The memory of her father betrayed.
Edith Simpson drifted through the tangle of back-gardens, though the walk from her flat to the bakery ought to have taken her less than five minutes. But tonight was saturated with a bleak kind of longing, and Edith couldnt bring herself to return to her home, where the only thing awaiting her was a cold kettle, a sticky kitchen floor and her corpulent tabby, Percy. Percy had grown into her most consistent conversational partner these last few years, if you didnt count the tellywhich was always tuned in, from the moment she rose until she slid herself into bed, the drone of presenters giving that faint illusion of human company.
Her legs ached, her knee throbbed with a persistent, unpleasant pulse, and the sky threatened, all grey and heavy. Yet Edith still made her way to the playground, furniture abandoned to the drizzle, benches shining with rain. Nevertheless, she perched herself on the uneasy edge beneath the shelter of a rusty mushroom-shaped awning, hands dug deep into the pockets of a drab wool coat shed worn for at least seven yearsshe saw no point in buying a new one.
Once, back when her husband George was alive, everything felt different. The house was noisy, fullsometimes uncomfortably so, since their two-bedroom was home to both their children: elder Thomas and little Alice. Now, Thomas had long since settled with his wife and two kids in Manchester, whilst Alice had married some ambitious computer fellow and moved to Brighton. They swooped by only for holidays: messages of happy birthday, mum, love you and photographs of grandchildren growing up as distant, unfamiliar children, perpetually away at summer camps or abroad, always busy.
Edith sighed, watching a fat black crow hopping across the wet tarmac, hunting for crumbs. Once, shed imagined her children would be her support, grandchildren circling her in old age, some every evening phone calls. The reality was more sparse: Thomas rang once a monthif he rememberedand always with the same script: Mum, you alright? Works a nightmare, kidsve got colds. Sorry, cant really chat. Alice believed that sending some money to her mum each month cancelled any residual responsibility. Both lived their lives and left her navigating hers alone.
So, post-retirement had dissolved into a steady, monotonous blur: wake up, switch on the telly, feed Percy, boil up some porridge or an egg, television, lunch, television, evening stroll, television, sleep. Sometimes she caught herself speaking out loudtalking to the telly, arguing with some daft host. Percy would glance up at her with his yellow eyes, tail gently flicking, then shuffle off to nap on the armchair.
This evening, the prospect of home was particularly uninvitingempty, stifling. Even as raindrops began to tap on the shelter, Edith only huddled further into her coat and pulled her knitted hat brim low upon her forehead.
Edie? came a sudden voice from off to the side. EdithIs that you?
She flinched and looked up. There stood a tall, slightly stooped gentleman in an old-fashioned brown raincoat and a cloth cap. Wisps of silver hair peeked out, and his grey eyes were sharp yet gentle. She knew him: Henry Porter, from the next building; another habitual walker, always seen with his stick. They exchanged pleasantries sometimes in the lift or by the bins, never more.
Henry? Edith managed. What on earth are you doing out in this weather? Youll catch your death!
And you? he grinned, settling on the edge of the bench beside her, after laying down a folded newspaper for dryness. Ive watched from my windowsaw youve been out here rather a long time. Thought Id come down and checkjust in case.
Oh, Im alright, she waved him off. I just dont fancy going home tonight, thats all. Its a proper lonely sort of evening, Henry. Makes me want to howl.
I know the feeling. Henry nodded, pulling from inside his coat a slim, battered hip flask. Brandy, he explained, catching her look. Best medicine for the blues. Care for a nip? I dont drink much, but sometimes, you know, a little fire helps thaw the soul.
Edith intended to refuse, but paused. Why not? No one would see or judge her. She accepted the flask, took a tiny sip. The liquid burned a bright trail down her throat and a pleasant warmth rippled through her chest.
Thank you, she murmured, handing it back. Are you on your own as well? Didnt you have a wife?
I did. Henry inhaled, took a measured sip himself, then exhaled. Three years shes been gone. Sons are up in Londonone in East Finchley, one in Croydon. Families, jobs; they visit twice a year, ring on Sundays. Its just me otherwise. And you?
My two are off far away, Edith replied softly. Hardly ever call. Georges been gone these past fifteen years.
He nodded. A pair of wellies, then. Two old souls.
They lapsed into a companionable silence, just watching the rain ripple the puddles. And the stillness didnt feel heavy or awkward, but gentlelike theyd always known each other, run out of things to say, and just sitting together was enough.
Ive been watching you for a while, you know, Edie, Henry ventured at last, his voice a bit sheepish. Youre always so smartly dressed for your walks. Always alone. I wanted to introduce myself properly, but didnt have the nerve. Tonight felt like a signyou, under the rain, a proper statue. I thoughtIll chance it.
She regarded him with surprise. Youve been watching?
Well, what else have I to do? he shrugged. See you out at the same time each evening. If I dont, I wonderworry a bit, even.
Pressing her lips together, Edith felt something strangea shy, warming flutter, surprising for her age. That someone noticed, even cared, changed the temperature inside her a little. Well, I never knew.
How about we walk together? Henry asked, tentative, hopeful. Safer and merrier with the two of us. Ive got my stick, I can fend off the crows.
She laughed (and it had been a long while since shed last heard her own laughter). Fend off the crows! Alright, deal.
And then, life began to shift beneath their feet. Every evening after thatunless the weather was truly wildthey met out back and strolled through the little park behind their estate. Henry, it turned out, was a retired engineer whod spent his career designing machine parts, but now read history and sometimes wrote little columns for the local paper. Edith, once a bookkeeper, followed his stories with interest, though history was not her strong suit; she could listen well, and ask gentle questions. Henry, in return, loved hearing about her children, about her late husband George, and how theyd built a little cottage by the sea and sold it for a pittance, because their kids didnt want it.
Evenings stretched to darkness, their conversations unending. Edith surprised herself by smiling for no reason, by pottering around her flat in anticipation of Henrys companynot just for herself, but thinking what treat she could offer. She baked scones, and Percy, enticed by the scent of warm dough, purred and became friendlier.
Then, a month passed, and for the first time, Henry stayed over. It happened naturally: the tea, their talk, and before they knew it, the clock blinked past half-twelve. Henry, stay the night, Edith offered, heart thundering. Ive got a fold-out bed in the lounge.
Wont be a bother? he asked, hope and uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
Not a bit, she replied, waving a hand. More space than I need.
So it unfolded; at first, once each week, then twice, until quietly, Henry arrived with his slippers, his toothbrush, then his battered suitcase too. Edith would wake to the sound of him stirring about the kitchen, and the world felt lighter, gayer. Now, the television only played for the news or an old film, since conversation filled the gaps beautifully. Percy, initially affronted, huffed and sulked, but soon grew accustomed, even curled himself at Henrys feet.
Henry, lets do cabbage rolls tomorrow, Edith proposed one afternoon as they sipped honeyed tea in her kitchen. I always loved them, but never bothered making them just for myself.
Absolutely, Henry agreed. Ill pick up the mincemeat, you sort the rice.
Side by side, they rolled up the cabbage, and a simple serenity settled over Edith. She marvelledCan it be, that in old age, I am granted so startling a blessing?
But guilt undulated beneath the calm, especially when thinking of her children. Edith couldnt bring herself to tell them of Henry. Thomas and Alice had idolised George; to them, their father was a hero, a fixed star in their constellation. Fifteen years gone, and still, they invoked him: Dad would have done this, dad would have liked that. Henry, sensitive, never pressed.
Theyre your children, Edie, he would say, gentle. Whenever you want to tell them, youll know.
But the weeks galloped by and before long it cameher 65th birthday was approaching, and Thomas messaged, Mum, Alice and I are coming up for your birthdayboth our families, well stay the whole weekend. Is there something youd like? Ediths heart skipped, elation quickly swamped by dread. She paced the flat, lips bitten raw, unsure of what to do.
That evening over supper, she confessed, Henry, the kids are coming for three days. With the grandkids. All of them.
Splendid, Henry nodded, calm as ever, tucking into his shepherds pie. Introduce us.
Her nerves stung. IIm not sure, Henry. They were so devoted to their father. They might not take it well. Maybe, just for the weekend, you couldstay at yours? Let me explain things, then bring you around the next day?
He was quiet, poking his fork at the peas. Then he set it down, hands folded.
Edie, am I just some secret to hide away when the kids visit? Weve nearly half a year together. I love you, and now, because your children show up, Im thrown out?
Oh Henry, not like that! She nearly cried. Just for a couple of days, to break it to them gently.
He sighed, old and tired. Alrightif thats what you want. But Edie, I love you, but I wont live like a dirty little secret.
The next afternoon, he packed his things and left. The flat swallowed her in chilled silence once more. Percy prowled in circles, meowing at the empty space.
On Saturday, the clan arrivedThomas, his wife Linda, two rough-and-tumble boys; Alice, her husband Arthur, their little girl Daisy. The flat buzzed with commotion, with perfume and crumbs and bustling. Edith fussed with dishes, eyes straying to the cupboard where Henrys slippers lay hidden away.
That night, after the children were asleep, Edith braved it: Thomas, Alicesit down. Ive something important to tell you.
Both tensed, sensing the gravity. Is something wrong, mum? Are you ill? Thomas asked.
NoIm fine. It caught in her throat, but she pressed on. Ive been seeing someone. Henry Porter, from next door. Weve been living together, half a year now.
There was a crash of silence; Thomas gaped, mug in hand, Alice put her arms on the table, nails immaculate and painted.
Living together? Alices voice was crisp and cold. Mum, have you lost your mind? Do you know how old you are?
Sixty-five, she answered quietly. But not dead, Alice.
Thats not the point, snapped Thomas. Youve moved some strange man into dads homethe house he bought for this family!
Hes not a strangerhes a good man
I dont care who he is! Thomas thundered. Youve betrayed dads memory! He lived for us, and you invite another into his place!
Linda shushed, Dont shout, youll wake the kids!
And did you consult us? Alice pressed, voice rising. Didnt even ask if it was alright?
Should I have to? Edith felt tears sting her lids. I am an adultIm allowed a private life!
Private life? At your age? Thomas gave a disgusted snort. You should be thinking about your grandchildren, not men! We come here, thinking youre respectableand youre shacked up with a boyfriend. Where is hedid you hide him away?
He left. Because I asked him, her voice breaking. So you wouldnt walk in on him. I wanted to tell you firstprepare you.
Prepare us? Well, consider us unprepared, Alice said. Its humiliating, mum. You cant imagine how ashamed I am in front of my husband. My mother, living with a man as ifwell, I dont know what.
Dont say that! Ediths tears spilled. Hes not just a loverhes my companion. We walk, eat, watch television together. Its nothing shameful.
Oh, so now dad should be forgotten? Youre inviting some old goat into his flat? Thomas sneered.
Dont you dare! Edith blazed. You dont even know him.
And I dont want to. So here it is, mumeither us, or your Mr Porter. Carry on with him, you wont see us or the kids againever.
Exactly, Alice echoed. Its a matter of principle. You choose.
She sat, head in hands, tears sliding onto the tablecloth she had laid for their visit. She wanted to say she loved them both, that Henry was precious too, but the words stuck. Thomas and Alice exchanged glances and left, the echo of their footsteps leaving her hollow.
That night, Edith lay sleepless, staring at the artex above, thinking of how Henry had brought her wildflowers, how hed rolled up his sleeves in her kitchen, the way Percy curled against him. She weighed those warm memories against the cold, angry faces of her children.
In the morning, she could barely drag herself to make breakfast. Thomas already had his coffee, Linda fried eggs. Were leaving today, he announced, brusque. Dont want to spend your birthday in this mood.
How can you? Edith whispered. Youve only just come
Were going, he said. I dont want my children seeing their grandmother behaving like this. Lets not discuss it. Weve left your gifts in the hall. Well ring later.
Within an hour, the flat was empty again. Linda offered a shy look of pity but followed her husbands lead. Edith stood among the wrapping paper, gifts untouched, her chest aching as if a blade had slipped between her ribs.
All afternoon, she sat in her armchair gazing into a black television screen. Percy leapt onto her lap and purred, but comforted nothing at all. That evening, she picked up her phone and dialled Henry.
Dont come back, Henry, she said quietly, voice flat, hollow. We cant see each other anymore.
Whats happened, Edie? Henry sounded anxious. Did theysay no?
They did, she sobbed. Absolutely not. Said if I stayed with you, theyd cut me off. Wont let the grandchildren visit.
Are you choosing them? He was silent a long time. Edie, cant you seetheyre manipulating you. They have no right!
I know, she whispered. But theyre my children, Henry. Youre wonderful, but She trailed off. Forgive me. Im sorry.
Dont do this, Edie. Were family nowdont let them destroy that. Theyre justafraid. Dont let them win.
But she hung up, turned off her mobile, and broke down, Percy purring helplessly in her armscrying harder even than she had at Georges funeral. Then, at least, shed had her children beside her. Nowalone, emptier than ever.
Two months blurred by. The telly blared from morning til bed, she cooked for one. Percy lounged by the door, his gaze questioning, as though asking, Wheres Henry? Why hasnt he come back? Edit would stroke his warm fur, silent.
More rarely than ever, the children calledThomas a brief How are you, Mum? Alls well? Alice, silent except for the odd photo of Daisy in the group chat. No one asked after her health; no one wondered if she had what she needed. Life trickled on, and Edith knew she was even more distant, superfluous to them now than before.
One evening in the lift, she bumped into Mrs Evans from the fourth floor, infamous for her gossip.
Edie! Mrs Evans cried. I see youre walking on your own now. Wheres Henry? Not seen him in weeks. You two have a tiff?
No, Mrs Evanswerefinished.
Oh, love, that’s a shame, tutted Mrs Evans. Hes looked ever so poorly of late. Thin as a rake, pale as can be, limping worse than ever. His son came by, but only stayed a blink.
Poorly, is he? Something squirmed in Ediths heart. Whats wrong?
Mrs Evans shook her head. No one knows. Not well at all, though.
The lift trundled to Ediths floor, and she stepped out, frozen. She stared at her own front door for a momentthen, setting her shopping bag down, she hunched over her phone, thinking, then dialled Henrys number. Once, twice, three times. She nearly gave up when his frail, hoarse voice crackled on the line.
Yes?
Henry, its me Her breath fluttered. How are you?
Edie? He coughed. Why are you calling? Got the all-clear from your children?
Lets not talk about them, her voice trembled. Why didnt you tell me you were ill?
No point, he replied, wry and weary. You made your choice. Didnt want to burden you.
You daft old thing, Edith mopped her eyes. Im coming round. Wait for me.
She threw on her coat and hurried next door. Up the stairs, she pressed his bell, trembling. At last, he opened the doormuch thinner, eyes sunk, but his smile was the same, deep and gentle.
Why did you come? he asked.
Henry, you idiot. Tears in her voice, but she stepped in and gathered him into her arms. And mean old fool too. I know now. My children have left me. But I need you. Youre family to me.
He hugged her back, and for a long time they just stood there, arms around each other. Then she bundled him into the kitchen, made him sit, unpacked groceries and set to making supper.
Tomorrow, Ill ring Thomas, she announced, putting the kettle on. Ill tell them: Either you accept Henry, or you forget about me. I wont be made to choose again. Ive already chosen.
Dont quarrel with your children on my account, Henry tried.
I have to, she replied, voice sure and fierce. I gave them my whole life, and they blackmail me now. EnoughI am human too, and I want happiness. My happiness is you.
She cooked him a meal, tucked him into bed, and stayed the night. In the morning, she called Thomas.
Thomas, she said, wasting no time. Ive made my mind up. Im living with Henry Porter. We love each other. If you and Alice cant accept that, I wont force you to visit. But I ask that you think carefully. Im your motherI have a right to my own life. Dont talk to me about betraying your father. Thats not for you to say.
There was silence on the line, then Thomas replied, flatly cold, Mum, we warned you
I know, she interrupted. But the decisions made. If you want to see me, youre welcome. If not, thats that. I love you all the same. But I wont be managed by you any longer.
She hung up and let out a great shuddering breath. Lightness fluttered through her, as though a great weight had been taken from her chest.
A week later, Alice sent a message: Mum, weve talked. We dont approvebut if this is what you want, youre welcome to visit the children. Justplease, no talk of Henry. Wed prefer not to hear about him.
Edith read it, sighed, and put her phone away. She knew this was not full forgiveness, but it was a peace of sorts. The main thing wasbeside her Henry sat, Percy purring in his lap, the television muttering away in the background, though they paid it no mindthere was too much to say to each other still.
Henry, she said, a fond smile spreading. Shall we make those cabbage rolls tomorrow? I bought a nice big cabbage.
Lets, Henry answered, and his grey eyes brightened. Ill bring the mincemeat, you boil the rice.So it was that Edith and Henry settled into a new rhythmtwo aging hearts discovering, even so late, that love could still arrive unexpected, persistent as crocuses pressing through February frost. Outside, the weather turned, spring breathing colour back into the brittle hedges and the tired brickwork of their estate. Neighbours started to nod at them as a pair, sometimes pausing to chat, sometimes just smiling at the sight of Edith with a brightly patterned scarf and Henry with his battered stick, Percy trailing at their heels like a small, furry chaperone.
Birthdays passed; holidays, too. Sometimes the children sent invitationsan Easter lunch, a Christmas cardbut Edith no longer bent herself into shapes to suit their comfort. Henry became part of her world as naturally as the sun climbing behind their curtains. Together, they learned old recipes, burned the occasional casserole, laughed until they snorted tea. Mornings began with the clink of two mugs and Henrys off-key warbling in the hallway. Evenings found them shoulder-to-shoulder by the window, the world beyond shrouded in dusk and drizzle, their hands clasped warm between them, Percy nestled in the wedge of their legs.
And every now and then, Edith would glimpse her reflection in the glassa face soft with time, eyes wrinkled at the corners, but alight in a way shed forgotten she was capable of. She understood, finally, that lifes true betrayal would have been to live it all for other peoples memories, never for her own heart.
Some evenings, when silence settled and she listened to Henrys breathing beside her, she felt fiercely, stubbornly gratefulfor the rain that had kept her from going home that night, for the courage, finally, to step towards what was hers: a life still bright and shimmering at the edges, full of ordinary joys no one could forbid.
One afternoon, as Henry dozed in his chair, Edith pressed a note between the pages of her old family album, just where a faded photograph of George smiled up with the children astride his knees. It read, in her careful hand: Thank you for every happiness, for every good year. But I am here, now, tooand Ive learned to love again, as you would have wanted. If youre looking down, wish us well.
Then she put the album away, took up Henrys hand, and led him into the kitchen, where the scent of cabbage and spice promised one more ordinary, beautiful day.
And outside, as dusk crept in, two lights glowed side by side behind the curtainssteadfast and golden, quietly illuminating the night.
