The Fathers Mistress
Through the school hallway walked Mrs. Olivia Anderson, her steps brisk with purpose. She passed the staff room without casting a glance at anyone and slipped quickly into the headteachers office, pulling the door closed behind her.
Mary Simmons, are you alone? Olivia asked, sinking onto a chair before hearing the answer. Good, then. I need a word.
Mary hadnt even put down her paperwork before Olivia pressed on.
Can you do something about Mr. Turner, the DT teacher? Can you? I dont know, perhaps disciplinedock his pay, give him a warning. At the very least, talk to him
Mary looked up in disbelief. Shed known Olivia for years, having taught her as a pupil in this very school. She was used to Olivias professional chill, her steely integrity, her habitual seriousness.
Olivia always wore black suits, had no patience for sloppiness or vulgar jokes, and clung to morals that made younger teachers roll their eyes. She was nearing forty and still singlesomething that drew endless commentary behind her back.
Mary always pitied Olivia, thinking that what the poor woman lacked was simple, old-fashioned happiness.
But today, Olivia was visibly shaken. Mary had only seen her so rattled once beforeright before the schools Ofsted inspection.
Discipline? Why, Olivia Anderson? Whats he done?
Its because hes humiliating my mother. Me. My brotherwhos an officer, by the way.
Ah, so you have found out
Mary took off her glasses with a sigh.
Andrew Turnerthe man known as Turner to the staffwas, in fact, Olivias father. Mary had heard the gossip: hed a woman on the side, apparently. The news had seemed impossible: Turner, of all people?
It felt odd to call this other woman his mistress. Turner was nothing like Casanovahed lived nearly forty years with only his wife. And this so-called mistress was almost sixty herself, worked at the local post office and wouldnt have turned any heads anywhere in Kent.
Tall, awkward, with swollen legs and a widows air, Sylvia had lost her husband years earlier and lived alone in a weather-beaten cottage near the sorting depot. She seemed the last person likely to break up a marriage.
I thought you handled it privately, Olivia. I thought your father had come to his senses.
I wish! Hes planning to leave Mum. We spoke just now; he wont listen Olivias voice quivered, Mary, please talk to him. He might listen to you. Youre olderoh, sorry
Enough, Mary cut her off gently. But I dont know what to say to him.
Appeal to his decency. Tell him how Mums suffering. Its a disgrace, at his age! So many years togetherafter all that
And your mother? Is she really so upset?
Olivia shrugged. You know what shes like. Proud as always. Wails and threatens, but she always tries to stay strong. She told him shell lock him out.
Whats she threatening him with?
Withhold his pension, throw him out with just the clothes on his back.
I suppose he isnt scared by that?
Olivia deflated, tears coming now. No, he isnt. How is this fair? After decades together
Marys face softened. If it was truly love in peace, as you say, this wouldnt have happened. All rightIll speak to him. Weve worked together long enough, after all.
***
Three years earlier, Sylvia had lost her own home in a fire. The blaze tore through the centre of her Kentish village. Her mother, an invalid, had to be carried out on her back while flames devoured the cottage. Outside, the old woman clung to life until she finally passed away in hospital.
After her mothers funeral, Sylvias son took her in. But she soon felt out of place and quickly left. There was an inherited cottage outside Maidstone, on the outskirts of the village, mostly occupied by a second cousin, but with a small annexe left empty. Sylvia moved in and took work at the village post office.
At first, the family kept their distance, but as the postie, she soon grew to know everyoneespecially the elderly ladies who waited for their pensions.
Her annexe needed repairs. Thats when Mr. Turner came into her life, offering his skills as a handyman.
His wifeClaracouldnt bear him lounging at home after school. So Turner always found odd jobs in the village. He was skilled in everything from wiring a house to laying a garden path. The villagers all knew him. Hed eat his lunch at home after his classes, then disappear till evening, always with some task scheduled. Clara would squirrel away his earnings with a sigh of relieflife was comfortable now. Their son had settled in Devon with his own family (he was a soldier), while Olivia, their daughter, had a flat from the council as a teacher.
All seemed welluntil the rumour went round that Turner was living with the postwoman from a neighbouring village. Clara didnt believe ituntil she pieced together the evidence.
You wretched old fool! Clara said, hurled his dinner plate onto the table. What about your kids, about me? How am I supposed to face people?
Turner clenched his spoon, silent. Then finally he said, We ought to divorce, Clara.
Divorce? Over my dead body! After all Ive put up withyears of cooking, cleaning, sticking by you through heart attacks and house moves! You wont get a thing! She made a fist with her work-worn hands and waved it at him.
Turner gazed out of the rain-streaked window, surveying the garden he’d built himselfthe oak table, the benches, the new fence. But had he and Clara ever sat there together? Not really. Only during parties, never quietly just the two of them.
And in his mind was another garden: the run-down, overgrown patch at Sylvias, with its rusty fence and blackened old bench. He longed to be there.
Clara unburdened herself to Olivia. The daughter stared in disbelief.
Mum, you cant be serious?
Its been going for ages. I thought the work out in Southmead was just handyman jobs! No, it was all for her. Oh, what are we going to do?
Ill talk to him, Mum.
Clara snorted, but had already made up her mind. Ill keep my husbandhes not leaving! Ill keep his wallet, his passport, and give him horrid old jumpers to wearsee how he likes that!
For a time, all seemed calm. Olivia left her father alone, seeing that he was avoiding the family more, seeming almost ashamed. But this, too, passed.
He needed peace, and in that busy houseClaras constant chatter, the endless complaininghe sought escape. More and more he drifted to the edges, tinkering in the shed, with only the dog, Jack, for company.
It didnt end well. By spring, they discovered Turner was walking five miles from his shed in Chatham to see Sylvia. Clara demanded he tell the truthand he did, simply:
Forgive me, Clara. I have to go. Im sorry.
That was when Olivia decided to confront her fathers mistress. Surely the woman deserved some shame?
She made her way to Southmead post office, determined to rebuke Sylvia face to face. Strict black suitready for battle.
Early spring sunshine was just warming the Kentish fields as Olivia disembarked from the bus and walked to the post office.
Thank you, Sylvia dear, an old lady called as she shuffled out. God bless you! Id be lost without you
Take care, Aunt May, replied Sylvia in her gentle voice. She was homely, wearing a knitted cardigan, a black skirt, hair twisted in a bun.
In the tiny post office, Olivias resolve faltered. The scene was too ordinary, the warmth between Sylvia and the pensioner too deep. Olivia browsed the greeting cards, waiting for the customer to leave.
Sylvia finally noticed her. Youre Olivia, arent you?
Olivia Anderson, she said sternly. We need a private word.
Mrs. Mills, would you stay here a moment, please? Ill step outside.
Of course, love.
Sylvia put on her scarf and coat and led Olivia out the back.
You have children, dont you? Olivia began.
Yesa son and a daughter, Sylvia answered quietly.
Do they know youre wrecking a family? Olivias voice quaked with indignation.
They do. My daughter worries about me. My son is furiousaccuses me of betraying his fathers memory. He hardly visits now. Its hard, Sylvia replied simply.
Dont you feel guilty? Olivia demanded.
God alone will judge, Sylvia said, meeting her gaze.
And you feel nothing for my mother, my brother, me?
Whats there to fear? I told Andrew not to do this. But he wouldnt listen. He said he cant live without meand I, it seems, cant live without him.
Rubbish! You have the power to end this and choose not to. Its all down to you.
I dont know how to shut someone out like that. And Id rather not live at all, than return to being alone.
Olivia left, her anger drained.
Sylvia just stood, pitying Olivia, pitying Clara, the children, everyone. If only life could be rewoundall she could do was wonder about the pain that would bring others.
The next day, Olivia cornered her father in the DT classroom at lunch. She scolded, pleaded, invoked morality, threatened to call Nicholas, her brother.
Turner went about tidying up his cupboards, quiet. When she finally finished, he simply said, Forgive me. Your mother will get used to it. I have to go.
Dad, whats gotten into you? Olivia cried, before storming off to Marys office to try to find a solution.
How could Turner explain, even to himself? He couldnt. Sylvia and he grew close through shared silences, understanding far deeper than words. Their evenings together meant more than mere companionship or desire.
He moved from repairing her floor to fixing her whole cottagewith the urgency of a man determined to finish something meaningful while there was still time.
One day, lets go away together, Sylvia, he said quietly.
Youve a family, Andrew.
Thats over. Im alone.
She saw the truth in that.
***
Marys talk with Turner was brief. He pulled out a crumpled resignation note and placed it on her desk.
Whats this, Mr. Turner?
My notice. Keep me on till the end of term if you like. Or let me go now, if youve found a replacement
Mary sighed. Shed thought Clara was luckyalways grumbling, but with a devoted husband. Now it seemed, Turner had foundat lastthe woman he was meant for.
Well, Turner, what a mess. Ive no one else, so stay on. And do think about your family.
Thank you, he replied simply. For not preaching at me.
***
Turner began gathering his tools and clothes from the shed. He even dug out his old holdall.
Where do you think youre going? Clara snapped. “Nicholas is coming down tomorrow. Frightened, are you?
No reason to be. Ill wait to see him.
Nicholas arrived, military uniform still sharp, his temper almost as sharp.
Hello, Dad! What happened to being an example? All my life I looked up to youand now this! Affairs, at your age?
Hello, Nick. Im sorry. It is what it is.
Like hell it is. Youre going nowhere! Mum needs you, you old fool. Ill have words with your fancy woman myself. Theres only one wife, plenty of other women. Too old to be playing silly games
Something inside Turner broke. Nicholas stormed off, filled with righteous fury.
***
Youre meant to pick him up? Foolish doctors Clara grumbled, lurching down the stairs with Olivia. He cant move that side at all. How am I supposed to lift him? Oh, Olivia, itd be better if
Olivia grimaced at the thought. It had been nearly a month since Turners stroke.
Nicholas had left for duty, Olivias own job was mad with exam season, and Clara couldnt travel daily to Chatham Hospital.
Theyd hired an aide, but within days shed quietly suggested it was pointlessthey had someone already: Turners sister, who visited every day. It was, of course, Sylvia.
Olivia saw her eventually, hiding near the hospital back entrance. Olivia felt reliefat least her father was cared for.
Olivia now found herself questioning everything: regretting calling Nick, angry with her mother, heartbroken at her fathers shame and misery. Hed never been helpless before.
Clara, meanwhile, didnt care who heard her complaints.
All this for your silly affair! Now lookwhos caring for you, eh? Your loyal wife! Who ends up cleaning your mess? Unlucky me, thats who!
She didnt know Sylvia was nearOlivia kept that quiet.
One morning, when Olivia arrived unexpectedly during a break, she saw Sylvia helping Turner exercise his paralysed leg. Olivia was startled not by their actions, but by how Turner looked at Sylvia: eyes alive with hope and love.
They greeted Olivia. When Sylvia made to leave, Olivia stopped her.
Stay. Youre better at this than I am. Teach me?
Sylvia agreed, showing Olivia the exercises, so quietly and tenderly she couldnt help being moved.
Later, in the corridor, Olivia said: Dont go. I know youre here. People talk.
I suspected you knew. I call myself his sister herenobody questions it.
What about your own job and house?
I made a rota with another postie. I stay with an old lady nearby, who helps me cook for your father. Itll be all right.
Do you think my father will walk again? Olivia asked.
Of course, Sylvia answered firmly, her eyes shining.
Olivia believed her. Walking down the hospitals plane tree avenue, she breathed in the early summer air, feeling suddenly lighter. There is love in the world, she thought. Im ready for it nowperhaps for the first time in my life.
Back home, Clara was fretful about the discharge.
Where will he go, then? she fussed. The lounge? What if guests come and see the bedpans? Hell have to sleep in the spare room.
There wont be guests! Olivia argued. Hell be lonely.
But Clara was adamant. If youre so bothered, put him in the shed!
It was all too much for Olivia. One evening, she confessed:
Mumwhat if Sylvia takes him in?
Oh, right! She only wanted him while he was useful. Who needs a crippled old manexcept wife and children?
She was there the whole time, Mum. At the hospital.
Thought it was the nurse
No. Nurse told me herselfshe called her his sister.
Clara sat down heavily, then banged her knee. Gunning for his pension, no doubt! Well, she can have him.
***
On discharge day, Olivia and her cousin John picked up her father. Sylvia had been early at the hospital, quietly saying her goodbyes and then returning to her cottage. The nurse cornered Olivia:
His sister was very tearful. Doesnt seem like a sister to me
There was a long wait before Turner was ready. Olivia leaned in.
Dad, be honest. Where would you rather gohome, or to Sylvia?
A tear rolled down his paralysed cheek.
To Sylvia he whispered.
They drove Turner to Southmead.
Sylvia opened the door even before they knocked, face flushed but radiant with hope.
Sylvia, youll think weve just handed this on to you
But Sylvia was already bustling about, prepping the bed, making Turner comfortable with Olivias help.
They settled Turner in. Olivia promised to return soon; she could see the gratitude in her fathers eyes.
Back home, she hugged her mother. We took him to Southmead. Its truly for the best, Mum.
Clara raged for days, but eventually quieted, nursing her own complaints.
Olivia kept quiet about her visits to Sylvias. She didnt say her father was improvingfirst sitting, then speaking almost normally, soon walking with a stick, even pottering in the garden. The dog, Jack, followed him everywhere.
In the evenings, Turner and Sylvia would sit together on the crumbling old bench, under the huge lime tree in their ramshackle garden. Hed run his hand through her hair; she would rest her head against his chest.
So much still to do, Sylvia. I never did repair this old bench
Therell be another summer. Youll get stronger. Whats the rush? Im happy as we are.
Their little garden, run-down and peaceful, was theirs at last. And Sylvia was rightthey had years still ahead, together. It was goodso very, very good.
