A Good Woman.
Good woman, she is. Where would we be without her?
And you only give her two thousand a month?
Margaret, love, weve signed the flat over to her, havent we?
Nigel slid out of bed, joints creaking, and shuffled into the next room. In the soft glow of the nightlight, he squinted at his wife.
He crouched down to listenher chest still rose and fell.
Seems all right.
Off he trundled to the kitchen. He opened the milk, remembered to use a glass, went to the loo, then ambled back to his room.
He lay down, but sleep wouldnt have him.
Margaret and I, both pushing ninety. How much longer can there be? Wont be long before were answering to someone higher up, and no ones left sitting at the table with us.
Their daughters Annabelle had gone, not even reached sixty.
There was no Simon anymore either, bless his wild ways. The granddaughter, Daisy, had been living in Spain for twenty years, probably has kids of her own by now, and I doubt she remembers her old nan and granddad.
Didnt even notice when sleep finally claimed him.
He was woken by a soft hand on his shoulder.
Nigel, you all right? whispered a familiar voice.
He blinked. His wife was leaning over him.
Whats wrong, Margaret?
I was checking if you were still breathing. You werent moving.
Im not gone yet! Back to bed with you.
Shuffling footsteps, then the click of the kitchen light.
Margaret poured herself some water, visited the bathroom, and trundled to her own little room, easing herself onto the bed.
One morning Ill wake and hell be gone. What then? Maybe Ill beat him to it.
Nigels already booked our funeral teas. Never wouldve thought you could arrange that sort of thing beforehand, but maybe its for the best. Otherwise, who would bother?
Daisys forgotten us. Only neighbour Joan pops by. Shes got a key to the flat. Nigel gives her a thousand off our pension every monthshe fetches groceries and whatever else we need, since neither of us is making it down from the fourth floor these days.
Nigel peered out the window, bathed in morning sun. The cherry tree wore its new leaves, and he couldnt help but smile.
Made it to summer again!
He ambled to check on Margaret, who gazed off into the middle distance.
Chin up, Margaret! Come on, youve got to see this.
Oh, I havent the energy, not this morning, she protested, struggling up.
Were off to the balcony, dont fuss.
Supporting her by the shoulders, he guided her outside.
See, the cherry trees green! And you said wed never make it to another summer. Proved you wrong.
Oh, so it is! And look at that sunshine.
They perched together on the old bench.
Do you remember, Nigel asked, when I first took you to the pictures? We were schoolkids. The cherries had just come into leaf that week.
As if I could forget? Margaret gave a soft laugh. How many years since then?
More than seventy nearer seventy-five, I suppose.
They sat a good long while, sifting through memories. Old age steals a lotsometimes you forget what you had for lunch yesterdaybut youth? That stays vividly in reach, no matter the years.
Oh, look at the time! Margaret scrambled up. We havent even had breakfast.
Put the kettle on, would you, Margaret? Im sick of these herbal teas.
Were not supposed to have anything stronger.
Just a weak cuppasplash of sugar, please.
Nigel sipped at his watery tea and nibbled a cheese sandwich, thinking fondly of days when breakfast was strong, sugary, and came with pastries or pancakes.
The neighbour popped her head round the door, beaming.
How are you two doing, then?
Best you can ask for at ninety, cracked Nigel.
Oh, if youre joking, you must be well. Need anything from the shops?
Joan, could you fetch us some meat? asked Nigel hopefully.
Should you be eating that?
Chickens all right.
Ill pick some up then. Ill make you a proper chicken noodle soup.
Joan wiped down the table and washed up before she let herself out.
Come sit on the balcony with me, Margaret. Lets soak in the sunshine.
Why not!
Joan came back out, sticking her head through the door.
Getting a bit attached to the sun out here, are you?
Its grand, Joan! smiled Margaret.
Ill bring your porridge out here and start on the soup.
Good woman, she is, Nigel said fondly as Joan disappeared. Dont know what wed do without her.
And she only gets two thousand a month.
Margaret, weve left her the flat, remember.
She doesnt know that.
They sat out until lunch, watching the street stir below. Lunch was chicken souptender, full of chicken and soft potato.
I used to make exactly this for Annabelle and Simon when they were little, Margaret mused.
And now, strangers cook for us in our dotage, Nigel sighed.
I suppose thats how it goes, Nigel. When were gone, wont be anyone left to shed a tear.
Enough, no more of this talk. Nap time, Margaret!
You know what they sayold folk and children are much the same: mashed-up soup, a proper nap, afternoon tea.
Nigel dozed off for a bit, but couldnt keep still. Maybe the weather was changing or his bones just ached more than yesterday. In the kitchen, he found two glasses of juice, thoughtfully set out by Joan.
He took them both to Margarets room, hands trembling only a little.
She stared out the window, lost in her thoughts.
Whats got you gloomy, Margaret? he teased. Juice break!
She took a sip.
You cant sleep either?
Its the weather.
Ive felt odd all morning, she replied quietly, giving her head a sad shake. Not long for this world, Nigel. Just promise youll give me a decent send-off.
Margaret, enough now. How would I manage without you?
One of us must go first. Thats how it is.
Right, thats it. Balcony it is.
They sat with the sun until evening, when Joan brought in cottage cheese fritters. They ate and settled for the tellyone old cartoon. The new stuff barely registered anymore; give them the classics every time.
Margaret rose, stifling a yawn.
Off to bed with me. Im done for today.
Ill be right behind you.
Here, let me really look at you this time, she said suddenly.
Whats this about?
I just want to remember.
They looked at each other a long time, both remembering that wonderful, terrifying youthwhen neither had a clue what was in store.
Let me walk you to your room.
Margaret took Nigels arm, and together they made their slow way across the flat. He made sure she was tucked in cosy, then went back to his own room.
Sleep would not come. His heart felt strangely heavy.
He saw the clock said two in the morning. Quietly, he made his way to Margarets room.
She lay there, eyes open and still.
Margaret! He gripped her hand.
Margaret, no Mar-garet
Suddenly, he could scarcely breathe himself. He stumbled to his room, fetched the prepared documents, and left them on the kitchen table.
He went back to her, sat by her side for a long, long moment, then lay next to her, closing his eyes.
And there she was, his Margaret, young and radiant, just as shed been seventy-five years ago. She was walking towards a bright, distant light. He ran to catch up, took her hand in his.
In the morning, Joan found them both there, side by side, identical soft smiles on their faces.
Eventually, she rang the ambulance.
The paramedic who came shook his head, genuinely surprised.
Both gone, together. Must have really loved each other
They were taken away. Joan went weak at the knees, sinking into a kitchen chairthen spotted the documents and the will, all in her name.
She lowered her head onto her arms and wept.
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