Two old women, Mabel and Ethel, shared a single cottage in a sleepy Yorkshire hamlet. Their combined pension was a modest £170 a month. Mabel was eightysix, Ethel eightyfour. They werent related and had each owned their own houses once, but for the past fifteen years they had decided to pool their resources: fuel consumption halved, food lasted longer, and there was always someone to swap a story with. Loneliness had begun to ring in their ears, and they found themselves talking to themselves as often as to each other.
They lived in Ethels cottage because it was sturdier; Mabels home, with all its extensions, had been knocked down for firewood. The two of them heated the place for about five years without any real hardship. In their younger days they kept a small farmgoats and chickensbut as the years went on, the work grew harder. By the second summer they hadnt even tended the garden, and by the end of the year lighting the stove had become a genuine struggle.
Once a week their grandson Sam, whom they called Sammy, drove up from the city on his motorbike with a hefty sack of bread, bagels, tea and sugar. Those items formed the bulk of their diet, with the occasional kettlecooked potatoes on paraffin. When Sammy arrived, the women would burst into tears.
If you keep crying, Ill stop coming any more, Sammy would protest.
Alright, alright, well stop, theyd soothe him.
Sammy would hurriedly unload the provisions, fetch water from the well, stack firewood in the stove so that the women only needed to strike a match, and then shout, Anything else you need? Ill be back in a weekjust tell me! before bolting out of the cottage, foot tapping the ground, revving his motorbike and disappearing down the lane.
Even on short summer nights, sleep eluded them. They would lie quietly for a while.
Cant sleep, Ethel? one would ask.
Nope, not a wink. I dozed a bit earlier, but now my eyes wont close.
Im up too Whats on your mind?
Just everything.
And Im thinking about the afterlife whats it like? No one knows.
And never will they, Ethel would reply.
Their bodies grew frail, but their minds stayed sharpperhaps even sharper than in youth, because distance sharpened perspective. Memory lapses occurred now and then, and they sometimes got tangled up in their own sentences. One night Mabel got up and started to dress.
Where are you off to? Ethel called.
Home.
Your home is right here!
Nohome, home Mabel muttered, shaking her head, and after reaching the door and grabbing the latch, she suddenly turned back, stripped off, and flopped into bed. Ethel said nothing, sensing a brief, harmless mental hiccup.
They refused to wallow in longterm gloom. Ethel, with her dolllike smile, radiated a particular cheerfulness.
Listen to my foolish brain, she would begin. The world isnt without kind people. Sammy brings us food, we have firewood, we live in our own warm house. We get a pension. What more could we ask for?
Youre lucky, youve got a grandson. Ive got no one, Mabel would retort. When my limbs give out, Ill end up in a workhouse.
No, I wont abandon you! As long as Im moving, youll have me beside you. And I suppose even a workhouse has people.
Mabels spirits lifted at those words, she looked around more brightly, and Ethel glowed with goodwill, joy and love.
The two old women often talked about life. They were peers of the same era, having weathered every historical event together. Their children had all gone off to war. Mabel had four sons; Ethel had two. Mabels husband died after a haycutting accident when his stomach gave way. Hed been taken to the local infirmary, where doctors diagnosed a perforated appendix. Mabels four sons all died one after another. How could she endure such loss without breaking? Each time she fell unconscious, the neighbours would pour water over her. Somehow she kept getting up, living on, until she reached eightyfive. Bitterness lingered, but she never grew angry; grief was a constant companion.
Ethel lost her husband and one son; the other son returned, though not entirely sound of mind, and later died at thirtyseven. Her daughterinlaw remarried, and Sam moved in permanently. Comparing herself to Mabel, Ethel thanked the heavens for her surviving line: a grandson who kept them fed, and grandchildren of his own.
Honestly, love, Ethel would say, do we really need more? A slice of bread and a cup of tea keep us full all day. Anything else you want?
Nothing, Mabel would shake her head. If only God would give me a spare moment to rest.
Time will comethen well both go, Ethel promised.
When the days grew warmer, the two, still in their winter coats and shawls, would sit on the garden bench, bask in the sun and inhale the earthy scent. Spring arrived, endless in their lifetimes. Even the brightest sunshine left them shivering, but the season still tugged at them. Once, the scent of spring meant renewal and childhood delight; later it hinted at longing love, then faded to a melancholy that spoke of decay.
They would sit for hours in the same posehands on a walking stick, faces turned toward the sun, eyes only occasionally flickering. When they felt the urge to talk, their faces lit up, and theyd bite their lips.
Its about time we die! one would joke. The weathers lovely, the flowers are blooming, the grass is green.
Yes, the other would agree. The earth is as soft as a pillow, easy to dig into.
One summer morning, Mabel felt a sudden restlessness. She lingered on the bench, then rose and shuffled back into the cottage. Each step on the porch was a struggle; her hands trembled like birds claws. She crossed the threshold, leaning on the wall, shuffled across the thatchlined floor and collapsed sideways onto the bed, a faint, barely audible moan escaping her.
Ethel immediately sensed something was wrong and followed her into the cottage. Mabels face grew paler, her expression drooped further. Ethel realised that Mabels time was drawing to a close and kept watch.
Mabel tried to sit up, but as soon as she did, she fell back onto the same left side. She turned onto her back, which was no more comfortable, and murmured, moving her head against the pillow.
Ethel came over several times to help, but when she saw she could do nothing, she simply sat nearby, observing.
By evening she seemed oddly calm, eyes glazed, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her heart fluttered weakly. Ethel slipped away to let her rest. Mabel never woke again.
When night fell, Ethel heard only a single breath in the cottage. She didnt expect herself to be so composed, as if someone had lifted her gently from the bed and set her beside Mabel. Her heart thumped a few more times before finally giving up for good.
Bother! she shouted through the whole cottage. Whos left to look after me?
She wailed, How could we have lived like sisters! When will Sam be back? Who will punish me but whom?
She spent the night musing, not noticing the dawn breaking, the night being brief with the nightingales song.
At sunrise, the motorbike engine roared outside, and Ethels legs, somehow rejuvenated, carried her to the porch.
Sammys brought you angels today, Ethel said, Mabels passed.
Sams face turned as white as a sheet.
How will I live alone now? Ethel sat on a step and began to weep.
Dont think about it, Gran. I wont leave you. Ill take you in for the winter, Sam promised.
Maybe God will send me a nice death this summer, she muttered.
Again with that! Sam grumbled. What am I supposed to talk about? Im your kin, not your wifes, and Ill be a stumbling block in your family.
Nothing to argue about, he snapped.
Ethel and Sam spent the next two days bustling about, and Ethel didnt recognise herselfwhere had that springtime pep come from? She moved around the house, stoked the fire, cooked, as if shed shed ten years of weight. Had Mabels spirit taken up residence and given her new energy?
Alone, Ethel felt a wave of longing so fierce she didnt know what to do. It was a grief for a person. After fifteen years of shared life, the two old women were closer than blood, each seeing the other as a second self. In all that time they never quarreled without also teasing each other. Both understood they survived only because they had each other, and each feared ending up alone.
Good for you! Youve got it all! Ethel would tease Mabel. What about me?
Sam visited often, almost daily, sometimes staying the night. He brought bagels and rusks, which Ethel dunked in tea and ate. Even those beloved treats could not soothe her sorrow.
One midsummer afternoon, as Ethel was tidying the cottage, she heard Mabels voice clearly: Hey, old lady! Youre hiding in here too long!
Ethel opened the hallway doorno one there. She walked around the house, nudged the dock weeds that grew where the garden beds had beennothing. Yet she could swear she heard her friends voice. Had she imagined it? Perhaps shed pictured Mabel so vividly that the sound echoed in her ears.
She must have come looking for me. She must have missed me, Ethel thought, her limbs suddenly growing weak. She shuffled to the cottage, opened the chest, pulled out a bundle of clothes shed prepared, placed it on the table and lay down on the bed.
She didnt know whether it was day or night outside, nor how long she lay thereperhaps hours, perhaps a full day or more. She felt life ebbing, but there was no pain, only a strange relief. Brief, bright flashes of her past danced behind her eyes: a threeyearold girl with her grandmother on a blooming meadow, a young husband in a white shirt, her children, the rhythm of shearing, scything, hammering iron, the smell of straw, hay and linseed oil. Her life seemed at once endless and fleeting.
When Sam finally arrived on his motorbike, he saw his grandmother lifeless, dropped his head onto the table beside the bundle and wept loudly.