had warned her against the match. Look at himtoo good-looking for his own good and he knows it. Pretty boys belong to everyone! Everyone will ogle him and youll be left with crumbs. So, first point: unwanted wife. Second: forty-three years old. Third: now, quite surplus to requirements
At the window, Rita watched the surprisingly bright spring sun and mused, Soon itll be Mothers Day, and what then? Alone, as ever… Most of life behind me. And what next?
Cheerful chirping rose from outside. Then, a persistent pecking at the glass. Rita looked downa scruffy sparrow strolled along the sill, blinking at her with a round, beady eye.
Thats a sign if ever I saw one, thought Rita. At that exact moment, her wall clock confirmed it with a cacophonous clang.
So, still time yet! Point oneif nobody loves us, we may as well adore ourselves… With a slam of the door, Rita flew down the steps: first to the hairdresser, then to the shops.
By half past six, her mirror barely recognised her: perched in her computer chair was a mysterious stranger, swaying ever so slightly. Little black dress, sharply cropped hair with fashionable hints of copper, blonde, and brown, deep eyes lined with smoky shadow, lips full and dangerously impisha dab of pencil and gloss worked wonders.
Point two: life begins at forty, darling, Rita murmured to her reflection.
To the kitchen she glided, returning with a glass of wine. She toasted herself in the mirror: Point threedo I really need a husband who cant appreciate a marvel like me?
Needless to say, when Rita swept into the Smiths’, tottering elegantly on delicate stilettos, the room fell silent. Several men vied to help with her coat, offer her a seat, or perhaps a Granny Smith apple. Oh reallywhat was that you said? My husbands here? Fancy that, I hadnt noticed
George was utterly floored by this surprise flanking manoeuvre, left reeling by the crowds admiration and his own tactical misfire.
Next morning, in an attempt to reclaim lost ground, George barked out in his usual voice: Arent we having breakfast, then?
He miscalculated monstrously. Because lying beside him was an entirely new creaturenot the old fetch-and-carry wife, but a blissfully serene, mildly capricious woman, utterly at ease with herself.
Without so much as glancing away from her tousled multicoloured fringe, she purred, Have you already made breakfast, darling?
She stretched, and as she was drifting off once more, thought with a smile, “Thats right, darling. Otherwise, well just have to revisit point three, wont we?”
