I came home this evening, barely shutting the door behind mestill in my coat and muddy bootsand announced without preamble, We need to have a serious chat.
My wife, Alice, peered round from the kitchen archway, and for the first time in years (five, sixmaybe even eight?) actually took a proper look at me. As usual, I didnt give her a chance to brace herself. Alice! I declared, rather theatrically. We need to talk.
And before she could retort, I widened my eyes and blurted out, Ive fallen in love!
Well, thats that, Alice must have thought, the infamous midlife crisis has finally taken up residence in our house. Welcome aboard, old chap… She glanced at me, her eyes full of concern with a hint of resignation.
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes at the end. For Alice, it was our life together she saw unspooling in her mind. Wed met in a typically understated British manneronline. Alice had managed to lop three years off her age, while Id tacked on an extra inch to my height, which meant our profiles aligned just enough for us to stumble across one another.
She no longer remembered who messaged first. But she distinctly recalled that my opening lines contained not a whiff of vulgarity, just a touch of self-deprecationa quality she always admired in a man. By the time Alice turned thirty-three, she understood exactly where she stood in the so-called marriage market. She accepted she was hardly in the front row; still, she resolved not to get above herself. For our first date she wore her favourite rose-tinted glasses, some trendy lingerie, and tossed a bag of homemade shortbread and a battered Charles Dickens novel into her handbag.
Strangely enough, our first meeting went swimmingly (the importance of outfit cannot be overstated!). From there, things took offthe relationship blossomed with a kind of cheerful urgency only the English can muster. We enjoyed each others company so much that, after half a year of regular strolls (and a fair bit of gentle prodding from our parents, who had all but given up hope of ever seeing grandchildren), I finally mustered the courage to propose. Our families were introduced swiftly and everythingtrue to formwas quietly approved, the sort of understated enthusiasm only seen in British families when faced with such events. Lest anyone changed their mind, we picked the first available date for the wedding and that was that.
Life together ticked by rather well, as far as we could tell. The general climate was temperate, a few warm spells here and there, nothing volcanic, but always steady and respectfulsurely that was happiness, wasnt it? As for me, a typically straightforward, practical bloke, I shed my hopelessly romantic handyman persona a mere fortnight after the wedding and settled into being a regular, reliable husband in my oldest sweatpants.
Alice, in her own more subtle way, loosened the invisible corset of all-knowing, ever-gracious, slightly mysterious intellectual hostess shed worn for years. This was further expedited by a swift pregnancy, and within a year shed given up entirely on trying to project an image, swapping designer dresses for a dressing gown and sighing with relief.
What matteredthat neither of us, after abandoning our facades, ever considered running off or even lodging complaintsconvinced Alice our decision had been the right one and only cemented her faith in our marriage.
Domestic routines and raising two back-to-back children sometimes threatened to swamp our little ship. But no matter how high the waves, we never sankwhenever the storm passed, we found ourselves gliding along the calm waters of married life once more. Grandparents helped wherever they could; work ticked over steadily, and we gradually, though not spectacularly, climbed the professional ladder. We travelled, maintained hobbies, spent time togetherall in all, perfectly average by British statistical standards.
Twelve years have gone by since our wedding. In all that time, Id never given Alice cause to doubt my fidelity, or even flirted with anyone, and shenever the jealous typeprobably wouldnt have minded, as no scandal would ensue. The thought of me trying to flirt made her chuckle; the image in her head was more comic than anything else, especially since, after a few well-intentioned but clumsy attempts at romance during our courtship, Id concluded I was better off expressing appreciation in subtler ways, usually through wide-eyed stares that said everything and nothing at once.
Through the years Alice had learned to read entire emotional novels from the roundness of my eyes: delight, agreement, surprise, confusion, bewilderment, complete outrage. She pictured me showering compliments on a random rat, eyes bulging comically at every word…
Alices mouth ran dry at the thought, and she attempted a nervous smile before asking, So, whats the name of this rat of yours?
Now it was my turn to look flabbergastedmy eyes really did threaten to pop clean out of my head. Shifting awkwardly and tugging at my coat, I stammered, Waithow did you evenhow could you possiblyguess it was a rat? No, listenhonestlyI couldnt just walk past! I caught a glimpse andwell, shes fantastic. Look, just lookshes soft, shes adorable shes rather like you, come to think of it
From my pocket, I produced a tiny, greyish-brown ratpink transparent ears, delicate little nose, those dark, beady eyes.
Everything else melted into the background as Alice watched me cuddling the newest addition to our home. If Im honest, Ive never seen her happier: she was overjoyed that Id fallen for this particular rata creature who, perhaps, was remarkably like her after all.
If theres one thing Ive learnt today, its this: sometimes love arrives in the most unexpected of forms, and happiness is finding someone who smiles at the same oddities as you.
