THE UNGRATEFUL GREGORY
It must have been many years ago now, but I remember that morning as clear as day. My husband phoned me at the office and let me know that after work, hed be heading straight to the Johnsons to celebrate his professional milestone.
“If you fancy it, come along,” he added nonchalantly, confident that Id rather stay home with a book or get lost in the glow of the computer screen.
“Alright,” I replied, flat and indifferent, though right after, during my lunch break, I wandered off to the big department store, determined to find him a proper present. The perfume department was a hive of women, chattering and bustling.
What immediately caught my eye was a bottle of expensive cologneon the sleek, black-glossed box, a handsome gentleman leaned insolently in a rumpled jacket, his smirk both mocking and familiar. Reminded me in every way of my Gregory.
The sales girl expertly wrapped presents in sparkling foil, arranging bows with brisk flicks of the wrist. Then a silver-haired old woman, whod drifted over, whispered,
“Ah, girls, you buy your men these colognes, but someone else will be sniffing them, and admiring the ties too.”
The women burst into laughter together, but I just thought: all my life, everything for Gregory, and healways for someone else. When we were young, I loved him desperately, and he accepted it condescendingly. He went to university by correspondenceI did his assignments by candlelight. The children came alongI took every burden upon myself.
At the very beginning, he was grateful, Im sure of it. But with time, he grew used to my care and simply took it for granted. Outwardly, we must have looked the picture of respectability: comfortable life, peace, clever, well-mannered children. But then the children finished school and moved away. I was left alone with Gregory. Only then did I realise something was missing.
My mother, all those decades ago, had objected fiercely to our marriage.
“Cant you see, hes so handsome, and he knows it, and he preens himself,” shed counselled my lovesick self. “A handsome man is a man for all. All eyes will be on him, whilst you, with every right, will be left wanting.” So, the first point: an unloved wife. Second point: shes forty-three. Third: shes needed by no one
I turned to the window. The sunalready warm as proper English spring should bewas shining. “Soon itll be Mothering Sunday,” I mused dully. “And so what? Another one spent alone With nearly all of life behind me Whats left ahead”
From the street below came the chirp and bustle of sparrows, then a persistent tap against the glass. I looked down to find a raggedy little sparrow strutting along the sill, eyeing me with a bright black bead.
“Well, would you look at thata sign,” I thought. Almost as soon as that crossed my mind, the grandfather clock in the hall thundered out its chimes.
“So then, theres still time. Point oneif loves not on offer, perhaps its time I loved myself” I slammed the door behind me and rushed down the stairs: first to the hairdresser, then to the shop
By half six, the mirror was gazing back in admiration at a mysterious stranger. Swaying a little, I settled into the computer chaira simple black dress, a neat, short haircut with a dash of three-coloured streaking, and eyes deep and sparkling with secret, smoky colour; lips, a flick of pencil, a dab of shiny glossfull, pouting, temptingly curved.
“So, point two: life only truly begins at forty”
I strolled into the kitchen, returned with a glass of wine and clinked it against my own reflection.
“Point threedo I really need a husband who cant see the value of the woman before him?”
Is it any wonder that when I arrived at the Johnsons place, swaying delicately on slim heels, the room stilled, bewildered, as several gentlemen leapt to my aidoffering to take my coat, find me a chair, or bring me an apple.
“Oh, goodness Is my husband here too? Imagine, I hadnt noticed”
Gregory, for once, was stunned by my unexpected entrance, muddled by my new strategy and utterly floored by the admiration I received.
Indeed, the next morning, as he sought to regain his footing, he attempted his old tone, bold and brash: “So, are we having breakfast, then?” But he had miscalculated, perhaps not quite awake, for beside him did not lie the dutiful woman whod always fetched and carried at his command.
No, next to him lay a gentle, capricious woman, utterly content in herself.
Without turning her tousled, tri-shaded hair, she purred:
“And have you made breakfast, sweetheart?”
She stretched, drifting lazily back into sleep, thinking:
“There you go, my dear. Otherwise, we might have to revisit point three.”
