Life is Unimaginable Without Her

Im a stayathome mum and my little boy is two and a half now. Every day we head out for a walk and stop at the local playarea. The route to the childrens corner runs straight down the High Street of our tiny market town. On the right, as we walk, there are a few corner shops and a greengrocer. By habit I always pick up a poppyseed bagel for him. We sit on the bench, and Arthur devours it with the delighted gusto only a toddler can have, giving me a few precious minutes to catch my breath.

I love watching the passersby on the boulevard; its my favourite bit of peoplewatching. I try to guess their jobs from the way they walk, their clothes and those little nonverbal clues. What are they thinking? What do they live for? What do they dream about? Where are they hurrying to? I like to make a wager on all of it.

Across the way, a familiar pair appears an imposing silverhaired gentleman who looks about seventyfive, walking arminarm with a lady whose age I cant pin down. She could be anywhere between sixty and seventy. Ill explain why Im uncertain in a moment.

Because we go out in any weather, we see this couple all the time. Ive never caught the lady without fresh makeup I cant bring myself to call her oldlady. Her handbag is clearly stocked with concealer, blush, mascara, eyeliner and neutral eyeshadows. She dyes her hair a light ash blonde and styles it in a timeless shell updo. Shes clearly a fashionforward woman, and Ive spotted many of her outfits. What always catches my eye are her hands. She regularly visits a nail salon, and each time her nails display a new design from classic French tips to bright scarlet flame shades. In my mind shes a bit of a dragonfly.

The couple often rests on the bench near the shops, the same spot where Arthur and I pause.

Her name is Evelyn, and her husband is George.

Honestly, Evelyn, you cant fling chestnuts at people with your feet, George scolds her. You could hurt someone by accident. How would you feel if you got a chestnut stuck in your own foot? he adds.

Dont be such a rabbit! Evelyn laughs. Only in autumn do I have that much fun! Chestnuts, George, dont be cross, love. She giggles.

Fine, Ill get you a rubber ball, George says. Actually, a few of them, so you can play at home and wont bother anyone. Ill hide in the bathroom while youre at it.

George, playing with a ball at home isnt the same thrill, Evelyn protests. Dont be angry, dear. Ill walk the other side of the street if you dont like it. You can even pretend we dont know each other, she says, pursing her lips in mock irritation.

No, Ill always keep an eye on you, he replies. I dont want you ending up in the police station in old age or breaking a leg, only for me to have to fetch you a sandwich. You know I make a rich broth, and you wouldnt survive on that alone. Ill forbid the kids from seeing you unless you listen to me. No, never, and dont start crying. Come here, my little onion, Ill hold you and pretend Im taking you to a mental hospital. Youre such a naughty little thing!

I love listening to their banter; its amazing how they keep such a lively, affectionate relationship well into their silver years. They tease each other with a spicy, colourful humour.

Its always a treat to watch them together Evelyn animatedly recounts a story, gesturing with her hands, sometimes stamping a foot, while George nods, offering a supportive elbow. Their connection is tender in the most heartwarming way. It seeps into every glance, breath, touch, smile, movement and thought. When Evelyn holds Georges hand, looks into his eyes, pouts or raises her lips in mock annoyance, you can read boundless love and trust. Georges purposely stern comment shows his devotion too:

Watch your step, love, youre not as spry as you used to be. If you tumble, youll break a bone and Ill have nothing to do but watch, he says with a grin.

And, believe it or not, they kiss on the bench and stroll down the boulevard like teenagers, oblivious to everything else but the glow on their faces and the beat of their hearts that seem to sync perfectly. Their passion feels as real today as it did decades ago.

Today the pair again settles on the bench. I overhear their chat:

Should I pop into the shop for some pastel liquid lipstick? Maybe theres a discount? Are you coming with me? Evelyn asks George.

Darling, go yourself; Ill wait here for you. Just dont buy every shade leave some for the other ladies, George replies with a smile.

Arthur finishes his bagel and toddles over to the bench where George is sitting. George pulls a small chocolate bar from his bag, hands it to the boy and asks, Whats your name?

Thanks a lot, I say, thanking George for his sons treat. Hes Arthur; hes still learning to speak properly.

Arthur happily crinkles the wrapper.

Excuse my curiosity, but Ive been watching you both for a while. Youre such an extraordinary couple. How do you keep the spark alive? Please, share your secret, I ask, eager for an answer.

George stays silent, eyes on his shoes as leaves rustle beneath his feet. A breeze lifts them, swirling the leaves into a dazzling dance before they settle gently back down, reluctant to end the brief flight.

We met in the autumn, about fiftyfive years ago, George begins. It was a crisp fall day. Evelyn was wandering the park, gathering colourful leaves. She would bend over each one, smiling at it. She wore a patched coat, a white beret and worn shoes, yet she looked so happy! In her hands she held a bunch of yellow, orange and red leaves, and tucked a few pennies in the lining of her coat. At home we only had bread and mustard, but she was radiant. She talked to the flowers, brushed the bright heads of blackeyed Susans and chrysanthemums. She was airy, otherworldly, and stole my heart forever. She taught me to find joy in everything rain, snow, sunshine. Though she seemed fragile, shes fiery, vibrant as that autumn, strong and decisive, knowing her worth. Many courted her, but she chose only me. She shows her true self only to a few. She let me glimpse her thoughts. Thats how it is.

Do you ever argue? I ask.

Of course we do. Misunderstandings happen to everyone. You just have to address them quickly, otherwise they fester. Lifes too short to waste on grudges, George says. When we were younger Id give her the silent treatment for weeks if I felt cross. She suffered, and I realized those days of silence are like torn calendar pages blown away by wind they never return. So I learned to forgive and move on, turning the page.

Do you ever get angry at her? I probe.

Arthur finishes the chocolate and listens.

Its a strange feeling, George continues. I love Evelyn so much that I cant imagine life without her. Yet I get frustrated when she spends ages choosing an outfit a dress, a sweater, a pair of shoes and I stand there waiting. Who will help her dress? Who will bring her tea for her tablets? Were intertwined like roots. The worst thought is ending up alone in my final hours. My greatest fear is leaving her to face her remaining days alone. Shes my whole world, and Im hers.

He goes on to recall a time he fell ill with pneumonia. She braved a blizzard, slipped on icy streets, ran from pharmacy to pharmacy for antibiotics, warmed me with a damp cloth, gave me injections, fed me from a spoon and slipped warm socks on my feet. Dont say a word, she whispered, as she emerged from the shop with a new lipstick. They dont have the shade I need, she mutters, sounding like a woman without an age.

Why are you silent, love? Whats in your hand? Did you buy laundry powder? Hand me that bag, youve got frozen fingers. Let me warm them, George hustles, Lets get home, my dear disaster. Its lunchtime. See you later, Arthur! Mum, listen up.

We say our goodbyes. Arthur waves at the departing pair for a while.

Two people walk down the boulevard, but it feels like a single, united entity a world woven from tenderness, patience, empathy and love.

To love so delicately is true art, and it makes you want to reach for it. Do you agree?