Changed His Mind About Getting Married Archibald spent countless late nights in the university lab, endlessly transferring mysterious liquids from vial to vial, always deep in his research on rare botanical powders. He was convinced that his painstaking work would soon yield something revolutionary—his ‘product’ extracted from the roots of an unusual plant. The forty-year-old scientist’s single-minded enthusiasm blinded him to the longing glances of young Sophie, the new cleaner in the institute. Driven by dreams of a breakthrough, Archibald barely noticed Sophie lingering in his office, mop in hand, watching him intently. One evening, Sophie plucked up her courage and said, “Professor Glebson, you’ve been glued to that chair since morning. How about some tea? I’ve a kettle, purely by chance, and some homemade sausages.” At the mention of sausages, Archibald finally tore himself away from his glassware. Sophie’s face lit up as she fetched her electric kettle and a container of succulent homemade treats. “Mum sent me fresh mince from the countryside. I made sausages with plenty of fat—baked them myself!” she said, setting the food on the desk. While the kettle boiled, Archibald scrutinized the plastic container. “How long has this been in your rucksack?” he asked. Sophie fidgeted. “Since this morning, I suppose. Why?” “And the lid? It was as tight as it is now?” “Yes… is it spoiled already? It’s cold in the locker room, the heating’s not even on yet.” Archibald hesitated. “Well then, let’s just have the tea, shall we? Perhaps you should take the sausages home.” Sophie indignantly snatched back the container. But before she could say more, Archibald stopped her: “Please don’t open that!” he pleaded, retreating and shielding his nose with a handkerchief. Sophie popped the lid, sniffed, and declared, “Smells perfectly fine. Oh, you city folk! If you don’t want to try it, I’ll have it myself.” She plonked the container on the table and poured the tea. As the hot drink warmed him, the aroma of sausage tempted Archibald. “Beef?” “Uh-huh,” Sophie replied, chewing happily. “Smells good… Looks good…” He tried to reason with himself about food safety but couldn’t resist. Finally, he caved: “Delicious… Who made these?” Sophie beamed. “I did!” Her joy infectious, Archibald ate with relish. They talked, and he learned Sophie had just turned twenty-three—much too young, really, but they stayed chatting at the bus stop in the evening chill. Sophie promised to bake biscuits for him the next day (carrot or cottage cheese, his pick). Despite himself, Archibald felt a foolish anticipation. That night, he even dreamed of Sophie—far more intimately than his rational mind would admit. “I’ve gone forty years without being distracted by women, and now this,” he chastised himself upon waking. Part 2 Meeting Sophie’s family filled Archibald with dread. As the taxi bumped along rural roads, he smoothed his thinning hair, anxious about first impressions. The previous evening, Sophie had lovingly plucked out his grey hairs as his head lay in her lap. He arrived at a shabby cottage—something out of a Dickens novel, crooked roof, patched door, wonky floors, homemade rugs. Inside, Sophie’s mother eyed him coldly. “How old are you?” “Forty…” he stammered. “My girl is twenty-three! You could be her father!” Desperate, Archibald protested his honourable intentions. “I love Sophie. I have a job, a flat in London, a country house… I can even teach her to drive, if that matters—” “No car? So you just want a servant-girl, is that it?” the mother interrupted. “That’s not it at all!” Archibald pleaded. “I want to marry her! Properly, in church, with children…” The stepfather appeared, young, handsome, and quietly amused. “Good evening. Heard a lot about you,” he said with a grin that only made Archibald feel worse. Sophie’s mum snapped, “I won’t let you turn my daughter into some housekeeper!” Tempers flared; a full-blown English family row erupted, with accusations, shouting, and even a flying stool. Archibald made for the door, only to discover that rural winters can be as unwelcoming as in literature: icy shoes, numbed feet, no signal for calling a taxi—and a powerful sense of regret. “I should have stayed in my nice warm laboratory,” he thought, stomping around. Eventually, Sophie found him outdoors, desperate and freezing. Her mother, now regal in fur-lined boots and dressing gown, intoned: “Since you spurn me, daughter, you are his responsibility now.” When the situation became dire—Archibald all but collapsed, suffering an anxiety-fuelled spike in blood pressure—the local nurse was fetched. As he came to on the sofa, Sophie’s mother finally relented, but by then Archibald knew: he’d had quite enough of marriage. If he survived, he promised himself, he’d go nowhere near women ever again. Back in London, Archibald returned to lab life, declining tea and cake with colleagues, recoiling from sociability in general. At home, after Sophie lovingly cooked supper, he awkwardly reimbursed her for groceries and gently ushered her out for the night. Alone at last, spooning his soup in silence, Archibald concluded that bachelorhood—and work—would do just fine. Changed His Mind About Getting Married: A Middle-Aged English Scientist’s Disastrous Family Encounter, Village Drama, and the Perils of Homemade Sausage

Changed His Mind About Marriage

Arthur often stayed late in his laboratory, endlessly transferring liquids from one test tube to another and studying powders.

He believed his dedication would soon be rewarded, and one day hed present his new product to the worlda compound extracted from the roots of a rare plant.

So immersed was the forty-year-old scientist in his dream that he barely noticed the lingering glances of the janitor, Emily, a young woman recently hired at the institute.

Arthur was driven by his goal and didnt realise how Emily, neglecting her mopping, would stand for hours in his office, leaning on her mop and watching him silently.

At last, one evening, the girl plucked up her courage and spoke:

Dr. Gates, youve been sat there since early morning. Fancy a cuppa? I brought my travel kettle and some homemade sausage rolls.

The mention of sausage rolls made Arthur look up from his work and rise from his chair.

Tea sounds marvelous. And sausage rolls, you say? It would be a sin to turn down such a treat.

Thrilled, Emilys trembling hands fumbled in her bag, retrieving the kettle and a small container filled with her culinary offering.

Mum brought some fresh mince from our village yesterday. I made sausage rolls with a bit of lardonbaked them off last night.

Her face lit up as she unpacked the food and set it on the table.

Lets see here, Arthur said, habitually reaching into his lab-coat pocket for his glasses, only just having put them away.

As the water boiled, Arthur eyed the containera clear plastic tub with a click-tight lid.

Pardon me, but how long has your food been in that bag?

Emily hesitated, then gave a flustered shrug.

Well, since this morning, I guess. Why?

And the lidwas it this tight the whole time?

Um yes, she stammered, worried. You dont think its gone off, do you? It was cool in the changing roomcentral heating hasnt started yet.

Arthur fought with his concern.

I see. Best if we just have the tea, then. Youd better take the food home with you.

Emily, whod spent her entire evening on the sausage rolls, snatched the tub back indignantly.

Arthur couldnt help noticing her furrowed brows.

Oh, no! Please dont open it! he cried, waving his arms, backing away and pinching his nose with a handkerchief.

But Emily opened it, sniffed, and replied,

Smells fine to me. Oh, you townies always imagine the worst. Suit yourself, Ill eat them.

She thumped the container on the table and started pouring tea.

Arthur hesitated, but the warmth of the tea lifted his mood. He glanced at Emily, happily munching her food.

Beef? he asked.

Mm-hm, she nodded mid-bite.

It does look temptingand smells alright.

Arthurs mouth watered. Difficult to reason with hunger.

With a sigh, he spoke:

Well, technically, the changing room shouldnt get above twenty-two degrees Celsius, which means, in theory, microorganisms

Emily turned to him.

What? she cut him off.

Arthur noticed a droplet of fat gliding down her chin, with another shining spot on her nose.

His thoughts tumbled:

This must be delicious. Oh, that aroma! Probably shouldnt have spoken out

Now, Arthur, he chided himself silently, You know better than to eat something stored who-knows-how, not cleared by health standards. And sheshe cant be bothered, can she? Probably never even heard about proper storage temperatures

So he drank his plain tea dejectedly, while his stomach rumbled treacherously.

Then something happenedsomething beyond Arthurs self-control. His hand moved towards the food. The pastry gave under his teeth.

Mmm. Astonishing! Who made this?

Told you, me, Emily blushed.

Arthur kept eating, eyes closed in culinary delight.

Im at a loss for words.

Relieved, Emily wiped her mouth and even her eyes with the hem of her apron.

There, you see? Saying itd gone off! I know what Im doing; Ive been baking since I was little.

***

In gratitude for the meal, Arthur insisted on walking Emily to the bus stop.

They chatted. Emily was only twenty-three.

Far too young, reallyas old as his own daughter might be. They waited ten minutes for the right bus.

I could bring biscuits tomorrow, Emily said, shyly smiling. HomemadeI never buy them. Dyou prefer oat or scone?

I like them all.

Ill bring both, then.

Astonishingly, Arthur found himself looking forward to tomorrow.

He even stopped thinking about science for a moment. And that night, he dreamt a mortifying dream: Emily unbuttoned her blouse in his presence.

Arthur woke with hot cheeks.

Honestly! Forty years and never given women a second lookand now this. Must be bewitched.

Part 2

Arthur was rather nervous before meeting Emilys family. The cab rattled along country lanes while he removed his hat and tried to arrange the few thin hairs left on his balding crown.

Only yesterday, Emily had laid his head on her lap and plucked his grey hairs with tweezers.

Arthur shaved closely and dressed up smartly in his best suit and tie, splashed on some cologne.

Emily gave him a nuzzle like a happy cat.

Theyll adore you, she encouraged. Mums understanding. Stepdad agrees with everyone.

How old is your mother?

Forty-five.

I see. Im already forty. Will she really approve?

Silly! Of course. If not, Ill fib and say Im expecting your child.

Thats a bit much, dont you think? Arthur gulped.

At last, they arrived. As Arthur stepped out, a gust nearly stole his hat.

It was deep winter. Arthur had never seen drifts so high.

While he surveyed his surroundings, Emily paid the driver, then sprang from the car, bags in hand, striding towards a crooked little cottage.

Arthur had only seen such houses in illustrationscrumbling, with a saggy slate roof and an old iron pot capping the chimney.

The heavy, patchwork-quilted door groaned; inside, floorboards creaked under their own rag rugs, plaster flaked from uneven wallsall so shabby it felt unreal.

Good Lord, how do people live like this? he marvelled in horror.

Maybe it was a guest house, or an old shed? Surely no one really lived here But when Emily quietly told him to take his shoes off, and hustled him into the tiny parlour, he realised she was not joking.

In the middle of the room stood a woman in a towelling gown.

Mum, this is Arthur, my fiancé. RememberI’ve told you about him on the phone.

The womans manner was frosty.

Hello, she said, and scanned Arthur up and down.

Her tone spelt trouble.

Are you serious, child? How old are you two?

Arthur squirmed in discomfort.

First, allow me to introduce myself. I am Arthur Gates. Your daughter and I both work

I asked, how old are you? her mother boomed.

Im forty.

My Emily is twenty-three! You could be her father!

Please, listen, Arthur stammered, Yes, Im older, but I care for her. I have a good job, a flat in town. Even a country house.

But no car!

Well, Im a bit short-sighted and cant drive. But I could buy one, or teach Emily to driveits no trouble

Enough! the mother scoffed, You just want a servant out of my silly girl. What do you think this isDickensian times?

I assure you, no! Arthur pleaded. I wish to marry her, have a church wedding, start a familymy intentions are completely honourable!

From behind the fireplace emerged a beaming man, not yet thirty.

Good evening, pleased to meet you. Heard much about you, he said with a warm smile.

Emilys stepfather looked striking: slim, stylish, with dark curls and bright eyeshandsome as a hero from a romance novel.

No need for the niceties, Andrew. Im not letting my girl marry this old codger! snapped her mother.

Mum! How can you say that to our guest? Emily cried, shocked. Ill leave with him if youre like this.

You wont!

A full-blown row erupted, one Arthur dearly wished to escape.

He gently peeled Emilys fingers from his hand and tried to slip away.

Emily, forgive me. I cant fight your mum.

She torments me and brings her young lover home! Then throws me out so she can flirt in peace! Emily screamed.

Dont be rude! Andrew shot back.

Pipe down! Mother shrieked louder.

Chaos descended; Arthur ducked as a stool flew past his head.

Heavens above! Arthur prayed as he sprinted from the inhospitable house.

Hed meant to escape, but only managed to circle the same snowy village streets, seeking a taxi or a station.

The stress pressed on Arthurs chest; surely his blood pressure was through the roof.

All this for a wedding? he groaned, staggering through the snow. Shouldve stayed in my comfy lab with my flasks. Why did I agree to this ordeal?

Fumbling his phone out, he found there was no signal.

Eventually, tired, he trudged back to the cottage, which he recognised by the burnt pot on the chimney.

The house was finally quiet. The door creaked, and Emily came out with her bags.

Arthur, love, youre here? I was so scared youd gone, she whispered.

I just needed some air, he fibbed.

If Mum refuses to give her blessing, Ill just go, Emily announced bravely.

Arthur said nothing. His shoes were hopeless against the cold, the thin lining useless. He stamped and paced to keep blood moving. His toes burnedthis was no time for romance.

Arthur began to regret everything. Did he really want this, with all the trouble and her mad family?

***

Emilys mum came out wrapped in a sheepskin, feet in woolly boots, standing proud.

Well, if you dont respect me, off you go; hes your responsibility now, she decreed.

Better with him than here, Mum. Arthurs a good man. Call us a cab, please.

I said, hes your responsibility nowsort yourselves out. Dont count on me, her mum insisted.

Emily nudged Arthur, Do something, darling.

I dont get a signalask the neighbours to ring for a cab, he replied, fighting to stay upright. He swayed, then collapsed, gasping.

Oh my word! Emily screamed so loud the whole village must have heard. Arthur mouthed feebly:

My heads spinning. Didnt think Id breathe my last here. I want to go home.

No! Emily wailed, as Arthur felt himself slipping away.

***

Arthur was groggy, but came round when a village nurse gave him an injection.

He looked at the patched ceiling, tried to risebut was stopped.

Stay put. You need half an hours rest, said the nurse.

What happened? Arthur whispered.

Youve had a hypertensive crisis. Best not to get worked up.

I never diduntil today

He pictured his future mother-in-laws sour face:

An old invalid, too! it twisted.

Mum, leave him alone! Emily intervened.

She spoon-fed him hot tea.

As the nurse gathered her kit, Arthur begged, Please, can you take me away?

Where?

Didnt you come by ambulance?

No, love. I live here. I work here.

Emily cleared the teacup, gazing into his eyes.

Youre not leaving, are you? You neednt worry, Mums come round. Shes forgiven both of us.

Arthur, less and less convinced about marriage, avoided meeting Emilys gaze.

Thats between you and your mum. As for meif I get out alive, Im off. Never will I get tangled up with women again.

***

Finishing his next evenings work, Arthur told his assistant:

Thats all for today. You can go now. Im locking up.

She blushed and adjusted her glasses.

I brought a cake. Maybe youd like a cup of tea?

No! he barked. Were here to work, not have tea and cake.

But the days over… she offered, already standing.

Go home! he insisted.

Dimples disappeared from her cheeks. She packed up, muttering, Grumpy old sod.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, locked the door and hurried home.

He got back as the clock struck eight.

Emily opened the door at the sound of his key.

Evening, Dr Gates.

Whats for tea? he asked, not looking at her.

Rich duck stew and potato dumplings.

Lovely. Im starving. Jot down what I owe you for groceries; Ill add it to your pay at months end.

Arthur removed coat and shoes, washed up and sat in the kitchen for supper.

Emily hovered nearby.

Are you still cross with my mum? Shes apologised, you know. She just panickeda proper scientist like you, almost a professorshe thought youd never be serious about me. So she tried to up my value, you know, like mums do. It was all a silly joke but I still love you.

Arthur listened, stirring his soup, something gnawing at him.

Or did our row put you off? Thats nothing, really. Weve had plentyalways make up… Maybe we overdid it this time, but so what?

Arthur got up, put his hands on Emilys shoulders and gently walked her to the hall, passing her things to her.

Its late, go home. Take tomorrow offtheres plenty of dumplings still here for supper. But Ill see you the day after.

Closing the door on her tears, he returned to his supper, alone.

Sometimes, life throws you into chaos in your quest for happiness, but its only when the noise settles and you find yourself in restful solitude that you understand: peace within yourself is more valuable than chasing after someone elses idea of joy.