Afternoon tea for two
Fifty years married.
Hardly a day spent apart in all that time, except for that week when he had to stay over in that godforsaken hotel in Aberystwyth for a conference. Oh and of course, how could he forget that time that Bet had to visit her mum when she had fallen and broken her arm. She had only been gone a fortnight and in that time he had managed to ruin two saucepans, kill her favourite indoor plant by over watering and incur a fine from the library by forgetting to return Pride and Prejudice.
He leaned forward and tenderly touched her face. Bet raised her head, looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes, even though pale and rheumy with age, were still blue and as pretty as the day he had first met her fifty three years earlier. Paul took Bet’s hand in his and stroked it gently. It was warm to the touch although the skin was dry and looked like parchment. Her wedding ring hung loosely on the third finger of her left hand where it had been ever since the day Paul had placed it there in the small village church all those years ago.
“When are we going”? Bet’s voice broke the heavy silence.
“Soon my darling – just waiting for the taxi. “ Paul looked away.
Tears welled in his eyes. He could not see. He was remembering last night. Bet had slept in his arms and silent tears had fallen onto her white hair but she had not seen or even felt them.
“Will it be a long journey, Paul?” she asked breaking the spell.
He knelt down in front of her and cupped her face in his hands, blinking rapidly.
“About two hours. We will arrive in time for afternoon tea,” he replied, suddenly remembering a time on their honeymoon when they had stopped at a little teashop hidden in the back streets of a sleepy Norfolk village. They had shared a pot of Indian tea and a plate of cakes so buttery and flaky that even now just thinking about them made his mouth water. “I am so looking forward to it” she said suddenly grasping his hands tightly, her eyes shining so brightly that he believed for a few seconds that everything would be alright. However just as suddenly her grip slackened, her head dropped slowly to her chest and Paul’s hopes faded once more.
Paul squeezed her hands sadly, released them and then walked to the window reaching it just as the taxi drew up.
“It’s time sweetheart,” he said turning back to the wheelchair that held his wife and gently pushed it out of their home for the last time. The driver took Bet to the taxi as Paul went back into the house to collect her suitcase. How could he tell her that he would not be staying with her, that he was sending her to a place where she would be cared for far better than he could now manage. The Alzheimer’s was taking its toll on him as well.
Paul climbed in beside his wife and gently put his arm around her shoulders. The taxi was moving. In a few hours he would have to say goodbye but not just yet. First they would have afternoon tea.
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