Changed My Mind About Marrying
I found myself, once again, staying late in the laboratory at Kings College. The fluorescent lights hummed above as I shifted beakers and scrutinised strange powders with more focus than most would find reasonable. But after forty years, my faith in the slow rewards of science was unshakeable. The hope that soon my meticulous work would yield a breakthrough some potent extract from a rare British fern root spurred me on. I daydreamed about presenting my discovery to the Royal Society.
With my mind buried in formulas, I hardly noticed the new cleaner, Emma, a fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old whod only just joined the department. I was consumed by visions of chemical equations; I didnt see her watching me from the doorway while she leaned against her mop, procrastinating her own duties.
But one evening, Emma plucked up her courage and approached me.
Dr. Green, youve been glued to that desk all day. Fancy a cuppa? I, um, happened to bring an electric kettle and some homemade sausage rolls.
It was the mention of sausage rolls that snapped me out of my calculations. I pushed myself up from the desk.
Tea? With sausage rolls, you say? Id be a fool to say no to that.
Emmas hands trembled as she fished the battered Tupperware and kettle from her rucksack. She beamed.
My mum sent me some sausage meat from our familys farm back in Derbyshire. I made these myself yesterday, with a bit of extra bacon.
Smiling, she set her offering on the desk. I, by habit, reached for my reading glasses just recently put away.
While the kettle brewed, I eyed the Tupperware.
Tell me, how long have these sausage rolls been in your bag?
Emma looked uncertain and shrugged. Since this morning, I suppose? Why?
Was the lid as tight as it is now? I asked, a little concerned.
Yes I think so. Do you reckon theyre off? Shouldnt be the staff rooms always cold. They havent even turned the heating on yet.
Battle-torn between curiosity and caution, I replied hesitantly, Lets just have tea, shall we? Take the sausage rolls home and enjoy them yourself later.
She snatched the sausage rolls indignantly, her face flush with disappointment at my lack of trust in her culinary skill.
I saw her glare and the furrow of her brow unmistakable intent.
Oh, dont open that! I protested, stepping well back, clutching my pocket square to my nose. But Emma popped the lid, sniffed, and rolled her eyes.
Smells fine! Oh, you city types are all the same. Dont want them? Suit yourself more for me.
She plonked the Tupperware down and poured us both a cup of tea.
I took a seat. The warmth of the tea seeped through me, and for a moment the world seemed softer. I watched Emma tuck into her sausage roll in earnest.
Is that beef? I inquired, drawn by the aroma.
She nodded, mouth full.
Looks lovely, and it smells delightful, really, I admitted. My resolve wavered as hunger gnawed at me, making my logical mind falter.
With a sigh, I tried to ground myself in reason.
Technically, Emma, the staff room temperature cant exceed twenty-two degrees per the health and safety regulations, so theoretically, no organisms
What? she interrupted, a smudge of grease glinting on her chin.
My thoughts were an untidy flurry:
Looks incredibly juicy and it smells heavenly. Perhaps I was too hasty.
But then conscience returned: Dont, Arthur. You know the risks of eating food you cant verify. She doesnt strike me as especially mindful of proper refrigeration!
However, my stomach rumbled. Without realising, my hand reached for a sausage roll. I bit in the pastry crisp, the filling savoury.
My word, thats wonderful! Did you really make these? I marvelled.
Emma blushed. Told you. Ive been making them for years now.
I ate with my eyes closed, lost in the sublime flavour. Emma wiped her mouth and eyes with her apron, visibly relieved that Id relented.
Well, see? Knew youd come round. Ive baked since I was a little girl.
***
As a small thank you, I insisted on walking Emma to the bus stop. We got to talking shed just turned twenty-three. An age at which one could be your daughter, I thought. We stood for ten minutes in the biting wind, waiting for her bus.
If youd like, Ill bring you some homemade biscuits tomorrow, she said shyly. I dont buy shop ones. Do you prefer oat or carrot?
Ill eat anything, I said honestly.
Ill bring both, then! she declared, eyes sparkling.
A strange thing I found myself actually looking forward to the next day instead of my research.
That night, I even dreamt about her embarrassing as it is to admit. In my dream, she undid her blouse with an innocence and charm that left me crimson-cheeked in the morning.
Forty years Ive lived and never even noticed a woman, and here I am, as if Id been cursed, I muttered to myself, shaking my head.
Part 2
Meeting her family had me rattled. The taxi rattled along the icy road, and as Emma squeezed my hand, I fretted about my appearance: smoothing my thinning hair in the rear-view mirror, hoping to mask my balding patch. Only yesterday, Emma had plucked every grey hair from my scalp, head in her lap, with the patience of a saint.
Id dressed the part: suit, tie, a hint of aftershave. Emma nestled her cheek against mine, purring like a contented tabby.
Youll charm them, she insisted. Mums a good sort. My stepfather, Charlie, agrees with everything she says.
How old is your mother? I queried.
Forty-five.
So, just five years older than me. Do you think shell approve?
Silly, what can she say? And if she does make a fuss, Ill tell her Im carrying your child!
Lets not start our marriage with melodrama, I said, horrified at the idea.
Soon, we arrived. I nearly lost my cap to a gust as I stepped out into a wintry wasteland of monster drifts. The little cottage was exactly as one imagines: lopsided roof, battered old chimney with a cracked black cauldron up top.
The door groaned open. Inside, slanted walls drowned in limewash and floors crossed with rag rugs. It was another world.
My God. Who could live here? I wondered. Surely this was a guesthouse, or a fishing hut she couldnt truly live here?
But when Emma whispered to leave my shoes by the door and nudged me into the cramped parlour, I realised it was no joke.
A formidable woman in a towelling robe stood before me.
Mum, this is Dr Arthur Green. My fiancé. Remember? I told you about him on the phone.
Her glance was arctic.
Evening, she said, eyeing me from head to toe like an inspector.
Her tone boded poorly.
Are you having a laugh, love? How old are you?
I floundered.
Well, allow me to introduce myself. Im Arthur, your daughter and I work together
How old? she cut across, voice ringing through the cottage.
Forty, I confessed.
My girls twenty-three! Thats a chasm, not an age gap!
Please yes, Im older, but I care for Emma very much. Ill never see her hurt. Ive a job, a London flat, a cottage in the country
But you dont own a car!
I well, Im rather shortsighted and cant drive, but I could teach Emma herself
Enough! her mother snapped. What, fancy making my daughter your skivvy? Think were in Dickensian times?
Oh, thats not fair! I protested. I want to marry Emma, have a proper church wedding, raise children together. I swear, my intentions are honest!
Her stepdad Charlie appeared, a dapper man of about thirty, all bright eyes and dark curls, radiant as a leading man.
Lovely to meet you, heard all about you, he smiled.
Emmas mum shot him a glare. Charlie, dont you suck up! My daughter will not marry this old codger!
Emma gasped. Mum, really! You cant speak to people that way! If youre like this, maybe I should just go with him and leave!
Over my dead body!
The shouting began. I longed to vanish.
I gently prised Emmas hand from mine and excused myself.
Emma, forgive me. I cant stand between you and your mother.
And she can parade her boyfriend here, years younger than herself? Then chucks me out so she can cavort with him? Emma blurted furiously.
Dont you tae that tone! snapped Charlie.
Be quiet, you! Emmas mum bellowed, even louder.
Pandemonium.
I ducked out, dodging a flying stool, mumbling prayers, and ran into the night.
I ran about the village, cursing myself.
Why did I ever agree to this? I couldve spent tonight in my warm lab, minding my own work. Instead, Im here on some fools errand!
My phone failed to pick up a signal; I wandered, lost and freezing, until I found myself again at the dreadful little house, recognising the sooty cauldron atop the chimney.
Everything was silent now. Emma appeared in the doorway with bags in hand.
Arthur, youre here? Love, I thought youd left me.
Needed some air. Its stuffy indoors, I lied.
If she wont bless my marriage, then Im leaving! declared Emma.
I kept quiet. My shoes were hopeless against the cold; my feet numb, my toes like matchsticks.
Emmas mum soon came out, wrapped in a fur coat and felt boots, tall and proud on the doorstep a regular Lady Bracknell.
If you disregard me as your mother, youre on your own now. Hes your problem, she intoned grandly.
Emma nodded. Better with him than with you, Mum. Arthurs a good man! At least call us a cab?
Her mother shrugged. No chance. Hes your responsibility now. Sort yourselves out.
Emma nudged me. Do something, please.
Shaking from the cold and stress, I said, I cant get a signal. Pop next door, see if someonell call a taxi.
I was out of my depth, terrified and nearly hypothermic. My legs gave out; I stumbled, barely conscious.
Whats wrong? Emma screamed across the frozen fields.
Dizzy. Good grief, is this where I meet my end? I just want to go home, I whispered.
Her wail echoed out and, to me, sounded like hell itself.
***
I dont remember much until the kindly village nurse injected something into my arm. Suddenly my senses returned the lime-washed walls, uneven ceiling, scratchy sofa, and that confounded blanket.
Dont get up, the nurse instructed. Youve had a hypertensive moment. Try and relax.
What happened? I croaked.
Blood pressure through the roof from stress.
Never been so stressed until tonight.
In my mind, I saw Emmas mothers scornful face.
Sickly, too, her voice mocked.
Mum, leave him! Emma shouted, coming over with tea. She fed me like a child.
The nurse readied to leave. Could you take me back to London? I asked, desperation clear.
I live here myself Im not the ambulance, she said kindly.
Emma leaned in.
Are you leaving already? No need, Mum forgives us both now. Shes not angry anymore.
The truth? I dreaded looking in Emmas eyes, ashamed of my cowardice and relief.
They mightve made up, but I havent. If I get out of here in one piece, Im never going anywhere near women again, I swore quietly.
***
Back in the lab, another night finished, I said to the new assistant, a plain but kindly thirty-two-year-old named Margaret,
Im done for the day. I did warn you half an hour ago. Time to pack up.
Margaret, adjusting her glasses, went pink. I made pie would you like a cup of tea with some?
No, thanks! I blurted out. We work here, Margaret. Lets not turn the lab into a tearoom.
She laughed, Workdays over!
Time to go! I said, a bit too harshly.
Her smile faded. She tidied her things and left, muttering, Grumpy old sod.
I sighed, locked up, and hurried home.
It was 8pm sharp. I rang the bell; Emma opened the door.
Evening, Dr Green.
Whats for dinner? I asked, barely looking at her.
Duck soup and potato dumplings.
Perfect. Let me know what the groceries cost. Ill add it to your wages at the end of the month.
Off came my shoes, coat hung up. I washed my hands and sat down at the kitchen table, dinner already served.
Emma hovered beside me.
Are you still cross at my mother? she asked. She was only worried, you know. She just thought you wouldnt take me seriously. We were just teasing I love you.
I stirred my soup, something grating inside me.
Or are you spooked by our family squabbles? Theyre nothing, honestly. We row and make up all the time perhaps went too far this time, but still
I stood, gently took her by the shoulders, and ushered her to the door, pressing her belongings into her hands.
Its late. Go home now. No need to come in tomorrow. Ill eat the dumplings, but you neednt bother Thursday either.
I shut the door gently, drowned out her stifled sobs, then returned to my meal, appetite dulled but grateful to be alone.
