You know, I didnt really love my husband.
You didnt?
Nope.
But how long were you together?
Let me think… We got married in 71.
We were sat on a wooden bench near a graveside two women, mostly strangers, just ended up chatting after tending to our own family plots.
This lady in a grey beret nods at the headstone.
Your husband?
Yes, its been a year now… Still cant get used to it, I miss him more than anything. I loved him dearly.
She tightened the black scarf she wore, eyes shining with tears.
We sat quietly. She asked:
And you?
Truth is, I never loved my husband.
That got her attention.
But how long were you married?
Since 71, just like you. All those years together…
Hows that possible, to spend all that time together and not love him?
Well, I married him out of spite, truth be told. I was keen on another bloke, but he fancied my friend instead, so I thought, “Right, Ill show them, Ill be the first down the aisle.” So I said yes to Peter a bit of a drip, really. He’d always been hanging around, seemed to like me, so…
And?
Blimey, I nearly legged it from my own wedding. The whole village was out celebrating, and I just cried my eyes out, thinking my youth was over. Id look at Peter and honestlyif I were a wolf Id have howled. He was scrawny, short, already thinning on top, ears that stuck out… That suit of his fit like a saddle on a cow. But he smiled at me the whole time, so happy… And I just thought, well, its my own fault.
What happened next?
We moved in with his parents. They were just like him honestly, they fussed over me as if I was royalty. I was quite a catch, to be fair plum eyes, long braid, bursting out my dress. No one could work out what I was doing with him.
Every morning Id wake up and my shoes would be cleaned, his mum made sure of it. I used to snort and boss them all around, sometimes even shouted at his mum, just out of self-pity, because I didnt love him. No wonder it never worked out whos going to be happy with a daughter-in-law like that?
So Peter suggests we move north, get some proper work, get away from his folks. Didnt take much to convince me I just wanted to get away, my head was so empty.
Back then it was all about heading North for work “Go north, young ones!” and all that. Peter sorted it for us so off we went, first to Sheffield, then further north.
On the train, women in one carriage, men in another. Poor Peter, he was left with nothing; I had all the food, couldnt even pass it across to him. Not that I worried, mind you. I made friends straight away, we all shared everything I gave away all of his mums homemade pies to the girls. When we stopped at a station, he came up, asking for food I felt a proper wretch. Told him it was all gone, and he just smiled and said it was for the best, that hed been well looked after too.
Of course, I knew he was lying. He wasnt one for making friends or scrounging off others. He was just trying to make me feel better about it. Within minutes, Id forgotten all about him.
When we arrived, they put us girls in a barracks-like hotel, thirty-five of us in a single room, men all somewhere else. Promised us rooms for the married couples soon, but I wasnt bothered. Peter would come find me, waiting under the window, but Id always pretend to be busy. The other girls scolded me for it “Hes your husband!”
Hed wait outside in the rain, and Id just turn my nose up.
By then Id made up my mind I wanted a divorce. No kids after two years, and still no love. Stayed with him sometimes out of guilt, nothing more.
Then Greg appeared tall, dark hair, thick curls. We all worked hard, I was on concrete duty, but the social life was good. Got stuff wed never seen back home proper sausages, apples, Czech lager, and oranges. There were concerts and dances just for us.
I met Greg through the girls they fancied him, but he wanted me.
Head over heels, I was!
Peter would try to talk to me, plead with me… but I was giddy with love for Greg.
Im divorcing you, I told Peter.
Wed only just got our own tiny room. Even then, I didnt spend time with him.
But Peter never went far. Id be out with Greg, and I knew Peter was nearby, but my head was full of love for someone else.
The woman in the black scarf listened so intently.
How did he put up with all that?
He stuck through it… because he loved me. Then Greg ran off with Kate, a bookkeeper. Left me and started making a scene, slagging me off in front of everyone, telling all sorts of rubbish about me, that I was desperate because my husband was weak.
Someone told Peter, of course. By then, I think love had drained all sense from him. He even went for Greg tried to scrap with him behind the station. I didnt even know till someone called to say Peter had been taken to hospital.
I was furious what was he playing at, trying to fight Greg? But the bloke who drove me, Steve, he just looked at me like I was to blame.
At the hospital, Peter was battered bruised, face swollen, leg propped up.
Why on earth did you get into a fight? I asked.
He just said,
For you!
I felt so sorry for myself then, honestly. Pregnant women got sent back home from the site not suitable, they said. That meant going back to my village, where everyone would know the child wasnt Peters. What would they think of me? To be honest, I didnt even know whose child it was for sure.
I visited Peter in hospital, brought food parcels, not out of love, more out of duty.
I remember him getting up on crutches. I was standing with him by the window, he in his baggy hospital pyjamas, looking worn out. He looked outside and said,
Dont divorce me. Lets move away, Ill raise him as my own.
I couldnt even say thank you. I just shrugged,
If you want,
and walked away. Felt him watching me go, hoping Id turn back. I didnt even though I was happy inside that I didnt have to go home, glad we could manage together.
We moved down to Cornwall after that. Peter was still a quiet man, but he was good at his job, went up the ladder quickly. He became a foreman always out on jobs, but every time he came home he brought me little treats.
My wifes pregnant, hed say, showing me off to everyone.
They gave us a flat, I got a job as a clerk.
When the baby came, it was clear Gregs son, with thick dark hair. Peter never blinked, just smiled when he held him and nearly cried when he brought us home.
Matthew was a tough baby. Always poorly, always crying, and Peter suffered too hed nod off standing up. But he never once complained.
A year later I had Emily, Peters daughter, named after his mum. By then, his dad had passed, so naming her for his mum seemed right.
Even then, I felt nothing for Peter. No love, no hate. When the kids are small and close in age, you dont have room for feelings. I just wanted help, and Peter helped: hung up the washing, tidied up, let me sleep. Once, he tried to soak the laundry, and I had to wrestle the tub off him what would the neighbours say, him rinsing my knickers when hes the foreman? But he just said,
Waters freezing, love. Would you rather freeze your hands? Let them think what they want.
His relentless helpfulness used to annoy me more and more over time.
Matthew, by the way, was trouble by thirteen. Shoplifting, in trouble with the police. Id go down to the station and, would you believe, got friendly with one of the officers, a single man who got on with Matthew better than Peter ever could. Peter couldnt get through to him, never could tell him off; if I tried the belt, Peter would snatch it away.
Then Peter got sent off for training in London wed just got a new flat in Manchester. He said,
If you say the word, I wont go.
He knew things werent right.
I just told him,
Go.
So he went, heavy-hearted. Straight away, the policeman tried to get me to leave Peter, said I deserved better, I didnt love Peter anyway.
The woman in the black scarf cleared some leaves from the grave.
And did you?
Her voice gentler now.
I looked at her, frowning at the memory.
I thought about it for ages… And then Peter sent me a letter. I still keep it, no one knows, but I do. He wrote that he realised hed ruined my life, because Id never loved him only tolerated him. Said that if I wrote back saying I didnt need him, hed never come home. Promised hed send half his wages for the kids, the lot. He wished me happiness, hoped the best for us. There was no anger in that letter, not a hint of blame. Hed left all the pain for himself and wished me only joy.
The birch trees were shedding their golden leaves again, the air felt mild, the sky bright blue. The other woman dabbed her eyes with her scarf.
Why are you crying? I asked.
Its just… life, isnt it? Makes you cry, thinking back. But go on, did you leave him for the policeman?
I hardly slept at night. Matthew was out of control, my life all tangled. Id fiddle with that letter. I got friendly with a woman at the factory, she was older, clever, a supervisor. Told me, Youre daft, Linda! A man like that you ought to cherish.
One morning, I just woke up cold inside, thinking, what am I doing? This man spent his whole life trying for me, and Id done nothing but reject him. I remembered everything. How he always stuck by me, helped me. Once I was ill operation gone wrong nearly died. The doctors had given up, I heard them whispering in recovery.
But Peter was there when I woke up. This quiet man went nuclear had everyone running around to help me. He never left, held my hand the whole time, paid for a nurse, medicines… If it wasnt for him, Id not be here.
And once, by accident, we picked up a neighbours parcel at the shop, not ours at all. Huge blizzard outside, but Peter insisted on taking it all the way to the next village, wouldnt listen to me. People are waiting for their things, hoping, we cant keep it, he said. Came back with a fever, frostbitten cheeks.
It hit me I didnt need anyone but him.
But how do you write that in a letter? He wouldnt believe it. All those years Id shown him he meant nothing how do you write your feelings at this stage?
I could tell, though hed made up his mind to go for good, hed convinced himself I loved someone else.
It was autumn, just like now, warm and golden. Got the kids sorted, work in order, and then I went, right to London, to find him.
Sat on the slowest train, desperate to see his face again. I could picture him the whole way; suddenly I even loved his bald patch and sticky out ears, his belly, all of him.
They told me where to find him some technical college. I waited on the top step as lessons let out. I didnt recognise him at first looked so smart in his cap, short mac, and folder under his arm, surrounded by students.
He walked straight past me and I couldnt move, love froze me on the spot.
When I finally called out, he stopped, stared like he couldnt believe it.
We just looked at each other as the leaves fell… and then ran to each other. His folder went flying, notebooks everywhere, and we hugged, couldnt say a word.
What was there to say?
His mates laughed, Now thats love married for ages, and still look at them!
The womans scarf was soaking wet with tears.
So you stayed together, in love, until the end?
What end?
Well, she said, motioning to the grave thats him, right?
Oh, no, thats our Matthew, our son. Lost him young, before he was forty. Never got on track, even spent time inside. Gave us a world of worry. Later on, drank himself away.
Your husbands still alive?
He is, thank God. Brought me here to tidy up, and went to do some errands. We help our daughter now. Oh, there he is, probably come to collect me. Weve lost track of time chatting. Do you need a lift anywhere?
No, Ill wander through a few more graves. Thanks, though.
A stout, friendly man in a black coat and leather cap came up, smiled warmly and greeted us.
Tired, Pete? Worn yourself out again? his wife fussed, brushing leaves off his shoulder.
He started picking up all the tools, but she grabbed the heavy rubbish herself, worried for his back.
And off they went, arm in arm down the yellow autumn path, weaving through the old gravestones. At the bend, the lady in the grey beret turned back and waved, and he waved too, with a soft smile.
The other woman sat by her husbands headstone, looking at his photo, thinking happiness doesnt just come and just sit with you. It only exists when you let it into your heart.
Its just this: to love, and to be loved. Thats all the happiness there really is.
