We’ve lived under the same roof for forty years, and now, at sixty-three, you’ve suddenly decided to change everything?
Margaret sat in her favourite armchair gazing out the window, trying to chase away the events of the day. Only hours prior shed anxiously prepared supper, waiting for Victor to return from his fishing. He came back, but not with fish; rather, with news he’d long kept silent but finally found the courage to share.
I want a divorce, Margaret and I’d appreciate your understanding, Victor said abruptly, avoiding her eyes. The children are grown, they’ll understand, the grandchildren wont care, and we can end this quietly without argument.
Forty years we’ve shared this house, and now you wish to start anew at sixty-three? Margaret asked, bewildered. I have a right to know what comes next.
Youll stay in the flat; Ill move to the cottage Victor had clearly planned it all. There’s nothing left to divide, and eventually, everything shall go to the girls.
What’s her name? Margaret inquired, resigned.
Victor flushed, fidgeting with his coat, pretending not to hear. His reaction made it clear: there was someone else. In youth, Margaret never imagined such things would happen; never pictured herself alone at this age, her husband leaving for another woman.
Maybe things will sort themselves out, Mum, comforted her daughters, Victoria and Emily. Dont fret over Dads behaviour.
Nothing will be sorted, Margaret sighed. Theres no point changing anything. Ill live out my days, and rejoice in your happiness.
Victoria and Emily drove out to the cottage for a serious chat with their father. They returned home disappointed, reluctant to share the truth, but shifted their conversation: perhaps living alone might be better for Mum, fewer people to fuss over. Margaret understood, but didn’t interrogate them, continuing with life as best she could. It was not easy, as relatives and acquaintances all seemed determined to probe and gossip.
Imagine, all those years together, and now your husbands run off with another, commented the neighbours, tactless as ever. Is she younger, or just richer?
Margaret never knew how to respond, but she often wondered about this rival and longed to see her. Driven by curiosity, she made an excuse to visit Victor at the cottage, ostensibly to collect some homemade jam left over from the summer. She didnt warn him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the womanand thats precisely whom she met.
Victor, you never mentioned your ex would be coming here, complained the flashy woman, plastered in bright makeup. I thought youd settled everything, and she had no business being here.
You’ve seriously traded me for this? Margaret asked, eyeing the brazen stranger.
Are you just going to stand there and let her insult me? the lady shrieked. For the record, Im only a few years younger, but look far better.
If at her age she believes a garish face is the greatest virtue… Margaret mused, seeking Victors embarrassed glance.
On the walk to the bus stop, she heard the painted Barbies shouts and fought back tears. Only once home did she let herself cry, calling her sister, Pauline, over for company.
Enough now, Pauline brewed mint tea. You said yourself Victors new partner isnt pretty, and by all accounts, not terribly sharp.
Perhaps shes right, and I look the part of an old lady now, Margaret doubted herself.
You look marvellous for your age, Pauline assured her. Just, it’s daft at seventy to don leopard leggings or a miniskirt. A woman is beautiful at any age, if she carries herself well and dresses appropriately.
Margaret examined herself in the mirror, admitting her sister had a point. She was in decent shape, didn’t often complain about health, dressed well, and her daughters frequently gifted her cosmetics. Shed never been uncouth, didnt wish to resemble a parrot, and couldnt fathom behaving like that rival.
Well then, Pauline continued. Now that youre free, you can truly enjoy yourself. The girls are independent; theres plenty for culture and fun at our age. I refuse to let you go to waste.
Pauline kept her promise, dragging Margaret off to theatre, concerts, and long walks. They soon gathered a group of friends their age; and among them was a gentleman who began showing Margaret special attention, which she quickly discouraged, refusing any private meetings.
Word is youre at the theatre all the time, found new friendsmaybe youll marry again? Victor remarked after an accidental encounter at the grocery.
What brings you all the way here for groceries, Victor? Nothing closer to the cottage? Or is your new partner not cooking? Margaret asked.
Ive always shopped here; it’s hard changing habits at our age, Victor grumbled.
Margaret didnt pursue the topic, citing errands as she headed home. Victor, struck by nostalgia, felt a sudden urge to chase after her and confess his regret. He truly had spent his life with family, and then was swept away by lively Tessa into a whirlpool of excitement.
Life seemed thrilling with Tessa at first; but soon it appeared she disliked chores, preferred gossip, chasing men, and noisy parties.
Lately, Victor longed for home. The feeling intensified after seeing Margaret. She didnt throw scenes or demand explanations, but simply carried on, dignified, coping as best she could. Victor was shocked to find himself missing that calm, that warmth, hed only ever found beside Margaret.
Youve brought dried apricots, I wanted prunes, Tessa snapped, rifling through groceries. And the cheese isnt rich enough, and you’ve forgotten mayonnaise, entirely.
Before, Margaret did the shopping, or we did it together. You keep making me do it all alone, Victor protested.
Stop comparing me to your ex, Tessa shrilled. Next youll say you regret leaving her for me!
Victor did regret it, but knew confessing was useless. Margaret hadnt schemed or manipulated; she was simply herself, and Victor desperately wished for her forgiveness. Yet he realised shed never trust him, never let him return. He’d considered calling several times, and, following another row with Tessa, even ventured to knock at Margarets door.
Have you come to collect something? Margaret asked, holding him at the threshold.
Id hoped to talkdo you have a moment? mumbled Victor, catching the aroma of plum pie wafting from inside.
I have neither the time, nor the inclination, she replied calmly. Take what you need, Victor. Im expecting guests.
But he needed nothing; he wished to say everything, and couldnt find the words. Victor returned to his cottage, made himself supper, while Tessa rampaged through town yet again. She returned tipsy, and Victor finally settled matters, giving her time to pack her belongings.
After Tessas tantrums, Victor nearly phoned Margaret to explain, but abandoned the idea, resigning himself instead. He knew her too well: forgiveness and forgetfulness were beyond hope.
Perhaps, someday, in some surreal future, Victor might arrive with an apology and theyd speak. He needed to do sootherwise, hed remain restless. He longed for forgiveness, not for a reunion; Margaret could never pardon betrayal, Victor knew, when he started his affair with Tessa.
Now, existence in his cottage was all he possessed, while Margaret had her city flat, outings with daughters and grandchildren, and trips to the theatre. In this new tapestry of life, Victor no longer had a place.
An odd penultimate sentence, now floating in dream logic:
Eliminates parasites and washes away blemishes more effectively than any remedy known.
