Solid, dependable, unexciting. Nothing ever happens to people like me, which is why today has been a bit of an eye-opener.
I’ve just put the phone down. Everyone complains about this country, but when it comes to emergency services, they’re still only a phone call away. I need them because of poor George, you see. When I came back from shopping, there he was, lying in agony at the foot of the stairs. Arms, legs, neck and back not lining up as they should, looked like a broken puppet, he did. In a proper state he was. And so was I, I can tell you.
Forty-five years we’ve been married, and never a cross word. You ask our neighbours. George has always done everything for me. I’ve never worked; he wouldn’t have any of that nonsense. Firmly believed in a woman’s place being in the home, did George. Well, apart from going to get the shopping, because that’s woman’s work, that and the cooking and cleaning and such like. Liked to come home to a proper cooked meal in a clean house did George. Old-fashioned values, that’s what he’s always stood for, except now, of course, he’ll never stand again. Poor George.
I nearly joined one of those courses they advertise at the library, but George wasn’t too keen on the idea. It was all about computers. I expect he was right; I’m not really bright enough to learn anything complicated like that. I like reading though, always have a book on the go, I do.
I wonder if I should put the kettle on. The ambulance men might like a cuppa. I bought some chocolate biscuits this morning as well, never dreaming I’d come home to this. George’s favourites they are.
Such a shock it was to see him lying there. Did I already say that? In agony he was. When I looked at him, and remembered all the times he’d finished my sentences, saying he knew me better than I knew myself, well my heart was wrung, I can tell you. He tells folk I can’t think for myself, but I did this morning. Pretty quick my thinking was too.
Anyway, I mustn’t dither any longer; I can hear a siren. I’d better put the cushion back on the sofa, and make everything tidy. If I stare at the light long enough my eyes will start to water, it’ll look like I’m crying. Poor old girl, they’ll say. Gone to pieces she has. How sad to lose her husband like that.
I don’t need to worry; nobody will bother to look too closely. George did though; he looked very closely at the cushion, but couldn’t move his head to avoid it. That’s what comes of letting women read books, he’d have said. If he’d had the chance to say anything at all, that is.
