From Meeting to Parting
Five years ago, Rose found herself alone. Her husband had passed away after a long battle with cancer. Before that, her only daughter had married and moved to another city, first giving birth to a son, Oliver, and three years later, a daughter, Emily. When her husband was still well, Rose used to visit them. But once he fell ill, she couldnt leave him.
Her daughter came by occasionally, leaving the kids with her husband. She believed they shouldnt see their dying grandfather. Even for the funeral, her daughter came alone. Right after, she packed up to leave.
“Sorry, Mum, but the kids need me You should come stay with us. Whats left for you here?”
And just like that, she was gone. Rose was alone. She ached for her husbandsick as he was, at least he was there. Now what? No one needed her.
After nine days, Rose decided to visit her daughter. But her daughter and son-in-law worked all day, and the grandkids barely recognised hertoo much time apart. She felt like an intruder. After a week, she packed her things.
“Mum, why not stay a bit longer?” her daughter suggested half-heartedly, but when Rose refused, she didnt press.
Rose never went back. Last year, they stopped by on their way back from holiday. Oliver was nearly fourteen, always glued to his headphones and tablet. Emily, with pink streaks in her hair, spent hours texting and chewing gum.
Rose tried talking to her daughterwasnt this lifestyle bad for growing minds? Did she know what they were watching or who they chatted with?
“Mum, all kids are like this now. Banning things only makes it worse,” her daughter dismissed.
Before they left, Rose tried again.
“Its hard being alone. Visit more often. The kids dont even know me. Ive still got energymaybe they could stay with me on holidays?”
“Mum, why give yourself the hassle?”
“Theyre my grandchildren. What hassle?”
“Well see,” her daughter said. But a whole year passed, and they never came. Just the occasional call.
So Rose went to them. Why not? She was retired, free. The parents worked all day, while Oliver and Emily lived on pizza and takeaways. What kind of food was that? Rose took over the cooking. At first, everyone loved her soups, pancakes, and piesthen the kids went back to pizza. Once, her son-in-law saw her washing dishes by hand and snapped, “Weve got a dishwasher, you know. No need to slave over the sink.”
Her daughter sighed, rearranging the drying rack. Oliver complained shed “messed up” his wardrobehe couldnt find anything. Rose protested shed only tidied.
“Mum, dont interfere,” her daughter advised.
“Gran, no more piesIve gained weight,” Emily said.
“And pizza doesnt make you fat?” Rose shot back.
In the end, she got the messageshe was in the way. Time to leave. Her daughter didnt argue, and her son-in-law offered to drive her to the station straight away.
Rose missed her husband. If only Tom were here Why had he left her so soon? No one to talk to. Whod care for her ifGod forbidshe fell ill?
She used to knit and embroider, but her eyesight had worsenednow it just gave her headaches. What else was there in retirement? Bake pies? For whom?
One friend had died right after her husband. The other was swamped with grandkidsno time for Rose.
***
It was one of the last warm days of Indian summer. The sun shone, crisp and golden, leaves rustling underfoot. Rose packed some stale bread and walked to the park.
Sitting on a bench, she crumbled bread for the pigeons. Soon, a flock gathered, even sparrows darting in.
Rose watched them, brooding over her lot. Youth was fleeting, life fragileold age creeping up. Shed imagined growing old with Tom, looking after each other. He was gone, and her daughter and grandkids didnt need her
“Quite the crowd,” someone said.
A man sat at the other end of the bench. She hadnt noticed him arrive. Neatly dressed, around her age, maybe older.
“Ive seen you here often,” he said.
Rose didnt recognise him. She never paid attention during her walks, lost in thought.
“Im alone too. Wife passed eight years ago. Still not used to it,” he sighed.
Like hed read her mind. She studied himironed trousers, clean-shaven.
“Love autumn. Days like thislast warmth before the rains. Then all this beautys gone,” he said, tilting his face to the sun.
“Who helps you? Youre so put together,” Rose asked.
“After my wife died, I learned. Not so hard. My sons busy with his family. Think men cant manage?” He chuckled. “Im George. Look at those sparrowsbold as brass, stealing crumbs. And you?”
“Rose.”
“Lovely name. Rare. My wife was Gertrudefamily name. Fancy the cinema? Getting chilly.”
The sun vanished behind clouds, the air turning sharp. Rose meant to refuse, but the empty flat loomed.
“Whats playing?”
“Does it matter?” George smiled.
True. When had she last gone? She couldnt recall. She agreed. The cinema was all plush seats and booming sound. The film was nice. Outside, night had fallen, cold settling in.
“How about tea? Warm up?” George offered.
Rose declined.
“Another time?”
She pictured her silent flat
“Come to mine. Ive got tea and scones.”
“Sure thats alright?”
“Why not? Youve nowhere to rush. Made too many sconesno one to eat them.”
At her door, she hesitatedneighbours might talk. But the courtyard was empty.
“Cosy. Your husband?” George nodded at the framed photo.
“Yes. Cancer.” She almost mentioned her daughter, but stopped. The loneliness was plain enough.
Fresh tea, warmed scones, jam in a dishGeorge praised it all.
“Lots of books. Medical ones too. You a doctor?”
“No. Biology teacher. Wanted to be a doctor, but Mum died youngneeded work. Evening classes, then marriage, kids. Dreams stay dreams.”
“I was military. Mind?” He browsed her shelves, recognising titles.
“Thank you. Youre rareinviting a stranger in.”
“You werent planning to rob me?”
“God, no. Id best go. Walk tomorrow? Same place?”
They kept meeting. Just two lonely souls, starved for company.
One evening, her daughter called.
“Mum, how are you?”
“Fine. Walks, even the cinema.”
“Alone?”
“No. Who goes alone? A friend.”
“Mum, are you seeing someone?”
“No! Just walks.”
“Be careful. Scammers everywhere. Why not visit us?”
“Why? Id just be in the way. You visit me.”
“Dont you dare get involved! Widowers like himdrove his wife to the grave, now wants a free housekeeper. After your flat, is he? Hell con you, then”
“How can you say that? Next youll say Ive gone senile!”
“What else should I think? Remember Mrs. Lightfoot?”
“Youve never even met him! I never interfered in your lifewhy do you? The kids could visit on holiday”
It nearly became an argument. They hung up upset.
Autumn deepened. Park walks grew too cold. George invited Rose to his cottagehelp rake leaves, check the house.
“Big place, fireplace. Lovely scenery. Barely been since my wife died.”
She agreed. The house was charming, the fireplace cosy. George raked leaves while Rose cooked lunchuntil a 4×4 pulled up.
George brightenedhis son.
Rose put the kettle on, set the table. Peering outside, she saw the conversation turn heated. Shouting, gestures. She stepped onto the porch.
“Hello. Come inside?”
“Shes running the place now? Dad, have you lost it? Whyd you bring her?” his son yelled.
He called Rose a gold-digger, after his fathers house and savings. He even lunged at heruntil George clutched his chest, collapsing. Rose rushed to support him.
“Get your hands off him!”
“Help me get him inside. Call an ambulance!”
“Bossing me arou” But seeing his fathers pallor, he relented.
“Ambulancell take ages. Help me get him in the car.”
They laid George in the back. When Rose moved to join, his son slammed the door, speeding off.
Rose stood stunned. She locked up, walked to the bus stop. Rain drizzled, chilling her to the bone.
Home, Toms portrait seemed to judge her.
“Sorry, Tom. Im so alone.”
After tea, she called hospitals. George was in ICUheart attack.
Next day, she visited, meeting his son.
“You again? Here to finish him? The wills already setyou get nothing. Leave or Ill call police.”
People stared. Rose left in tears.
She returned the next day, lying she was his wife. George had died at dawn. She skipped the funeralcouldnt face more accusations.
Just like that, two lonely hearts foundthen losteach other.
A week later, her daughter called. She was coming.
“Whats wrong?” Rose braced for bad news.
Her daughter arrived with the kids and suitcases. No explanation, just: “Were staying.”
“Mum and Dad are splitting,” Emily said.
“Why?”
“Dads got someone else,” Oliver added.
Her daughter wept endlessly. The kids, quiet, stuck to Rose, forgetting their screens.
Rose revelled in the sudden bustle, the company. She wasnt aloneshe was needed.
But for how long?
