**From Meeting to Parting**
Five years ago, Margaret found herself alone. Her husband had passed away after a long battle with cancer. Before that, their only daughter had married and moved to another city, first giving birth to a son, Oliver, and three years later, a daughter, Emily. While Margarets husband was still well, she used to visit her daughter. But when he fell ill, she couldnt leave him.
Her daughter visited occasionally, leaving the children with her husband. She believed they shouldnt see their grandfather in such a state. She came alone to the funeral, tooand left straight after.
*Im sorry, Mum, but the children and my husband need me. Why dont you come stay with us? What will you do here all by yourself?*
And just like that, she was gone. Margaret was left alone. She missed her husband desperatelyeven when he was sick, at least he was there. Now, what? She felt unwanted.
After nine days, she decided to visit her daughter. But both her daughter and son-in-law worked long hours, and the grandchildren barely acknowledged her. They hardly knew her anymore. Margaret felt like an intruder. After a week, she packed her things to leave.
*Mum, why not stay another week?* her daughter suggested, but when Margaret refused, she didnt insist.
Margaret didnt visit again. Last year, though, they stopped by on their way back from a holiday. Oliver, now thirteen, barely looked up from his tablet, earbuds permanently lodged in his ears. Emily, with streaks of pink in her hair, spent her days texting and chewing gum.
Margaret tried to talk to her daughter. Wasnt this lifestyle harmful to young minds? Did she even know what they were watching or who they spoke to online?
*Mum, all kids are like this these days. Youll only make it worse by nagging,* her daughter dismissed.
Before they left, Margaret tried again.
*Im lonely. Visit more often. The grandchildren dont even know me. Im still strongwhy not send them to stay with me during holidays?*
*Mum, why burden yourself?* her daughter replied.
*Theyre my grandchildren. How is that a burden?*
*Well see,* her daughter saidbut a whole year passed, and no one came. Only the occasional phone call.
So Margaret went to them. Why not? She was retired, free. The parents worked all day while Oliver and Emily lived on takeaway pizza and sushi. What kind of food was that? Margaret took over the cooking. At first, everyone loved her soups, pancakes, and piesthen they went back to ordering pizza. Her son-in-law frowned when he saw her washing dishes by hand. *Weve got a dishwasher. No need to martyr yourself.*
Her daughter sighed and rearranged the dishes on the rack. Oliver complained shed messed up his wardrobe. Margaret tried to explain shed just tidied it.
*Mum, dont interfere,* her daughter chided.
*Gran, stop baking pies. Ive already put on weight,* Emily said.
*And pizza doesnt make you fat?* Margaret retorted.
It was clearshe was in the way. She packed her bags. Her daughter didnt stop her, and her son-in-law promptly offered to drive her to the station.
She missed her husband. If only George were still here Why had he left her so soon? There was no one to talk to. Who would care for her ifGod forbidshe fell ill?
She used to knit and embroider, but her eyesight had worsened; now she just got headaches. What else was there to do in retirement? Bake pies? For whom?
One friend had died shortly after her husband. The other was too busy with her own grandchildren.
—
It was one of the last warm days of Indian summer. The sun shone, though the air was crisp. Golden leaves crunched underfoot. Margaret took a bag of stale bread and walked to the park.
Sitting on a bench, she fed the pigeons. Soon, a whole flock gathered, even sparrows darting in.
Margaret watched them and brooded. Youth was fleeting, life fragileand now, old age crept in. Shed hoped to grow old with George, watching over each other. But he was gone, and her daughter and grandchildren didnt need her
*Quite the crowd youve gathered,* a voice said.
A man sat at the other end of the bench. She hadnt noticed him arrive. Well-groomed, about her age or slightly older.
*I see you here often,* he said.
She didnt recognize him. Then again, she never paid attention during her walks.
*Im alone too. My wife died eight years ago. Still cant get used to it,* he sighed.
*As if he read my thoughts,* Margaret mused. She studied himneatly dressed, pressed trousers, clean-shaven.
*I love autumn. These last warm days are lovely. Once the rains come, the leaves will be gone.* He tilted his face to the sun.
*Who helps you? Youre so well put together,* she asked.
*Learned after my wife passed. Its not so hard. My sons busy with his family. Think men cant manage?* He smiled. *Im Arthur. Look how bold these sparrows arestealing crumbs right from the pigeons. And you are?*
*Margaret.*
*Pretty name. My wife was Gertrude, after her great-grandmother. Fancy the cinema? Its getting chilly.*
The sun had vanished behind clouds. Margaret almost refusedbut the thought of her empty flat was worse.
*Whats playing?*
*Does it matter?* Arthur grinned.
True. When had she last been to the cinema? She couldnt remember. She agreed. The theatre was nothing like she recalledplush seats, a massive screen, booming sound. But she enjoyed the film.
Outside, night had fallen, the air sharp.
*How about tea? Warm up?* Arthur suggested.
Margaret declined.
*Another time?* he pressed.
She imagined her silent flat
*Come to mine. I live nearby. Ill make tea and pancakes.*
*Is that all right?*
*Why not? Youre in no rush, are you? I baked too manyno one to eat them.*
At her doorstep, she hesitatedwhat would the neighbors think? But the courtyard was empty.
*Cosy place. Your husband?* Arthur nodded at the framed portrait.
*Yes. Cancer.* She nearly complained about her absent familybut it was obvious she lived alone.
She brewed fresh tea, reheated pancakes, served jam in a little dish. Arthur ate eagerly.
*Youve so many booksmedical ones too. Are you a doctor?*
*No. A biology teacher. Wanted to be a doctor, but Mum died youngI had to work. Evening classes, then marriage, a child Dreams fade.*
*I was in the army. May I?* He browsed her shelves, flipping through familiar titles.
*Thank you. Youre a rare womaninviting a stranger in.*
*You werent planning to rob me, were you?*
*God forbid. I should go. Walking tomorrow? Same time?*
From then on, they walked together. Two lonely souls starved for company.
Then her daughter called.
*Mum, how are you?*
*Fine. Walking, even went to the cinema.*
*Alone?*
*No. Who goes alone? A friend.*
*Mumare you seeing someone?* Her daughter panicked.
*Of course not. We just walk.*
*Be careful! Con artists everywhere. Why not visit us?*
*No. I wont intrude. You come here.*
*Dont you dare get involved! Some widower looking for a free housekeeper? Or after your flat? Hell sweet-talk you into signing it over, thenGod knows!*
*What nonsense! Next youll say Ive gone senile!*
*What am I supposed to think? Remember Mrs. Lightfoot?*
*How can you judge someone youve never met? I never interfered in your life!*
They nearly argued. Hung up upset.
Autumn deepened. The park grew too cold. Arthur invited Margaret to his cottagehelp rake leaves, check on the place.
*Big house, fireplace. Lovely scenery. Rarely go since my wife died.*
She agreed. The cottage was charming, the fireplace warm. Arthur raked leaves while she cooked. Then a car pulled up.
Arthur brightenedhis son.
Margaret put the kettle on, set the table. Through the window, she saw their conversation turn heated. Yelling, wild gestures. She stepped outside.
*Hello! Why not come in?*
*Already playing housewife? Dad, have you lost your mind? Whats she doing here?*
Arthurs son called her a gold-digger, a con artist after his fathers property. He even lunged at heruntil Arthur clutched his chest, collapsing.
*Get your hands off him!*
*Help me get him inside! Call an ambulance!*
Grudgingly, the son obliged. They laid Arthur in the carbut when Margaret tried to join, the son slammed the door and sped off.
Dazed, Margaret locked up and waited in the rain for the bus.
Her flat greeted her with silence. Georges portrait seemed to judge her.
*Forgive me,* she whispered.
After tea, she called hospitals. Arthur was in intensive carea heart attack.
Next day, she visitedand met his son.
*You again? Here to finish him off? Forget the flathes made a will. Youll get nothing.*
People stared. Margaret left in tears.
She returned the next day, lying that she was his wife. At dawn, Arthur had died. She skipped the funeralcouldnt bear more accusations.
Two lonely souls, finding each other too latenow parted again.
A week later, her daughter called. *Were coming.*
*Why? Whats wrong?*
No explanation. Just bags at her doorstep.
*Mum and Dad are divorcing,* Emily said.
*Why?*
*Dads got someone else,* Oliver muttered.
Her daughter wept. The grandchildren clung to Margaret, forgetting their screens.
She relished the sudden chaos, the company. She wasnt alone anymore.
But for how long?
