D-DAY

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Calm. Surprisingly calm, considering.’

A seagull overhead gave a raucous squawk as if in derisive disbelief. The pair of them walked on slowly until they reached the familiar spot, a gentle hollow at the highest point of the cliff.

‘Here?’

‘Yes, this is the place, isn’t it? Most suitable.’

It had a special meaning for them. A painful, tender memory.

He pulled the tartan rug from the basket and laid it with care, avoiding thistles and some sheep droppings, quite close to the edge. This had to be right. He helped her to sit; she moved with discomfort and increasing pain these days; it had been a shockingly swift deterioration since her diagnosis just a few months ago. Then he lowered himself to sit next to her and took out the bottle of warming prosecco with the two plastic goblets they’d brought. He’d wanted to buy real champagne and cut-glass flutes but she said she didn’t want any fuss and it would be such a waste. He popped the plastic stopper from the bottle and she held the glasses as he poured. There was a bit of a fizz.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘To us, Mary.’

‘To us, Edgar. Happy anniversary.’

They chinked as best they could and sipped.

‘Is happy the right word?’ he said, staring down into the sparse bubbles.

‘Oh, I think so,’ she replied. ‘Yes, happy fits the bill as far as I’m concerned. And you, dear, happy?’

Mary looked at him in that artless way she had, seemingly innocent while loading her expression with deep implication. She’d done it since the day they met on the boating lake. ‘So, Edgar Barnwell,’ she’d said with a cheeky smirk. ‘Tell me all the things your friends don’t know about you.’ And he’d heard that bubbling arpeggio of laughter for the first time. He was captivated.

It was sixty years ago; how could that be? He still felt like a young man in many ways, apart from the catalogue of pains, aches, scars and conditions that required daily medication. Nothing compared to her problems, of course. And that was the thing, wasn’t it, the nub of it all? The reason for all this… subterfuge.

He was aware of taking too long to answer. And time was short.

‘Happy,’ he said with a shrug, ‘is there such a thing? Moments of joy and delight, wonder and intrigue. Like beads threaded onto a necklace. But do they add up to a state of happiness?’

‘Oh, Edgar.’ Mary gave the smallest shake of her head. ‘Can’t you give me that, even now?’

‘Sorry,’ he said and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. The dramatic weight loss had bestowed a stark beauty to her features. ‘Yes, of course I can. I’m happy.’

He hoped the words didn’t ring hollow but knew they did. Mary was typically tactful in letting it pass. He took another sip; this stuff really was bland and he hated the way the flimsy plastic bent under his fingers. Poor form for such a momentous occasion. But here we are, he thought. It is what it bloody well is.

‘Who’d have guessed?’ Mary said. Edgar waited for more but the thought trailed away. She was gazing out to sea with a serene expression that surely disguised an inner turbulence. Possibly not. These were such unchartered waters that anything could be true.

‘It’s odd really,’ Edgar said, his voice louder than he intended, ‘Odd how… alive I feel. Yes, that’s it, alive.’

‘Who’d have thought it would come to this? Or guessed how it would feel? You know, Edgar, in a way we’re very lucky.’

‘Lucky?’ He wanted to add: are you mad? But he refrained.

‘Well, who else would have the… the privilege of such a… such a life enhancing moment?’

‘Life enhancing? Are you mad?’ He couldn’t resist.

‘Maybe I am. But to any casual observer, dear, you’d be the one judged as a bit… well, unconventional.’ She gave him that indulgent smile which had melted his heart on countless occasions. The one that made him feel loved to his very core. The one without which he refused to live.

‘This is somewhat of a let-down, isn’t it?’ Mary was swilling her drink and pulling a face. ‘I should have let you get champagne. But it was so expensive.’

‘Aren’t we worth it?’

‘We are, dear, we certainly are.’ Now it was Mary’s turn to lean in and press her lips to his. He puckered up to receive the kiss and took her hand. For a minute or so they looked out across the dark waters, as they had done hundreds of times before. But never with this feeling. The sun was pleasant, not too strong, and the breeze was there but soft, caressing them as the grassy hollow cradled their fragile bones.   

‘We’ve got the perfect day for it, haven’t we?’ said Mary, tilting her head back to receive the sunshine on her face. ‘You can never be sure in May. Imagine if it had been raining, that would have been so grim. This way it’s a celebration. Of us, of everything we have been. And still are.’

Edgar looked at his wife and felt a surge of adoration that began in his guts, emanated through every fibre of him to his fingertips and seeped from his pores. He felt he must reek of love.

‘Are we..? Are we both..?’ She struggled to say it but didn’t need to. He knew.

‘Yes. We are. One hundred percent certain.’

‘Of course. It’s just that… if you… you know…’

‘I know, Mary, I know. We’ve been through it all from top to bottom, every detail. It’s what we want. What we both want. Oh, unless you - ?’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s the right thing, the decent thing. The best thing. Another joint decision like all the others we’ve made. Not quite like the others, though. This is certainly a first.’

‘And a last,’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ she echoed, the truth hanging in the air. She turned her head to study him. ‘Sixty years, Edgar.’

‘Sixty years, Mary. We’ve been a good team, haven’t we?’

‘No.’ He looked shocked, as she intended. But she was teasing him. ‘Not good. Brilliant. For richer and poorer, better or worse.’

‘In sickness and in health.’

‘That’s us. My sickness, your health. It still seems… extravagant. Something of a waste. But,’ she went on quickly, seeing he was about to protest, ‘I won’t try to dissuade you. Not any more. I respect your choice and I’m deeply, deeply touched by it.’

‘I have no life without you, my darling,’ Edgar said, surprised at how tearful he felt.

‘The ultimate sacrifice,’ said Mary, patting his hand. ‘You are sweet. Thank you. I can never repay your kindness.’ She giggled like a girl. ‘What an absurd thing to say!’

‘We’ve had plenty of laughter,’ Edgar said. ‘We always got there in the end, whatever storms we weathered.’

‘We found ways to get through the nonsense, didn’t we?’

‘We did, we always did. You know, Mary, we may not have made a fortune or had big careers, yachts, any of that stuff. All the razzmatazz, that show of success but – ’

‘That’s not success, Edgar, not really.’

‘And as for family…’ With that word he darkened the mood a shade. 

‘No.’ Mary joined him there. ‘We tried and we weren’t successful. We were unlucky. Poor Lawrence. But we came through that tragedy, even that, together.’

‘We did.’ He watched a butterfly dance around a tuft of pink thrifts. ‘And yet, I still wonder… should we have, you know? Done something… else… different?’

‘We did what we were capable of.’

‘Tried again? Adopted? ’

‘Ssh, now. Let it go. We’ve been a team of two. Which makes today so much easier. Imagine if we were having to include children and grandchildren in the equation. They wouldn’t understand. They’d try to stop us.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. Even so, it’s hard not to look back and think: did I get it right?’

‘I suspect right and wrong aren’t the best criteria when assessing a life. Did we enjoy it, live well?’

‘Oh, we did,’ said Edgar. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘We did. And we still are, even now, to the final second. My funny bear.’

‘My poppet.’

‘We’ve had integrity, courage, compassion. Wonderful friends and interesting jobs that gave us the chance to visit exciting places. Remember Belgium? What fun that was!’

‘Somehow all I can see are the things missing. What we didn’t do, didn’t have, didn’t say.’

‘Bottle half empty? That’s so you, dear. And I’m – ’

‘You’re not just bottle half full, Mary. You’re: nothing in the damn thing but isn’t it a beautiful piece of glass?’

She laughed but felt the edge of irritation in his tone.

‘I’m sorry if my optimism has been hard for you.’ She meant it, not in a petty way.

‘No, no,’ he retreated from any minor skirmish and rubbed his thumb on her arm, skinny now where once it had been plump. ‘Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to…’

‘It’s all right.’

‘We don’t need any – ’

‘No, not now.’

‘Let’s make this perfect, my love. The way we planned it, what we agreed.’

‘Yes...’ She dragged out the syllable a jot too long.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She left a tiny pause. ‘I was just thinking…’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, if you feel there are parts missing in your life, things you haven’t done that you still want to – ’

‘No.’

‘I won’t be upset, Edgar. My time is coming to an end but if you choose to carry on and have the experiences you crave – ’

‘I don’t.’

‘Go to the places we never did. Sydney, Marrakesh – ’

‘Ssh, Mary, please.’

‘You can still live!’

‘Stop it! I don’t want a life without you. I’ve told you and I’m telling you again. I’m going with you. We do this together.’

Again he heard his voice raised and was disappointed. This should be a haven of serenity.

‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry.’

Edgar breathed deeply, inhaling the salty tang of the sea. He gazed out towards the horizon: the distant windfarm he’d hated at first for limiting the vastness of the ocean, before developing a grudging fondness for it. Sunlight was glinting off a couple of container ships far off; closer to the shore a wet-suited surfboarder was scudding across the glittering surface and a couple in a canoe headed in the opposite direction, their paddling in synch like a creature crawling. He could hear the happy cries of children scrambling about far below, searching pools for treasures to carry home. He had a stab of doubt but reminded himself they’d chosen this spot because of the inaccessibility of the rocks immediately below. That and the other thing.  

Tomorrow the windmills will still turn, Edgar thought. The canoeists will paddle, the surfer will scud, the children will splash and shout. But he and Mary would not be here to witness their lives.

He poured some more prosecco for them both and they drank, maintaining eye contact, complicit. The bottle would be empty soon and then..? Was that the moment? They’d have to leave glasses, bottle, rug and basket here. Well, it was neat, not really litter. A gift for some lucky holidaymaker. The letters at home would take care of the administrative side of everything, meter readings, newspaper deliveries cancelled and so on. They’d been meticulous, trying to leave as little mess as possible. Apart from the obvious. But this was their decision. Danish and Swiss clinics were so fraught with cost and bureaucracy; reliable drugs to do the deed were illegal and might not even achieve the desired end; trying to drown would be fraught with panic; stepping into the path of a train would traumatise others. No, this leap into oblivion had come top of both their lists as the preferred option.  

Now it was minutes away.

‘I feel close to Lawrence,’ Mary said. Her eyes were closed and a gentle smile lifted her lips.

‘Yes. I know what you mean.’

‘There’s a lovely coherence to being here for our farewell. A harmony, if you like.’

‘It’s logical,’ Edgar said, taking it from heart to head as usual.

‘Do you remember the day we scattered his ashes here?’

‘Of course. This very spot.’

‘The wind whisked him up and away, not down. I found that strangely… satisfying sounds wrong but…’

‘Did it?’ said Edgar. ‘I don’t recall.’

‘No? Ah well.’

Edgar heard voices. Or rather, he noticed Mary angle her head on registering a sound. Even in the dying days of sickness her hearing was better than his.

‘Be careful, don’t go too near the edge,’ a woman was calling, not far behind him. ‘It’s treacherous up here. Oh!’

‘Hello Virginia,’ Mary said pleasantly, looking over Edgar’s shoulder.

‘Mary Barnwell. And Edgar. How lovely to see you both.’ The woman drew close to them, flushed by her exertions. ‘No, please, don’t get up.’ She saw Edgar shift his weight and didn’t realise he had no intention of doing so. ‘My, my, it’s quite a climb. I’d forgotten. A soul could get quite dizzy with the height. But such a magnificent view. And a super place for your picnic. Aha, champagne. A celebration?’

‘It’s our anniversary,’ said Mary.

‘Congratulations. Ah, now, this is my grandson, Noah. He’s staying for a few days while his mummy and daddy get -  well, never mind. Say hello to my friends, Noah.’

‘’Lo,’ the child mouthed over his shoulder.

‘Not near the edge! Whatever would I tell your -? Anyway, Mary, how are  you?’

‘I’m not bad, thank you, Virginia.’

‘Really? Are you really?’ Her eyes crinkled up and she oozed sympathy. ‘It must be so… I can’t imagine.’

‘I’m fine. Soon all will be well.’

‘I do hope so. You’re looking… um…’

‘Better keep an eye on young Noah,’ Edgar said with a nod.

‘Oh good lord. Noah, come away from there! Well, I should go. See you both at French conversation on Thursday.’

Edgar smiled. Mary said, ‘We’ll see.’

‘It’s at Madelaine Seaton’s house this week. And she makes lovely cheese scones. Noah, wait for Granny!’

The silence reclaimed them, wrapping around their vulnerability, as Virginia scuttled away, grabbing her grandson’s hand and tugging him to safety.

How long now? One more glass.

‘Should we..?’ Edgar almost whispered.

‘Hm?’ Mary seemed distracted, lost in private contemplation. ‘Should we what, dear?’

‘Should we… say something?’

‘Say what? Like wedding vows only… marking the conclusion of our marriage, like bookends? I say, that’s a jolly idea.’

‘I’m not sure about jolly.’

‘Oh, come along Edgar. We don’t need to be all doom and gloom about this. We’ve decided it’s time to call it a day, chosen our exit route, the time and location. How many people have as much control over their ending? We’re doing a splendid job and can celebrate our amazing achievement.’ She must have seen his quizzical expression. ‘Seriously.’

‘But we haven’t chosen the timing,’ he persisted, a peevish note in his voice. ‘It’s been dictated by your bloody cancer.’

‘That’s the external factor, true. But we all have to go of something one day. It’s how we’ve reacted to the illness that’s the key. Once Doctor Samri told us there was no point in further chemo we seized the initiative, became masters of our fate. Master and mistress. That’s what we can be so proud of. It takes courage and commitment. Better this than rotting away in an armchair on a drip.’

‘You are wise as always and I hate disagreeing with you. I’m just sad that we can’t have more of the same. There’s Lottie O’Brien still compos mentis  at ninety-one.’

‘Ninety-two now, bless her.’

‘There you go. Another ten years, is that too much to ask?’

‘It seems that it is. The staff at the Marsden have been kind but unequivocal. It’s my turn, Edgar. Such a lottery, isn’t it?’

‘We never won that either. What a waste of two pounds a week.’

‘But we had the excitement of checking, the potential of becoming wealthy. That was worth it, surely?’

‘Always so positive. You really are lovely and I’ve been the luckiest man in the world.’

‘Oh, Edgar.’

She glimpsed a dampness in his eyes and wondered if he was going to cry. She hoped not; that would make it all so much more… well, tragic. The last thing she wanted.

‘So,’ she said, as matter of fact as the occasion would allow. ‘What speech would you like to give? Gosh, have you prepared something, because I haven’t.’

‘No. I merely thought, is there anything left unsaid? Something we want to get off our chest before it’s too late? People talk about unburdening themselves.’

‘A deathbed confession?’ said Mary guardedly, conscious of having used the d-word and regretting it. ‘Oh dear, that sounds ominous.’ She gave a slight laugh but it was mirthless. ‘Is this going to be a big, dramatic scene that alters everything in the final moments, like that film we saw with, who was it, Spencer Tracy and Whatsername?’

‘Audrey Hepburn. No, of course not. I have no great secrets from you, surely you know that.’

‘I do.’

‘It’s more a question of clearing the slate, tying up loose ends. If there are any.’

They held a gaze, half-smiles on both their faces. For long seconds, neither blinked. Mary looked beyond the creases in Edgar’s skin, past the soft jaw line, the rheumy eyes and greyish skin hue of the present; she connected with the dashing young blade she’d set her cap at a lifetime ago and won. She realised yet again what a charmed existence it had been and what a truly magnificent final act they were about to create.

‘Katharine,’ he said. ‘Not Audrey. Katharine Hepburn.’

‘Ah.’

‘Best get things right.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Neater. You first, then. Say your piece.’

Edgar cleared his throat.

‘Mary,’ he said. ‘Mary, my beautiful wife.’

‘Oh, please.’

‘You are. Beautiful inside and out. I have to confess…’

Uh-oh, she thought, here it comes. Why was he doing this, and now?

‘… that I wasn’t always as devoted as I might have been. Sometimes I’ve taken you for granted. Talked over you. Frequently - no, let me finish.’ He saw that she wanted to object and held up a finger. ‘It’s your turn next.’

Mary nodded. Really, was this necessary?

‘I’ve made decisions without consulting you and that was selfish of me. Remember when we built the extension and I had those cupboards fitted without discussion? They were terrible; you’d never have chosen them. And the pond, that ridiculous pond I dug as a birthday surprise while you were away seeing your parents? A disaster. It ruined that corner of the garden and the stupid fountain was just embarrassing.’

‘It wasn’t that – oh, sorry.’

‘So many times I was unkind. Not with deliberate intent, casually. I don’t know if that makes it worse or better. I let you do too much of the housework, far too much. I didn’t help often enough. But the main thing…’ He bit his top lip with the lower one and the white hairs of his moustache made a little crackling sound, audible even over the gentle breeze. ‘The main thing is that…’ Now he looked away from Mary to the horizon. ‘Lawrence.’

She knew it would come to this. How could it not? The great event of both their lives.

‘When Lawrence died… I didn’t know how to… how to comfort you. It was all too… I was overwhelmed. Knocked for six. You never think your own child… still a baby… I couldn’t find the… the…’

Mary remained silent, waiting for him to look back at her. It took a long time. When he did there were tears brimming in his eyes. She put her hands to his face, hoping to transmit all the love and forgiveness he needed. It was no hardship for her.

A gull landed not far off, its beak a startling orange, and waddled towards them. Seeing no sign of food it paused, turned, took a few steps and launched itself off the edge of the cliff, as if in some augury of their own plan.

‘So, if ever I’ve let you down,’ Edgar said, ‘No, whenever I have, I’ve regretted my thoughtlessness and wished I could have been a better husband to you.’

Mary let the moment unfold. Had he finished? Was that the extent of his confession after sixty years? Cupboards, a pond and interruption? Good lord.

‘Oh, and one other thing…’

She took a breath. Here it comes.

‘Yes, dear?’

‘There was that time on holiday in Gibraltar. We’d gone to try to, you know. After Lawrence. Recover. A new start. You remember.’

‘I do.’ Only too well.

‘It wasn’t exactly…’

‘No. It was…’

‘Tense. Awkward.’

‘We were struggling. Not sure how to… who to be, I suppose.’

‘My overriding memory is that I was - ’

‘Edgar, we don’t have to do this, you know. It’s not necessary.’

‘I think it is.’

‘But if it’s not… helpful. Not healthy…’

‘Please, my poppet. It’s been on my…. the back of my mind, my conscience, for so long. This is my chance, a final chance, to make amends. Wipe the slate clean.’

‘Oh, very well. If you must.’

Edgar looked at Mary, searching her face for something he wasn’t seeing.

‘Are you angry with me?’

‘No, Edgar, not angry. Just… Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t want these final moments we have together to be about… anything bad.’

‘It’s not a bad thing, my love, it’s an apology. That’s good, isn’t it? A suitable tone for our conclusion.’

‘Perhaps. Let’s see. I’m listening.’ How many thousands of times had she chosen the passive path of conciliator, subordinated her own needs and given Edgar space to express his? Not that she resented it, not greatly. But she was, at the least, aware of a familiar dynamic.  

‘There was a day when you made a real effort to… to re-engage with me. Help us to see each other fully again. To – ’

‘Yes, I did.’ She remembered how she’d bought new underwear from the Freeman’s catalogue for that trip. How she’d insisted on them having cocktails before dinner at the restaurant by the harbour, allowing the Portuguese waiter to flirt meaninglessly with her, having a bottle of wine with their meal and even a brandy afterwards. Back in the room she’d undressed to show him the skimpy nylon items and made a clumsy attempt at seduction.

‘I wasn’t kind, Mary.’

No, he’d been frank in expressing his revulsion, describing her as behaving ‘like some cheap tart from the council estate’. Which hurt. And saying she was ‘defiling Lawrence’s memory’. Which felt unfair. But Mary hadn’t challenged him; she’d put her clothes back on and left the room, staying away until the morning when she’d slunk back, changed and gone to breakfast.

Nothing more had been said, that day or ever since. It was over fifty years before but the events of the evening retained the power to shock her. The moments they both remembered and those that only she did.

‘It was a long time ago,’ Mary said. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

‘I said some harsh, awful things.’

‘Did you? Let’s not rake that all up, dear. Look at that bird, is it a jay?’

‘I wanted to say that it was my fault for not… I saw what you were trying to do but I couldn’t… I was still…’

‘We weren’t in the same rhythm, were we? But it was only temporary. We soon got back on track.’

‘Thank you,’ said Edgar. ‘For being so understanding. Kind and generous and loyal, as you’ve always been. Even when my words have hurt you.’

‘Water off this old duck’s back,’ she joked. ‘Silly old sausage.’

They shared a dry kiss and Mary stroked Edgar’s hair. It was thinner than it used to be and more white than brown now but still impressive.

The jay – if it was a jay – had flown off. Edgar poured the last of the prosecco. There were no bubbles now.

‘So,’ he said innocuously. ‘That’s me.’

‘Rightie-ho.’ She smiled back at him, her mind racing.

‘Your turn, dear.’

‘My turn?’

‘Do you have anything you want to say?’

Oh dear, thought Mary. Oh dear, oh dear.

‘Do I? Let me see…’

Where to begin? The obvious place was that night he’d referred to, at the Plaza Hotel in Gibraltar. When she’d got a bit tiddly, embarrassed them both with her silly striptease and offer of – she could still hear her slurred tones decades later – ‘the best bloody blow job you’ve ever had’. His disgust was so explicit she could find no way to climb down with dignity, hence her swift exit with some bravado line thrown at him about ‘going where I’m appreciated’, whatever that meant. She was squiffy and in soap opera mode; she didn’t care about making sense.

Mary had staggered to the lift, slumped against the wall and emerged into the brightly-lit lobby. More to avoid the amused glances of the staff at reception than with any purpose, she had clip-clopped on her silly fuck-me pumps across the marble floor and into the balmy night. Some instinct propelled her down Rosia Road – she remembered the name still – to the restaurant where they’d eaten an hour earlier.

And there he was. The waiter who’d played a silly game of flirtation. The sort of thing he did with all female tourists. It meant nothing.

Or did it?

He welcomed her back, sat her at the bar and brought her drinks. Coffee first, which she needed. And then wine, which she wanted. He told her his name was Javier and that his shift finished in half an hour. Would she like a walk by the sea?

She would.

She would like more than that.

So would he.

They walked. They kissed. They groped a bit and tried to talk in broken English and two words of Portuguese: obrigada and linda. She thought he was getting her name wrong and corrected him. He thought she was being modest and corrected her.

‘Linda is… bella. You – bella, linda.’

‘Beautiful? Me? Oh, no.’

But it was good to hear. They went back to his room. It was a tiny place with a single bed but their lust was enough. Javier said he found Mary’s underwear sexy – a word that worked in any language - and she gave him what she’d offered Edgar. He smelled of cooking fat and aniseed and tasted non-specifically exotic. He kissed her in places she’d never been kissed before and obrigada was constantly on her lips. When his penis entered her Mary gasped at the outrageousness of their adventure. He thought he’d crossed a line but she reassured him it was what she wanted him to do.

‘Am I behaving like some cheap tart from the council estate?’ she asked herself. ‘Defiling Lawrence’s memory?’ Her answers were a defiant yes and a resilient no.

The cavorting lasted longer than anything similar with Edgar ever had. And included far more variety. They explored each other’s bodies hungrily, whispering and moaning. It was intense yet playful, a shared process to be savoured to the full. Javier assumed control, sensing Mary’s inexperience, and moved her around gently so he could take and give pleasure but always with her consent. He kissed the backs of her knees and licked her neck. He caressed her soft belly, which she could hardly believe he enjoyed, and sucked her earlobes as if they were fruit.

Mary gave in entirely. As she sobered up it crossed her mind in neon letters a foot high that she SHOULD NOT BE DOING THIS. But she carried on.

She fell asleep in Javier’s arms and woke to find him snoring, his open mouth slack and moist. I must go now, she thought. But she snuggled deeper into his arms and gave his handsome nose a soft kiss.

The next time Mary woke it was light and Javier was dressing by the window.

‘Ah, bom dia, Señora Marie,’ he said as if this had been the most ordinary thing in the world. It probably was for him.

‘Hello. What time is it?’ She checked the watch still on her wrist.

‘Você dorme. Eu vo. Mas vodê fica.’

‘I have to get back to the hotel. My husband will…’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Thank you, Javier. You are a very nice man. I had a lovely time.’ Their mutual understanding covered only body language so after she’d pulled on her silly underwear, even sillier now in daylight, and the rest of her clothes, she gave him a strong hug and a farewell kiss. ‘Obrigada,’ she said. ‘You linda too. Très, très obrigada.’ And left the room.

Walking along the narrow streets, her clacky heels noisy on the cobbles, she was sure anyone seeing her had a pretty accurate idea of what she’d been up to. And did she give a fig? She did not.

Edgar didn’t ask where she’d been and Mary didn’t say. The matter was closed. She washed away the scent of aniseed and deceit; she put the underwear in a bin on the cleaner’s trolley. After resisting the temptation for several weeks, she wrote to Javier care of the hotel, hoping a colleague might translate for him. A thank you note; nothing too saucy. She received no reply.

But the night with Javier was significant in another way. Mary realised how much she desired what he had offered. She discovered, too, how simple it was to find again. Over subsequent years she took more lovers. Some for one night only and others for months and even years. At times they overlapped. Not more than one on any occasion - she had some standards - but if Alan was out of the country on business Mary would give Vernon a ring. Or when Terrence had logistical difficulties meeting up because of his daughter’s anorexia, she’d see if Sanjay was free. She was the epitome of discretion at all times, fearful of causing Edgar any pain. The most recent of her beaux  had been quite recently, a cultured widower in his seventies who liked to be called Mr Errey. But when her pancreas had let her down, only four months ago, she called a halt to her galivanting and concentrated on this shared project with Edgar. It seemed only right.

‘Let me see…’ A deep breath. ‘Yes, Edgar, I do have confessions as well.’

‘Good. I want us both to be… clean when we go.’

‘Indeed. Well… Sometimes I did give myself the bigger portion of ice-cream at dinner.’

‘I knew that.’

‘Did you? You never said.’

‘I didn’t mind. What else?’

‘Um… I hid that hideous purple jacket you bought and said you must have put it in the charity bag by mistake.’

‘I loved that jacket!’

‘I know. But it really was a bad choice. It didn’t suit you at all. It’s still in the loft, under the Christmas decorations.’

‘Oh, I’m disappointed. I even asked in the Sue Ryder if they had it. Still, this is about clearing the air. Go on.’

‘Well… I once cut some of your beloved geraniums as a gift for Mrs Wormald and told you it must have been the rough children from the comprehensive.’

‘You’ve been quite wicked, Mary.’ He was chuckling. ‘Anything else?’

‘No. That’s it.’

‘Really? No big revelations?’

She shook her head, holding his gaze.

‘You’re sure?’

Did he know something? Or suspect? If so, was it better to come out with it, declare her dilettante ways? Tell him about all the times she’d pretended to be doing a big shop at Morrison’s but was really having a bit of nookie round at number 55? If I tell him even a fraction of those truths, she thought, he’ll likely push me over the cliff and go back in search of my accomplices to commit multiple murders.

No, the truth wouldn’t help either of them. It was too late for that. She was rubbing his fingers in hers and remembering the way Javier smoothed his down her thigh.

‘Edgar, the final thing I want to say, and it shouldn’t come as a revelation, is that I love you so much. You are a kind, trusting and deeply principled man. I’m sure I didn’t deserve you but I have relished every day spent in your company, even the scratchy times. I forgive you, my sweetheart, for all the times you broke wind and thought it was funny. For the nasal snorts and mealtime slurps. For not making the bed or putting the cap back on the toothpaste tube. Tiny, tiny matters. No, it’s been a privilege to live with you and it will be an honour to die alongside you as well. Ours have been full lives, well lived. Nobody could ask for more.’

Edgar’s face was suffused with joy. The moment hung in the air between them, suspended above and within them, joining their souls in harmony. She felt as though time could pause forever. But she knew what was coming next.

Edgar looked left and right along the cliff. There was nobody in sight. ‘Now?’ he said.

‘Now,’ she replied.

Edgar stood with some difficulty and helped Mary to her feet. He folded the rug and put it with the bottle and plastic stopper and glasses into the basket. He stepped close and enfolded Mary in his arms.

‘I love you so much, poppet. I always have.’

‘My funny bear. I have valued your love every day.’

They kissed. It was a tender, tentative contact, as if they were scared of bruising each other.

Hand in hand Edgar and Mary Barnwell walked to the edge of the cliff. They paused, shared a final smile, and looked out towards the distant wind farm.

‘And, Mary, I forgive you.’

She turned her head sharply to him.

‘For the boyfriends,’ Edgar said softly. ‘All of them.’

She tried to pull away, to talk. To ask, to explain. But there was no escape. Holding Mary’s hand tightly, Edgar took his final earthly step into the void, pulling her with him.

On the beach below Noah called out, ‘Look, Granny. Look! Those two people. They’re going to – ’

Virginia turned towards her grandson and peered up to where he was pointing, shielding her eyes against the sun. She gasped and ran to him, hoping to turn his face away in time. But they both saw the figures fall for long seconds and smash onto the rocks nearby. They heard the two dull impacts. It was a sight and a sound neither of them would ever forget.