**Grey in the Beard. A Life Story**
“Fred, Fred? How was work today? Everything alright?”
“Fine. Same as always.”
“Fred, love, come have dinner. I made shepherds pie, just how you like it. Come on, eh?”
“Im not hungry.”
“Fred, love, dont be like that. I waited for youdidnt sit down without you.”
“Listen, Tanya, why dyou have to be like this? Clinging like a burr, I swear! Youre suffocating me, dyou know that? No more strength left in me. What, cant eat without me? Spoon wont reach your mouth?”
“Fred, Fred, dont shout, eh?”
“Fred! Ugh! Sick of hearing it! Arent you tired yourself, Tanya? Whats with all this grovelling? Dont you know anything? Youre smothering me with your care, understand? I cant breathe with yousoon therell be no air left. Youre stifling, and this care of yoursjust too much. Had enough, Tanya, no strength left. Im not living with you, Im suffering. Your Fred, Fred!how many times must I say I hear you? No need to repeat!”
“Fred, love. Have a whiskey, ease the nerves. You need restyoure tired.” Tanya looked guiltily at her husband, twisting the hem of her apron.
“Are you daft or just pretending? Still wearing that apron! Theres another woman, understand? Another! I love her, breathe only for her! Im leaving, Tanya.”
“Leaving? Thought it through, have you? Dont mistake me for softno coming back. You know me. Walk out that door, but know thistheres no return. And dyou think she really wants you? Think its easy for me to sit at the table knowing theres another woman? Think hard, Fredis your love strong enough to wreck a family in an instant?”
“Wont come back. Dont hope.”
Fred, still in his boots, marched to the bedroom. Muddy prints marked the clean rag rugs. He grabbed a duffel, shoved in his few belongings. Without a glance at Tanya, he walked out.
As he crossed the village, his thoughts swirled. Was this right? Twenty years together, a good son in the armytoo far to visit often. Wonder how hell take the divorce. Old enough to understand, though. Everything burned outno respect left. That endless “Fred, Fred!” She knew. Said nothing, just looked at him with those wounded eyes. Another woman wouldve scratched his face, screamedbut her? Silent reproach. Respect? For what? When shes none for herself. And this old-world nonsenselost her mind. A proper woman once, then she got it in her head: a rustic kitchen, rag rugs, a bloody samovar. Like a fool, scouring the village for those rugs, tearing up the floorboards for wood panelling.
No, Stellas different. Even her name says itsteel grip, young, vibrant. Couldve been their daughter-in-law, but nonow shes his wife. With her, he feels young again. No pies, no stews, no bloody rugs. Shes moderncolourful cabinets, designer clothes. Tanya let herself gospread out like a barge, always fussing, spoon-feeding him. Good riddance. Shouldve left sooner.
***
Tanya sat in the kitchen, staring at the filthy boot marks on her rugs, weeping silently. He never understood. Not the rugs, not the samovar. And she, the fool, had hoped! Those stainslike a dirty knife through her heart.
She yanked up the rugs in a rage. Who needed them? He remembered nothing, no decency left! That tartStellabarely older than their son. Swanned back to the village, all posh, landed a cushy job at the council. Two years, and shes head accountant. Chairmans smittenalways whispering in corners. But he wont leave his wife. Fred? Led like a lamb. And for what? A vets wage wont buy her diamonds.
***
She remembered their first yearyoung, wild, nothing mattered. No money? They had potatoes. Sat by bonfires, faces black, eating them skin and all. Moved into an old widows cottagerag rugs in the attic, a samovar. She scrubbed, washed those rugs in the river with Fred. Made it home. Dreamed of a big housewooden kitchen, rugs, samovar. To grow old there, remembering.
When she learned of Stella, she thoughtif she rebuilt that kitchen, hed remember. Come back.
But nothing brought back what was broken.
The village marvelled at her patience. Knew of his affair, stayed silent. And him! That girl could be his daughter!
***
She never showed the hurt. Alone in the house they built, avoiding her dream kitchen. At work, all smileseven greeting Fred like nothing happened. At first, he avoided herwho knew what shed do? Then he relaxed. These things happen.
He dragged his feet on the divorce. Shoulders hunched when she handed him the papers. Jealous, even. Thought shed beg. Insteadblooming. Maybe shed found someone. But novillage gossip wouldve spread.
***
“Tanya, Ive come about the house. Built it together, but youre here like a queenStella and I crammed in a bedsit.”
“What, want to move in? Bit awkward, all three of us.”
“Dont twist it. Youre not like thisyoure soft, kind. Why now?”
“What dyou want, Fred?”
“Well sell. No point dragging it out.”
“Sell? Just like that? Hands built it, and now strangers?”
“Got buyers lined up.”
“No. Not to strangers.”
“Have to. Wont agree? Ill go to court”
“No need. Buy my half.”
“Serious? Wherell you go?”
“Not your concern. Strangers can have it, but where I go? Dont fret.”
“Dont have that sort of money. Need time.”
***
Tanya watched the village shrink through the bus window. To the town first, then closer to their son. Vadim had flats lined upa vet with experience? Shed be snapped up. Sad, leaving half a life behindbut better than pitying stares, watching Fred play house.
Autumn wedding, they say. Let them. His choice.
The house? No regret. It brought no joy. Just stuff. Let Fred have it.
***
Fred stared at the garish cabinets, plastic flowers, fluffy throws, the glass table with its pointless pattern. This a kitchen? How could anyone eat here?
He missed the wooden kitchen, the samovar, the rugs. Tanya bustling at the stove, trying to please him. What a fool! Traded a kind, gentle wifea motherfor this? Pretty wrapping, empty inside. Like these cupboards. He yanked them opennothing. Instant noodles, microwave rice, boxed tea. Empty.
Stella watched, mascara-thick lashes blinking.
On the porch, he clutched his head. Fool. Fool. Fool. Ruined the best years for what? Nothing would be good again.
Hed been thrilled finding the money, signing the papers. Watched Stella smash the kitchen, dump the rubble where Tanyas garden was. Those rugs tossed like trashTanya walking past, indifferent.
Shed moved on. Taken something vitalhis peace, his comfort, his hope.
Nothing would be good again. Just emptiness. Like dirty footprints on clean rugs.
