Waiting for her husband to come home from work, Beatrice Turner sat at the kitchen table sipping rosemaryinfused tea, taking her time with each slow swallow. The click of a key in the lock made her rise and pause in the doorway. In stepped George Parker, looking as solemn as a bank manager on audit day.
Hello, Beatrice said first, late again, Ive already had dinner and Ive been waiting for you
Hello, George replied. You could’ve skipped the waitIm not hungry. Ill be in and out; I just need to pack a few things and go, he said, not even taking off his shoes. He slipped into the sitting room, opened the wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase.
Beatrice stared, mouth open. She watched him cram the firstavailable bits of his life into the bag.
George, what on earth is happening? she asked.
You dont get it? Im leaving you, he declared, eyes elsewhere.
Where to?
To another woman
Ah, probably a young one, even though youre still a spry fortysomethingage is just a number, Beatrice muttered dryly, halflaughing as the absurdity sank in. I wont shed a tear; he wont see any. And how long have you been seeing her?
Almost a year, George said calmly. Seeing her shock, he added, If you never noticed, I mustve been doing a brilliant job at hiding it.
Are you really going or Beatrice blurted out.
Emily, are you listening at all? Im leaving you for someone else. Were expecting a baby with her. We couldnt have a child together, so Katya will give me a son. Im giving you a month to clear out of my flat. Where you go, how you manage that, thats on you. Well be living with Katya and the baby while she rents a place.
With that, George turned and left. The walls seemed to close in on Beatrice, the flat fell into a heavy silence. She turned on the TV just to have something else talking. Twelve years with George had passed; it took her about a week to pull herself together, but she managed.
Her late parents had left her a cottage in a Cotswold village. Living alone in the countryside didnt appeal to her.
I cant live out thereno shops, no internet, no decent work. At thirtyfive I dont want a rustic retirement, she thought. So Ill sell the place and use whatever I get to rent a room in a council flat or a student hall. The rest will sort itself out.
She sold the cottage the moment she got back to the village. Her neighbour, Margaret Hughes, was already waiting.
Darling, thank goodness youre here. We were about to drive into town to look for you.
Whats the story? Beatrice asked.
My relatives from the North want to buy your cottage. They need a tidy little house to knock down and rebuild. My sister and her husband want to be close to us
Oh, Margaret, thats why I came. Let them have it, just lets agree on a price. Heres my number
Everything fell into place. Within ten days the money was in her handshardly a fortune, but enough to snag a small room in a shared council flat. The kitchen was communal, two other flats shared the building, and the third was hers. She called it a council flat.
Her flatmates were quiet, respectable folk. Beatrice barely crossed paths with them; she worked from sunrise to late night, and somewhere in the mix a romance blossomed with her colleague Timothy Reed. Everything seemed lovelyat least it felt that way to her.
A few days before International Womens Day, Timothy said, I need a lot to think about. Im not sure about my feelings. Lets take a break.
Break why dont you just walk off into the woods? she snapped.
That evening she stormed home, thirtysix and with no patience for pauses. She decided to eat her stress away. She opened the fridge, grabbed a small slice of hamonly to discover it was gone. Her nerves went on high alert.
Who took my ham? she shouted.
It was me, love, I tossed it two days ago. Itd gone green and smelled I figured you wouldnt eat it anyway, said her neighbour, Vera Ivanova, calmly and a touch conspiratorial.
You dont get to decide what I can eat! Beatrice roared. Its not your business.
Beatrice let loose all her anger on Vera. Shed split with her husband, lost a decent roof over her head, had her boyfriend hit the pause button, and now a neighbour was pilfering her food.
Vera, dont be upset, intervened Arthur Clarke, the man from the next room.
Arthur, a sixtyyearold silverhaired gentleman with spectacles, was the kind of genteel soul who spent his afternoons in an old armchair with a newspaper or a novel. Vera looked visibly upset.
Beatrice is angry right now. Shes lashing out because someone else has upset her. Dont take it personally, Arthur said, still not looking up from his paper.
What would you know? Beatrice snapped back. No one asked you.
Believe me, Ive seen a thing or two.
If youre so wise, why are you stuck in this ramshackle council flat? Beatrice jabbed, unable to stop herself.
She decided she must apologise. Vera glanced at Arthur, then retreated to her own room. Beatrice slammed her door shut and flopped onto the sofa.
The philosophyspewing neighbour is going to give me life lessons now, she muttered, hungry and irate.
An hour later she calmed down, scrolling through her laptop. She remembered buying that ham ages ago and wondered what it might have turned into. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks.
Been rude to Vera for no reason, and shes been nothing but kind. My nerves have gone off the rails. I need to apologise, she thought.
She found Vera in the kitchen.
Sorry, Vera, I dont know what possessed me. So much has piled up Arthur was right.
Vera smiled, gave Beatrice a hug and said, It happens, dear. Come, sit down, well have tea with scones and sweets. You should also apologise to Arthurhes had a rough go of it.
She paused, then continued, Arthur used to be a professor, taught at the university. He lived in a spacious flat in the city centre and loved his job, but then his wife fell ill with a brain tumour. Doctors said it was too late. He found a clinic in Israel that could operate, but the cost was astronomical. He borrowed a huge sum, went with her. The surgery worked, but she didnt fully recover. She lived a bit longer before passing away. Arthur quit his job, cared for her, and after she died he sold his city flat and paid off the debts. Thats why hes here now.
Beatrices eyes welled up.
Thank you for sharing that, she whispered. Ill apologise tomorrow.
The next day, after work, Beatrice timidly knocked on Arthurs door, holding a modestly wrapped parcel.
Good evening, Arthur, she said, extending the gift. Please accept it and my apologies, for Gods sake. I was unreasonably harsh yesterday.
Arthur listened without interrupting. When she finished, he smiled.
What a pleasant surprise. Ill accept both the gift and your apologyif youll join me for a little celebration. Its my birthday today.
Oh, happy birthday! And the gift is perfect, Beatrice replied, relieved. How can I help?
Together with Vera they set the table. While they were arranging plates, Beatrice opened up about herselfhow, as a naïve university student, shed been lured into a marriage, became pregnant, and the man had taken her to the hospital, paid everything, then they split. She never managed to have a child afterwards, which perhaps explained why her exhusband had walked out.
Just as the table was ready, a knock sounded at the door. A tall, smiling man in his forties stood there.
Good afternoon, Im Roman Hughes, Margarets son, he introduced himself.
Come in, Roman, Beatrice said, ushering him.
The conversation at the table was lively; they toasted Arthurs health and happiness, laughing heartily. Roman turned out to be a fascinating chatty fellow, full of stories. Hed once been a geologist, now a longhaul truck driver, so anecdotes were plentiful.
A day earlier Beatrice knew nothing of these people; a day later they were sharing a meal as if theyd always been family.
After a few hours Arthur and Vera retired to their own rooms. Roman announced, Shall we take a walk? Tell me about yourself. Im rarely home; Im often on the road. My mother refuses to move out of this flat. Secretly shes a bit smitten with Arthur, and I think he feels the same.
He chuckled, I havent been home much, so marrying isnt on my agendathough I was married once when I was a geologist, and while I was away someone else took my place.
Winter had just settled over the town, snow falling in thick, silent drifts. Beatrice and Roman walked for hours, the cold oddly comforting. When they finally said goodbye, Roman said hed be away on a delivery for a week.
Will you wait for me? Beatrice asked.
Of course, Ill be counting the days, he promised.
Thus began their romance, which soon deepened into genuine love. They married, and a year later a little boy, Archie, arrived. When Roman was away on long hauls, Beatrice and Archie would return to her modest council flat for a spell.
Days slipped by in a blur of waiting, but Vera and Arthur were always there, doting on little Archie. In fact, there was no need to look any further for the best nannyhe already had them.
