After All by Chris Lloyd

Margaret, a spinster, mid-fifties, is at the kitchen sink washing up and looking out of the window. She is thinking of the passing of an acquaintance.

Well, of all the things I could think of, one of them was not watching that woman from number sixty-two parading herself on the arm of a swanky looking man in full daylight. Has she no common decency? No sense of grief? And she is wearing red shoes! What is the world coming to, I blame it on the television.

 

Mind you, I always knew it would come to this. I had a feeling when the funeral was on, not that I attended, not for all the tea in China. Not that I didn’t like the husband, no. It was more I that disliked her.

 

He was as regular as clockwork. Walked past me every morning at 7.45 on his way to the station and back in the evening at 5.55, always had a cheery smile for me. He worked in the city, Leeds, in one of the big banks, Midland, I think. I hear he was a big noise in property too. Their house is nice enough but not what you would call grand by any stretch of the imagination. They had a big garage built not long after they moved in but I don’t think they had a car. I often wondered why would they want a garage if there was no car.

 

That’s beside the point. The point is that her husband was cremated five days ago, five days and here she is wobbling along past my house in those big red heels, nose in the air. Then, I can’t believe it, she looks me straight in the eye while I’m drying up and waves to me. What was I to do? So I wave back, one of those sickly waves the Queen does when she’s in her carriage; it is all I could drum up.

Next thing I know she’s opened the gate and is coming down my path. I wish I’d weeded it yesterday but the rain…..

 

The door bell rings and there she is. I’ve still got my pinny on, for pity’s sake but she doesn’t appear to notice. Her fancy man continues along the street, bigger fish to fry no doubt. I show her in to the lounge and offer her a cup of tea. She declines and asks if I have anything more interesting. So, we sit there sipping sherry. It’s only ten o’clock!

 

She says, “Did you know my husband.”

I say, “No I did not, why do you ask?”

She says, “Are you sure?”

I’m wondering what the point is. I think I have only spoken to her twice in all the time they’ve lived here.

I say, “Yes I am sure. I can’t think of any reason I could know him. I mean I did see him every morning and evening on his way to and from work. I wouldn’t call that “knowing” anybody, would you?”

She says, “Well it makes more sense now.”

I say, “More sense? Why does it make more sense? Is there something I should know about?”

She says, “Yes there is. I hope there’s more Sherry.”

 

She eyes me up and down, stands up and says. “My late husband died before his time and it was a big shock to all who knew him. We didn’t have children, a car or any extravagant luxuries. Not even shoes until now……”

I say, “Excuse me, but what is this to do with me? I don’t know how I can help you.”
I don’t like being spoken to when I’m sitting and the other person is standing but it seemed rude to stand, even though she had done so first.

She says, “If you listen to me you will realise why I’m asking you about you and my husband.”

The cheek of it. I say, “Me and your husband? I’m not going to listen to any more of this drivel, I have already said I did not know him.” I stand up. “Please be good enough to leave my house.”

She says, “Be like that if you wish. You will be hearing from my solicitor shortly.”

She walks out without another word. Solicitors, of all the things to say. I could have had a shock. I realise I am shaking. I pour a little more Sherry and sit down at the table and wracked my brain trying to remember if her husband and me did more than pass the time of day, he didn’t even stop to chat. I was at a loss. I set on cleaning and dusting but still wondering what that woman really wants. Not her husband, that was obvious. I finish the cleaning and start to think about lunch. Then I remember it is bill paying week. The cheque book avoids my search in all the drawers. Then I remember I’d used the last cheque. Another thing to do! I make a note to go to the bank tomorrow.

 

Somehow, I feel disturbed by this morning’s meeting with Miss red shoes. There is something niggling at the back of my mind but I can’t put my finger on it. I take the Sherry and glass and retire to the sitting room to see if I can make head or tail of “me and your husband.”

I wake up at a quarter to four with the Sherry bottle empty and the glass upside down in my lap. I didn’t know what to think and was no nearer to remembering anything about that woman’s husband. I decide to make a cheese and cress sandwich and go for a brisk walk around the park to feed the ducks and watch the kiddies playing in the sand.  As soon as I walk through the gates, I see that woman and her fancy man. I turned away but she sees me. She and him run across to me; I feel as if I’ve been ambushed. I notice the red shoes are swapped for a pair of suede court shoes.  All show, I thought so.

 

She says, “Look I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t handle the situation very well.”

I say, “I still don’t know what you want to know. You said I would hear from your solicitor. I am happy to await his letter.”

She says, “Would you come to dinner tonight. I do have something I want to discuss.”

That put me in a quandary. Dinner in someone else’s house? I din’t know what to do or say. I’d never been to another house for any food let alone dinner. Obviously, my house was my parents’ house but that was different. I wondered what Mam would say now.

Anyway I say, nice and natural, “That is very nice of you, Mrs Lund, I am pleased to accept.”

Nice as you like she says, “Shall we see you at seven thirty?”

I say, not believing it’s me speaking, it must be the Sherry, “Yes you shall, I am never late.”

She says, “Neither was my husband.”

 

There it was. The simple thing that linked me and her husband. I could see that she knew that I had caught on.

 

I say, “See you at seven thirty.”

 

I walk towards the gate before she could say anything else. I knew now what it was all about, not that there was any wrong doing or hanky-panky. Every morning him and me checked our watches as we crossed each other’s path. We’d take turns in saying the time and the one that didn’t say it set their watch to the other. Same in the evening. We were fastidious about this for years. It must have been the same for him as me. We must have felt the same joy of a very simple and brief act of friendship with someone who understood why it was a joy. In the whole of our “relationship” the time we were together must have added up to mere minutes. I feel tears on my cheek and hurry towards home.

 

I press the doorbell at exactly seven thirty. I needn’t have bothered. She opens it as I press. As I go through the door the fancy man takes my coat and hangs it over the bannister then shows me in to the dining room. There are just two places. He pulls a chair out and I sit down. He does the same for Mrs Lund.

 

She says, “Welcome to my home, though it was Adrian’s really. I was simply a woman he was married to. I hope you enjoy dinner. François is a master chef, or so he tells me!”

She laughs at this and I must admit to a titter myself.

 

The dinner is not as plain as I like my food but it is very tasty. We drink some wine and talk.

 

I say, “That was wonderful, Mrs Lund, I’m full. Thank you. Now, I think we both know that my relationship with your husband was nothing but a quirky little routine that continued for quite a long time by two people who were obsessed with time keeping. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She says, “Yes, I believe that to be the case but the reason I came to see you was not about that. Adrian was like that with everything. The reason he didn’t drive was because the train was almost always on time but he allowed for possible lateness. Whereas the roads always had long delays and he just couldn’t cope with that. He always walked into his office at precisely five to nine every day. But I have to tell you something else.”

I say, “That sounds ominous.” As soon as I say it, I wished I hadn’t. She continued

“Adrian was a very good judge regarding investments. The same attitude as not being late and his attention to detail meant that his investments have done very well. He invested something for you.”

I say, “Me? Why did he do that?” I am starting to feel nervous again.

Then she says, “Because you were the only person who he thought was the same as him, the same perspective on life driven by time. So, he managed your investment very well. It stands at one hundred and forty thousand pounds in round figures.”

I say, “What? Did I hear that right? How on earth did he do that. I can’t take that sort of money from you, it’s wrong.” My head is spinning.

She says, “But you have to. He wanted to ensure you had, what he termed, your rightful money. If you don’t accept it, I will not be able to access the other investments. You have me at a disadvantage, don’t you see?”

I am flummoxed and don’t know what to do so I say, “Is that what the solicitor was going to say?”

She says that it was so we talk it through and decide to get it all organised at the bank at ten thirty in the morning. 

 

At precisely 10.30 we both walk in to the bank then both of us walk out very much wealthier than when we went in. The time is precisely 11.45, time to catch the 12.15 home.

 

We celebrate Adrian’s success in the garage where no car had ever been but wherein sits his collection of time pieces from around the world.

 

I say to myself as I look at all of the watches and clocks, “I bet this lot goes to auction.”

I say to her, “What are you going to do with all these?”

She says, “I don’t know yet. I wasn’t allowed in here this is my first time. I suppose I will get them auctioned. I have something for you.”

 

She reaches in to her bag and gives me a box. I don’t know what I should do.

She says, “This is the watch he wore every day I knew him.  I am sure you will recognise it. I want you to have it. It means more to you than me.”

This generosity overwhelms me and I start to cry.

She puts her arm round me and says, “His watch will make you think of him and the times you spent together. I am not jealous in the least, in fact it’s thanks to seeing you every day that he tolerated me. I truly loved him but he didn’t get that.”

I am speechless. I nod and hug her too. François brings my coat and walks me home.

 

I sit at the kitchen table holding his watch and kiss it. Perhaps I did love him a little, after all.