Jane knew everything.Of course she didshe wasnt in her twenties, let alone her thirties, and shed already been around the block a few times.
She was weary of dragging her solitary life along like an old milkcart.
Luce, why is it always me? Whats wrong with me? Am I a bore? Do I smell? Is I too clingy? Or perhaps Im just not handing out enough love and affection.
She cried out, Whats wrong with me?
Everyone around hertall, short, skinny, stout, drinkers, beauties, the notsobeautifulseemed to have a love life.Everyone.Only she didnt.
Listen, Jane Luce whispered, trying not to laugh. My gran used to talk about a thinghow do you say it a maidens wreath, a sort of badge of perpetual singleness.
No, thank you, Jane waved her hand. Are we living in the Middle Ages or what?
Dont believe me? Luce leapt from her chair. My thirdcousins aunt had that very wreath taken off by a crone once.
What crone? Jane asked, flatly, just to keep the conversation moving.
Anyway, Ill ring Nellmy sister, the one who had the wreath lifted. Ill get the full story.
After ten minutes Luce was scribbling on a napkin, tongue poking out.
Alright, Nell, love. Hows it going? Planning another wedding? What? Not Gene again? Oh right, shes out. Fine, Ill be there. She hung up, paused, then asked, Anything happen?
Nothingactually yes. I need a wedding present againmy sisters getting hitched for the fifth time. Looks like that crones wreath has finally been shaken off. Heres the address. Fancy a trip?
Jane shrugged. She set off, but the crone, after a little twirl of her arm, sent her back emptyhanded.
No wreath for you.
Yes, there isnt
What? Youve been picking the wrong blokes all along? The first dumped you with a kid on his lap, promised the world while already married.
You didnt know? Thought something was off with you?
The lot of them were rotters. The second? Same story. The third? Same again.
The third one? I have no one.
The pattern continues.
And when will my proper man appear? Will he ever show up?
Hell turn up when youre not looking. Hell be yours, though not entirely yoursjust a bit. You cant force a girl, but trust him; hes steady, and youll find a comfortable, perhaps even full, happiness with him. Just wait, dont rush.
Now go tell your friend to see a doctor, give her some herbs, and quit fussing. The old crone asked me to pass that on.
That chat had taken place many years before. Desperate for a slice of marital bliss, Jane had once driven to the crones thatched cottage in the Dorset hills. Everything the crone said turned out true.
She met her third suitor, but the crones words slipped from her mind. He was nice, treated her daughter well, yet something always went wronghed drift off, vanish without a word, as if hed fled forever.
Then Jane met George. At first she didnt recognise him; it was just another vacant flat down the corridor of her new building in Leeds. When she moved in with her daughter, the neighbour, Aunt Kate, mentioned the landlord only popped in now and then, staying with his mother.
Curious Jane peeked through a halfopen door and saw a man hanging wallpaper. She slipped away quietlyclearly the owner had returned.
The doors in that block were a comedy of errors: if you opened one, the other wouldnt budge until you closed the first. One morning, rushing to work, Jane tried to push a door open and it stuck. The neighbour apologised, slammed his flat, and Jane heard swift, light footsteps. A few days later she blocked his exit on purpose, just for fun.
They finally met on the communal landing, where he let her be the first to get through. One day George helped a neighbour lift a bike; Jane baked scones and handed them over. Later, at the park, Georges sonabout the age of their daughterjoined in, and the kids became fast friends while Jane and George chattered merrily.
Six months on, George asked Jane out, introduced her to his family, and they moved in together. Before that, he laid out his story:
Jane, Im not a twentyyearold lad or a brute. Im a grown man with my own opinions and quirks. I promise, if you live with me, I wont cheat, Ill pull my weight, earn a decent wage, I dont drink or smoke, no nasty habits. Ill respect you, cherish you Im sorry, I cant promise love; Ive tried before and failed.
He went on, Im not a stone, I do feel for you, just not the kind of love you might hope for. I was once infatuated with a girl in my youthshe was warm and made me feel good, but it never worked out. She only ever saw me as a friend, even a brother.
Jane, forcing a smile, asked, Should I have talked to her?
He chuckled, Did you think I was some tragic hero? I tried to explain, to tell her I loved her more than life, but shed already moved on. She said shed always been a friend, never a lover.
He confessed that after many failed relationships he finally married. I never walked around like a zombie. I lived, had fun, just cant seem to give a woman the happiness she deserves. Im not great at lying, so Ill be blunt.
He urged her to decide if she could live without dramatic swings of passion. Think about it, love.
Jane pondered, and a week later she met his large, boisterous family. They welcomed both her and her daughter with open arms. Shed feared being seen as a substitute, but the reception was warm, and she never regretted saying yes to George. He proved reliable; the few times she caught his wandering glance, it was just a fleeting memory of the past, never enough to disturb their life.
Now, years later, as George washes the kitchen windows on a bright spring morning, humming a quiet tune, he looks over at Jane and smiles. He feels a lightness, as if finally free, having found the woman he truly appreciates.
Its all right, love, he says, pulling her close. Ive only just realised how lucky I am to have you.
Jane thinks, The old crone wasnt lying after alljust wait, and youll find it.
Good morning, dear ones! May your love, if still unseen, flutter through your window, and if its already there, cherish it. Sending you warm hugs, sunshine, and a splash of good cheer.
