**From Meeting to Farewell**
Five years ago, Eleanor found herself alone. Her husband, Colin, had passed away after a long battle with cancer. Long before that, their only daughter, Margaret, had married and moved to another town, where she bore a son, Edward, and three years later, a daughter, Florence. When Colin was still well, Eleanor would visit them. But once he fell ill, she could no longer leave his side.
Margaret came occasionally, leaving the children with her husband. She believed they shouldnt see their dying grandfather. She arrived alone for the funeral, too, and soon after, she began packing to leave.
Sorry, Mum, but my husband and the children need me You should come visit us. Whats left for you here?
And so she left. Eleanor was alone. She ached for Colinsick as he was, she would have done anything for him to still be here. Now, what? No one needed her.
After nine days, Eleanor decided to visit Margaret. But her daughter and son-in-law were always at work, and the grandchildren hardly remembered her, keeping their distance. She felt like an intruder. After a week, she packed to leave.
Mum, why not stay a little longer? Margaret suggested, but when Eleanor refused, she didnt press the matter.
Eleanor never visited again. Last year, they stopped by on their way back from holiday. Edward was nearly fourteen now, always with headphones in and a tablet in hand. Florence, with streaks of pink in her hair, spent her days texting and chewing gum.
Eleanor tried to talk to Margaretwasnt this lifestyle harmful for growing minds? Did she even know what they were watching or who they spoke to?
Mum, all kids are like that these days. Forbidding things only makes it worse, Margaret brushed her off.
As they prepared to leave, Eleanor tried again.
Its hard being alone. Visit more often. The grandchildren barely know me. Im still strongmaybe you could send them to stay with me for the holidays?
Mum, why give yourself the trouble? Margaret replied.
But theyre my own grandchildren. What trouble?
Well see, Margaret said, but a year passed, and the children never came. She didnt visit either, only called.
So Eleanor went to them herself. Why not? She was retired, free. The parents were always at work, while Edward and Florence lived on pizza and takeaways. What kind of food was that? So Eleanor took over the cooking. At first, everyone was delighted with her soups, pancakes, and piesbut soon, the grandchildren went back to ordering pizza. Her son-in-law once caught her washing dishes by hand and frowned.
We have a dishwasher, you know. No need to martyr yourself at the sink.
Margaret sighed, rearranging the drying rack. Edward complained that his grandmother had messed up his wardrobehe couldnt find anything. Eleanor tried to explain shed only tidied.
Mum, dont interfere, Margaret advised.
Gran, stop baking piesIve already put on weight, Florence begged.
And pizza doesnt make you gain any? Eleanor retorted.
In the end, she realized she was in the wayalways doing things wrong. It was time to go home. Margaret didnt stop her, and her son-in-law promptly offered to drive her to the station.
Eleanor missed Colin. If only he were still here Why had he left her alone? 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 worsenednow it only gave her headaches. What else was there to do in retirement? Bake pies? And who would eat them?
One friend had died soon after her husband; the other was too busy with her own grandchildren.
***
The last warm days of Indian summer lingered. The air was crisp, the sun golden through the rustling leaves. Eleanor packed some stale bread and walked to the park.
Sitting on a bench, she crumbled the bread for the pigeons. Soon, a whole flock gathered, even sparrows darting between them.
She watched them, thinking of her bitter fate. Youth was fleeting, life fragileand now old age crept in. Shed hoped to grow old with Colin, to care for each other. But he was gone, and Margaret and the children had no need of her
Quite the gathering, a voice remarked.
A man sat at the other end of the bench. She hadnt noticed him arrive. Well-dressed, around her age or a little older.
Ive seen you here often, he said.
She didnt recognize himbut then, she never paid much attention on her walks.
Im alone too. My wife died eight years ago. Still cant get used to it, he sighed.
*As if hed read her thoughts.* She studied himneatly pressed trousers, clean-shaven.
I love autumn. Days like this are precious. Once the rains come, all this beauty will be gone. He tilted his face to the sun.
Does someone help you? Youre so well put together, she asked.
Had to learn after my wife passed. Not so hard. My sons busy with his familyhis wife has her hands full. Think men cant manage on their own? Im Bernard. Look at those sparrowsbold as brass, stealing crumbs from the pigeons. And your name?
Eleanor.
Lovely name. My wife was Gertrudeafter her great-grandmother. Fancy catching a film? Its getting chilly.
The sun had vanished behind clouds. She meant to refuse, but the empty flat held no appeal.
Whats showing? she asked.
Does it matter? He smiled.
Trulywhen had she last been to the cinema? She couldnt recall. She agreed. The theatre was unrecognizableplush seats, a vast screen, booming sound. But she enjoyed the film. By the time they left, night had fallen, the air sharp with cold.
How about a cuppa? Warm up? Bernard offered.
She declined.
Another time, then?
She pictured her silent flat
Come to mine instead. I live nearby. Ill make tea and pancakes.
Wont that be improper?
Why? Youre in no rush, are you? I baked too manyno one to eat them.
At her building, she worried about nosy neighborsbut the courtyard was empty.
Cosy place. Your husband? Bernard nodded at the framed portrait.
Yes. Cancer. She nearly mentioned Margaret and the children, but stopped. The loneliness was obvious.
She brewed fresh tea, warmed the pancakes, set out jam in a little dish. Bernard ate heartily, praising her cooking.
Youve got quite the librarymedical books too. Were you a doctor?
No. A biology teacher. Wanted to be a doctor, but my mother died youngI had to earn a living. Evening classes, then marriage, a child Dreams dont always come true.
I was in the military. Mind if I? He browsed her shelves, pulling out books, flipping through pages. Hed read many of them.
Thank you. Youre a rare womaninviting a stranger in like this.
You werent planning to rob me, were you?
God forbid. I should go. Will you walk tomorrow? Same time?
From then on, they strolled together. Two lonely souls, starved for companionship.
One evening, Margaret called.
Mum, how are you?
Fine. Ive been walkingeven went to the cinema a few times.
Alone?
No. Who goes alone? With a friend.
Mum, are you seeing a man? Margaret sounded alarmed.
Of course not. We just walk in the park.
Be careful. There are so many scammers these days. Why not visit us?
I dont want to intrude. *You* visit *me*.
Dont you dare get involved with anyone, hear me? Is this friend a widower? Drove his wife to the grave and now wants a free housekeeper? Or after your flat? Hell sweet-talk you into signing it over, then bump you off!
How can you say such things? Next youll say Ive lost my mind!
What else am I supposed to think? Remember Mrs. Lightfoot?
They argued bitterly, parting in anger.
Autumn tightened its grip. The park grew too cold, so Bernard invited Eleanor to his cottagehelp rake leaves, check on the place.
Its a big house, with a fireplace. Lovely scenery. Ive hardly been since Gertrude died.
She agreed. The house was charming, the fireplace warm. Bernard raked leaves while she cooked lunchuntil a car pulled up.
Bernard greeted the visitor warmly: his son.
Eleanor put the kettle on, set the table. But when she glanced outside, the conversation had turned heatedshouting, wild gestures. She stepped onto the porch.
Hello. Wont you come inside?
Oh, so shes in charge now? Dad, have you lost it? Whyd you bring her here? His son glared at her.
He called her a gold-digger, a predator hunting wealthy widowers, scheming to steal his fathers house and flat. He even lunged at her, threatening to throw her outuntil Bernard clutched his chest, collapsing.
Get your hands off him! his son roared.
Help me get him inside and call an ambulance!
Muttering, the son finally noticed his fathers pallor.
An ambulancell take ages. Help me get him in the carIll drive him.
They laid Bernard in the back seat. When Eleanor moved to join them, the son slammed the door, speeding off.
She stood in the drizzle, trembling, then locked up and trudged to the bus stop.
Her flat greeted her with silence. Colins portrait seemed to judge her from the wall.
Forgive me, she whispered.
After warming up with tea, she rang hospitals. Bernard was in intensive carea heart attack.
The next day, she went to visitand met his son in the corridor.
What are *you* doing here? Come to finish him off? You wont get his flatI made him write a will. Scram, or Ill call the police.
People were staring. She left in tears, shaking all the way home.
She returned the next day, lying that she was his wife. At dawn, they told herBernard had died. She skipped the funeral, dreading another scene.
Two lonely souls, two kindred spiritssnatched apart before they could truly meet. Once again, Eleanor was alone.
A week later, Margaret called. She was coming to visit.
Whats wrong? Eleanor braced for bad news.
Margaret wouldnt say.
She arrived the next daywith the children, and suitcases. No explanation, only: Were staying awhile.
Mum and Dad are divorcing, Florence said.
Why?
Dads got another woman, Edward added.
Margaret wept for days. The grandchildren, unusually quiet, clung to Eleanor, forgetting their gadgets.
She relished the sudden bustle, the feeling of being needed. She wasnt alone anymore.
But for how long?
