The first time I walked down the aisle was at fiftyfive. Five years have slipped by since the ceremony; Im now sixty, hes sixtyfive. It isnt odd that I married at fiftyfivethese days anything can happen. Astonishingly, its both of our first marriages.
Believe me, I never intended to marry at all. In my early twenties, the man I lovedGordonditched me when I was five months pregnant. At first I wanted to end it all, but I pulled myself together and swore I would never set foot in a wedding dress again. I vowed never to let another scoundrel slip into my life and run off at the first chance.
I kept that promise. My daughter, Lucy, grew up, married, and gave me two fine grandchildren. I trudged on like a stubborn mule, convinced that men were hopeless. My stubborn streak meant that when I decided on something, I saw it through. Loneliness had turned me into a rough, unappealing old lady.
Fate, however, is a fickle thing. Im about to tell you how one man finally managed to pull me under the veil.
When I retired, I, like most pensioners, turned my attention to gardening. My parents had left me a modest cottage with a plot of land in the Kent countryside. Id take the commuter train from Londonjust over an hour each wayand bring a crossword magazine to make the time fly.
One afternoon, at a small stop, a couple and a diminutive elderly fellow boarded and sat opposite me. The woman, Helen, whispered to her husband, Gordon, lets stop for the kids, help them out. Her voice was timid. Their husband barked back, What are you, a fool? Do you expect me to crawl on my knees for those idiots?
His shouted tirade was so harsh that it made me glance at my fellow passengers. My eyes landed on the scowling face of the shouting manand I froze. It was Gordon, the very same Gordon who had abandoned me all those years ago. Age had creased his features, but his bulk was still the same. He didnt recognize me; instead, he spotted my stare and snarled, Why are you staring? Move your eyes or Ill stare right into yours!
I was rooted to my seat, my limbs refusing to move, half from shock, half from fear. Then, unexpectedly, the tiny old man standing opposite us rose, placed himself between me and Gordon, and said in a firm, steady voice, If you keep insulting women, youll have to answer to me. A man who talks to women like that is nothing but rubbish. Ill break you like a twig!
My heart leapt into my throat. Break me like a twig? I thought. Gordons face twisted, and he muttered something unintelligible, trying to regain his swagger. It was clear he could only roar in front of women; the moment a real, courageous man stood up, his bravado crumbled.
The little man introduced himself as Arthur Bennett, a retired officer. He looked at me with a kind smile, not the sneering smile of a petty bully. Tears welled up as I watched Gordon and his wife disappear at the next station.
Arthur said, Even tears wont mar a lovely face. His words, warm and steady, made me feel seen for the first time in years. He wasnt a little man with a nail any more; he was a solid, brave figure.
That day I met the man who would become my latebutnottoolate husband. For the first time in decades I wanted to marry, to feel loved as a woman again.
We married, and Arthur and I are exceedingly happy. Life arranges its pieces wiselyno matter the age, even the autumn of life can be filled with love and joy.
