But you never really loved me, did you? You only married me out of convenience, not for love. Now youll leave me, now Ive fallen ill
Don’t be daft! I replied, pulling Tom close. Youre the best man I know! Id never leave you, not for anything
Even as I said it, I could feel his disbelief. His mood was heavy, clouding the room.
Funny to look backtwenty-five years of marriage, and all that time, other men always seemed strangely keen on me. Even when I was young, I wasn’t exactly the belle of the ball, but I had a certain magnetism. All through school, the boys would chase after me, though I wasn’t what you’d call a beauty.
Still, I never left my first husband, David, even though he was a complicated man, always a bit unpredictable. We stayed together until the very end, raised our daughter, Lucy, and even saw her married off. Her husband swept her off to France, and now they send lovely photos from Toulouse, urging me to visit. David and I never did manage a proper trip out there together perhaps I still will, but for David, that chance has gone.
Davids end came suddenlyhe crashed his car in such a senseless way. Though they later told me it was likely his heart that gave out first, and he lost control. Collapse behind the wheel. My friend, Claire, a GP, organised everything for me, gathered every detail she could from her colleagues. We buried him, and then I was alone in the big old house wed built together.
It was never too large for the two of us, not even when we had guests and laughter echoing down the halls. But for one, the house became almost a burden, especially for a woman alone. A home needs a man’s touch.
Lucy came back for the funeral and brought up selling the house, buying a flat or even moving in with her in France.
Absolutely not! I cried. I didnt spend my life building this home just to flog it off. And as for moving to your France, Lucy, Ive seen what thats like!
Mum!
Honestly, Lucy, you can be so naïve sometimes! I said, half-laughing through my tears. Im only joking.
Well, if you can still crack a joke, maybe things arent that bleak, Mum.
Life went on, as muddled as ever, just as David had been. He could be the most loving man in the world one day and the next, a storm cloud ready to wear my nerves raw. Hed always apologise later, and I never held onto it. We just kept ontwenty-five years! Enough to drive anyone mad.
Lucy went back to France soon after. Her husbands work kept him busy, and she had her own home and life to tend to. So, there I was, on my own.
But I know myselfI never stay alone for long. Sure enough, after half a year of mourning, I realised I once again had a little cluster of admirers hovering about.
Even my mother had always been surprised by how men seemed drawn to me.
What is it about you? Men are falling over themselves to be near you! Youre not even a classic beauty, my dear am I missing something?
Oh Mum, youre too kind Id reply, dabbing on some lipstick. Beautys only surface-deep; it doesnt mean a thing. You need a spark, charisma. Something special.
Off you go, then my mother would laugh youll keep your new suitor waiting!
If he gets bored, another will turn up Id shrug, feigning indifference.
All these years on, some things don’t change. I see women my age forever complaining about there being no available men left, especially once youre past forty. Yet there I was, forty-six with two perfectly decent suitors.
My heart, Ill admit, leaned towards Stephen. He was charming, quite handsome, well-spokena proper gentleman. He was great company, always had something clever to say, and I could imagine us stepping out together and not being embarrassed by him. But Stephen was all talk, no actionlovable but simply not the sort for helping with a big rambling house.
Then there was Tom. Simple, steady, good with his handsone of those men wholl lift a pint with you at the pub and still fix the leaking roof the next day. Not eloquent, but practical and kind, with a bit of grit to him. He hardly ever complained, and whatever else went wrong in life, he got stuck in and made it better. He was, to be honest, less exciting than Stephen, but reliable in a way that words could never be.
Tom didnt charm with sweet speeches, and dry, he was the quiet type. After a few drinks, though, hed hold court with a joke or a good tale. And yes, he could put away his fair share, but hed always be up at dawn, doused in cold water and ready to take on the world. When I chose Tom over Stephen, Stephen sulked for ages and eventually disappeared.
Tom was like a schoolboy at our weddingso cheerful, got slightly carried away, singing and dancing with everyone. My friend Claire teased me:
Fancy you! Less than a year since David passed, and already remarried. Other women cant find a single decent chap, but you only have to step outside!
Dont you dare say, But youre not even pretty! I laughed.
I wont. But its true, youve always had an odd way of attracting men.
I dont know what they see in me, Claire, go ask my mother!
I winked, and off I went to dance with Tom. If he was sometimes plain or quietwell, so what? He made up for it in every other way. Looks, strength, decency. In the end, you cant live on sweet words.
Within a few months, Tom had transformed the garden into something from a storybook. Cleared the old trees, levelled the earth for flower beds, built a gazebo, brought life back to every inch of the place. The house at last felt whole again.
He worked hard for us, always trying to surprise me with gifts and thoughtful gestures. Comparing my brief marriage to Tom with twenty-five years with David, I couldnt help but wish Id met Tom sooner. Gold dust, that man!
Through the summer, wed cook on the barbecue and sit out in the gazebo, eating and laughing. Id finish off the grilled lamb and squint at Tom like a pleased cat; hed just sit smiling at me.
Whats funny, Tom?
Im just happy.
Hed been through a lothis first wife was insufferably dull, he said. He never thought hed find happiness with someone so lively.
We enjoyed four good years before Tom began to look unwell. Hed tire quickly, lose weight for no reason, and if he had a drink (and he was fond of one), hed feel even worse.
Tom, lets get you checked out! I scolded him. Dont put it off.
Oh, nonsense, Mary! Ill be right as rain next week.
Dont be so stubborn! What if its something serious? Are you like most men, scared of the doctor?
No
Truthfully, he was scared of something elsethat if it was serious, Id leave him. That I hadnt married him for love, just for practicality, and would run at the first sign of trouble. But he was wrong. Id loved him since that day in the supermarket when hed watched me fumble through my handbag for my pursethere was something so endearing about his concern.
His own mother, Joyce, was baffled when she met me:
You could do better, Tom! Shes no spring chicken, and not exactly a looker. Youre still a catch, plenty of young girls would want you.
He wanted no one but me. But if he was truly ill, would I really stay by his side?
Soon after, Tom collapsed during a weekend barbecue with friends. We called an ambulance, and I rode with him to the hospital, never leaving his side.
He was rushed to surgery almost at once.
Its a liver tumour, the surgeon said.
Cancer? I gasped.
Well know more once tests come back.
Thankfully, it turned out to be benign, but sizeable. Tom was forbidden almost everything, his recovery would be long and uncertain, with no guarantees.
Tom was left despondent. His mother visited one afternoon with a flask of soup and a basket of steamed chicken.
Son, pull yourself together! she fussed. You made it through the operation. No cancer. Thats something to celebrate! Now sit up and eat this.
Not hungry, Mum.
You need your strength! Wheres Mary? Is she even coming to see you?
She visits… for now.
You think shell drop you over this? Dont be daft.
But what use am I now? They wont let me lift a finger. Im only fifty, Mum, but now Im an invalid. Whod want an invalid?
Mary walked in just then.
Whats going on? she asked, standing at the foot of the hospital bed.
Oh, nothing! Joyce said, grabbing her bag and heading off.
Mary washed her hands, came to Tom and stroked his hair.
Well, invalid or not, Im not going anywhere. Youve survived the worst. Want to know what I read about livers? Give them half a chance, they can recover almost completely. Youve still got sixty percent left. Give yourself time.
Will it be enough, Mary? Do I even have enough time?
Of course you do.
Once home, things were hardTom tired easily. The upcoming birthday loomed over him: what was there to celebrate if he couldnt eat or drink properly? But I did my best to act as cheerfully as ever, joined him with the bland meals, and never let him feel I was frustrated.
Mary, he finally ventured. What will become of us now?
What do you mean?
Im not getting better quickly. Shall I just move out? Cut my losses?
Don’t be silly. Im happy with youalways have been.
But that was before, when I could do things around the house. Now, its like dragging myself through mud.
Well, then, all the more reason for me to stay with you! Dont rush, Tom.
Do you actually love me? Is that true?
With all my heart. Always have.
Toms recovery was slow, but real. For his birthday, I organised a modest dinner with a handful of friends in the garden, with lemon squash instead of ale, and board games instead of loud toasts.
Lucky man, you his friends joked as they packed up.
Youll all go to the pub and drink to my health, wont you? Tom teased.
I could see his old spirit returning. That night we sat together on the porch, gazing at the stars, content and close. For the first time in months, Tom looked truly well.
He believed me at lastI wouldn’t ever leave him. I hugged him tightly.
What is it, Tom?
Im just happy, Mary.
Well, its about time, I grinned, kissing his cheek.
And we really were happy.
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