You never really loved me, did you? Married me without love Now, youll leave the moment I fall ill
I wont! Emily exclaimed, wrapping her arms around Graham. Youre the dearest man in the world to me. Nothing, not ever, could make me leave you
Graham could barely believe what he heard. He was in such a muddle; everything felt grey.
Emily had been married for twenty-five years, and men still seemed drawn to her. Shed always held a curious sort of appeal. Even as a girl at school not a beauty, not dazzling the boys clustered, following at her heels.
Shed never left her husband, who was a bit of an enigma. No, shed stayed with Martin until the very end. Theyd raised their daughter, Norah, and even saw her married whisked away to France with her new husband, sending back cheerful postcards and invitations that Emily and Martin never truly took up.
But then Martin died, falling to ruin in a car accident. At first, people whispered about misfortune, and only later did Emily hear it was likely his heart gave out at the wheel. Lost control, veered off, done in by his own body.
Perhaps he fainted? shed wondered aloud.
Well never truly know, Emilys friend Alice, a local GP, murmured. Death by massive trauma, and thats the end of it.
Emily was left stunned; Alice gently arranged the funeral, sorted what must be sorted.
Their house the one she and Martin had crafted year by year now seemed cavernous, echoing with shadows. For two, it had felt snug, especially when company came. Now, for one for a woman alone, it sprawled uncomfortably large, almost burdensome.
A home needs a mans hand, after all
Norah returned for her fathers farewell and brought up selling the old house, buying a flat perhaps, maybe even Emily joining her across the Channel.
Absolutely not! Emily snapped. I built this house with my own hands. Im not selling it for anyone. And as for living in France, well Ive seen enough.
Mum!
Oh, Norah, you havent half got some funny ideas, Emily teased through tears. Only joking, love.
If youre joking, then perhaps it isnt so bad after all.
Everything was ambiguous as unclear as Martins own moods had always been. He was, in some ways, an attentive husband. At other times, he let his storms loose, draining Emilys nerves to the dregs, only to apologise soon after. Still, Emily was easygoing, never one to hold a grudge. For twenty-five years, that was their dance.
Norah soon left, saying her husband needed her, house and home and heart all waiting. So Emily was truly alone.
But, knowing herself, she also knew the solitude would pass. Six months on, after her tears dried, she found herself gently beset by a retinue of hopeful suitors.
Even Emilys own mother used to marvel at her daughters appeal. What do they see in you, Emily? Queuing up, they are! Youre no classical beautythats not just mothers eyes, is it?
Youre too kind, Mum, Emily would smile, dabbing at her lips with a rosy shade. Beauty means nothing, really. Its charm and spirit that matter. A certain something.
Off with you then, charm some poor man senseless! her mother would cackle. Or your fella will drift away waiting.
Anotherll come, Emily would shrug.
Almost thirty years after that old conversation, nothing much had changed. Women complained of no men left to marry after forty, but the problem eluded Emily. Now, at forty-six, she found herself with not one, but two respectable suitors.
Her heart hesitated towards Arthur. He was clever, witty, presentable absolutely the sort youd want to be seen with, deep in sparkling conversation.
Yet, for all his eloquence, Arthurs strengths were words, not deeds. Emily knew, with the clarity that comes with age, that he wasnt a man for keeping house, for mowing lawns and fixing gutters.
The other, Graham, was a mans man: solid, practical, able to fix anything with a wrench or a hammer. The salt of the earth, golden hands, gentle in spirit but iron at his core.
He said little sober, he was taciturn, unless hed had a pint or two, in which case hed regale with stories and jokes enough for all. Yet the next day, hed be out at sunrise, washed in cold water, ready for another honest day. Emily chose Graham.
Arthurs pride stung; his honeyed speeches had come to nothing. He vanished.
Emily and Graham wed, and Graham was grinning ear to ear. He drank a bit too much at the wedding, singing and dancing until dawn.
Well, you dont mess around, do you? Alice chuckled. Scarcely a year after Martins gone, youre married again! Women go searching for a mate with a torch in daylight and cant find a soul, but you step out the door, and there they are.
Go on, say it What are they finding in you? Youre no beauty!
Well I wont say that, but you have always been suspiciously in demand.
I dont know, Alice. Maybe ask my mother.
Emily winked and twirled away to dance with Grahamhed come to claim her hand. She let herself be swept along, finally shooing away the last flickers of doubt.
Practical, yes. He might be a bit simple at times, perhaps, but strong and skilled, and not half bad-looking himself. If he was often quiet, well perhaps that was for the best.
Had she chosen Arthur, what use were fancy words at the dinner table?
Within months, Graham transformed Emilys garden into a magical bower old trees lifted out, earth levelled, flower beds crafted, a gazebo built with his own hands. The house glowed under the warmth of a steady mans work.
He earned a fair penny, too, and was always looking to delight her with little gifts. Emily compared her short second marriage with her twenty-five years before and truly regretted not meeting Graham sooner. A golden man.
In the warmer months, theyd set a fire in the barbecue, eat outside on the sturdy wooden benches Graham built, Emily purring with satisfaction after another slice of roast lamb, Graham smiling at her.
What is it, Graham?
Just happy, love. Just happy.
His first wife had been gloomy as rain. Hed never guessed hed meet a woman like Emily.
They bathed in happiness for four years. Then, one day, Graham began to fade: he tired quickly, lost weight. The odd pint made things worse.
Graham, see a doctor! Emily pled. What are you waiting for? Somethings up, you know it!
Oh, rubbish, Emily. Itll sort itself out!
What is this, the Dark Ages? What if it doesnt? Or are you like most men, terrified of doctors?
No.
But Grahams fear wasnt of doctors it was of losing Emily. He was certain: she married him out of practicality, not love, and if he grew ill, surely shed walk out. But he loved herirrationally, stubbornly.
Hed first fallen for her in a corner shop, the woman whose handbag seemed to eat her purse. The flustered way she searched through the jumble drew something fierce in himthe urge to protect her, always.
His mother, peering over spectacles, once said, Live your life, son, but what have you found in her? Shes not pretty, not youngand you could still charm any young lass.
But Graham needed no one but Emily. Still, would she want him now?
She never did drag him to the doctor. That Saturday, Alice and her husband Peter were visiting. Graham and Peter were out in the garden with lagers, tending the grill; Alice stayed inside, slicing salad.
Grahams looking peaky, isnt he? Alice asked.
I know! Emily threw up her hands. He wont listen to me. Youre a doctor tell me, is he ill?
Well hes thinner. His skins got a yellow cast to it.
Oh, heavens! Alice, please try! Maybe hell listen to you.
Alice peered at Emily. Do you love him, Emily? I remember your uncertainty before.
Emily bit her lip. She didnt answer.
There was no time for coaxing Graham collapsed at the table. The ambulance arrived; Emily went with him, holding his clammy hand, praying.
They operated almost at once.
A liver mass, the consultant murmured.
Cancer? Emily gasped.
Well wait for the results.
It turned out not to be malignant, but it was large and dangerous. No more ale, no hard work, and no certainty hed ever mend completely.
Graham turned inward, his spirits dim. His mother, Margaret, visited Emily was at work. Margaret brought the blandest of foods, all he was allowed.
Dont know you at all these days, son, she said. Youre still living, no cancer, so why the long face? Eat these steamed meatballs or Ill force-feed them to you.
Not hungry.
Well, you must. Is Emily coming round?
She comes for now.
For now? Afraid shell leave you? Then shed be a fool!
Im done. I cant work, cant do anything. Ill be fifty in June and Im a cripple. Who wants a cripple for a husband?
Whats all this, then? Emily breezed in, hearing the commotion. Stop shouting, or theyll toss you out! Afternoon, Margaret.
Margaret gave a little wave and left. Emily washed her hands and sat by Grahams bed.
Whats with the martyr act, then? Arms and legs attached youre no invalid. The rest will heal. Listen, did you know the liver regenerates? If youve got fifty-one percent left, itll grow again and youve still got sixty. Give it time!
Will I get time, though?
What?
Time.
Graham, is something youre not telling me? Did you ask the doctors to keep secrets?
Not that. I just
Eventually, Graham left hospital, and the hardest part began. Any physical effort floored him within moments. The thought of his looming birthday filled him with dreadno whisky, no roast, just a limp salad.
Emily seemed not to notice, cheerfully chomping diet food alongside him, making light of things.
Emily, he managed one day, tell me, whatll happen now?
What do you mean?
Im recovering so slowly. Youll leave me, wont you? Just say it. Better now than later.
Oh, nonsense. Im happiest with you right here.
Thats because I could work and fix things. Now what? I can barely stand myself.
Well, thats just silly. Pull yourself together!
Im trying! But its ridiculous. I lift a hammer twice and need a lie-down.
Emily came behind him, wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek at the crown of his head.
I love you. Im not going anywhere. Take your time mending no need to hurry.
You love me? Truly?
Truly.
Emily does not leave. Graham recovers, slowly. For his birthday, she throws a gentle gathering no spirits, nothing tempting.
A handful of friends came and sat in the gazebo, playing board games and laughing quietly.
You lucked out with her, mate, Grahams friends said as they left.
Off to drink on my behalf? Graham joked.
They all laughed, then drifted home. That night, Emily and Graham sat on the porch, gazing into the sparkling English sky. For the first time in months, Graham felt well.
He began to believe in recovery and in Emilys steadfastness. He held her close.
What is it, Graham?
Alls right, love! he replied.
At last, Emily smiled, kissing him on the cheek.
And they sat beneath the stars, happy, as dreams are happiest: quietly, inexplicably, content.
