A Good Woman

A Good Woman

“A good woman, she is. Where would we be without her?”
“And yet you only pay her two thousand pounds a month.”
“Margaret, we have left her the flat in our will, remember?”

Arthur slowly eased himself from the bed and shuffled into the next room. The glow from the nightlight shimmered softly as he peered through tired eyes at his wife.

He crouched beside her, listening to her quiet breathing. “Seems all is well.”

He rose carefully and crept towards the kitchen. Taking out a carton of milk, he poured himself a glass, popped into the bathroom, and then retired to his own bedroom.

Lying in bed, sleep escaped him.

“Margaret and I are both ninety now. So many years spent together. Soon, we’ll see our Maker, yet theres no one around.”

Their daughters, Emily was gone before sixty. Their son, John, passed away tooalways was a bit of a wild laugh. Their granddaughter, Hannah, had been living in Australia for nearly two decades and seemed to have forgotten all about her grandparents. Likely, her own children were grown by now…

Arthur didnt quite realise when he finally nodded off.

He awoke to the touch of a hand.

“Arthur, are you all right?” came Margarets soft voice.

He opened his eyes. She was leaning over him.

“Margaret? Whats the matter?”

“I just saw you there, lying so still, didnt think you were breathing.”

“Still here! Go on, get some sleep!”

He heard her padding slippers fade away, followed by the click of the kitchen light.

Margaret sipped some water, stopped by the bathroom and returned to her room.

She lay on the bed, sighing: “One day, I’ll wake and he wont be there. What then? Or maybe I shall go first…”

Arthur’s already planned our funeral. Imagine thatnever thought people could arrange such things in advance, but then again, who else would do it for us?

Their granddaughter never wrote. Neighbor Sarah was the only one who ever visited. She had the spare key. Arthur handed her a thousand pounds from their pension every month. She did the shopping and anything else they needed. What else would they spend their money on? Besides, they hadnt made it down from the fourth floor in months.

The sun peeped through the window when Arthur opened his eyes next. He walked onto the balcony and gazed at the lush green of the cherry tree outside. A smile played on his lips.

“Weve made it to summer!”

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

“Margaret, enough of this moping! Come on, let me show you something.”

“Oh, I havent got the strength,” she mumbled, slowly rising. “What have you got planned?”

“Come, come!”

He gently supported her to the balcony.

“Look, the cherry trees turned green! You said we might not see summer, but here we are!”

“Well, so it has! And the suns warm too,” she replied, a flicker of joy in her voice.

They sat together on the small bench out on the balcony.

“Remember when I asked you to the cinema, back when we were in school? The cherry tree was turning green just like this then…”

“How could I forget? How many years ago was that now?”

“Seventy-odd… Seventy-five, to be precise.”

They sat long, sharing memories of the old days. Much slips away with age, even what happened yesterday, but you never forget your youth.

“Oh look at us chatting away! Weve not even had breakfast,” Margaret said, finally rising.

“Margaret, why dont you brew some proper tea? Im tired of herbal infusions.”

“You know the doctor said we shouldnt.”

“Just a light cuppa, and a spoonful of sugar each.”

Arthur sipped his weak tea, nibbling a small cheese sandwich. He remembered those mornings when tea was strong and sweet, with scones or little cakes.

Sarah, the neighbor, appeared with a friendly smile.

“How are you both?”

“We’re well as any two ninety-year-olds can be,” Arthur quipped.

“If there are jokes, I know youre still all right. Need anything from the shops?”

“Sarah, do get us some meat, will you?” Arthur asked.

“Youre not supposed to have red meat.”

“Chickens allowed.”

“All right. Ill make you some proper chicken noodle soup!”

She cleared the breakfast plates, washed up, and left.

“Margaret, lets go out to the balcony and soak up the sun,” Arthur offered.

They went. Sarah later appeared with porridge for them, announcing shed start making soup for lunch.

“A good woman, that Sarah,” Arthur remarked, watching her go. “Where would we be without her?”

“And you only give her two thousand pounds a month,” Margaret said quietly.

“We’ve left her the flat, darling.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

They remained on the balcony until lunchtime, when Sarah brought them chicken soup, rich and delicious, with tender bits of meat and mashed potato.

“I used to make this for Emily and John when they were children,” Margaret reminisced.

“Now its not our own hands but a strangers that cooks for us,” Arthur sighed.

“Perhaps, my dear, that’s our fate. When were gone, maybe no one will even cry for us.”

“Come now, Margaret, lets not get gloomy. Let’s go and have a little rest!”

“You know, Arthur, they say old age is a second childhood. All soft soups, early naps, tea time.”

Arthur dozed, then awokesleep would not come. The weather was changing, or something was. He padded to the kitchen, finding two glasses of juice carefully prepared by Sarah.

He brought them to Margaret, who was staring thoughtfully out the window.

“Whats the matter, love?” he smiled. “Here, have some juice!”

She sipped and nodded.

“Cant sleep either?”

“Must be the weather.”

“I’ve not felt quite myself since this morning,” Margaret said with a sad smile. “Feels as if my time is nearly up. Promise me you’ll bury me properly.”

“Margaret, don’t talk like that. How will I go on without you?”

“One of us will be first, Arthur.”

“Lets not dwell on that. Let’s go outside!”

They sat on the balcony until dusk. Sarah brought cheese cakes for supper, then they settled in as usual to watch the television. They couldnt keep up with the new shows, so preferred the old comedies and cartoons.

Only one cartoon tonight. Margaret rose, saying, “Ill go to bed. Tired tonight.”

“I’ll go too,” said Arthur.

She paused. “Let me have a good look at you.”

“What for?”

“Just to see you.”

They looked at one another for a long, lingering moment. Perhaps they were remembering the young couple in love, hopes and futures unwritten.

“Come, Ill walk you to your room,” she finally said.

Margaret took Arthurs arm, and they moved slowly together.

He tucked her in under her blanket and returned to his room.

His heart felt heavy that night. He found rest elusive. It seemed he hadnt slept at all when the glowing clock read two in the morning. He rose and entered Margarets room.

She lay still, eyes open.

“Margaret!”

He took her hand.

“Margaret, my love!”

Suddenly, it became hard to breathe. He staggered back to his own room, gathered the already-prepared documents and laid them on the table.

Then he returned to his wife, gazed at her familiar face for a long time, and lay down beside her, closing his eyes.

He dreamt of his Margaret, young and beautiful as she had been seventy-five years ago, moving towards a light in the distance. He ran after her, caught her hand, and together they walked towards the glow.

In the morning, Sarah entered and found them side by side, peaceful smiles frozen on their faces.

With trembling hands, she called for the ambulance.

The paramedic glanced at them, shaking his head in surprise. “Gone together, it seems. Must have loved each other very much…”

They were taken away. Sarah slumped into the chair by the table, then caught sight of the documents and the will, addressed to her name.

She buried her face in her hands and wept.

Life teaches us that love and kindness leave echoes long after we’re gone. True affection finds a way to bind heartssometimes, forever.