“The children were grown, and the moment she retired, she up and left me—can you imagine?” grumbled the silver-haired man in a hat to his chess partner.
Autumn had just begun scattering its golden leaves across the yard. The weather was splendid, the air crisp and light.
It had become their habit—in summer, the pensioners spent their days in the park near their building. They claimed a little corner with three benches clustered close together and met there all season long once the worst of the heat faded.
With winter’s arrival, the habit held. The grey-haired men still gathered on the benches by the building, just as they always had.
“Just like that, she ran off? Maybe it wasn’t her—maybe it was you!” chuckled the chess partner across from him. “A good man’s wife doesn’t just leave.”
Albert himself had been in that spot years before and knew exactly where the root of this escape might lie.
The silver-haired man in the hat lifted his eyes—the same shade as his hair—and gave Albert a knowing smile.
“Checkmate, Albert. As for my wife—she did it to spite me! She knows I can’t manage without her, so she left me high and dry—just to teach me a lesson.”
He mimicked her last words before she walked out:
“I’ve had enough, Edward! You can’t do a thing without me, so I’m off—let’s see how you manage now!”
Didn’t even say where she was going.
“So how is it now, Edward?” Albert asked, recalling the ache himself.
“Miserable… No, worse—it’s bloody lonely! First thing I did, I nearly went on a proper bender. Bought a bottle of whisky and all. Stuck it in the fridge, but… never opened it.”
No one scolding him, no one telling him not to. No noise, no fuss. And just like that, the urge vanished. Nothing but this wretched weight pressing down on him.
Albert laughed. He understood Edward perfectly. He’d been through it himself—word for word, just as Edward described.
Edward stared at the chessboard, lost in thought.
The other men standing nearby watched—some tense, some sympathetic. No one wanted to be left alone at their age.
Even if there’d been rows over the years, that’s what a wife was for—to make a man whole.
“Call her, then. Tell her you’ve seen the light, that you’re sorry,” suggested one of the younger lads.
Edward waved a hand.
“Who knows what she even wants?”
“You know, when I was a boy, I’d mind goats in the fields,” piped up Edward’s neighbor from the fifth floor. “If one wandered off, I’d coax her back with a carrot. Lure yours back the same way! Things’ll sort themselves out.”
“And what’s the carrot?” Edward scoffed. “She’s got everything—can’t afford a misstep here.”
“Tell you what—I’ll ring her. Say I’ve been round five times and no one answers. That’ll fetch her,” offered his hallway neighbor.
Edward straightened. “Now that’s an idea! She’ll come flying back, thinking something’s happened. And there I’ll be—flowers, cake, the lot!”
With that, the men parted ways.
…
Next day, just as planned, the neighbor—Walter—phoned Edward’s wife and spun his tale: hadn’t seen Edward in days, door unanswered. Something must be wrong—best come quickly.
Meanwhile, Edward wasted no time. He dashed to the shops first thing, buying treats, then to the florist for three carnations before hurrying home.
“Blimey, what a runaround,” Edward muttered. But he reckoned house slippers wouldn’t do for an apology.
He changed into his good grey suit—the one Margaret bought him for funerals—and set the kitchen table just so. Everything ready—champagne chilled, cake in the fridge, kettle on. Then he waited.
Hot as blazes in that suit. But he couldn’t take it off—had to look his best when Margaret walked in.
He paced, checked the window again and again. No sign of her.
Then he decided to greet her with the flowers. Grabbed the carnations—one snapped, just his luck.
Poured himself a finger of whisky to steady his nerves.
An hour later, he sat on the sofa, flowers clutched in hand, nodding off.
He thought he’d hear her come in, so he lay down carefully—mustn’t crease the suit. Held the flowers to his chest, so they wouldn’t go missing in the scramble later…
…Margaret didn’t arrive till evening. Five hours by train from her sister’s town, then a taxi.
She looked up at their flat—no lights on.
Her heart lurched. She flew up the stairs.
At the door, she turned the key softly, stepped inside. Silence. No sign of her Edward.
“Oh Lord, don’t tell me—”
She flicked on the hallway light, walked into the sitting room.
Then she froze.
There on the sofa lay Edward—in his suit. Two drooping carnations crushed in his hands.
She fell to her knees beside him, head bowed. Moments later, the tears came.
“Margaret! You’re back!” Edward grinned, holding out the flowers.
“You’re alive!” she shrieked. “You great lout! I leave you for a week, and this is what I come back to? What sort of man are you, Edward?”
She raged, but Edward just sat there, smiling.
How warm the house felt. How right. His runaway lamb—lured home at last.
“Sitting there, grinning!” Margaret fumed. “I’ll give you what-for!”
“Oh, how I love you, Margaret. So much I’ll never let you go again,” he said softly.
The words stopped her mid-scold.
“I’ve had a week to think. Don’t leave me. Don’t. I’ll do anything.”
“And no more drinking?”
“Didn’t touch a drop while you were gone. Just a nip tonight to steady myself.”
She huffed, marched to the kitchen, flicked on the light.
“Oh… oh my—” came her voice.
“Fine carrot indeed,” Edward thought. “Now to keep surprising her—so my Margaret never runs off again.”
