An Elderly Man Slowly Rose from Bed and Shuffled to the Next Room; In the Glow of the Night Lamp, He…

The old chap hauled himself out of bed with considerable effort, steadying himself against the wall as he shuffled towards the next room. Bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he peered blearily at his wife lying motionless under her patchwork quilt.

“Not moving! Is she gone already?” he wondered aloud, kneeling gingerly beside the bed. “No, breathing. Seems I’m spared becoming a widower tonight.”

He creaked upright and ambled to the kitchen. There, he drank a bit of milkno sign of kefir in this housethen made the requisite stop at the loo, and finally tottered off to his own room.

Back in bed he lay, wide awake. Thoughts scuttled:

“Ninety years, me and Margaret. Ninety! How much longer are we going to keep rattling around? So close to the finish line, and not a soul left nearby. Our daughter, Susan, died before she even reached sixty. David popped his clogs in prison, of all places. There’s a granddaughter, Zoe, but shes lived in Germany for two decades now. She must have grown-up children herself; I doubt she even remembers her ancient grandparents back in London.”

Somehow, sleep found him.

He woke with a start as a hand brushed his.

“Arthur? Are you still with us?” came a faint voice.

He opened his eyes. Margaret was bent over him.

“Whats up, Maggie?”

“I saw you werent moving. Got in a fright. Thought youd gone.”

“No such luck. Get back to sleep!”

Margarets slippers shuffled away as she snapped the kitchen light on. She took a glass of water, made the standard trip to the loo, and padded back to her room. Slipping into bed, she thought:

“One day Ill wake up and hell be gone… Or maybe Ill go first. Arthurs already sorted out our funeralscan you imagine? Never expected to organise my own send-off, but its sensible, I suppose. Whod bother otherwise? Our granddaughters long forgotten us. Only dear neighbour Pauline visits, and shes got the keys. Arthur slips her a hundred quid from our pension each month. She gets us groceries, picks up the prescriptions… What else would we spend it on? Neither of us could possibly manage the stairs from the fourth floor now.”

Dawn crept through the curtains. Arthur opened his eyes. A shaft of sunlight caught his face. He stepped onto the balcony and beamed at the sight of the green-leafed cherry tree below.

“Well, we’ve made it to summer again!”

He went to check on Margaret, who was lost in thought.

“Come on, Maggieno more moping! I’ve something to show you.”

“Oh, Arthur, just let me put my slippers on. Whats this about?”

“Youll see!”

Supporting her gently by the shoulders, he led her to the balcony.

“Just look at that cherry tree, all green! You always said wed never last till summer, but here we are.”

“So we are! And the sun, as well!”

They sat on the rickety bench, soaking in the rays.

“Remember when I took you to the picturesback at school? The cherry was just coming out then, too.”

“How could I forget? Has to be, what, seventy-five years now?”

They reminisced in the warming sunlight. Odd how much slips your mind with age, sometimes even yesterdays events, but the years of youth never quite fade.

“Were such chatterboxes!” Margaret laughed suddenly. “And we havent even had breakfast!”

“Come on, Maggie, brew us a proper cuppa. Im sick to death of all this herbal nonsense.”

“Were not meant to have strong tea anymore, you know.”

“Just make it weak and treat us to a bit of sugar.”

Arthur nibbled a little cheese sandwich, washing it down with his watery tea, thinking back to the days when breakfast meant a proper builders brewsweet and strong, with hot rolls or a bacon sarnie thrown in for good measure.

Pauline popped by, giving them her customary approving smile.

“How are you two today?”

“What sort of business do ninety-year-olds have?” Arthur quipped.

“If youre still cracking jokes, you cant be doing too badly. Need anything from the shops?”

“Pauline, get us some meat, would you?” Arthur asked hopefully.

“You cant have red meat.”

“But chickens allowed, surely.”

“I’ll get some; Ill make you a nice chicken noodle soup for lunch.”

“Pauline, love, could you grab something for my heart, too?” Margaret requested.

“Already did a shop for you, Mrs. Thompson.”

“Weve run out.”

“Shall I ring the doctor?”

“No, no. No fuss!”

Pauline tidied the table and did the washing up before heading off.

“Maggie, lets go back on the balcony,” Arthur suggested. “Warm up in the sun.”

“Yes pleaseno sense in sitting in this stuffy lounge.”

Pauline returned, carrying a steaming bowl.

“Missing the English sun, are we?”

“Its lovely out; thank you, Pauline!” Margaret beamed.

“I’ll bring your porridge here in a tick. Then Ill start the chicken soup for later.”

“Shes a good soul,” Arthur whispered, watching her leave. “Where would we be without her?”

“And you only give her a hundred a month.”

“Shell get the flat as well, love. And the paperworks all done at the solicitors.”

“Of course, she doesnt know that.”

They whiled away the morning in their sun-drenched perch. Lunch arrivedchicken soup, flavoursome with finely shredded meat and mashed potato.

“I always made this for Susan and David when they were little,” Margaret recalled fondly.

“And now strangers are cooking for us in our old age,” Arthur sighed, regret heavy in his voice.

“Its our lot, Arthur. We’ll pop our clogs and no one will even shed a tear.”

“Nonsense, Maggie, lets stop with the doom and gloom. Time for a nap!”

“They say the old are like childrenpureed soup, nap times, tea and bickies every afternoon.”

Arthur dozed fitfully, rising again when sleep wouldnt come, convinced the weather was up to something. In the kitchen, he noticed two glasses of juice, freshly poured by Pauline.

He carefully carried both to Margarets room, where she sat on the bed, gazing out at the rooftops.

“Having a gloomy think again, Maggie?” he teased, offering the juice.

She took a sip. “Bit restless yourself, eh?”

“Weathers messing with me; I can feel it in my bones.”

“Ive felt off all morning,” Margaret said with a tired shake of her head. “I dont reckon Ive got long left. Youll give me a decent burial, will you?”

“Stop it, Maggie. What on earth would I do without you?”

“One of us will have to go first, Arthur.”

“Lets talk about something else! Balcony time!”

They sat out until dusk. Pauline made cheese scones for tea, then they settled in front of the telly. As always, nothing contemporary made much sense, so they stuck to Fawlty Towers and old British cartoons.

They finished a single cartoon before Margaret stood up, arms heavy with fatigue.

“Im for bed, Arthur. Its been a day.”

“Ill join you,” Arthur replied.

“Let me have a proper look at you,” Margaret requested suddenly.

“Whatever for?”

“Just let me.”

For a long moment, they looked at each other, remembering the wild green summers of their youth.

“Come on, darling, Ill see you to your bed.”

Margaret hooked her arm through Arthurs, and together they walked; he tucked her in with unusual care before returning to his own room.

He felt an unexpected heaviness in his heart, tumbling and swirling, sleep proving elusive. Only when the digital clock blinked 2am did he rise and creep to Margarets room.

She lay with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

“Maggie!” He grabbed her hand. It was cold. “No! Maggie”

Suddenly, his own chest tightened. Gasping for breath, he staggered to his room, pulled out the neatly prepared documents, and set them out on the table.

He returned, sat by her side, and looked long at her worn, beloved face. Then he lay beside her and closed his eyes.

He saw Margaret, young and radiant, exactly as shed looked seventy-five summers ago, walking serenely toward a distant light. He ran after her, caught her hand…

In the morning, Pauline let herself in. She found them lying together, gentle smiles fixed on both faces.

Once shed composed herself enough to call the paramedics, the doctor came.

“They went together. Must’ve loved each other a great deal,” he said, shaking his head in quiet wonder.

They were taken away, and Pauline, suddenly aware of the silence, slumped onto the kitchen chair. Only then did she notice the burial contract andher name on the will.

With her head in her arms, she began to weep.