Two friends, two fates
I watched Violet stare at herself in the mirror, a sigh escaping her lips. Old as the hills, she muttered, noting the sagging skin, the double chin, the deep lines. At sixtysix she wasnt a spring chicken, especially after the life shed led. She took a weary breath and tried to push the stray curlers onto her headher daughter had set them in the morning. Today the hamlet was holding a fête to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the local secondary school, and Violet had been among the first pupils to graduate from it.
The school was being decked out for the occasion; officials from the nearby town would attend, and the whole village would gather. Former classmates were promised to arrive from the city, though most wouldnt make the journeymany had already passed on after all those years.
Baxter, the family terrier, barked in the yard. Violet looked out the window and saw a woman lingering by the gate. She slipped on an old cardigan and went to greet the guest. At first she didnt recognise her, but when the woman spoke I saw the realization in Violets eyesher schooldays friend, Gwendolyn.
Got the invitation and thought Id come home. Maybe I wont have to travel again. I have nowhere to staymy familys long gone, Gwendolyn said, May I stay with you?
Of course, Violet answered. The two women embraced, tears glisteningsome joy, some sorrow.
You look so elegant, Violet said, admiring her guest.
Well, I lived in the city for years. My husband was a respectable manager, so I had to keep up appearances. If Id stayed in the village Id be like you! Sorry, I didnt mean to offend, Gwendolyn whispered.
Dont worry, Im not offended. I can see the difference. You look about fifteen years younger even though were the same age, Violet sighed.
In the evening the ladies in their finery went to the school. Only eight city folk arrived. Many hadnt seen each other for years and took a moment to recognise familiar faces. After the formal programme they set out the feast, raised a toast to the reunionwhat would a gathering be without a drink? They reminisced, laughed and enjoyed a good chat before parting around midnight.
Gwendolyn returned to Violets cottage; neither wanted to sleep early. They talked until dawn. Gwendolyn spoke of her city life: her husband had been wonderful, they were inseparable, but he died three years ago.
Her only daughter lives in London, graduated from university and married well. They are childfree. Gwendolyn pronounced the term with a hint of pride. I explained, a little puzzled, that some people deliberately choose not to have children.
Gwendolyn was saddened but resigned. Her daughter visits only a couple of times, always busy, even missing her own fathers funeral because of a demanding job. Her mother never invites her over but does send money. Thanks to that support Gwendolyn can afford a spa break and get by without worrying about a penny. Her own pension is tinyonly a few pounds a weekbecause she never built a career; her late husband discouraged her from working.
How are you holding up? I heard you were widowed too. Rumour has it your Nicholas drank heavily? Where are the kids? Gwendolyn asked.
Just like anyone else, Violet replied. Drinking was common among the village men, especially after the local timber mill shut and jobs vanished. Our lads were like wild animals when drunk. My husband was sober and gentlecouldnt say a word out of placebut when he had a few pints he turned into a monster. Anger poured from every crack. I was his biggest foe then. I recall nights wed lie on a thin blanket, knowing the drunk would stumble home faster than a fox.
He drank, and I fought like a fish on ice. I turned a sideroom into a pigsty, raised two sows for pigletssome I sold, some I kept for meat. My husbands health deteriorated until he finally gave up the bottle, but it was too late; his body was poisoned.
My children all remain in the village. My daughter Lucy finished teacher training, now teaches at the primary school; my soninlaw is the headmaster and also a councillor. You saw him todaygood man, deputy mayor. They fought to keep the school from being cut back to nine years; he wrote to London and saved it!
My twin boys served together in the army, now they both work on an oil rig and earn well. We have six grandchildren, two from each family. They love kids; how could anyone refuse them? The lads hardly drink, only on holidays, unlike the old men. Theyre decent folk.
The next morning I saw Gwendolyn off at the bus stop. Violet handed her a bundle of smoked bacon, thick slices with layers of fat, and a jar of raspberry jam. Outside the cold was sharper; Violet felt even more humbled compared to her cityslicker friend.
Gwendolyn was slender, wrapped in a fashionable puffer coat and a coquettish fur hat, wearing lowheeled boots and lips glossed. Violet was a solid figure in an oldfashioned coat, woollen slippers and a fluffy shawl.
The bus pulled up. The friends hugged, promised to call, and Gwendolyn hopped aboard with ease while Violet trudged home with a heavy step.
P.S. The two friends began with almost the same start, yet their lives turned out vastly different. Chance? Luck? What unseen forces steer womens destinies? Then again, nothing is as clearcut as it first appears. One must still wonder who is truly happier.
