In Sickness and in Health
Margaret was widowed early, at forty-two. By that time, her daughter, Emily, had already married a decent lad from the neighbouring village and moved with her young husband up North to seek better wages.
Every so often, Emily would indulge her mother with a phone call, assuring her not to worry, that all was well: friends, work, new in-laws. In those moments, Margaret felt with clarity how distant her daughter had becomea slice cut off from the loaf.
No work could be found in the village for Margaret; the only school where she worked as a cooks helper had recently closed down.
Left unemployed, Margaret did not give in to despair. She took to riding the bus twice a week to sell milk and cottage cheese to her regulars in the next village.
The money she earned was barely enough to keep her afloat, but on the other hand, Margaret knew she had little to complain about. She lived alone, subsisting on her own milk and cheese, and vegetables from her garden.
She had no time to dwell on loneliness: her yard was alive with chickens, geese, and ducks. In the shed, her cow Daisy lowed, and at her feet twined her cat, Buttercup. Seeing to everyones food, hay, and bedding made the days pass swiftly.
Once a day, usually after lunch, Margaret would sit on a small chair by the window and gaze out at the world beyond her cottage.
And there was always something worth seeing: the peaceful birches standing against the endless sky.
Beyond the birches, a spring burst straight from the ground, its water icy and clear, feeding a small lake.
Such a natural gem didnt go unnoticed forever. So one morning, Margaret woke to the clamour of lorries arriving outside her house.
Margaret yawned, threw on her thick flannel dressing gownher mothers old oneand headed for the porch.
Peering out, she saw a small crowd surveying the land. She approached one man, a striking figure in a smart overcoat.
Good morning. May I ask whats happening here?
He turned to face her, glanced at her cottage.
Do you live here? I recently bought this plot and plan to build a house. Looks like well be neighbours.
Neighbours?
Margaret returned inside, flustered. She needed to find out who had decided to build right beside her, so she tidied herself and headed for the shop.
The chatty shopkeeper, Brenda, was well informed and explained that the plot next to Margarets had been snapped up by some wealthy businessman.
He wants to build a house. Not for himself, but for his twin brotherapparently hes unwell, doctors advised him to live close to nature. And with our lovely woods and springs, who can blame him?
Businessman, you say mused Margaret. Well, that might be all right. If he likes it here, he might even open a shop or something. We could really use more work around here.
Well, arent you dreaming, Brenda chuckled.
As Margaret left the shop, she bumped into Mick, the bread delivery driver.
Today, as always, his arms were laden with trays of fresh loaves.
All right, Margaret, will you hold the door for me? he asked.
Morning, Mick, she smiled, holding the door wide.
He paused at the threshold. Where are you off to in such a hurry? Here, take a warm loaf, just out of the oven.
Margaret blushed, grabbed a roll, and called out, Brenda, put that on my tab, Ill pay you later!
Margarets embarrassment had a cause: Mick had been courting her for years. But Margaret avoided him like the plaguehe was six years her junior, and folk in the village would remark, Margarets far too old for him. So she had forbidden herself to hope; let Mick find someone his own age!
Yet Mick wasnt marrying anyone, only casting looks Margarets way and occasionally tryingawkwardlyto show his affections, until shed closed him off.
Mick would only sigh, watching her from afar.
***
The house went up quickly.
When a handsome new manor sprang up in the meadow and its windows shone with light, Margaret decided to call in.
She opened the brand-new front door and, carrying an apple pie, called inside:
Hello, neighbours, good day to you!
The house smelled of wood and fresh paint. Margaret hovered on the doorstep, pie in hand.
Two men peeked from an archway and a few women, dressed in overalls, emerged.
Yes? Who did you want?
Oh Im your neighbourfrom the next cottage along. Ive baked pies; thought Id share some with you.
Thank you, nodded one of the women, taking the tray from her.
Margaret hesitated, I wondered might you have any work going? I can hang wallpaper, do a spot of plastering, or paint the ceilings No?
One of the men shook his head. Not really. Weve a whole team here for the renovations. Youll need to ask the owner, due in a couple of days.
Oh, right then Margaret nodded. Ill be off.
No job for her there.
Margaret went home and cast a dismal eye on her own shabby house.
It too needed mending, though that would do little good. Old and drafty, it was slowly crumbling and gathering moss.
But more than anything, Margaret felt wounded by how unnecessary she was to her new neighbours.
It hadnt always been this way; people used to make introductions upon moving in or building a new home. Meeting your neighbours was the right, normal thing to do.
But the owner across the way had never once stopped in or asked after anything, as though neighbours were of no consequence. Strange man.
***
But things soon changed. At Christmas, the new house lit up with fairy lights, and the residents arrived.
Margaret watched from her window as lorries unloaded furniture and boxes.
A young woman in a chic cream coat strode confidently into the house.
Look at her, thought Margaret, must be a beauty queen. Who else would turn up in a businessmans new house?
She never spotted the brother Brenda had mentioned. He never stepped outside, only the young woman would pop to the shop once a week.
Margaret greeted her several times, stopping for a chat, but the neighbour would simply scowl, avoid her gaze, mutter a cold hello, and hurry off.
Margaret lamented her neighbours coldness.
She must think mighty highly of herself if she cant even speak to me, she thought, disheartened.
A year passed like this. Margaret eventually stopped trying to get on with her neighbours, even ignoring their visitors. Once a week, an expensive car would arrive, a dignified man would unload shopping and disappear inside.
But then, everything changed again.
There was a knock at Margarets door. The neighbour came in and got straight to the point:
I noticed youve a cow, chickens, all sorts. Would you sell me some meat? Ill pay. And Id love to buy your butter, cream, and potatoes if you have any.
Oh yes, of course! Margaret piped up, offering her guest a seat as she rummaged in her larder.
Its justmeat from the supermarket isnt right. Neither is the cream, apologised the neighbour.
Margaret nodded, pulling a bag of beef from the freezer; her steer had been butchered not long back.
Its good stuff, freshyou wont need to boil it for ages.
How long does it take to cook? the neighbour asked, quietly.
An hour and a half or so.
That long?
My dear, some cuts take even longer! But dont worry, I can show you.
What if I just want to fry it, not boil? asked the neighbour with a frown.
You can fry it.
I dont know how to cook. Im worried Ill burn it. Could you perhaps fry it here for me, with potatoes, and Ill collect it ready-made?
Margaret regarded her visitor, who looked terribly young. Her well-kept face was blank, and her delicate, manicured hands seemed never to have known work.
Do you cook anything at all? Margaret asked.
The young woman shrugged, Naturally not.
And your name is?
Charlotte. And you?
Margaretyou can call me Maggie. I could cook dinner and supper for you each day, for a little fee.
That would be an enormous help! Could you start now?
No trouble at all.
Margaret packed up the supplies, locked her door and headed over.
The Neighbours House
Margaret was stunned by the grandeur insidegood taste, expensive finishes, all brand new.
In the living room, a dour man of about forty-five sat reading. He glanced at Margaret and frowned.
Whos this? Whats happened?
Margaret looked him over. Honestly, shed expected someone Charlottes age, but here was an older man.
Charlotte simpered, Darling, look, Ive found us some help. This is Margaret; shell do our cooking.
Margaret added, Actually, Im your neighbourlive next door. Pleased to meet you.
Hm.
The gentleman looked her up and down, not a flicker of interest, and turned back to his book.
Come along, Charlotte said, on first-name terms.
She showed Margaret the kitchen, sighed impatiently, Please cook us something.
Margaret was surprised by her tone but said nothing, and set to work. In an hour or so, she served up beef stewed with potatoes.
Thus, Margaret found herself gainfully employed.
The master, reserved Mr. Alexander Smith, paid her weekly. Over time, he warmed to heramazing what good food can do.
Margaret noticed Charlotte never cleaned up. Unmade beds, dirty floors. Margaret fetched a bucket and cloth and scrubbed the house herself.
Charlotte pouted; Alexander frowned.
Who asked you to clean? he demanded.
It was filthycouldnt just leave it. Thought Id get it done.
If you think Ill pay for your flights of fancy, youre mistaken. The dust doesnt bother us in the least! So from now on, just stick to cooking. Food and groceries, thats all.
All right
Margaret, hurt, finished up anyway. Soon, she noticed Alexanders brother, the businessman whod built the manor, stopped coming. And Charlotte stopped shopping, looking at Margaret with growing irritation.
Eventually, she snapped, Dont bother with the washing up, Ill clear it. And stop bringing so much meat. Just potatoes, eggs, and milk, thats allcook with them from now on.
Margaret eyed Charlottes scowl. Is something the matter?
Im fed up! Charlotte retorted. This village is unbearable! No shopping centres, no coffee shops, nowhere to go!
A few days later, Margaret knocked as usual to find the door unlocked. Inside, the place was a messclothes, trinkets, candelabras strewn about, a bookcase toppled, books everywhere.
Oh, whats happened Charlotte! Margaret called.
No Charlotte here, came a voice from the kitchen.
Margaret hurried in. The kitchen was chaos. Dishes all over, curtains torn from the windows and on the floor.
Alexander Smith slouched at the table, surrounded by empty bottles, drinking.
Whats happened, Mr. Smith? Have you and Charlotte argued?
Dont mention that name. Charlottes gone. Left me a note: country life isnt for her.
He groaned, looked up at Margaret.
Maggie, fetch some meat, would you? Youve got some, fry me up a nice dish.
Well all right, Ill just pop home.
She fetched the meat and started frying. While she cooked and tidied the mess, the scent filled the kitchen and roused Alexander, who wandered over, plucking beef straight from the pan with a knife.
Thats not how to eat, Mr. Smith. Sit down, and Ill dish you up properly.
He sat, declaring, Youre wonderful, Maggie. Absolutely wonderful.
Margaret frozeshe hadnt heard such things in ages.
Dont go. Sit with me, have a drink.
I dont drink, Im afraid.
She understood Alexander was drunk and thought it best to leave, but he suddenly clung to her.
I never realised what an interesting woman you are, Margaret, he murmured.
Married Life
Margaret noticed prying looks from neighbours and friends whenever she visited the shop. People whispered behind her back, but did not pester her directly.
Only Brenda, the shopkeeper, eyed her slyly.
Maggie, whos the cigarettes for? And that sausage and cheesenever known you to eat those.
For the neighbour. Told you, I work for him.
Brenda grinned, leaned over, and whispered, How come youre spending the night there, then? Eating with him, sharing his table? Why stick with a wealthy man like that? Hell use you and toss you aside.
Margarets face hardened as she grabbed her groceries.
Are you spying on me now?
You think little of me! The whole village is talking.
Oh, is that so. Well then, yes, Alexander and I are togetherits love.
Brenda kept her shrewd gaze. Is it love, though? Charlotte barely left and now this Casanova is sweet-talking you! Honestly, Maggie, dont you see?
Margaret stiffened, grabbed her change and left, seething inside.
People! Gossip and nothing more! she fumed inwardly.
On her way out, she nearly tripped over Mick, carrying another tray of bread.
She didnt help him with the door this time, nor did he ask. He gave a disgruntled grunt, opened the door himself and strode off.
Him too, thought Margaret, wont even greet me now. Fine.
But it stung
When Mick used to blush and stammer around her, it had warmed her heart and made her want to sing.
Now he wouldnt even look at her. And the silence ached
***
Turning up her lane, Margaret went not to her own home but next door.
Alexander had promised to marry her soon; she would be mistress of the new house.
She was beginning to settle into the role, dashing home each morning only to stoke the fire and tend the livestock.
Temporary inconveniences, she thought. Alexander promised, after their wedding, to build an enclosure for her animals by the new house.
***
And he was true to his word, calling a taxi on the appointed day and taking her to the registry office. They were married; he slid a ring on her finger.
Its lovely. Gold? she asked.
Of course, dont lose it.
Afterward, Margaret laid the table. Alexander immediately took to drinking.
Dont you think youre drinking a bit much lately, love? Margaret cooed, admiring her ring.
I drink because Im happy. Go on, fetch some meat, fry it up needs a proper meal.
Well, theres no meat left. Ive made salad
No meat? But I hear Daisy mooing in your shed.
Thats Daisy, my milker. I cant I sell the milk, its my living.
Her new husband scowled and waved dismissively.
Forget your pennies; youve a wealthy husband now! You cook chicken every day; I want beef.
But butchering a cow is hard takes all day
But Alexander banged on the table.
Did I not make myself clear? Get me some meat!
Meat
Margaret scoured the village for a butcher but no luck; old friends who once helped wouldnt in the freezeno one fancied an hour outside in the cold.
At last, Mick agreed.
He looked at her sternly.
Why are you giving up Daisy?
Margaret dropped her gaze in shame. She couldnt admit her husbands craving for beef.
She fibbed, Its too much, keeping her. Too dear for hay and feed
But havent you just married? Wont your husband help with hay?
Margaret sighed: Will you help or not?
Ill help. Give me an hour.
Back home, Margaret lit the stove and heated water.
Alexander never came to help. And Margarets heart ached when Daisy, unsuspecting, trusted her as always.
An hour later, it was over. Mick butchered the beef, Margaret shifted meat inside.
Why didnt your man come out? Mick asked, hurt.
Hes a city sort, never used to farming.
Margaret passed him a big pot of beef. Take it, for helpingthanks, truly; without you
Thats too much.
Mick straightened, met her eyestern yet kind. Margaret froze.
At that moment, Alexander appeared, staggering drunkenly from the house.
Wife! Whore you out there with? Forgotten about me, have you? I want my meat, and dont forget our wedding vows!
Mick was crestfallen.
Youre married then? he said.
Margaret gave a weak smile, shivering into her hands. Yes
Mick angrily dropped the pot in the snow, reclaimed his knives and left.
Daughter
Married life soon lost its shine for Margaret.
Husband Alexander spent every spare moment drinking and eating.
Mostly eating meat; he became obsessed. Cooking it himself, sometimes, straight from the pan or pot.
Margarets garden emptied out. Only Buttercup, the cat, remained, mewling at her feet.
That cats a nuisance. Whyd you bring it here? Get it outside, let it fend for itself, grumbled Alexander.
Emily came to visit, regarded her new stepfatherdead drunk, snoring at the table.
She scolded her mother.
So this is what you call marriage?
Dont start, Emily. Alex is a good man, just under stresshes lived in the city all his life; country life is tough for him.
Mum, why are you defending that sot? I can tell hes always been a drunk! And youre just the housemaid, not his wife!
Look at the home I live inits a palace! I never dreamt of such a life!
Mum, the truth is that house isnt yours. You dont even look like the mistress. Youve abandoned your own home for this leech. What if he kicks you out, finds a younger womanwhere will you go?
After venting, Emily packed to go.
Take some beef, at least, Margaret fussed, dashing to the larderwhere the winters meat was kept. The door was padlocked.
Margaret pulled at the door, then returned to find her husband.
Alex, did you lock the larder? Wheres the key?
He made a sulky face. Why do you need it?
To give some meat to Emily for her trip.
No children, I said! None!
What on earth?!
Margaret was stunned. She searched his pockets for keys. Emily, overhearing, pursed her lips in disgust.
Well, I see where things stand Im off, Mum. Taxis here. Theres no need for anything. I wont be back. I dont want to be here.
Misery washed over Margaret.
That night, Alexander, now awake, slammed his fist on the table.
Listen up. My brother died recently, this house was in his name. Now his widows claiming ownership.
Margaret gasped.
Shes called, told me to move out.
Whatll we do, Alex?
What do you lot do in a village, Maggie? Use your loaf. Dont let her have the house. Bear me a child, or two refuse to leave, lock all the doors. Itll be a fight, but we must win that house.
Margaret shook her head.
I cant. Im not that sort.
Alexander downed another drink.
If you wont fight, start packingwell move into yours.
He dug out meat from the kitchen and ate it cold.
Charlotte was a sly one, he said, gnawing a bone, ran for the hills the minute things got tough. While my brother was bankrolling me, she lived here, shared my bed, flattered me. But as soon as the money stopped, she was off.
Margaret asked, surprised, So thats why you stopped paying me
Thats right. But you were easyjust a flutter and you came running, right into my bed.
Margaret recoiled.
Dont speak about me like that.
Alexander grinned, Dont play innocent, Maggieyou married me for this manor, didnt you?
He finished his food, fetched more drink.
How could I have trusted you? And poor Daisy gone because of you, Margaret wept.
The decision came to her suddenly. She fetched the larder key and opened italmost empty inside.
She ran back to Alexander.
Alex, wheres the meat? When did you?
None of your concern. I traded it for something else.
You mean for crates of drink youre hiding in the cellar, dont you? What a vile man. That meat wouldve seen us through till summer! What on earth are we supposed to live on now?
Alexander only smirked and shrugged, Ive still got youyoull think of something.
Well, you can go to the devil, Alexander! I dont need deadweight like you. Im filing for divorce, today!
Epilogue
The divorce was granted. But that wasnt all.
Homeless, Alexander dreamed up a new scheme; he tried to take over Margarets cottage.
One night, while she slept, Alexander crept in and crawled into her bed.
Margaret startled awake to someone tugging at her covers and tried to hug her.
Heavens! Whos there?! she shrieked.
Dont fuss, Maggie, its me, your Alex.
Dont touch me!
Margaret shrieked, jumped up and ranbarefoot, through the snowto Brendas house, knocking desperately at her window.
Brenda came out on the porch.
Whos there?
Its me, Brenda, let me in!
Margaret?! Whats going on?
Brenda opened up and Margaret, exhausted and shivering, tumbled inside.
Worse than fire, Brendalock the door, quick before he finds me
Who?
My ex-husband Brenda, you were so right. I never should have tangled with him; now he wont let go
Margaret hid out at Brendas for weeks until Alexander finally left the village.
Even then, Margaret was nervous about going home. She was convinced her ex would try again. But it was over.
Home greeted Margaret with desolation. Every cupboard, and larder and shelf was bare.
The brute had finished off all the suppliesno flour, no pasta, the potatoes from the cellar, all her jams and pickles.
Margaret sat at her sticky table, surrounded by dirty plates and empty bottles, head in hands.
So much for marriage, she thought. No livestock. No Daisy. What now?
The door creaked and Mick slipped in, holding Buttercup.
Maggie, I had a word with your Alex, told him to leave. Got your cat here for you. Good cat, catches a mouse a day.
Margaret hugged Buttercup and burst into tears.
Oh, Mick, thank you.
Dont cry for me getting shot of him. That scoundrel even sold your firewood for a song.
Margaret wept all the harder.
Maggie, forgive me.
For what?
For not living up to your hopes. For looking down my nose at you.
Come on, Ill get the stove on. And Maggie, Mums got the kettle on next door, and made some apple pies. Why not come home with me till this place warms up?
***
In time, Mick and Margaret married. Emily forgave her mum and visited with her husband.
Alexander Smith moved to the city, and rumour had it he married an older widow there.
In the manor next door, the late businessmans widow spent her summers. She turned out to be a good neighbour.
Upon arrival, she stopped by Margarets with a pie; they became friends.
Margaret once asked about Alexanderwas he really unwell? Her neighbour just laughed.
Sick? Hardly! Hes as healthy as they comethough a hopeless drinker. While he was in the city he scrounged from pub to pub, chalking up debts. My late husband took pity, sent him here for a fresh start, thought country life would help. As if! Alex drank as much as ever and still does.
***
Margaret often reflected on it all. She realised that, for all lifes hardships, happiness comes not from grand houses or grand promises, but from the kindness of genuine people. It is better to be with those who respect and care for youin sorrow and in joythan chase hollow comforts in the wrong company. And above all, one should never be ashamed to start afresh; a true home is where warmth and goodwill reside.
