I thought you were proper, yet you live in such squalor, the wouldbe groom muttered before making his escape, five minutes before meeting the parents.
Emily, look at this beauty! cried Mrs. Gladys Turner, brandishing an outrageously gaudy tablecloth splashed with gigantic, unnaturalyellow poppies. Itll sit perfectly on our kitchen tablejust the thing for a celebration, not a dinner!
Her daughter, Ethel Turner, a twentysevenyearold nurse at the local child health centre, forced a weary smile.
Mother, its PVC and it screams. Could we have something simple, like linen? White or beige, perhaps.
Linen! Gladys flapped her hands. Did you see the price of that proper linen? I snagged this one at a market knockdown. Practical, pretty, and cheap! A quick wipe with a cloth and its spotless!
Is that really pretty, mum? Its tasteless.
Oh, Ethel dear, happiness isnt measured by tablecloths, sighed Gladys, though she slipped the plastic one beneath the counter. If only we were healthy, peace would reign at home. Come on, my legs are going numb.
They strolled through the bustling Saturday market, and Ethel watched her mothera tiny, wiry woman in an old but impeccably ironed coat. How tired she seemed of endless pennypinching, of the perpetual mantra cheap and practical. Ethel was pulling double shifts and night oncalls just to keep the twobed flat on the fringe of town afloat. She never complained; she merely dreamed. She dreamed of the day she could buy her mother not only expensive medication but also a gorgeous linen runnerjust because.
Her future prince, Edward Whitaker, had first appeared in a cafe where shed ducked in for a coffee after a grueling night shift. He sat at the next tabletall, sharply dressed, a confident smile, and a gleaming watch that could buy a small yacht. He approached her.
Excuse me, miss, but your eyes look rather sad. May I tempt you with a pastry? A little sweetness might do you good.
He was smooth and chivalrous, offering compliments that were precise rather than crass. Your hands are gentle, he remarked. Thats a rarity these days.
He worked for a major construction firm, held a respectable position, and ferried her around in his polished foreign car to restaurants shed never imagined. He gave her flowers that cost half her monthly wages, regaled her with travel tales, and spoke of grand plans. Ethel listened, breath held, feeling as if shed stepped into a storybook.
He confessed he was weary of predatory, overthetop socialites hunting his wallet. In Ethel, he claimed, hed found what hed long soughtpurity, sincerity, integrity.
Youre genuine, he whispered, kissing her hand. Unspoiled. I thought such people were extinct.
The only thing that made Ethel uneasy was that he never tried to visit her modest flat. They always met in the town centre, or he collected her at the bus stop a short walk from her door.
I dont want to hold you up, and its getting latedont wake your mum, hed say.
Ethel felt a blush of embarrassment for her shabby entrance, the peeling paint, the humble décor. She wanted him to see a princess, not a scruffy neighbour.
Six months later, he proposed. It felt like a dream: an evening at a pricey restaurant, candles flickering, him on one knee, presenting a velvet box with a sparkling stone.
Ethel, will you be my wife? I want to wake up with you every morning. I want you to run my household.
She said yes, tears of joy soaking the box. The fairytale continued.
They arranged for Edward to meet Gladys first, then for the two families to meet together. The introduction day was set for Saturday. Ethel and her mother prepared as if for a coronation, scrubbing the tiny flat for three days. Gladys retrieved an heirloom tea set shed hidden for a special occasion. Ethel spent her last few pounds on that coveted white, starchfinished linen runner.
Mother, it looks marvelous! she cooed, laying it out. Just like a restaurant!
Hopefully your fiancé will appreciate it, sighed Gladys, sliding an apple crumble into the oven. Im nervous, dear. Hes a proper gentleman, and were well, were plain folk.
He loves me, not the flat! Ethel declared. He loves me for who I am!
Edward was expected by five oclock. By a quarter to five, Ethel was at the window, eyes fixed on the street, adjusting her hair in her best dress.
Here he comes! she shouted, spotting the familiar silver saloon easing into the cobbled drive.
She raced down the landing to meet him. Her heart pounded as though it might leap out of her chest. He stepped out in an immaculate suit, clutching a massive bouquet of roses, looking like a film star.
He saw her, flashed his dazzling smile, and trudged toward the grimy stairwell of their block. At that moment, Ethel noticed his expression shifthis grin faded into a thin, disdainful line. He entered the dim, damp hallway, smelling faintly of wet socks and old cats. The plaster was peeling, a lone bulb flickered overhead, the lift doors bore graffiti.
Each step he took made his face grow darker. Ethel, standing on the third floor by the open door, felt her excitement turn to icy dread. He stared not at her dress or eyes, but at the shabby coat rack, the worn doormat, the cracked wall.
He halted a metre away, glanced past her into the modest, tidy foyer, his gaze as cold as ice.
Edward, come in, weve been waiting for you! she stammered, forcing a smile.
He looked at her as one might glance at mud on a polished boot.
Is this where you live? he asked softly, his tone dripping with contempt.
Yes here
A bitter smile curled his lips. He glanced at his expensive suit, then back at the dilapidated corridor.
Right.
He thrust the bouquet toward her, almost mechanically, as if discarding something unwanted.
I thought you were respectable, yet you live in such poverty, he said, voice flat, as if stating a weather report. Then he turned and descended the stairs without looking back.
Ethel stood, clutching the absurdly lavish bouquet, frozen. She heard his footsteps fade, the door thud, the engine revving, then silence.
From the kitchen, Gladys emerged, wiping her hands on her apron.
So, Ethel, wheres the fiancé? The crumbles ready
She saw her daughters pale face, the roses clutched in trembling hands, and understood everything. She slipped into the hallway, took the flowers, grasped Ethels icy hand, and guided her inside.
Sit down, love.
Ethel sank onto the sofa, tears withheld, a hollow void inside.
He hes gone, Mum.
I see, murmured Gladys, sitting beside her, pulling her into a tight hug. He called us poor.
Her mother held her tighter.
You silly thing, what a blessing this is, Ethel. Imagine the happiness if hed stayed.
What happiness? Ethel whispered. He abandoned me. He humiliated me.
The happiness is that it happened now, not in ten years, Gladys said firmly. The Lord has saved you from that manjust a hollow shell in a fancy wrapper. He didnt love you; he only knew how to consume. He saw not you, but an image hed inventeda clean, penniless girl he could rescue. The moment he realised poverty isnt a book illustration but a cracked stairwell and a threadbare mat, he fled. Thank God, the rubbish cleared itself.
She stroked Ethels hair, as she had when she was a child, speaking simple, wise words. About wealth not being measured in pounds, about integrity not depending on a suits price tag, about love that doesnt shy away from shabby walls.
Cry, my dear. Let the grief flow. Then youll wash up, get on your feet, and find a real manone who loves your soul, not the picture of you. He wont mind whether your table is covered with linen or plastic. Hell just want you near.
Ethel finally wept, long and bitter, pressing her face into her mothers shoulder. She mourned not the man, but the shattered fairytale, the naïve belief in magic.
When the tears dried, she rose, approached the table set for a feast that never happened, ran her fingers over the white linen.
The crumble must be cold by now, she remarked.
Nothing, Gladys replied with a smile. Well put the kettle on and have tea. Just the two of us. Todays our own little celebrationfreedom, really.
They sat down with tea and apple crumble on the pristine linen, and it turned out to be the tastiest pie and the most heartfelt evening Ethel had ever known.
