I never really loved my husband, she said, folding the black kerchief tighter around her neck.
How long were you together? I asked, eyeing the photograph of the stone marker theyd both been tending.
She gave a halfsmile. We married in 71, so thats you know, a good long while.
We were sitting on a bench by an old graveyard, two women whod only crossed paths while clearing different plots. One of us, in a grey flat cap, nudged the stone and asked, Husband?
The other, a wiry lady with a silver braid, nodded. Husband its been years now. I just cant get used to the quiet, I feel drained. I loved him, really loved him, she murmured, pulling the ends of her dark scarf.
There was a pause, then the woman in the cap let out a soft sigh. I never loved my husband either.
I turned my head, curious. How long did you stay together?
She glanced at the worn inscription. We tied the knot in 71, so thats the count.
And youre saying you never loved him after all those years?
She laughed bitterly. I married him just to spite him. There was a lad I fancied, and when he left for his girlfriend I thought Id get ahead of them. Then Tom a proper bloke showed up. He was short, balding a bit, ears poking out, his suit hanging on him like a sack on a horse. He grinned all the time, never let go of my hand. I thought, Im to blame for this.
What happened after?
We moved in with his parents. Theyd blow dust in my face just like him. I was a bigbodied girl, plumeyed, with a braid and a dress that split at the seams. Everyone knew we werent a match.
In the mornings Id be up early, my boots polished by Toms mother, while Id snap at his sister, shouting, Im only hating myself! It never worked whod want a daughterinlaw like me?
Then Tom whispered, Lets go up north, find work on the railway, get away from the folks. I just wanted to get out, feel a breeze in my head.
The railway boom was happening the new line to the Scottish Highlands. I couldnt have done it alone, but Tom managed, got us into the crew. We first went to Manchester, then onto the highlands. They split us on the train: the women in one carriage, the men in another. Tom missed his rations, I had a bag, and there was no connecting corridor.
I made friends straight away, we laughed, shared everything. I thought Tom would find something there. I handed out the pies his mother baked for the journey.
At the station Tom ran up, looking embarrassed, asking for food. I told him wed just eaten, that there was nothing left. He saw my discomfort and tried to reassure me, saying, Dont worry, theres plenty at the camp, were all fed. He rushed back to his carriage.
I knew he was fibbing he was shy, wouldnt take a bite from a stranger. After a minute Id forgotten him.
When we arrived, the camp was bustling. We were put in a mess hall thirtyfive women and girls in one room, the men separate. They said it was temporary, promised family rooms later. I pretended to be busy, to avoid his stare. The other women chided me, Hes your husband, you ought to…. Id just sit by the window, watching the damp hills, feeling invisible.
Soon I decided Id have enough no children, just two years of marriage, and no love at all. I still spent some nights in the same barracks with him, out of pity.
Then a big, darkhaired bloke named Greg showed up. He was a robust, jovial fella, with a wave of hair and a cheeky grin. We worked hard, pouring concrete, and life was decent they brought in good English ale, fresh oranges, and sausages wed never had back home. Music bands played at the canteen, and we danced till the night was over.
Greg and I met through some other girls. They liked him, he liked me. It was a proper spark. Tom tried to intervene, embarrassed, but I was already headoverheels.
Im leaving you, I told him, as we got a tiny room in the barracks, the wall thin but our own.
Tom lingered nearby, but I felt his presence like a shadow. Love was a mess, but it was there.
The woman in the black scarf listened, eyes never leaving.
Did he ever put up with it? I asked.
He endured because he loved, I suppose, she said, sighing. Later Greg and Kat got together, and I I was blamed for everything.
Tom fell ill, was taken to the hospital. I cursed the driver, the nurse, the whole lot. When I got there, Tom lay with a blue face, his leg swollen like a weight.
Why did you get involved? I asked.
He whispered, Because I love you.
I felt sorry for myself, for the pregnant women sent away from the site, for the kids who werent welcomed. I didnt know whose child was whose, but I kept sending letters to Tom, taking responsibility, not out of love but duty.
One day he stood on crutches, we watched the sunrise from the window. He, in his old hospital gown, said, Dont divorce me; well leave this place together, my child will have a future.
I answered, Why bother?
He simply said, Because I love you.
I turned and walked down the corridor, feeling his eyes on me, a flutter in my stomach like butterflies.
We later moved to the farnorth, to a quiet town where Tom, now a foreman, travelled between sites, always bringing home treats cakes, biscuits, anything he could.
Hed boast, Ive got a wife, pregnant. Id hide my face, embarrassed. We got a little house, I was appointed as the housekeeper.
When our son Max was born, he was a hefty little thing, coughing and wailing. Toms mother, who had passed, would have liked that. I named him after his father.
I didnt feel love or hatred for Tom then, just a pragmatic tolerance. Hed fetch water, clean up, let me sleep.
One time I tried to do the laundry, and Tom teased, Cold water, love? Better that Im not ill, eh? I snatched the bucket, angry at his patronising tone. His affection grew overbearing, irritating me more each day.
Max, now thirteen, was in a youth detention centre for a minor offence. I met a kind single officer who liked him, and Tom never intervened much he was weakwilled, never could punish or protect.
Tom was sent to London for training, while I stayed in Manchester with our flat. He called, If you dont go, I wont travel. I told him to go. He left bitterly. A policeman, Serge, told me to divorce Tom, saying I didnt love him. I just stayed silent, wiping tears from my sleeve.
Why are you crying? the storyteller asked.
Its life, I said, it sneaks a tear when you least expect it.
I remembered the day I was rushed to the hospital after a botched operation, the doctors whispering. I was transferred to a yellow ward where Tom waited, quietly holding my hand, ordering medicine, calling a nurse. If it hadnt been for him, Id have given up.
One winter, a supply helicopter dropped off parcels, but a blizzard mixed them up. We got someone elses parcels, and Tom trudged through the snow to deliver them to the right village, his cheeks frostbitten.
I realised, despite everything, I needed no one else but him.
Writing a letter now? Hed never read it, I thought. After all these years Id proven I wasnt worth a thing to him.
Autumn was gentle, the leaves falling like soft whispers. I decided to travel to London to see him. The train chugged slowly, my heart pounding, hoping to catch a glimpse of his familiar face.
At the university hall, he stepped out, looking like a proper gentleman in a flat cap, trench coat, a folder tucked under his arm. I froze, a bolt of love to my own husband striking me hard.
His friends passed by, none noticing. I called out, and he turned, eyes wide, disbelief on his face. We stared at each other, leaves swirling around us.
Did you make it to the end? a student asked, laughing.
I just nodded, my throat tight.
The woman in the black scarf, now an old friend, smiled, wiping her tears. Did they live happily ever after? she asked.
I glanced at the gravestone where my old colleague rested, a young boy named Max, whod died too soon. Hes alive, the woman replied, and so is Tom.
A stout man in a black jacket and leather cap approached, friendly, and said, You alright, love? Need a cuppa?
We walked together down the yellowed path, the sun setting behind the old church, and I thought about how happiness isnt something that just appears you have to welcome it into your heart. And that, my dear, is the whole point: to love and be loved.