Margaret Ann found out her husband was seeing the woman next door at the allotments when she popped by to borrow some salt for pickling her cucumbers. It was John who opened the door. Her John. Standing there in nothing but his old stripy pants and a vest.
John? was all she could manage to gasp.
He turned sheet white, then went beetroot red, then paled again.
Maggie I can explain, love
Behind him appeared Dorothy, the neighbour, whod been a widow for years. She had on a dressing gown, hastily pulled over, clearly, very little.
John, whos that? she called, then spotted Margaret. Oh well
Three people, all standing, staring at each other. Then Margaret spun round and headed for the gate. Fast, almost running.
Maggie! Wait a minute! John tore out after her, forgetting he was basically undressed.
The whole lane of twelve allotments emptied to watch.
John Albertson, respected chap, chair of the allotment society, running down the track in his underpants after his wife.
The circus is in town, muttered Michael, the neighbour on the left.
Margaret dashed into the house, locked the door behind her. John drummed his fists on it.
Maggie, let me in! Let me explain!
How long? she yelled from the other side.
What?
How long have you two been carrying on?
John fell silent. Then, quietly, Eighteen years.
Margaret slid to the floor. Eighteen years. Their younger son Joseph had just turned eighteen.
The gate creaked, and Dorothy stepped into the garden. Shed had time to get dressed and do her hair.
Margaret, come out. We need a word.
Go away, you snake.
Margaret, were grown-ups. Lets skip the dramatics.
Margaret pulled herself together, walked out. Perched on the doorstep. Dorothy sat down beside her. John shuffled a few feet away.
Eighteen years, Margaret said. How did this happen?
Remember when you put your back out? You were in hospital months?
She remembered. Surgery, long recovery. John let all the cucumbers dry out, tomatoes rotted. Shed wondered how he managed at all.
I helped him, Dorothy continued. With the veg, with cooking. And, well
It happened, John muttered.
Eighteen years! Margaret jumped up. Eighteen years you two have taken me for a fool!
No one thought you were a fool, Dorothy stood too. You were living your life. We lived ours.
Ours? Margaret snapped. Hes my husband! The father of my children!
So? Did he stop being your husband? Are your children unfed? The allotment neglected?
Margaret raised her hand, but John caught her wrist.
Maggie, please.
Dont touch me!
She twisted away, stormed inside. Outside, a crowd had gathered. Allotment gossip travelled fast.
Off you go, now! John shouted. Shows over!
No one budged. They all stood there, having their say. Lindsay from plot three announced grandly, I always knew! Saw them together myself!
Youre talking rubbish, her husband chimed in. Youre blind as a bat.
Youre the blind one! I see everything!
That evening, Margaret sat on the veranda. John paced around in circles.
Maggie, say something, will you?
What is there to say? Get divorced!?
Divorce? Were both sixty!
And? People dont get divorced after sixty?
Oh, Maggie, dont be daft. Weve been married forty years!
Eighteen of those you were with Dorothy.
I was with you! Just went to hers, sometimes.
Sometimes?
Well twice a week.
Twice a week for eighteen years isnt sometimes, John. Thats a routine.
He slumped into a chair.
Maggie, please try to understand. I love you. But Dorothy shes different.
Better?
Not better. Just different. With you, its the house and the kids and daily life. With her, I get a break. From all that.
A break! Id like a break too! But someone has to do the pickling!
There you are! Always so busy! Cucumbers, tomatoes, jam-making! And sometimes, I just want to sit, have a drink, a natter.
Can’t do that with me?
With you, we talk about the kids, the grandkids, the allotment. With her, its life, books
She reads? Margaret was genuinely surprised.
Shed always known Dorothy as a straightforward woman, country bred.
She does. Loves poetry. The classics.
Margaret almost laughed. John and poetry.
So what now?
I dont know. Up to you.
Me? What about you?
Im sixty-two, Maggie. What decisions can I possibly make? I just want peace in my dull old age, thats all.
With whom? Me or her?
John was silent. At last he said,
Can it be both?
Margaret grabbed the nearest thing a jar of pickles and lobbed it at him. Missed. The jar smashed against the wall.
Get out!
John left. Off to Dorothys, of course.
That night Margaret couldnt sleep. Forty years together. Two kids, grandkids. The allotment they’d made their own.
And eighteen years of lies.
Though was it really lying? Hed never promised lifelong faithfulness. Never made grand declarations. He just lived with Margaret, and with Dorothy.
Next morning, Zoe from plot five came round with a cake.
Here you go, Margaret. Chin up.
Thanks.
If you want, my husband can go sort John out.
No need. Were not in primary school.
So what are you going to do now?
Nothing yet.
Id kick him out. Cheater!
Zoe, is your husband not visiting Lindsay from plot three?
Zoe blushed.
Whered you get that idea?
I saw them in the raspberry patch.
Thats thats not
What then?
They were talking about vegetables!
Arm in arm?
Zoe left, slamming the door.
By lunch, Michael dropped by.
Mrs Albertson… look, can I help with digging? Anything?
No, thank you.
John sent me to say hell be coming for his things this evening.
What things? His stripy underpants?
Er I dont know. Just passing on the message.
Right. Thanks for passing it on.
Michael hovered awkwardly, then left.
That evening, John turned up, head lowered.
Ill just get my stuff.
Take it.
He went inside. Margaret followed him.
John, why Dorothy of all people? Whats so special?
He paused.
Dont know. Just shes easy to be with.
And Im difficult?
Not difficult. But you always know best. How to pickle cucumbers, when to plant potatoes, how much pocket money for the grandkids. She doesnt know. She asks me.
Makes you feel clever?
More like needed.
Margaret sat on the bed.
I dont know it all either, John. Like, I have no idea how to live when your husbands been seeing the neighbour for eighteen years.
Maggie
I dont know how you look the kids in the eye. Or tell the grandkids why granddad is living at Dorothys.
Dont tell them anything!
I have to, John. Davids coming tomorrow, with his wife and little one. What should I say?
Say weve had a row.
John sat next to her.
Maggie, cant we just forget this ever happened?
How would that work?
We just pretend, you know, nothing happened.
Right. Dorothy over the fence, you bump into her every day, and we pretend?
What do you suggest?
Margaret stood, looked out the window. Across the fence, Dorothy was watering her cucumbers. Same old dressing gown.
You know what? Live where you like. But you explain it to the grandkids yourself.
Maggie!
And you can do the pickling this year.
I cant!
Dorothyll help. Shes the cultured one shell figure out cucumbers, too.
John left with his little bundle. The entire lane watched him go.
In the night, Margaret woke to a racket. Someone was out in the garden, muttering to themselves. She popped outside. John was by the greenhouse.
What are you doing?
Checking the tomatoes. Theyve said theres a scorcher coming need to open up.
But youve moved out.
I have. But those are my tomatoes! I grew them!
So?
Well, Im not letting them die!
He opened the greenhouse, then left. Over the fence.
In the morning, David and his family arrived.
Mum, wheres Dad?
At Dorothys.
Visiting?
Living there.
David sat down.
Sorry, what?
Margaret told him, simply, skipping the details.
Eighteen years? Mum, so when Joe was born, they already?
Looks like it.
David went over to Dorothys. Margaret heard shouting, then the gate banging. He came back.
Dad says he loves you both.
Lucky us.
Oh, Mum, come on! What if he does, actually?
David, could you love two women?
Me? No. But Im not Dad. Hes well, hes Dad.
True.
Her grandson dashed in from the lane.
Nana, whys Grandpa living at that ladys house?
Because Grandpas helping her with the garden, love, Margaret replied.
David burst out laughing.
Oh, Mum, youre brilliant
That night, there was more noise. Margaret went out. John was watering the beds.
John, are you quite mad?
Its drought! Everything will die!
Your new familys waiting. Go water their garden.
Dorothys got her own!
Then water hers!
But I hate to lose these!
Margaret grabbed the hose.
Come on, then. Ill help, or youll take all morning.
They watered in silence. Then sat on the bench.
John, honestly who do you love more?
Margaret, not that old chestnut.
Its a fair question. Which one?
John thought for a while.
Both of you. Just differently.
Hows that, then?
Youre like my right arm. Familiar, reliable. Cant do without you. Shes more like a festival rare, but exciting.
John, what if I was gone?
Oh, dont be daft! Dont talk like that!
But if. Would you marry her?
Dont know. Maybe not.
Why not?
She’d become the right arm. The festival would be over.
So you want both!
Looks like I do.
They sat watching the stars.
John, maybe I should go for a festival myself.
John spluttered.
What?! What festival?
A man. Michael, for example, offered help.
Michael?! Ill give him a
What will you do? Youre living at Dorothys, remember?
Thats different!
How so?
Youre not like that, Maggie!
How do you know? Perhaps I read the classics, too.
You dont.
I will, then.
John got to his feet.
Margaret, seriously. What do you want?
What did she want? For things to go back how they were? But that was gone. Forever.
I want a quiet life. To pickle cucumbers. Look after the grandkids.
And?
And nothing. Live where you like.
Meaning?
Go to Dorothy if you want. Or come back home. Just dont lie anymore.
And if Michael comes round?
He wont. Hes got Natalie from plot nine.
How do you know?
John, Im not blind. I just kept quiet. Like everyone else.
Next morning, John arrived, bags in hand.
Maggie, sure about me coming back?
Beds in the shed. Blow up the air bed, and keep out the way.
He dropped his bundle, went for the air mattress.
Neighbours watched, whispered. Dorothy watered her cucumbers, acting like nothing had happened.
David came to the door.
Has Dad come back?
Blowing up a mattress in the shed.
Youre an angel. Forgiving him and everything?
Not an angel. Just daft. And far too late to change.
Within a week, John moved from the shed into the house. After a month, Margaret barely noticed his twice-weekly visits to the neighbour. After a year, no one on the lane remembered the story.
There were new stories. Lindsay from plot three ran off with Peter from plot five, and Zoe moved in with Lindsays husband.
Margaret pickled her cucumbers. John built a new greenhouse. Dorothy read a book over the fence.
At the end of the day, whats love, really? Living forty years together, raising kids, building a home, planting a garden.
And learning that nothing is ever perfect. Not even love.
Especially not love.
