A Good Woman—What Would We Do Without Her? “You Only Pay Her Two Thousand a Month.” “Elena, We’ve Le…

Shes a good woman. What would we do without her?
And you only give her two thousand a month.
Helen, were leaving her the flat, arent we?

Michael rises from bed and slowly makes his way to the next room. In the glow of the bedside lamp, he squints at his wife.

He crouches beside her, listening. Seems all right.

He stands and shuffles to the kitchen. Opens a bottle of milk, pops to the bathroom, then returns to his own room.

He lies down. Sleep wont come.

Were both ninety now, Helen and I. All those years together Soon well meet our maker, and yet theres no one left nearby.

Their daughters are gone. Natalie passed away before sixty.

Max is gone too. He liked his wild nights out His granddaughter, Charlotte, is in Francebeen there twenty years or more. Doubt she even thinks of her grandparents now. Likely got grown-up children of her own

He doesnt notice how he drifts into sleep.

He wakes to a touch on his hand.

Michael, are you all right? comes a quiet voice.

He blinks awake. His wife is leaning over him.

What, Helen?

I saw you lying there, not moving.

Im still alive, just tired. Go back to bed.

Slippered footsteps shuffle away; the switch clicks in the kitchen.

Helen has a drink of water, visits the bathroom, and returns to her room, settling down on the bed.

One day Ill wake up and hell be gone. What will I do then? Or maybe Ill go first.

Michaels already arranged everythingeven booked the wake. Who knew you could do that in advance? At least its sorted. Who else would handle it for them?

Their granddaughter seems to have all but forgotten them. Only their neighbour, Jane, ever pops in. Janes got a key. Michael gives her a thousand pounds from their pension each month. She does the shopping, sorts things they need. What else would they do with money? They cant manage the stairs from the third floor anymore.

Michael opens his eyes. Sunlight streams through the window. He steps onto the balcony, and the green leaves of the cherry tree greet him. He smiles.

Weve made it to summer, Helen!

He goes to his wife, who sits lost in thought on her bed.

Helen, no more moping! Cometheres something I want to show you.

Oh, I really haven’t got the energy! Helen barely rises from the bed. What have you got up your sleeve?

Come on now!

He supports her gently, guiding her to the balcony.

Look! The cherry trees green! And you said we wouldn’t live to see the summer. But here we are!

Oh, youre right! And the sun is out, too.

They sit on the balconys bench.

Do you remember when I asked you to the pictures? Back at school. The cherry tree was all green that day, too.

As if Id forget? How many years has it been?

Seventy seventy-five.

They sit, lost in memories. So much slips from the mind in old ageeven yesterday can vanish. But youth? That sticks forever.

Weve been nattering away! his wife says, rising. We havent even had breakfast.

Helen, make a proper cup of tea, will you? Im tired of that herbal stuff.

We shouldnt really

Just a weak onewith a spoonful of sugar.

Michael sips his weak tea, washes down a small cheese sandwich, remembering the days when breakfast meant strong, sweet tea with scones and toast.

Their neighbour Jane arrives, smiling.

How are you both today?

What business does a pair of ninety-year-olds have? Michael jokes.

If youre still joking, alls well. Need anything?

Jane, pick up some meat for us, will you? asks Michael.

You arent meant to have that.

Were allowed a bit of chicken.

Right, Ill get some and make you some chicken noodle soup!

Jane tidies the table, washes up, and leaves.

Helen, lets warm up in the sun on the balcony, he suggests.

Why not?

Jane pops out again. What, missing the sunshine already?

Its lovely here, Jane, smiles Helen.

Ill bring you your porridge out here, then start on lunch.

Shes a good woman, Michael says, watching her. What would we do without her?

And you only give her two thousand a month, Helen reminds him.

Weve left her the flat.

She doesnt know.

They stay on the balcony until lunch. Theres chicken soup, warm and hearty, with soft potatoes and strips of meat.

I always made this for Natalie and Max when they were little, Helen recalls.

And now strangers cook for us in our old age, Michael sighs.

Maybe thats how its meant to be, Michael. When we go, no one will shed a tear.

Thats enough. Time for a nap, Helen.

Michael, they say old folks are like children, Helen muses. Pureed soup, afternoon naps, snacks at half-past three.

After a doze, Michaels wide awake. The weather must be changing. He goes to the kitchen. Two glasses of juice sit ready, thought of by Jane.

He takes them carefully to Helens room. Shes gazing out of the window.

Whats the matter, Helen? Lets have some juice.

She sips. Struggling to sleep too?

Its the weather.

Ive felt off all day, she admits. I think my times nearly up. Promise youll give me a proper goodbye.

Dont talk like that. How would I go on without you?

One of us will go first, that’s just the way.

Enough! Lets get some air on the balcony.

They sit there until evening. Jane cooks up cheese scones for tea. Afterward, they settle down to the telly. The plots of new films escape them, so they watch old comedies and cartoons.

Tonight, just one cartoon before Helen gets up.

Im exhausted. Im off to bed, she says.

Ill go now too.

Let me look at you properly, she says suddenly.

Whatever for?

Just to remember you.

They gaze at each other, perhaps thinking of when everything was still ahead.

Let me see you to bed, he says.

Helen lets Michael take her arm, and together they walk gently along.

He tucks her in, then heads for his own room.

His heart is heavy. Sleep comes badly.

Hes not sure hes slept at all, but the clock glows, showing two a.m. He gets up, moves to Helens room.

She lies with her eyes open.

Helen? He clasps her hand. Helen? He-len!

Suddenly he can hardly breathe himself. He staggers to his room, lays the documents, their will, on the table.

He goes back, gazes at her for a long time, then lies down beside her and closes his eyes.

He sees his Helen, young and lovely as she was seventy-five years ago. Shes walking toward a bright light. He hurries after her, catches her hand.

In the morning, Jane lets herself into their bedroom. They lie side by side, peaceful smiles on their faces.

At last, Jane phones for an ambulance.

The paramedic arriving shakes his head. Went together. Mustve loved each other very much

They are taken away. Jane sits, spent, at the table. There she sees the documents, the willin her name.

She lowers her head and quietly weepsJane sits for a long time, sunlight warming her weary hands. She pours tea for three, out of habit. The flat is silent, emptied of gentle voices, but filled instead with the hush that follows a well-lived life.

She stands and moves to the balcony. The cherry tree tosses green shadows across the empty chairs. Jane smiles through her tears, feeling the weight of gratitude inside her chest. All those quiet afternoons, those stories shared, the laughter, the small comfortsshe gathers them close, a gentle inheritance more precious than bricks and keys.

Below, the street bustles with its usual rhythm. Jane touches the balcony rail, remembering Michaels voiceWe made it to summer! And Helens laughter echoing back.

She glances up. A shower of petals floats downward, caught in a sudden gust. For a moment, it seems as if Michael and Helen are waving goodbye from beneath the tree, young and bright and full of promise, stepping hand in hand into the unfading sunlight.

Jane bows her head and whispers a quiet thank you, her heart full with the promise to remember. Then, turning inside, she sets the kettle for tea. Life, she knows now, goes onbut not unchanged. The flat is theirs, but the memories are hers to keep, blooming again each spring as surely as the cherry tree outside their window.