Blythe Whitaker never imagined, at twenty, what the next few years would throw at her. She was a university student, head over heels for Arthur Hargreaves, and already dreaming about a wedding because theyd been chatting about it for months.
Arthur was a few years older; hed finished his National Service before they both turned up at the autumn school ball when Blythe was in her final year of secondary school. She still remembered the first time she laid eyes on him. Though they lived in the same town and went to the same school, he had already graduated.
Whoa, whos that dashing lad? Blythe thought as Arthur entered the hall, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Their eyes met, he smiled, and Blythes heart fluttered. He was different from any other boy shed known.
Hi, Im Arthur. And you are? he asked, leaning toward her. Blythes cheeks turned a rosy pink. May I have this dance? he said, taking her by the waist and pulling her onto the floor.
Blythe she whispered as she felt weightless, as if she were floating. Arthur guided her confidently, and she could feel every move he made.
Blythe, youve got a natural feel for this, he grinned.
He stayed by her side all night, promising to walk her home after the event. They lingered together, reluctant to part, but Blythe knew she had to return; her mum would be fretting.
Arthur never let Blythe get bored. After school, she enrolled at the local university, while Arthur took a job. He never seemed to know the meaning of boredom or a bad mood; his endless optimism lifted everyone around him. He had a wide circle of mates, and Blythe often joined him at parties and weddings.
Even in the dead of winter, Arthur would surprise her with roses. Every date felt like a fête. They spent afternoons in cafés, escaped to the countryside, or simply hung out with friends.
When Blythe was in her third year, Arthur brought her thrilling news.
Come the New Years break, were heading to the ski resort. Ive already booked two passes. The instructors are brilliant; theyll have you carving down the slopes in no time, he said.
Yay, youre the best, Arthur! Blythe squealed, flinging herself around his neck. She then caught herself and added, Oh, Im a bit of a scaredycat on the mountain, you didnt know that, did you? and both burst into laughter.
The trip was unforgettable. Blythe learned to zip down the piste quickly and loved it, though she was sad as the fairytale came to an end. On International Womens Day, Arthur turned up at her house with two bouquets.
Happy Womens Day, he said, handing one to Blythes mother and the other to her. For my lovely girl, he added, planting a kiss on her cheek. She beamed at the gorgeous roses.
Arthur, why are you spending so much? her mother asked, concerned about the cost.
Nothing to worry about. My mates Sam and Victor are off on a shortterm gig; Im tagging along. Were helping install a highvoltage line decent pay, I hear. Ill save up for a wedding and a car, Arthur replied.
I dont want you to go, Blythe protested. Ill be back in three or four months, and well keep in touch. Im keen on a beautiful wedding, arent you?
I am, but a modest ceremony would be fine too. The important thing is we stay together, Blythe said, a hint of melancholy in her voice.
Arthur had already decided not to back down, so Blythe couldnt persuade him to stay. He left with his friends, earning a good wage and calling her often.
One day, while studying, Blythe felt an odd unease that soon passed. The night before, she and Arthur had spoken, so she wasnt expecting a call that evening. When her heart felt off, she rang him herselfa reversal of habit. His phone was silent, her pulse thudding in her ears.
Why isnt Arthur answering? she thought, dialing again and again. Finally, she found Victors number and called.
Victor, wheres Arthur? she asked, relief flooding her as he answered.
Hes gone, Victor said, his voice flat. Blythe heard a harsh click.
Mum! she screamed, tears streaming.
Later she learned that Arthur had been electrocuted on that very power pole. His mother, Mrs. Hargreaves, was a holloweyed shadow of grief, barely speaking. His father and younger brother Rory were off searching for answers. The funeral was a bleak affair, and the days that followed were a fog of sorrow.
Blythe lingered in a stupor, visiting Mrs. Hargreaves often, usually in silence, sometimes walking together to the cemetery. Mrs. Hargreaves clung to Blythe, insisting she spend time with them, especially now that the summer holidays were here. They visited churches, shared tea, and one afternoon Mrs. Hargreaves suggested, Lets go to the seaside, Blythe.
Despite the pain, Blythe agreed; perhaps a change of scenery would help. A week later they found themselves on a breezy Cornish beach. Mrs. Hargreaves was beginning to look a little less gaunt. Blythe stared at her phone, unwilling to nap in the suna habit she never broke, even at the beach.
Life bustled around them: gulls shrieking, children laughing, cars honking. Blythe felt a pang of loneliness despite the crowd.
She walked to the promenade and gazed out where sea met sky. A tiny boat bobbed on the horizon, seagulls wheeled overhead, and a strangers voice floated to her.
You look both beautiful and sad, the man said.
She turned, ready to retort, but hesitated. He reminded her of Arthur in some indefinable way.
God seems to deny the pretty ones a happy fate, she replied, halfjoking.
I disagree, the stranger replied, smiling. Im Giles.
Blythe, she answered.
They exchanged a few more lines before she pivoted away, leaving Giles watching her go. Hed been observing her for days, pitying the girl who seemed forever accompanied by Mrs. Hargreaves.
Giles, a recent civilengineering graduate who worked for the council, had split from his girlfriend and retreated to the coast to sort out his own mess. The moment he saw Blythe, he was smitten.
She told him about her grief and Arthurs mothers clinginess, and he was genuinely surprised.
Why does she keep you under her wing? Usually, families let a bereaved daughter move on, he mused.
Im not sure, Blythe admitted. I just dont want to hurt her.
They swapped numbers and arranged to meet at a seaside café next to the supermarket. Blythe mentioned shed be leaving in three days; her tickets were already in hand.
Ah, I felt it, Giles said, eyes widening. Where do you live? he asked. Blythe named a nearby town, and Giles blinked.
No mistakeIm from there too! he exclaimed. Great, we wont get lost.
Giles, still single, had been nursing a broken heart, but meeting Blythe felt like a fresh start. Their conversation turned to the strange bond between Blythe and Mrs. Hargreaves.
Most mothers dont cling to a daughterinlaw after their sons death, Giles said. Its unusual.
I know, but I cant just walk away, Blythe replied, a hint of frustration in her voice.
They promised to keep in touch, and Blythe headed off. When she returned, Mrs. Hargreaves scolded her.
Where have you been? she demanded.
Just the shop and a stroll, Blythe replied, feeling the weight of the womans expectations.
Blythes own mother, Margaret, kept urging her to shed the emotional baggage. You deserve a life of your own, she would say, dont let his mother hold you hostage.
Eventually Blythe realized she could no longer stay in that limbo. She told Mrs. Hargreaves she was moving back home, starting anew. The older woman stared at her, then sighed.
So a new life then? she said. I thought you might be pregnant, given how close you and Arthur were. I have a son, perhaps we could blend families
Blythe bristled. No, I dont need anyone else, especially not Arthurs brother, she snapped, and Mrs. Hargreaves, for the first time since the funeral, let a tear fall. It seemed to lift a small weight off Blythes shoulders.
Back in her hometown, the new academic year began. Blythe and Giles grew closer, and one day she visited Arthurs grave alone.
Goodbye, Arthur, she whispered. You gave me so much joy. You left too soon, but I must keep going. Im becoming someone new, living a life without you.
She walked back to the car where Giles waited, feeling a lightness she hadnt known in months. With Giles, she felt reborn. She saw him only occasionally with Mrs. Hargreaves, and their paths rarely crossed.
Soon enough, Blythe and Giles were married, and they were expecting their first child. The future, once clouded, now shone with a gentle, ironic promise: life goes on, and sometimes the best plots are the ones you never saw coming.
