I never loved my husband, you know.
Really? How long were you together?
Well lets just say we tied the knot back in 71.
And you say you never loved him after all those years?
Two women, barely acquainted, were sitting on a bench by a graveyard. They both worked as caretakers of the grounds, and by chance their paths crossed one afternoon.
Husband? the younger one asked, nodding toward a photograph of a stone monument, a woman in a grey flat cap.
Yeah, my husband. Its been I cant get used to it. I feel empty, have no energy. I keep going because I loved him deeply, the older lady tugged at the ends of her black scarf, eyes distant.
They fell silent. The younger woman let out a sigh.
I never loved my husband either.
The other turned her head, curiosity sparking.
How long did you both stay together?
We we married in 71, thats the count.
And you say you never loved him after all that time?
I was angry, so I left him. I liked another bloke, but he drifted to a friend, and I thought, Why not jump into a new marriage? Then there was Mark a lanky kid with a patchy hairline and ears that stuck out like little sails. His suit sat on him like a saddle on a cow. He smiled all the time, never let his hands go idle I thought, Its my fault.
What happened next?
We moved in with his parents. They were just as petty as he was. I was a bigbodied girl, plumeyed, with long hair that tore at my dresses. Everyone could see we werent a match.
Mornings Id wake up with my shoes all cleaned because Marks mother made me do it. Id snap at them, shout, feel sorry for myself. I never loved him, and that didnt help. Whod want a daughterinlaw like me?
Mark suggested we head off to the north, earn a bit, get away from his folks. I just wanted to get out, wind in my hair. At the time the government was pushing folks to the new rail line the Northern Line and I thought I couldnt make it, but Mark could. He got us onto a crew, first to Sheffield, then further up to the Scottish borders.
They split us up on the train: women in one carriage, men in another. Mark was left without his rations, I had a small bag, and there was no way to move between the cars. I made friends right away, laughter filled our wagon, and I handed out the pies my mother had baked for the journey.
When we stopped at a station, Mark ran over, starving, and asked for food. I felt ashamed, told him there was nothing left. He saw my embarrassment and tried to reassure me, Dont worry, therell be plenty at the next stop. He ran back to his carriage, and I realized he was the shy type never would he take a piece of bread from strangers, let alone share his own.
We finally arrived, were put up in a hastily rented hostel: thirtyfive women and girls in one room, the men in another. They said it was temporary, promised us family rooms later. I didnt mind I kept busy, pretended I was always in a rush, that I had things to do. The other women would scold me, Youre married, why act like a spinster? Id just stare out the window, waiting for something to change.
One day, a big, darkhaired builder named Greg showed up. He was tall, with a wild tumble of hair, and we both started working hard on a construction site I was a concrete mixer, he was the foreman. The pay was good, the beer was imported, the orange crates and sausages were something wed never seen back home. There were concerts and dances in the mess hall, and we all got swept up in the excitement.
Greg noticed me, and the other girls introduced us. He liked me, I liked him, and it felt like a spark finally lit. Mark tried to intervene, got jealous, but I told him, Im leaving with you. We got a small separate room in the barracks; the walls were thin, but at least it was ours.
Soon after, Marks temper flared. Hed gotten into a fight with Greg at the station, and I heard that Mark had been taken to the hospital. I cursed the driver, What a fool you are, Greg! and tried to keep my composure. In the hospital, Marks face was blue, his leg swollen. He whispered, Why did you come? I could barely speak. I love you, he hissed. I replied, If thats how it is, fine. And I walked away, feeling a mix of pity and relief.
Life on the rail line was harsh. The snowstorms would dump parcels at the wrong villages. Once we got a package meant for another settlement, and Mark trudged out in the blizzard to deliver it, freezing his cheeks half to death. He came back with a grin, saying, Better than staying in a hut with nothing.
We eventually moved to the Lake District, where Mark got a job as a supervisor on a small hydroelectric project. Hed finished his engineering apprenticeship, and the role suited him. Hed bring home goodies fresh scones, jam, anything he couldt eat himself. Hed boast, Ive got a wife, and shes expecting, while I hid my eyes.
When the baby arriveda little boy we named Max after his grandfather I finally understood why Marks parents had been so hard on me. The boy was frail, born with a cough, but Marks eyes never left him. I never felt love or hate for Mark after that; I just wanted things to run smoothly. Hed help around the house, clean, make sure I could rest.
One afternoon I tried to do the laundry, and a bloke came over saying, What are you doing, washing a mans underwear? Mark laughed, Cold water, love. Better if the wifes sick, right? I snatched the tub away, annoyed at how hed make a joke of it.
Our son Max grew up, got into trouble with the local police, and I met a kind, single officer named Simon. He got along with Max, and even though Mark was weakwilled, he never tried to control us. Hed be the quiet one, trying to keep the peace.
When Mark was sent to London for further training, I remembered the day he left. He said, If you dont come, I wont go. I told him to go, and he left with a bitter smile. Back home, a policeman named Sergei told me, Divorce him, you dont love him anyway. I just laughed, shook my head, and kept my own thoughts.
Years passed. I still keep a letter Mark wrote, the one where he said, Ive ruined my life because I never loved you, only endured. He promised half his salary for the kids, wished me happiness. No resentment, just a quiet acceptance. The autumn wind rattled the leaves on the graveyard bench, and the woman in the black scarf dabbed her eyes with the corner of her scarf.
Why are you crying? I asked the storyteller.
Its just life, love, it makes you tear up sometimes. she replied, wiping away a stray tear.
I think back to all the twists: the night I couldnt sleep, Max fighting his own demons, the letter Id keep tucked away. A friend once called me daft, Emma! You should’ve carried a husband on your shoulders! And then there was that day at the hospital when I was rushed in after a botched operation. They moved me to a yellow room, and there was Mark, quiet, holding my hand, a senior nurse fussing over us.
He whispered, Dont leave, well get out of here, my child will be ours, no one elses. I answered, Why bother? He said, Because I love you. I said, Alright, then. I turned and walked down the corridor, feeling his eyes on me, his hope like butterflies in my stomach not wanting to go back to the village, feeling that together we could manage.
We later settled in a small town in Devon. Mark stayed lowkey, but his skills as a mechanic got noticed. He became a foreman of a small hydropump crew, traveling between sites, always bringing back treats for me. Hed brag, Ive got a wife, shes pregnant. Id hide my smile.
At the maternity ward, we learned our son was a darkhaired boy, just like Mark. Marks eyes softened, a tear almost slipped when he took the baby home. Max was a tough kid, born with a wheeze, a real handful. He grew up, got into a bit of mischief, but the local officer, Simon, took a liking to him. Mark, weakhearted, never could discipline him, but Simon would step in.
When Mark went off to study in London, we moved into a decent flat in the city. He was sent back to the north for a course, and I told him to go. He left, bitter at the thought of staying, and I stayed with Max.
One day a neighbour, a plump man in a leather jacket, stopped by. He asked, Tired, Jon? Need a cuppa? My wife brushed off the dust from his coat, and we walked together down the yellowlined cemetery path, past the graves.
The woman in the grey cap turned, waved at the lady beside her, then at her husband. She stared at her husbands portrait on the monument, thinking how happiness isnt something that just happens; it lives in the heart when you accept someone.
And that, my friend, is the whole story love, loss, stubbornness, and the tiny moments that keep us going.
