26October2025
I stared at my reflection in the hallway mirror, a mixture of melancholy and resignation tugging at me. Aged, indeed, I muttered, noting the sagging skin, the double chin, the deepening lines. At sixtysix, life isnt anything to chuckle about, especially after the sort of hardships Ive endured. I sighed heavily and tried to fasten the stray curlers my daughter had tangled onto my hair this morning.
The curlers were a gift from her, a reminder that today marked the fiftieth anniversary of our villages secondary school opening. I was among the first cohort to graduate from that very school. The building has been festooned with bunting for the celebration; officials from the nearby market town will attend, and the whole parish is gathering. Former classmates promised to come from the city, though many had already passed on over the decades.
Biscuit, the terrier, barked in the yard. I peered out the window and saw a lone figure lingering by the gate. I slipped on my old coat and went to greet the visitor. At first I didnt recognize her, but when she spoke, my mind clickedshe was my school friend, Gillian Hart.
I received an invitation to the fête and thought Id come back home. I might not be able to return again. I have nowhere to stay now. My family left long ago, she said, eyes hopeful. May I stay with you?
Of course, I replied, and we embraced, tears wellingperhaps from joy, perhaps from the sorrow of years gone by.
You look stunning, I said, admiring her.
I lived in the city, married a respectable manhe was a manager. I had to keep up appearances. If I lived in the countryside, Id be like you! Sorry if that sounds harsh, Gillian whispered, cheeks flushing.
Its all right, I smiled. Youre not blind, I see the difference. You look about fifteen years younger than me, even though were the same age, I sighed, impressed.
In the evening, the ladies dressed up and headed to the school. Only eight visitors arrived from the city. Many struggled to recognize each other after so many years. After the formal programme, we set the tables, poured tea, and raised a glass to old friendshipshow could we not? We reminisced, laughed, and stayed until well past midnight.
When the night tapered off, Gillian lingered at my cottage. Sleep seemed a distant thought; we talked until the first light of dawn. She recounted her city life: a good husband who had passed away three years ago, a daughter now living in London, universityeducated and happily married. Gillian and her husband had chosen a childfree lifestylea term she pronounced with a touch of pride. I explained that it meant they deliberately chose not to have children.
Gillians eyes softened. Her daughter visited only a few times for work, never even for her fathers funeral, owing to a demanding senior role. Though she rarely invited her mother over, she sent money when she could. With that support, Gillian could afford occasional stays at a health resort, despite a meagre state pensionher husband had never let her work, and she had little national insurance contributions.
Tell me, youre a widow too, arent you? They say your Nicholas drank heavily. Where are the children? Gillian asked.
I chuckled ruefully. Just the same as everywhere else. The lads in the village drank, especially after the timber mill shut and work vanished. Men went mad, some sober, some fierce when drunk. I was often the one who had to fend for myself, sleeping in my overalls if a drunken neighbour was to arrive early. I paused, remembering the grim reality. He drank, and I fought like a fish against ice. I tried to raise piglets, kept two sows, sold the piglets when they grew, and later sold the meat. My little falconmy favouritedied of disease. He finally quit drinking and smoking, but it was too late; his body was poisoned.
My children all stayed in the village, I went on. Lucy finished college, now teaches at the primary school. My soninlaw is the headmaster and a local councillor; you saw him todaygood man, fought to keep the school from being cut to nine years by writing to London. My twins served together in the army, now they work at the offshore wind farm on the North Sea, earning decent wages. Six grandchildren, two each, keep me company. Theyre not opposed to having kidshow could anyone live without them? The lads only drink on holidays now, having learned from my own failings.
The next morning I saw Gillian off at the bus stop, handing her a parcel of smoked bacon and a jar of raspberry jam. The cold made my own plain coat look even more drab beside her sleek down jacket, stylish fauxfur hat, lowheeled boots, and glossy lipstick.
I, in my heavy woollen coat, worn shoes and a fur shawl, felt the weight of years. The bus arrived; we hugged, promising to call. Gillian hopped aboard with ease, while I shuffled home with a slow, tired step.
P.S. Both of us began life on similar footing, yet our paths diverged wildly. Was it chance? Luck? Some unseen force steering womens destinies? Perhaps nothing is as straightforward as it first appears. Im left wondering who, of us, is truly happier.
