Weve spent forty years together under one roof, and now, at sixty-three, you want to upend your life?
Sitting in my favourite armchair, I stared out at the quiet street, trying to banish the turmoil of another long day. Only hours ago, I had been bustling about the kitchen, preparing supper and waiting for Charles to return from his fishing trip. He came home without his usual catch, carrying instead the sort of news hed long considered sharing, but never had the nerve.
I want to separate, and I would appreciate your understanding, he said abruptly, avoiding my eyes. The girls are grown. Theyll get it, and the grandchildren arent concerned. We can do this amicably and sensibly, without fuss.”
Forty years together, Charles. And now, after all this time, you need a change? I couldnt fathom it. I deserve to know what happens next.
Youll stay here in the flat, Ill move into the cottage, he replied, matter-of-fact, as though it was all settled in his mind. Theres nothing left for us to divide, and itll all pass to the girls eventually, anyway.
Whats her name? I asked, defeated.
His face turned crimson as he fiddled with his coat, pretending he hadn’t heard. I knew instinctively another woman must be involved. In my youth, I couldnt have imagined ending up alone in my autumn years, my husband with someone else.
Mum, maybe things will settle and work out, Alice and Sophie tried consoling me later. Dont let Dads behaviour drag you down.
“I doubt things will change,” I sighed. “Ill live out my days quietly and celebrate your happiness.”
When the girls paid Charles a visit at the cottage for a stern conversation, they returned sombre, hesitant to tell me everything. Their words changed; they started promoting the idea that living alone could be a reliefnot having to care for anyone else. I understood, but didnt pry, and tried to keep going. It was difficult, especially as family and neighbours seemed endlessly curious about my circumstances.
Well, to think, all those years together and now hes run off with someone else, muttered our tactless neighbours. Is she younger? Or simply wealthier?
I never knew quite what to say, but often found myself wondering about her; what sort of woman won Charless affection. I even visited the cottage, under the guise of picking up homemade preserves, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious rival. I didnt warn him I was comingand naturally, thats when I ran into her.
Charles, you didnt mention your ex-wife would pop round, the woman complained in a rather flamboyant manner, her makeup garish and overdone. I thought youd sorted everything outwhats she doing here?
Seriously, Charles, you left me for this? I asked, examining her bold face.
Are you just going to let her insult me? she shrieked. Im only a few years younger, but I look leaps better.
If she truly believes at her age a flashy exterior is everything I said quietly, searching for the familiar embarrassment in Charless eyes.
The entire walk to the bus stop, I could hear her shouting and tried desperately not to cry. But in the safety of my flat, I let the feelings overcome me and rang my sister, asking her to come over.
Enough now, said Jean, brewing mint tea. You said yourself, Charles new lady isnt exactly a beauty, nor does she seem particularly sharp.
Perhaps shes right, maybe I seem like an old woman these days, I admitted.
You look marvellous for your age, Jean assured me. Its simply a mistake to be in your late sixties and squeeze into leopard leggings or don a miniskirt. A woman can be attractive at any age if shes sensible and dresses accordingly.”
I looked at myself in the mirror and realised Jean was right. My health was good, I dressed well and my daughters always gifted me new cosmetics. I was certainly no loudmouth and never wanted to resemble the garish woman Id just met.
Well, if youre now a free woman, you ought to enjoy yourself, Jean continued. The girls are independent, and theres plenty of time for culture and self-discovery. I wont allow you to mope about.
She kept her word, coaxing me out to theatres, concerts, and walks. Soon, we had a circle of like-minded friends our own age. One gentleman even tried courting me, but I put a stop to it straight away, excusing myself from private encounters.
So youre living it up these days: new friends, theatre trips. Planning to get married again, perhaps? Charles smirked during a chance encounter at the local Waitrose.
Why have you come all this way for groceries? Surely theres something nearer your cottage? Or does your new partner not cook? I replied.
Ive always shopped here, old habits die hard, he grumbled.
I didnt pursue that conversation further, claimed I had errands, and returned home. At that moment, Charles looked as though he desperately wanted to catch up with me, to open up about his regrets. The truth was hed relied on me and our daughters for a lifetime, then got swept off his feet by the vivacious Patricia, thrown into a whirlwind of excitement.
At first, the new life with Patricia seemed thrilling, but she cared little for housework, preferring hearsay, male attention, and raucous dinner parties.
Increasingly, Charles longed for home, and seeing me only made that longing sharper. I hadnt made scenes, shouted, or demanded explanations. I simply held my head high and lived nobly despite the upheaval. He had never expected to miss the pure comfort and peace hed known only beside me.
Youve bought apricots againI asked for prunes, Patricia complained, peering into his shopping bags. And the cheese is the wrong fat content, and you forgot the mayonnaise altogether.
Maria always did the shopping, or we did it together, but youre shifting everything onto me, Charles snapped.
Stop comparing me to your ex-wife! Patricia shrieked. Why not say you regret leaving her for me?
He did regret it. He knew there was no point saying so. I had done nothing to engineer thisno deception, no manipulation, just living as myselfand Charles, now desperate, yearned for my forgiveness.
But he understood perfectly that I would never trust him again or take him back. Several times, he thought about calling, and after yet another row at the cottage, he even found himself at my flats door.
Do you need to pick anything up? I asked, not letting him in.
I wanted to talk, if youve got a minute? he mumbled, the scent of my plum pie drifting from the kitchen.
I dont have time, or the inclination, I answered calmly. Take what you need; Im expecting friends.
He had nothing to take, but too much to say, and the right words simply wouldnt surface. He returned to his cottage to cook dinner, as Patricia was out yet again, returning home in high spirits. Charles finally decided to give her time to pack up her belongings.
After Patricias dramatic outburst, he wanted to call me to tell the tale, then changed his mind and settled down, knowing it would be pointless. He understood me too well to nurture false hope.
Perhaps, one day, he would come with a humble apology, and we might talk. He needed closure, otherwise he would never find peace. He might wish for forgiveness, not to rekindle our family, for he knew I could never forgive the betrayal. He realised that when he started the affair with Patricia.
Now, his life was in the cottage, and mine in the flat, filled with visits from the girls and grandchildren and outings to the theatre. There was no room for my ex-husband in this new chapter, and I had grown quite content with that.
