Weve lived beneath the same rooftop for forty years, and now, at sixty-three, you suddenly wish to change your entire life?
Margaret sat in her favourite armchair, staring through the rain-splattered window, trying to forget the days events. Just hours earlier shed been busy preparing dinner, expecting Charles home from fishing. He had returned, but not with fishonly the words hed been carrying inside for years but lacked the nerve to share.
I want a divorce, Charles announced out of nowhere, his gaze fixed on a curious painting of a dog dressed as the Queen. Please understand, Margaret. The girls are grown, the grandchildren couldnt care less, and we could end things quietly. No fuss.
Weve shared a house for four decades and now, at your age, youre off to begin again? Margaret whispered, unable to comprehend. Ive a right to know whats next.
Youll remain in the city flat, Ill move to the cottage, Charles replied, as if he had mapped out the path long ago. Weve nothing to split. Eventually, everything will belong to our daughters, Alice and Jane.
Whats her name? Margaret asked, resigned.
Charles flushed crimson, fumbling with the buttons on his cardigan, pretending not to hear. From his reaction, Margaret had no doubt there was another woman. Years ago, shed never worried; it hadnt crossed her mind shed be left alone in her twilight, her husband running off to someone else.
Perhaps itll all settle down, Mum, comforted Alice and Jane later. Dont take Dads behaviour too much to heart.
Its finished, Margaret sighed. No point in changing anything now. Ill live out my days and be happy for all of you.
Alice and Jane travelled to the cottage for a serious talk with their father. They returned gloomy, but didnt rush to tell Margaret the truth, instead shifting their tone and insisting that living alone might suit her, freeing her from worry about anyone else. Margaret understood, but didnt pry. She tried simply to carry on. It wasnt easy; relatives and friends pestered her with questions and curiosity about the situation.
Fancy thatso many years together and now, in your autumn, your husbands flown to another! sniffed less tactful neighbours. Is she younger, or richer?
Margaret didnt know how to respond. She often wondered about her rival, longing to see her. For this reason, she ventured to Charless cottage on the pretext of collecting the summer preserves. She didnt warn him, hoping to catch the woman, and did.
Charles, you never said your ex would visit us, complained the flamboyant lady with garish makeup. I thought youd solved everything. Shes got no business here.
Is this really who you swapped me for? Margaret mused, eyeing the brash stranger.
Are you just going to stand there letting this woman insult me? snapped the lady. Im only a few years younger, and I look far better, if I say so myself.
If she seriously believes that neon make-up is what matters most at her age… murmured Margaret, searching for her former husbands embarrassed glance.
All the way to the bus stop, she listened to the cries of this fading, painted Barbie and fought back tears. At home, she let herself feel and called her sister, Ruth, asking her over.
Oh, come now, Ruth said, stirring peppermint tea in Margarets kitchen. You said yourselfCharless new lady isnt pretty, and she doesnt seem too sharp.
Maybe shes right though, maybe I do look old and weary, Margaret faltered.
You look lovely for your years, Ruth assured. Id say its a mistake to squeeze into leopard leggings or a mini-skirt when youre pushing seventy. A woman can be beautiful at any ageso long as she carries herself with grace and dresses for who she is.
Margaret gazed at her reflection, quietly agreeing her sister was right. She kept herself well and felt healthy. Margaret always dressed nicelyher girls often bought her cosmetics as gifts. Shed never been shrill, nor wished to resemble a parrot, and couldnt imagine imitating her new rival.
Thats settled then, Ruth declared. Youre a free woman nowlive as you please. The girls are grown. Theres loads of opportunities for us at this ageculture, outings, concertsand I wont let you mope.
Ruth kept her promise, whisking Margaret to the theatre, to strolls in Hyde Park, to concerts. Soon, they had a gang of kindred spiritsfolk of their generation. One man even tried to win Margarets attention, but she nipped it in the bud and declined meeting him alone.
Hear youre off to the theatre, got some new friendsmaybe youll marry again? Charles couldnt resist blurting out after bumping into Margaret at Tesco.
What brings you all this way for shopping? Surely theres a grocer near the cottage, unless your new wife doesnt cook? Margaret wondered.
I always shopped here. Hard to change habits at our age, Charles grunted.
Margaret didnt continue the conversation, heading home with an excuse. Strangely, Charles wanted to chase her down and confess how much he regretted the divorce. He really had spent his life with Margaret and their daughters, but then let himself be swept up by lively Lucinda in a flurry of drama.
At first, life seemed lively with Lucinda; then he discovered she shunned housework, preferred gossip, enjoyed flirting about, and spent hours in noisy village gatherings.
Increasingly, Charles wanted to return home, and after that encounter with Margaret, his yearning grew stronger. She hadnt made a scene or started an argumentjust carried on with dignity. He couldnt believe how much he missed that gentle order and comfort hed only known with Margaret.
Youve bought dried apricotsI wanted prunes! Lucinda exploded, examining his shopping. And thats the wrong cheese, and dont get me started on the mayonnaise!
Margaret always did the shopping, or we did it together. You want me to do everything now, Charles finally snapped.
Oh for goodness sake, stop comparing me to your ex! Lucinda barked. Go on, say you regret picking me!
He did regret it. But there seemed little point in saying so. Margaret hadnt done anything to draw him back, nor plotted. She was simply herself, and Charles desperately longed for forgiveness.
He knew well that Margaret would never trust him again, nor accept him back. Several times, he considered ringing her, and after one particularly heated row, mustered the nerve to knock on the door of the flat that was once his.
Do you need to pick anything up? Margaret asked, keeping him at the threshold.
I want to talk, do you have a minute? Charles mumbled, the scent of his favourite plum tart wafting out to him.
Ive no time or desire, she replied calmly. So take what you need and Ill get back to my guests.
There was nothing Charles needed to take, but so much he wished to say, though the words wouldnt come. He went back to the cottage, made himself supper as Lucinda flitted around the village. She returned quite merry, and Charles finally made up his mind, suggesting it was time for her to pack her things.
After Lucindas final tantrum, Charles longed to ring Margaret and explain, but thought better, settling himself down. He knew her too well to hope for forgiveness or reconciliation.
Perhaps one day, in the future, he might return and ask for pardon. It had to be; otherwise he knew hed never have peace. Though even if forgiveness came, Margaret could never tolerate betrayaland Charles knew this when hed begun his adventure with Lucinda.
So now, his life continued at the cottage, while Margarets flourished in the city flat, surrounded by daughters, grandchildren, and evenings at the theatre. There was no longer a place for her former husband in this new tableau.
