**Fell for a Cosy Woman, or Never Mind the Gossips**
Youre leaving me for that bumpkin? My wife stared in disbelief.
Dont call her that, please. Its decided, Imogen. Im sorry. I hurriedly packed my things.
Youll come to your senses. You must. What will your colleagues think? The neighbours? Some unwashed country girlwhat do we tell the children? That their refined father ran off with a milkmaid? Imogen twisted a handkerchief in her hands, her voice brittle.
The children? Thank God theyre grown. Sophies nearly ready to marry, and Jeremys gone his own waywere no example to them. As for the neighbours, colleagues, strangers in the street… I dont care. Its my life. I dont pry into their bedrooms or hold candles for them. I tried to soften the blow, but it was no use. When a marriage crumbles, the pain is unbearable for both.
Imogen sat at the kitchen window, hollow-eyed. I felt nothing for her. Nothing at all. Just an empty space where love had been.
Imogen was my third wife. When I first saw her, my heart flutteredhere was beauty, poise, confidence. I was no slouch myself, a regular Cary Grant in my prime, never short of admirers. In my youth, I fell hard and married fast, only to flee when the shine wore off. The children came only with Imogen.
I thought shed be my anchor. Alas… A wife, like a melon, isnt always what she seems. Over time, love withered into a dried-up husk. In public, we played the perfect coupleneighbours admired (or perhaps scorned?) our picture-book family. Passing the gossiping old ladies by the front gate, we sailed past like royalty. But behind closed doors, everything shifted.
Imogen was no homemaker. The fridge was always bare, laundry piled high, dust thick in the corners. Yet her nails were manicured, her hair sleek, her makeup flawless. She expected the world to orbit her, not the other way around. My wife permitted love but never gave it. The doors of her heart were lockedeven to the children.
My mother lived with us. She endured the chaos in silence, then quietly took charge. Gently, she taught Sophie and Jeremy to cook, clean, care for themselves. Imogen, fancying herself aristocracy (God knows why), addressed them stiffly as Sophia and Jeremiah, never a tender word. The children clung to their grandmother instead.
Imogen forbade idle chatter with neighbours, exchanging only curt hellos. For years, I noticed none of this. I was happy, blind to the cracks. Sophie was a star pupil; Jeremy scraped by, resenting her diligence. By secondary school, they brawled like stray cats.
It was the nineties.
After school, Jeremy vanished into some underworld gang. Three years passed without wordmissing, presumed lost. We grieved, resigned. My mother, eyeing Imogen, muttered, The apple doesnt fall far from the tree. Imogen would storm off, sobbing in the bath.
Then, one day, he returneda wreck, scarred and wary, trailing a hollow-eyed wife. We took them in, tiptoeing around his temper. Meanwhile, Sophie left home, shackled to a brute who left her bruised but silent.
Leave him, love, my mother begged. Hell kill you one day.
Its fine, Nan. Toby loves me. I just slipped on the stairs. The star pupil was gone; in her place, a shadow.
And then, against all sense, I fell in love again. After shifts at the factory, I lingered to avoid homethe shouting, the chill, my mothers barbs: Three wives, and still you bungle it.
In the canteen worked Gladys, the cookplump, rosy-cheeked, always laughing like a babbling brook. For years, Id barely noticed her. Then, suddenly, I did. She was everything Imogen wasnt: hair in a messy bun, short unpolished nails, lipstick like a carrot. But warmth poured from her. Her flat smelled of pies; her fridge held stews and puddings. She fed half the street. I courted her with flowers, cinema trips.
At first, she resisted. Youve a wife, Colin. And childrenwhat will they think?
I wavered, tiptoeing on thin ice. Some nights, I stayed over. Imogen knewbusybodies had seen to that. She raged, called Gladys a filthy peasant, threatened suicide.
Six months later, I moved out. Gladys, overjoyed, made one demand: Bring me divorce papers in a month, or Im done. I obliged. We married. No regrets.
Sophie visits now, free of Toby. Jeremys softened, expecting a child. Gladys healed the rift between them: Youre family. Lean on each other, not strangers.
My mothers gone. Imogens faded, avoids me. We live streets apart. I never look back.
Judge me if you willits my life to live. Ill answer for it myself.
