The Years of Loneliness: A Six-Year Trial Without a Beloved.
Elizabeth felt weary beyond measure. Six long years had slipped by since her husband left her. Her daughter had married the year before and moved to another town.
Elizabeth was only forty-twoa splendid age for a woman. A second youth, some might say. She was an excellent homemaker, skilled in the kitchen, and her pickled cucumbers with tomatoes were hailed as masterpieces. But what was the point now? Rows of empty jars gathered dust on the balcony.
“Surely I shant perish alone, not at my age!” Elizabeth would say to her friends. Theyd reply, “Of course not! Find a man! There are plenty of bachelors about.”
One of them suggested she try an agency called *The Finest Gentleman*. Elizabeth thought it absurd, even a tad embarrassingresorting to such a service. Still, forty-two weighed on her. The old grandmother clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, marking wasted hours.
So she went. A pleasant woman in raspberry-tinted spectacles greeted her.
“Only the finest here,” she said. “Lets browse the database. Do take a seat!”
“All these men are quite handsome,” Elizabeth murmured with a faint smile. “But how does one truly know? How can I be sure hes the right one?”
“All is arranged,” the woman assured her. “We grant a weeks trialample time to decide. Should you continue or move on.”
“A week of what?”
“A husband!”
“How so?”
“Just so! He lives with you for seven days. Listen, were not coy brides herethis is business. No madmen or fools in our records.”
Elizabeth found herself taken with the idea. Together with the raspberry-spectacled lady, she picked five candidates. After paying a modest sum, she hurried home. The first was due that very evening.
She slipped into a green dressthe colour of hopeand fastened diamond earrings she seldom wore.
*Ding-dong!* The doorbell chimed.
Elizabeth peeked through the peephole. Roses. She nearly gasped in delight. Opening the door, she found a man as elegant as his photograph.
They sat at the table, Elizabeth having prepared a feast. She placed the bouquet at the centre, stealing glances at her charming guest, thinking, *This is it. No others needed. Him.*
They began with salad. The prospective husband frowned. “Why so much vinegar?” Flustered, Elizabeth offered roast pork. He chewed a bite. “Tough.” Nothing pleased him. Distracted, she forgot the wine shed carefully chosen. Pouring a glass, she toasted, “To new beginnings!” He sniffed it. “Cheap stuff.” Rising, he announced, “Lets see how you keep house.”
Elizabeth snatched the roses and thrust them at him. “I detest roses. Goodbye.”
That night, she wept a little. But four more meetings awaited.
The second arrived the following evening, reeking of whisky. “Well, hello there!” he boomed. Elizabeth asked, “Have you told anyone of our meeting?” He grinned. “Oh, hush! Tell me, got a telly? The match is startingUnited versus City. Well talk over it.”
“Youll watch it at home,” Elizabeth snapped.
Again, she wept alone.
Three days later, the third candidate appearedno Adonis, in a shabby coat, grubby nails, and mud-caked boots. She nearly turned him away at once but relented and served supper. He ate heartily, praising her cooking until she blushed. Then she brought out the pickled cucumbers.
“My word!” he cried. “The finest Ive ever tasted!”
Just then, the grandmother clock chimed. The man cocked his head. “Whats that noise?” He climbed onto a stool, inspected the clock, and asked for tools. Soon, it ticked cleanly, sweetly. Elizabeth, enchanted, took it as a sign. Here was her husbandclever, capable. So what if his boots were muddy? A trifle.
That night, prepared for romance, she donned her best nightgown. Emerging from her bath, she found him already asleep, fully clothed. Undeterred, she gazed tenderly. “Poor dear, exhausted.” She lay beside him, careful not to disturb.
Then the nightmare began. The man snoredmasterfully, thunderously. She muffled her ears, shoved a pillow at him, even rolled him over. Nothing helped. Dawn found her haggard.
At breakfast, he asked, “Right, then. When shall I fetch my things?”
She shook her head. “No. Youre kind, but no.”
The fourth, a bearded fellow, reminded her of a rugged explorer from an old film. She even let him smoke in the kitchen. He exhaled, declaring, “Elizabeth, lets be clear. Im a free spirit. Fishing, lads weekendsno nagging calls asking where I am. Understood?”
She watched him tap ash into her orchid pot. “Do you chase other women too?”
He smirked. “Why not? Freedom, love. A mans right.”
After he left, she aired the kitchen for hours. A headache pounded; she felt drained, lifeless. She didnt even wash the dishes.
Next morning, sunlight spilled through the curtains, sparrows chirping gaily. Elizabeth stretched, marvelling at her peace. Saturday. No haste, no nuisance, no snoring. The dishes? Theyd keep.
Then the phone rang. “Elizabeth! *The Finest Gentleman* calling. Your last candidate arrives todaya true gem!”
She nearly shrieked into the receiver. “Strike me off your list! The finest gentleman is no gentleman at all!”
Laughing, she drew back the curtains.
