Ellie, Im sorry to bother you at this hour, I said, my voice wobbling. Ive just lost my wife in a car crash can I come in? Simon Hartley staggered in, barely able to string words together, the smell of whisky clinging to him.
I welcomed him despite the fact that wed been at each others throats for a month. All our petty arguments seemed meaningless now, dwarfed by the news hed brought at two in the morning. I felt a pang of guilt; after all, Simon and I had been more than friends.
Simon, tell me what happened, I urged, trying not to sound accusatory. I cant help feeling responsible for my wifes death. He said nothing, just pulled me toward the sofa. I didnt fight back; I wanted to soothe him, to hold him, to let him forget, even if it meant swallowing the anger I felt toward his selfishness.
The night dragged on, sleepless and chaotic. By dawn I managed to rouse Simon, who stared at me blankly.
Ellie, why am I here? Were not on speaking terms, he muttered, genuinely puzzled.
I didnt remind him why hed knocked on my door. I guessed his drunken ramblings were just that nonsense. Then his mobile buzzed, flashing the name Jewel. That was what hed called his wife.
Simon flinched, the phone slipping from his hand, and looked at me with a guilty stare, as if some memory was surfacing.
Are you an idiot? I snapped. You buried your wife yesterday. How can you joke about it? Get out! I threw him out and never saw him again.
Since I was twenty Id lived alone. My parents had passed away one after the other. I never rushed into marriage; suitors came in droves, buzzing around me like bees to honey. Some were stingy, some generous, some already married.
Simon turned out to be the longestlasting of them all. I fell deeply for him, even though I knew he had a family. In time I realised Simon was a born actor; lying and inventing came as easy as breathing. He would present me with lavish roses, extravagant gifts, wild nights, yet always spoke fondly of his Jewel. I never imagined he might have a string of mistresses; his appetite for affection seemed endless. He was a smoothtalking lothario, plain and simple.
While my friends settled down, had children, I kept seeing Simon, fully aware there was no future. Hed never leave his own household, and that knowledge fed more arguments between us.
At last Simons final stunt sealed the fragile tie wed been walking on. I was free again, craving a new kind of happiness.
Thats when Oliver Finch floated into my life. He was a country lad who worked in the city. We met on a commuter train I was heading to my aunts in Kent, he was returning from a shift in London. He sat next to me, we struck up conversation, swapped numbers, and I liked him straight away. Most importantly, he wasnt married. We started dating.
If I compare Oliver with Simon, its night and day. Oliver is frugal, a bit rough around the edges, not particularly tender. Yet I accepted his shortcomings you cant expect perfection, especially when youre older. He invited me to his family farm:
My mum wants to meet you, he said.
What could she possibly want to see when I was already expecting? I should have been planning my wedding dress, prepping for the ceremony
We arrived at Olivers cottage. The kitchen table overflowed with hearty Yorkshire fare. I could barely look at it, my stomach turned. I felt ill. Olivers mother, eyeing me like a judge, instructed her son:
Son, take the guest out onto the veranda, let her rest on the settee, then you can get back to the table.
She barely noticed me again.
The next morning Oliver silently escorted me back to the train and returned to his mother, who, it seemed, had taken a strong dislike to me. I hurried to organise the wedding, but things didnt go as planned.
Before I could get home, I ended up in hospital with a miscarriage. The doctor, seeing my tearful state, tried to comfort me:
Dont worry, love. If a miscarriage occurs, it means the baby wasnt going to be healthy. Better this way than suffering with a sick child later.
Honestly, I thought, Well, thats that. Oliver isnt meant for me. Hell be fine with his mother. I broke off with Oliver calmly, without regret.
Among my past flings was a schoolmate, Edward Clarke. Hed pined for me since our teenage days. I kept him as a backup, an option. He once proposed, but I remained mysteriously silent. In the end he married a woman with a child, later they had a son. About ten years later, the same Edward turned up, apologising profusely:
Ellie, I rushed into marriage, now I want a divorce.
He went on and on, complaining about his wifes temperament, the clash of personalities, his lifes disharmony. I listened, nodded, offered warmth, tried to soothe him. One day he burst in, beaming like a freshlybaked scone:
Ellie, weve just had a second boy! Congratulations!
Congratulations! Say hello to your wife! Now get out, Edward, forever! I could barely hold back my sobs. That night I wept into my pillow until the tears ran dry.
My best friend from school, Clara Whitaker, seemed to have it all a loving husband, a daughter, a comfortable home. I envied her. Her husband, James Whitaker, never appealed to me. Id often visit Claras house, where James was ignored, and we would chat about everything and nothing.
One afternoon Clara confided:
Ellie, Ive fallen for someone. Ive lost my head. Hes married, has two kids.
Forget it, Clara. Dont tear apart your own family or his. What are you missing? Youre already happy. Dont go after a married man, I warned, feeling sorry for her.
She broke down, sobbing:
I cant live without Harry. Im suffocating. Id give up everything to be with him!
I understand, Clara, but stop before its too late. Youll end up hurting yourself, I replied, but she seemed to hear only her own despair.
That was the end of our friendship. Clara never called again, never invited me over.
One day, out of the blue, James turned up at my door:
Hey, Ellie. Hows life? Still single?
Hey. No rush on marriage. What brings you here? I asked.
Clara left me, James sighed.
I felt sorry for James and, after a night of talking, we ended up in each others arms. We lived together for six months, and it felt like happiness. How could Clara have turned down such a perfect man? Why swap James for a womaniser? I never knew.
Eventually James didnt ask me to marry him. He left as suddenly as hed arrived, saying a new colleague at work a woman seven years older with a teenage daughter had captured his heart. He married her, and theyve been together for twenty years now.
Clara eventually married Harry, and they say they have a love story straight out of a novel. I dont believe that stolen happiness goes unpunished. Two families suffered because of that illicit affair.
I havent seen Clara in over twenty years.
You might wonder what became of me. I spent my life nursing broken, wounded wings, trying to heal others. Men would eventually fly back to their wives, while time slipped away.
As my grandmother used to say:
Every lass, no matter how bright, eventually fades.
My season came and went. The carousel of life finally halted. Princes stopped knocking at my window. I adopted a pedigree cat for company, someone to talk to when the house felt empty. I remain single, childless, and the story ends there.
