Howard Whitman had never once given his wife a gift in all the twenty years they’d been married. It just never came up. He and Valerie had tied the knot quickly, a month after they met.
Their courtship had been swift and simple, with no presents. He’d ride out to the village where she lived, whistle under her window, and she’d come running out. They’d sit together on the bench by the gate until midnight, barely exchanging a word.
He didn’t even kiss her until he’d already asked for her hand. The wedding passed, and life rolled on—busy, ordinary. Howard became a solid provider, kept livestock, plenty of it. Valerie was hardworking too, tending a garden that made the neighbours envious. Then came the children—nappies, baby clothes, childhood fevers. No time for gifts. Just keeping your head above water. Holidays came and went, marked by modest meals. Their life, though unremarkable, was steady, free of drama.
One day, Howard went to town with his neighbour to sell potatoes and bacon—right before Mother’s Day. He’d just cleared the cellar, sorted the spuds, figured he might as well sell the surplus. The bacon too—why let it sit when they’d soon slaughter a pig and have fresh meat? So there he stood at the market. A crisp chill lingered in the air, just enough to remind him spring was near. To his surprise, he sold out fast. The bacon went like hotcakes. The potatoes were snapped up as if they were some rare delicacy. “Made a tidy bit,” he thought happily. “Val will be chuffed.”
He loaded the empty sacks into his neighbour’s truck and headed into town. The missus had asked him to pick up a few odds and ends. First, out of habit, he stopped at the pub to toast his good fortune. Not that he was a boozer. But he held a strange belief—if he didn’t have a drink after a successful sale, the next one would go poorly.
After downing his usual, Howard strode down the bustling high street in high spirits, taking in the shopfronts and the passersby. Then his gaze snagged on something—a young couple standing by a large window display. The girl, fresh-faced and bright, was as young as her lad, just a slip of a boy.
She stared, entranced, at a dress on the mannequin in the shop window.
“Sophie, come on, quit gawking at that frock.”
“Look, it’s gorgeous—just my size!”
“Load of nonsense if you ask me.”
“You clod, it’s vintage! The height of fashion. Get it for me for Mother’s Day, yeah?”
“Sophie, you know we’re skint as it is. If I buy that, we’ll be living on beans all month.”
“We’ll manage. Oh, Simon, I want it so badly. We’ve been married a year, and you’ve never given me a present—not even at Christmas!”
“Sophie, you’re killing me here. Another month of jacket potatoes and cabbage?”
“But Simon, love, I adore you,” she said, planting a loud kiss on his lips and tugging him toward the shop.
The lad shot Howard a resigned look—what can you do, eh? Women. Soon enough, the pair flitted out of the shop, Sophie laughing brightly, clinging to her husband’s arm before vanishing into the crowd. Howard stood there, thoughtful, staring at the dress in the window. It really was lovely—simple, floral, like the sundress Valerie used to wear on their courting days.
Something stirred in him—youth remembered, maybe, or seeing himself in that young couple. A long-forgotten warmth spread through him. And suddenly, it struck him: “I’ve never given Val a thing. Always too busy. Thought it was nonsense. But look at young Simon there—ready to go hungry just to make his wife happy. Must mean he loves her. Do I love Val? Thought I did, back then. But somehow it all faded. Just plodding along. Nothing to look back on. Just chores. Bloody hell.”
That stolen glimpse of someone else’s happiness burned him so sharply he ached to feel it himself.
He marched into the shop. A young salesgirl scurried over.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Aye. Need that dress there—the one in the window.”
“Oh, brilliant choice! Vintage-inspired, pure silk. Your daughter will adore it.”
“Not for my daughter. For the missus,” he grunted.
“Oh, how lovely!” the girl chirped, wrapping it up.
“What’s the damage?”
When she named the price, Howard balked. A small fortune in his book.
“Why so steep?” he groused.
The girl smiled patiently. “It’s by a famous designer.”
He hesitated. That kind of money hurt. Then Sophie’s beaming face flashed in his mind. He made his choice.
“Right, I’ll take it.” He counted out the notes and left with the bag, pleased with himself. His neighbour was waiting outside. The ride home was merry—his mate bragging about his profitable day, bringing every penny back.
“What about you? Make much?”
“What’s it to you?” Howard snapped, suddenly sour.
“Blimey, no need to bite my head off.”
They got home. Val was still out at the farm. Howard fed the livestock, mucked out the pens, slopped the pigs. Worked hard, but his chest felt heavy. Done a good thing, bought a gift—so why this gnawing guilt? He spat, stomped indoors, poured himself a drink. Then another. Felt steadier.
The door creaked. Val was back, scowling as usual. She spotted him at the table.
“Sitting about already? How’d it go?”
“Fine. Money’s there.”
Val counted it. “Bit short, isn’t it? Did you not sell well?”
“Nah. Thing is… Well, the rest is in that bag.”
Val pulled out the dress, still frowning.
“Who’s this for, Emily? Bit big for her. Wasting money, really.”
“It’s for you,” Howard mumbled, suddenly shy. “For Mother’s Day.”
“Me?” She blinked. “Honest?”
“Aye, who else?”
Val let out a joyful little cry and bolted to the bedroom. Ten minutes later, she came back, teary-eyed.
“Doesn’t fit. I’ve gone and got fat.”
“But—it’s just like the one you wore when we sat on that bench—”
“You daft sod,” she sniffed. “That was years ago. I’ve changed.”
“But looking at those flowers, I remembered it all. You, so slight beside me, and the stars like someone had scattered sugar across the sky.”
“Aye, Howard. Those were good days.”
They sat in the gathering dusk until the kids came home. First Emily burst in.
“Why’re you in the dark?” She flicked the light on, spotted the dress. “Blimey, what’s this? Who’s it for? This is this season’s must-have!”
Val glanced at Howard.
“It’s yours, scamp. Your dad brought it back for you.”
“Dad, I love you!” She planted a kiss on his cheek, dashed off, and emerged later strutting like a model. Fit her perfectly. She threw on her coat. “Off to Lucy’s!” and vanished.
The younger ones got sweets. Night fell. Soon, they turned in. A sweet, dreamless sleep.
Come morning, Val nudged him awake.
“Up you get, love. Breakfast’s on.” She stroked his hair, looking at him with such clear, fond eyes he nearly drowned in them.
“Morning already? Happy Mother’s Day, then.”
“You gave me that yesterday. Thank you.”
“Ah, don’t be daft.”
“Wash up and come eat.”
They hadn’t shared a morning so warm in years. Here’s hoping there’d be many more.
