REBORN HAPPINESS
Sir, will you please stop following me! I told you, I’m in mourning for my husband. Dont trail after me like this! Youre starting to make me nervous! my quiet protest escalates into a shout.
I remember, I remember but somehow I feel youre mourning for yourself. Forgive me, my persistent admirer replies, unwilling to give up.
Im at a health retreat, seeking tranquillity and only the company of woodland birds, not the attention of overkeen men. My husband died suddenly not long ago. I came here to try and pull myself together, to acknowledge an irreplaceable loss.
My late husband, Oliver, and I had just started renovating our flat, saving every penny, denying ourselves luxuries, and then Oliver was suddenly taken ill. The ambulance couldnt help him. It was his second heart attack. After his funeral, I found myself not only widowed and with unfinished renovations, but raising two teenage sons alone. My spirit was crushed. How do you go on after a loss like that?
My workplace offered me a spot at a convalescent retreat. I protested. I barely wanted to leave my flat. But my colleagues insisted:
Youre hardly the first widow, and you wont be the last. You have your boys. You need to live! Off you go, Emily, clear your head.
So, reluctantly, I went.
Forty days have passed since my husbands death, but my grief still aches. Theyve put me in a room with a lively, cheerful young woman named Jenny.
Jenny radiates joy and optimism. I find it almost annoying. I don’t want to share my sorrow with herand why should a young woman take that on? Shes being courted by our entertainment manager. As everyone knows, such retreats are full of bachelors, divorcees, and unfortunate widowers. I keep warning Jenny about this chap. Mark my words, hes probably been married more than once already.
Jenny just laughs: Oh, dont worry about me, Emily! Im quite the old hand.
And off “the old hand” flits each evening for her dates. Meanwhile, I spend my first week hiding away in our room, reading the same page over and over, paying no attention to the telly.
One morning, I wake in unusually high spirits. The world outside the window is a picture of peace. I think, why not go for a walk in the woods, listen to the birds, fill my lungs with fresh air? Thats when I meet a stranger.
Ive noticed him before, in the dining hallshort, with a bold, almost intrusive stare. Hes half a head shorter than I am. I shuddered; not my type at all.
Yet, hes always neat and well-groomed, dressed smartly, impeccably shaven. Every dinner, he gives a little respectful bow in my direction. I nod thinly, purely out of politeness. Then one day, he sits down at my table.
Feeling a bit lonely, madam? he asks in a silky voice.
Not at all, I reply, wary.
Lets be honest, love. Your sorrow is written on your face. Maybe I can help? he wont let it drop.
Quite right. Its grief for my late husband. Any other questions? I wipe my hands with a napkin and stand up, making it clear the conversation is over.
My apologies, I didnt know. My condolences. Still, cant we at least meet properly? Im Philip, he quickly offers.
Its clear Philip is afraid hell lose sight of me.
Emily, I answer reluctantly, eager to get away.
From then on, Philip sits with me at every meal, bringing wildflower bouquetsbluebells, mostly; theyre everywhere here. I admit, its a small, appreciated gesture. I have no plans to further thingsits just unnecessary.
Yet, Philip doesnt give up. Now he joins me for my evening strolls. I start wearing flat shoes, so our height difference is less obvious. But he isnt the least bit bothered by it, or his shiny bald crown. I soon realise his appeal lies in his warm, alluring voiceIve never heard such an inviting tone. I fear Im caught up in expertly spun snares.
We start going to the evening dances together and taking trips to town for fresh fruit. My companion tries several times to coax me back to his room. But I hold out, stubborn as a nutcracker soldier.
Eventually, Philip puts it plainly:
Emily, tomorrows our last day here. Might you come by my room this evening for a cup of tea?
I’ll think about it, I reply, noncommittal.
The final evening arrives. I dont want to upset Philip, so I visit, already knowing how things will end.
The table is beautifully set, laden with treats. Probably nicked the cutlery from the canteen, I note with a smile. Philip seats me with a gallant flourish. Somehow, theres champagne.
Shall we begin, darling Emily? I dont know how Ill face tomorrow without you. Leave me your address. Ill come, I promise, Philip says, his tone tinged with sadness.
Youll forget me by the second day. I know your type. So, what are we toasting to, Philip? Im bracing myself.
You dont know? To love, my dear Emily, to love! he says, raising his glass.
The next morning, we wake up in each others arms. Goodness, why did I resist for so long? Why didnt I visit Philips room sooner? All that wasted time! Like a schoolgirl, I find myself in love. Today, though, my suitcase waits to be packed.
I say goodbye to my roommate Jenny, who is sobbing on her bed.
Whats wrong, Jenny? I ask gently.
Im pregnant, Emily. And I havent the faintest idea whose it is, she blubs.
Was it the entertainer? I ask, trying to make sense of things.
I dont know. I met someone else here. Hes from the neighbouring guesthouse. Hes married, Jenny confesses, wiping her eyes, her confidence suddenly gone.
Oh, Jenny. Ring your parents. They need to come sort this out. Why did they let you come here alone? For now, lets go speak with the retreat manager. Maybe well figure something out, I say, offering what little comfort I can.
Jenny flees the room, in tears. Poor girl, shes learning the hard way about charming entertainers.
I finish packing. I dont want to leave. In these twenty-four days, everything has become familiarespecially Philip.
The coach pulls up. Philip arrives to see me off, holding a bundle of bluebells. I tear up, giving him a warm hug. Thats it; our whirlwind romance is over. My heart aches. I think, Philip, just ask me to stay, and Id drop everything for you.
Philip and I live in different cities. All we have is the post, and one day, a letter arrivesnot from him, but from his wife. She claims she knows everything and warns me, nothing will come of it, since shes thirty and Im forty. I dont reply. Why would I?
Then, out of the blue, after six months, Philip turns up at my door. My boys are surprised by the appearance of this strange man but politely keep quiet.
Philip? Are you just passing through, or? I ask hopefully (waiting for him to say, Im here to stay).
Not just passing through Will you have me, Emily? Philip asks, uncertainly lingering by the door.
The boys shuffle off to their room.
Come in. What brings you here? Brought another letter from your wife? I tease.
Im sorry, Emily. I wrote you one, but my wife found it Its my fault, I admit it. Weve divorced now, he explains.
Philip, I didnt know you were married If I had, nothing would have happened, truly. So, what now? I have no idea what to expect.
Lets get married, Emily, Philip blurts out.
I dont know. You see I have children. How will they feel about you? I cant make such a big decision on a whim, but inside Im pleased he asked.
Children are wonderful. I have a ten-year-old daughter, Phoebe, Philip surprises me.
A daughter? Did you leave her behind? I cant believe it.
No, never! I plan to bring her to live with us. Her mums taken to the bottle. Well be one big happy family, Philip boasts.
Hang on, Philip. Big happy family? Ive never met your daughter, and youre already naming me as her stepmother. Youre rushing this a bit. Give me a moment. Let me talk to my boys. Then well see. Come in, have some tea, you cheeky groom, I say, trying to keep things light.
Of course, it doesnt all go smoothly. We have our share of rows, slammed doors, the whole lot. We all have different temperaments, and not everyone is willing to back down in an argument.
Time marches on.
My eldest son, Andrew, and Phoebe (Philips daughter), end up getting married, then turn against Philip and me. Old grudges, real or imagined, resurface. They heap complaints on ussaying we never should have broken up the families; that Philip shouldnt have left his wife, that I, as a widow, had no business remarrying. Off they go to rent their own place.
Philip and I simply shrug and, despite everything, love each other sincerely.
A year passes.
No word from the prodigal children. Phoebe only rings Philip on his birthday.
Three years later, they invite us over. Philip and I are surprised, and wary, but we accept.
Turns out, Andrew and Phoebe have had a little boya grandson for the both of us. We are over the moon. At the family table, they ask us for forgiveness. Theyve come to realise that anything can happen in life, and its important to forgive, to honour your parentsthey gave you the gift of life, after all. That’s why our grandson is named Milesto bring peace into the family.
So this, for Philip and me, is our very own newborn happiness.
