He disappeared to his young thing for a bit of excitement. Six months later, I could barely stifle a laugh
Ah, life! At times, fate throws you such absurd curveballs youd think youd stumbled into a soap opera written in a fever dream. Id never have believed that a man could be so utterlyfastidious, to the point of farce. He counted the screwdriver set I gave him for his birthday, as if it were treasure. Counted twice: once in silence, then again with suspicion written across his face, as if Id filched a spanner. He stuffed his things unevenly into bags, yet roamed the house in a panic, poking round every corner: had he left his orthopaedic insoles somewhere? Living without them would be quite impossible, you see.
Ten years. Vanished into a puff, as if theyd slipped down the plughole. Im 56, hes just turned 60. It always seemedat least to mea gentle, harmonious life: a plot at the allotment, tomato seedlings on the windowsill, after-dinner tea and custard creams, and endless British detective dramas he watched with an obsession bordering on religious fervour. Wed even planned an autumn trip to the register officeto get everything squared away, as he so charmingly put it.
And thenbang. Hes standing there in the hallway, all rumpled and lost, wringing his flat cap in his hands.
Gladys, dont take this wrong. Youre a good woman, reliablebut youre too down to earth. Ive still got fire in me! I want excitement, adventure, a bit of spark! Being with you, well, I feel halfway to the bowls club. I need a wife, not a mother.
I nearly choked on thin air. A mother? Me? The one who took his blood pressure twice a day, watched over his salt and his crisps, and explained, patiently, why fried food after six in the evening was a terrible idea?
Ive met someone else, he went on, not blinking. Cassie. Shes 38. I feel young again with her. Well go snowboarding, well travel. She makes me feel alive.
The door shut with a clap. All that lingered was the scent of his heart drops and his cheap, acrid aftershavehed suddenly taken to splashing it on, as if trying to rinse away the years.
How I found myself
The first week I barely left my bed. I lay staring at the wall, thinking, Well, Gladys, thats it. Youre officially surplus stock. No ones left who needs you. When I braved the mirror, I saw not myself but a weary basset hound: heavy lidded, melancholy wrinkles at the corners of my eyes.
But something peculiar happened. On Saturday, I wokehabit, reallyat seven sharp, the old body clock ticking for porridge time. I rose, shuffled to the kitchenand stopped.
Why?
I brewed myself a strong, sweet cup of coffeethe forbidden kind, the kind he frowned upon. Lopped off a generous slab of anti-anxiety chocolate fudge cake Id bought the day before. Perched on the windowsill and watched life outside. Silence. Pure, clear silence. No grumbling, no shuffling about in slippers, no unsolicited commentary on the state of the world, no one hunting the remote or sighing over my beloved period dramas.
I realised: living alone wasnt so frightful. It was astonishingly comfortable.
The money was there, tooRupert enjoyed his posh cheeses, but always said, every man for himself. Time stretched outheady and endless.
Instead of pottery classes (as the glossy magazines suggested), I took up dancing. Zumba! I leapt, I laughed, I sweated, and no one whispered, Gladys, really, at your age?
I abandoned the sensible brown hair dye, chopped it short, and went bright. Bought jeansI could hear him disapproving from afar, not for your age. And somehow, my back stopped aching. Perhaps, for years, Rupert had been perching there, weighing me down.
A strange encounter
Six months on, I no longer thought of my rejuvenated ex. I strolled to the precinct to buy snazzy new trainers for dance class. I was browsing when I heard ithis voice, or what was left of it, piped out in a strange, faltering whine:
Rupert, please hurry! Well miss the film! And we need popcorn!
I turned. There she was, Cassie. Not so much woman on firemore woman overdone: too many injections, forehead stretched tight, lips oddly ballooned. She wore clashing leopard print and enormous stilettos.
Trudging after her was Rupert. Much thinner, face red and drawn, neck scrawny. His veins bulged beneath torn jeans, which served only to emphasise his ailments. Laden with bags, a suitcase, a pizza box. Breathing heavily. Blue around the lips.
Cass, darling, can we sit a moment? Bit out of breath he groaned.
Short of breath? Rupert! You told me you were sporty! Dont embarrass me, come on!
It was then he saw me.
And there I stoodserene, post-dance glow, stylish in a fresh coat and new trainers. I brimmed with quiet contentment.
He merely stared at me, forlorn, hopeful, as if waiting for rescue. Moved a step towards me
Rupert! shrieked Cassie. Are you deaf?!
He flinched and shuffled after her, a chastened dog.
I watched them goonly just stifling laughter. Not from spite. From a sensation of relief so strong it made me lighter.
Hed dreamed of passionwell, there it was, only now it was wringing him out like wet laundry.
He thought a younger woman would grant him a second youthbut forgot that youth requires health and vitality, not aftershave and ragged jeans.
Hed wanted a wife, not a mother.
Now, hes neither got a wife nor a mother.
Hes become a weary granddad beside his petulant granddaughter.
