Living Without Her Just Isn’t Possible

Im a stayathome mum and my little boy is two and a half. Every day we stroll down the high street of our tiny town, Ashford, and head for the playground. The route to that little patch of childhood bliss runs straight along the main road, with a row of shops on our right greengrocers, a corner store, a bakery. As I always do, I buy Jack a fresh poppyseed scone. We sit on a bench; Jack devours it with the greedy delight only a toddler can muster, and I finally get a few minutes to breathe.

I love watching the passersby on the boulevard. Its my favourite pastime to guess their jobs, their thoughts, their hopes, just by the way they walk, their clothes, their body language. Who are they? What are they dreaming of? Where are they hurrying to? I try to work it out.

A short distance away a familiar pair appears a dignified silverhaired gentleman, easily in his midseventies, and his companion, whose age I cant pin down. She looks somewhere between sixty and seventy, but Ill explain why I cant be certain. We see them almost every day, rain or shine, because were out with Jack all the time. Ive never caught her without fresh makeup; I cant bring myself to call her old lady. Her purse holds concealer, blush, mascara, eyeliner, neutral eyeshadows. She dyes her hair a light blonde and styles it in the everpopular shell updo. Shes a true fashionista Ive noticed dozens of her outfits. What catches my eye most are her hands. She visits the nail salon regularly, each time showing off a different manicure from classic French tips to a fierce scarlet flame. In my mind shes a dragonfly, always fluttering.

The couple often rests on the bench outside the shops, the same one we frequent. The womans name is Eleanor, and her husband is Harold.

Honestly, Eleanor, you cant be throwing chestnuts at pedestrians with your feet, Harold scolded her one afternoon. You could really hurt someone. How would you feel if a chestnut hit you?

Harriet! How can you say that? I only have fun with them in autumn! she laughed. Chestnuts, love, dont be cross, dear.

Harold softened. Alright, Ill buy you a rubber ball. Actually, a few balls you can play with them at home where you wont bother anyone, and Ill hide in the bathroom while you fling them.

Eleanor pouted. Harold, playing with a ball at home isnt the same thrill! Dont be angry, please. Ill walk the other side of the street if you dont like what Im doing. You can even pretend we dont know each other. She pressed her lips together in hurt and turned away.

Harold replied, Ill always keep an eye on you. Otherwise youll end up knocking on the police door in your old age, or Ill have to bring you your medicine myself. You know I make a hearty stew; you wont survive on your own. Ill forbid the children from visiting you so you remember to listen, you little rascal! No more sulking. Come here, my onionscented woe, and Ill hold you by the arm as if I were leading you to a sanatorium. Youre a proper little troublemaker!

I loved listening to their banter; it amazed me how such tenderness could survive past grey hair. They teased each other with a spicy, colourful flair.

It was always fascinating to watch the pair Eleanor would launch into an animated story, chatters, then perhaps give a little foottap; Harold would nod, chuckle, and gently support her elbow. What struck me most was the gentle, heartwarming affection that coloured everything they did. Their gazes, breaths, touches, smiles, movements, and thoughts were soaked in love and trust. When Eleanor held Harolds hand, looked into his eyes, pouted in a mockhuff, you could read boundless devotion. Harold, feigning irritation, would say, Watch your step, love, youre not as spry as you used to be. One slip and youll break a bone. What will I do then? And you wouldnt believe it they would kiss on that bench, strolling down the boulevard like teenage lovers, oblivious to anyone else, their faces lit with happiness, their hearts beating in unison. Their passion seemed timeless.

That morning the pair settled on the same bench again. I overheard:

Should I pop into the shop for that pastel lip gloss? Maybe therell be a discount. You coming with me? Eleanor asked Harold.

Go on, love, Ill wait for you here. Just dont buy them all leave some for the other girls, Harold replied with a smile.

Jack had finished his scone and waddled over to the bench where Harold sat. Harold slipped a small chocolate bar from his bag, handed it to him and asked, Whats your name, little man?

Jack, I said, thanking the man for the treat. Hes still learning to talk.

Jack crinkled the wrapper with delight.

Excuse my curiosity, I began, Ive watched you both for ages. How do you keep your relationship so warm? Please share your secret. My eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Harold fell silent, staring at his feet while leaves rustled beneath them. A gust of wind lifted the fallen foliage, swirling them in a dazzling dance before they settled reluctantly back onto the ground, as if reluctant to end their brief flight.

We met in autumn, about fiftyfive years ago, Harold started. Eleanor was walking through the park, gathering colourful leaves. Shed lean down at each one, smile, and tuck them into her coat. She wore a patchedup overcoat, a white beret, and worn shoes, yet she seemed radiant. In her pocket she kept a few pennies, and at home they survived on bread and mustard. She talked to the trees, brushed the blackeyed daisies and chrysanthemums. She was ethereal, like a fairy that stole my heart. She taught me to rejoice in life, every day, in any weather snow, rain, sunshine. Despite her delicate appearance, she was fiery, bright, as vivid as the autumn itself. Many admired her, but she chose only me. She shows her true self only to a few, but she let me into her thoughts. Thats how it is.

Do you ever argue? I asked.

Of course, Harold admitted. Disagreements happen to everyone. The key is to address them quickly, not let resentment linger. Lifes too short to waste on grudges. In my youth, Id give her the silent treatment for weeks; she suffered. I realised those days of anger are like calendar pages ripped away by the wind they never return. So I choose forgiveness, turn the page, and move on.

Do you ever get angry with her? I pressed.

Jack was still munching his chocolate, listening intently.

I love her so much I cant imagine life without her, Harold said, chuckling. Sometimes Im annoyed when she changes outfits three times before leaving the house. Who will help her dress, who will bring her tea for her tablets? Were rooted together. The worst thought is spending my final hours alone. Once I fell ill with pneumonia; she braved a snowstorm, visited several pharmacies, fetched the right antibiotics, wrapped me in a warm towel, gave me syrups, fed me with a spoon, and slipped warm socks on my feet. Shes my whole world, and Im hers.

Just then, a flushed Eleanor approached.

Harold, they dont have the shade of lipstick I need. Its either pink, red, or lilac none suit me, she said, almost melodramatically.

Why are you silent, love? What are you holding? The laundry detergent? Hand me that bag. Put on gloves, your fingers are turning to ice. Let me warm them before your joints ache again, Harold replied, bustling. Lets go home, my dear disaster. Lunchtime is near. See you later, Jack! Mum, listen up.

We all said goodbye. Jack waved at the departing pair for a long moment.

Two figures walked down the boulevard, appearing as one entity a world woven from tenderness, patience, empathy, and love.

To love so gently is an art, and its a privilege to witness it.

And so, the lesson is clear: true affection thrives when we cherish each others quirks, forgive quickly, and never take the fleeting moments together for granted.