Another whole year together
Lately, Arthur Smith hadnt ventured outside on his own. Not since that memorable day when hed set off to see the doctor, then promptly forgot his address, his name, and possibly the entire concept of existence. Hed wandered hopelessly in the wrong direction, doing laps around the neighbourhood like an unhinged satnav, until his eyes fell upon a very familiar building. As it turned out, it was the clock factory where Arthur had worked for nearly half a century.
He stared at the place, feeling certain he knew it, but why hed know it or who he himself was that part was fuzzy. Fortunately, someone crept up behind him and gave his shoulder a friendly thump.
“Mr Smith! Arthur, mate, what brings you here, missing the lads?” It was George Atkins, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Just the other day we were chatting about our old master and mentor. Honestly, Arthur, you dont remember me? I’m George! You made a decent bloke out of me!”
Something clicked in Arthurs brain, and suddenly his head stopped feeling like an empty biscuit tin; he remembered everything, thank heavens.
George hugged his old mentor, beaming. “Recognise me now? I shaved off my moustache. Nobody recognises me these days! Fancy popping in, the fellas would be chuffed?”
“Lets rain check, George. Bit knackered, to be honest,” Arthur admitted.
“No worries, I’ve got my car round the corner. I remember your address, hop in!” George was delighted. He dropped Arthur off home, and from then on, Margaret Smith made sure her husband wasnt let loose alone, even though his memory had returned to its usual spot.
From then, their outings were a double act: to the park, the GP, even Sainsburys.
One day, Arthur caught a nasty bugfever, hacking cough, the works. Margaret, not feeling great herself, braved the shops and pharmacy solo.
She bought medication and supplies, not much really, but a peculiar weakness came over her. The shopping bag weighed a ton, and she nearly keeled over herself. After a pause to catch her breath, Margaret valiantly dragged the bag onward.
A few more steps, and again she stopped. She dropped her bag onto the fresh, crispy snow and gracefully sank onto the path leading to their house, having decided that horizontal was the way forward. Her last thoughtwhy on earth did she buy so much? Old brains and impulse purchases!
Thankfully, neighbours emerged, saw her sprawled out like a snow angel, rushed over, and called an ambulance.
Margaret was whisked away, while the neighbours, clutching her bag filled with paracetamol and digestives, returned and knocked eagerly at her door.
“Her husband, Arthur, must be inside, not been well, I havent seen him for days,” Mrs Norton mused. “Probably asleep. Margaret mentioned hed been under the weather lately. Ah, old age isnt what its cracked up to be. Ill pop by again later.”
Arthur heard the doorbell but his cough made breathing a chore. He tried to stand, but dizziness dragged him back down faster than a dodgy deckchair.
The cough stopped, and Arthur dozed in a strange half-sleep, feeling vaguely aware and very much alone. Where was his Margaret? Why hadnt she come home?
He lay between dreams and waking, when suddenly, faint footsteps approached. Margaret, his Margaret, appeared by his side. Such relief!
“Arthur, give me your hand. Hold onto me, get up,” Margarets voice coaxed, her hand oddly cold and frail.
“Now open the front door, quickly,” she whispered.
“Why?” Arthur asked, but the request seemed urgent. He opened the door, and immediately Mrs Norton and George burst in.
“Arthur, you didnt answer! We called and knocked for ages!”
“Margaret, wheres Margaret? She was just here!” Arthurs lips trembled, trying to work out where his wife had vanished.
“Shes in hospital, intensive care,” Mrs Norton looked perplexed.
“Hes delirious,” George guessed, catching Arthur just in time as he slumped.
The neighbours rang the ambulance. Turned out Arthur had blacked out from the fever.
Two weeks later, Margaret was discharged from hospital. George cheerily drove her home; he and Mrs Norton had looked after Arthur all that time, and he was on the mend too.
Most importantly, they were together again.
When Arthur and Margaret were finally left alone, both could barely keep from tearing up.
“Good thing the worlds not short of kind folks, Arthur. Mrs Nortons a gem, remember her kids popping over for lunch after school? Wed help with homework, and shed collect them after work,” Margaret recalled.
“True. Not everyone remembers a favour, but shes a good soul, and thats rare,” Arthur agreed.
“And George, such a young lad when he startedI mentored him, helped him get on his feet. Young folks forget their elders quick, but this one didnt give me the brush-off.”
“In a few days itll be New Years, Arthur. How lucky we are to be together still,” said Margaret, squeezing her husband’s hand.
“Nah, you have to tell mehow did you come home from hospital to open the door for my rescuers? Id have carked it if you hadnt shown up,” Arthur ventured at last.
He dreaded shed think him mad, but Margaret studied him, eyebrows raised. “So it really happened? The doctors said I had a clinical death. So, while I was out, I visited you in a dream? I remember it too: seeing myself in the ICU, then somehow sneaking off to you…”
“Strange things happen to us old-timers! But you know, I love you as much as beforemore, even,” declared Arthur, clutching her hands. They sat quietly, looking at each other, as if afraid to let go.
On New Years Eve, George popped in bearing treatshis wifes home-baked pies. Soon Mrs Norton joined in, everyone had tea and pie, and the house was filled with warmth.
New Years, Arthur and Margaret welcomed side by side.
“You know, I made a wish: if we see this New Year together, its ours. Weve got another whole year,” Margaret smiled.
And both burst out laughing at the sheer joy of that thought.
Another whole year togetherits a lot, really. Its happiness, pure and simple.
