In the most critical moment of the wedding ceremony the groom slipped away from his bride and walked toward another. The room was narrow, its wallpaper peeling in tiny floral pieces. The air carried the lingering scent of an old iron and the faint musk of cats that roamed the hallway. Mabel sat on the very edge of the bed, untying her shoesher feet ached after a hard day in the animal hospital. That morning the clinic had received a husky with a deep laceration. The lads from the neighbouring village explained, He got into a fight by the derelict cottage. Mabel asked no more questions; the crucial thing was that the dog was saved.
She slipped off her coat and hung it neatly on a nail, pushed aside a curtain that concealed her tiny kitchen nook: a kettle, a tin of buckwheat, and a single mug with a cracked rim. From the flat above, curses drifted through the wallsold habits of the buildings residentsbut Mabel had long learned to ignore them. She turned on the radioBBC RetroFMbrewed a cup of tea and settled on the windowsill, staring at the yellowstained pane opposite. It was an ordinary evening, one of many, like the hundred before it.
Dust, the smell of an iron, and the faint perfume of cats filled the room while the radio played a love song from the days of the early eighties. The buckwheat porridge cooled in the mug. Mabel watched the opposite windows as if someone there had just returned home: stripped off a coat, hung it, and sat at a table alone. He seemed as solitary as she was, though perhaps not in a council flat.
She traced a finger over the cold glass and smiled faintly. The day had turned strange. First, a wounded dog; then, a man.
He arrived near lunchtime, cradling the bloodstained husky, yet he looked remarkably composed. No hat, a light trench coat, spectacles fogged from the heat. The waiting room was crowdedsome people nervous, others iratebut Mabels attention snapped to him, not because he was handsome but because he stayed calm. He entered as if he already knew what to do.
Is there a surgeon on duty? he asked, looking straight at her. Shes still alive.
Mabel gave a simple nod and led him to surgery. Gloves, scalpel, blood. He held the dogs ears while she stitched the wound. He never flinched.
When the operation ended, he followed her into the corridor. The dog lay under an IV drip. Arthur extended his hand.
Arthur, he said.
Mabel, she replied.
You saved her.
We did, she corrected.
A faint smile softened his gaze.
Your hands didnt shake.
Just a habit, she shrugged.
He lingered at the door, seemed about to say more, then handed her a slip of paper with a number written in blue inkjust in case. Mabel slipped it into her pocket and forgot about it until evening.
Later, she retrieved the scrap of paper that had lain beside her keys. The number, neatly penned, read: Arthur. She had no idea this would be the seed of something larger. A warm feeling rose inside her, first like a sip of hot tea, then like spring breaking through winter.
She never wrote the number down; it rested on the edge of her desk, almost lost among other scraps while she washed dishes. She glanced at it and thought, Strangeif he called Then, He wouldnt. Men like that rarely call.
The next morning she was ten minutes late for work, and in the reception area a irate elderly lady with a pug and a hooded boy were already waiting. A routine shift: injuries, fleas, bites, rashes. By lunch her back no longer complained.
At three oclock he returnedno dog, two coffees in hand, a bag of scones. He stood at the door like a shy schoolboy, a tentative smile on his face.
May I?
Mabel dabbed her hands on her coat and nodded, surprised.
Youve no reason now
There is. To thank you. And to ask you for a walk after work, if youre not too tired.
He didnt push, didnt rush. He simply asked and then fell silent, giving her the choice. That eased her a little.
She agreed. At first just to the bus stop, then they drifted through the park. He walked beside her, talking about how hed found the husky, why hed chosen their clinic, where he lived. He spoke plainly, without pretension. His coat was certainly not cheap, and the watch on his wrist was not a bargain.
What do you do? she asked when they reached the pond.
Im in IT, he said, a faint grin appearing. Honestly, its dullcodes, servers, projections Id love a job like yours. Something real, dirty, alive.
Mabel laughedfor the first time that day.
He didnt kiss her goodbye. He simply took her hand, gave it a light squeeze, and left.
Two days later he returnedthis time with a leash. The dog was discharged.
From then on everything began. For the first two weeks he came almost daily: sometimes with coffee, sometimes to collect the dog, sometimes just to say, I missed you. Mabel kept her distance at firstlaughed too loudly, answered too formallybut soon she dropped the act. He became a warm addition to her life, like an extra shift that warmed rather than exhausted.
The flat grew cleaner. She began to have breakfast, something she hadnt done in ages. Even the elder resident on the third floor once remarked, Mabel, you look fresher, and smiled without her usual sharp edge.
One evening, as Mabel prepared to go home, he waited at the entrance in a dark coat, a thermos, and a contented grin.
Ill steal you awayfor good, he said.
Im tired.
Especially.
He led her to his carconfident, not forceful. Inside the scent was citrus and cinnamon.
Where are we going?
Do you like the stars?
What do you mean?
The real night sky. No streetlights, no city smog.
They drove about forty minutes. Outside the city the road was black as ink, headlights occasionally cutting the darkness. A old fire tower stood in a field. He was the first to climb, then helped her up.
At the top the cold air was still, the sky stretched wide, the Milky Way a bright river, a few planes tracing slow arcs, slowmoving clouds.
He poured tea from the thermosno sugar, just as she liked.
Im no romantic, he admitted. I just thought, after all the pain and screaming you endure, you need to breathe sometimes.
Mabel was silent. Inside her a strange sensation grew, as if a cracked bone were beginning to knit itself back togetherpainful, but right.
What if Im scared? she asked unexpectedly.
I am too, he replied simply.
She looked at him, and for the first time without doubt thought, Maybe it isnt all for nothing.
A month later, he didnt whisk her to fancy restaurants or hand her rings. He simply stayed. He drove her to the market on weekends, waited after her shifts, helped carry dog food. Once he sat at the clinic entrance while she assisted in surgery, then asked, If you hadnt become a vet, what would you have wanted to be? and listened as if her answer mattered.
Mabel still lived in her modest flat, washed by hand, rose at 6:40am. Yet new details appeared: his sweater on her hook, his key on the shared pegboard, his coffee on the hobthe very blend shed never bought before. And a new habit: turning at every hallway creak with a faint hope that he might be there.
When the clinic lost its heating one winter, Mabel had grown used to the chill, but Arthur arrived earlyduring lunchwith a compact heater.
This old fridge you have, he joked, setting the heater by the wall. Dont want you catching a cold.
Im not fragile, she replied, yet switched the heater on.
He lingered by the door, as if reluctant to leave.
Listen, he said suddenly, being near you feels oddly calm. Almost too calm. Is that strange?
Nothing strange, she shrugged. Im just me.
He smiled, stepped closer, and gave her a gentle embraceno passion, no pressure, just the kind of hold you give someone you trust completely. She didnt pull away; instead she rested her head against his chest. In that moment she understood he was the person she could rely on, like a dog that lies beside you not because its trained, but because it feels safe.
From then on he lingered longer. Some nights he stayed, mornings he brewed coffee while Mabel yawned over the cup, grumbling about being late. She tried to keep her old aloofness, but it faded; his presence seeped into her routine, quiet and unnoticed, almost from within.
One night, as she prepared to leave, he said, Youre the only person I can truly trust, you know?
She knew.
Youre the only person I can truly trust.
He left. Mabel stood at the window, watching his car disappear, its indicator flashing into nothing. Only later did she realise those words brought not joy but a prickling anxiety, as though she had been singled out from the crowd and left alone.
The next day a message arrived: Friday, my mothers dinner. Id like you to be there. No pretence. Just meet.
She stared at the screen, then typed, Alright.
On Friday she donned a grey dress shed kept from a training course, tidied her mascara, brushed her hair. Her assistant brought a string of pearls.
Put these on, she said. Theyll give you a touch of elegance.
Thanks, Ill try not to get tangled in the instruments, Mabel laughed.
The house belonged to a glassandstone mansion. A Swissstyle gate opened as if greeting an important guest. Arthurs car was already at the curb. He met her with a light hugordinary, but there was something vulnerable there, as if he were nervous yet could not show it. He took her hand and led her inside.
Lavender and a sharp perfume filled the hallway. Abstract paintings adorned the walls, slender chandeliers hung like needles, the floor shone like a mirror. Inga Sinclair, a tall woman in a darkblue gown, appeared as if stepped out of a portraitpoised, smile never reaching her eyes.
Good evening, Mabel, she said. Arthur has spoken of you. Please, come in.
Mabel shook the offered hand.
Good evening. Thank you for the invitation.
Of course. Its always a pleasure to meet those who influence a sons choices.
Three courses were set, five sets of cutlery, a single waiter. Mabel felt like a decorative piece in a museumbeautiful but superfluous. Arthur tried to keep the conversation flowingfilms, holidays, the dogbut Inga steered the talk toward art, galleries, the new Eleanor collectionyou probably havent heard of her, the partners daughter, she has an eye for taste.
Mabel nodded, smiled politely, yet inside she felt like a temporary fixture, a footnote between more significant events.
When Inga rose, she tossed a careless remark, Arthur tends to act on impulse. It will pass.
Mabel finally met her gaze directly, Im not a passing thing. Im real. Believe what you will.
Inga raised an eyebrow faintly, We shall see.
After dinner Arthur drove her home. The car was silent, a heaviness that made breathing difficult. At the entrance he took her hand.
Sorry, he said.
For what?
That all this feels more about them than about you.
Mabel nodded, And Im about myself. Dont worry.
He brushed a kiss to her foreheadsoft, almost a farewell.
She returned to her flat, removed the pearls, placed them neatly on the table, and suddenly realised the house shed entered would never truly be hers, even if he stayed.
A fortnight later Arthur began arriving later at night. He claimed work, projects, something broke in the system. He hovered at the doorway, indecisive, as if at a crossroads. Mabel tried not to dwell on it. Love, she thought, meant overcoming anything. She was not perfect, and neither were the galleries.
Then, on a Friday, he appeared with a bouquet, a bottle of champagne, and a silver box. He was still in his coat, his hair slightly dishevelled, his eyes bright.
I love you, he declared, dropping to one knee. I dont care what anyone thinks. Will you marry me?
Mabel laughed through tears, then simply hugged him and asked, Are you sure?
Yes, I am.
They arranged a swift wedding. Arthur insisted, No fluffjust a simple celebration. A loft, music, a buffet. The dress she borrowed from a colleague was plain, lacetrimmed, a bit loose at the waist, but as if it were yours.
She invited only Aunt Gilly, who had raised her. Gilly replied, Mabel, my blood pressures spiking, I cant make it. Weddings arent for me
The morning of the ceremony Mabel rose at five, ironed the dress, dabbed makeup in a small mirror, sipped tea while watching the sunrise. Her heart poundednot with joy, but with something like the nervousness before a leap into water, the air thickening.
At the venue, doors opened to a scene straight from a film: white ribbons, live music, mimosa bouquets on tables. Photographers clicked, servers poured champagne. An arch of flowers stood at the far end, and beneath it stood Arthur in a crisp suit, smiling.
Mabel walked toward him, her pulse throbbing in her throat.
He looked at her
And walked.
Not toward her, but past her, heading straight for a woman who had just entered with a man in an expensive tuxedo. Tall, immaculate, in a champagnecoloured gown.
Eleanor, he whispered, youre my bride. My love.
Mabel stood beneath the arch, the dress suddenly feeling out of place. A cold settled over her shoulders.
He turned, Sorry, you seem to be in the wrong hall, he joked, and applause erupted.
Someone shouted, Bravo!
Mabel remained still, watching him embrace Eleanor, watching Inga kiss her cheek, watching guests capture the moment on their phones. It was a performance, and she was a stray character.
She turned, her dress snagging the threshold, her shoes clacking betrayingly on the stairs. A guard said something, but the clamor of the crowd drowned it out. Then a blinding silence fell, as if the world had paused.
She fled. Her shoes slipped, the dress tangled, she burst out of the hall and into a street wet with spring rain. The pavement glistened, a woman in heels huffed at a corner, teenagers smoked under an awning. No one looked back.
She walked on, through crossings, courtyards, past shop windows and laundries. Strangers stared, perhaps amused to see a bride in tattered makeup and a dishevelled veil.
At the entrance of a business centre she tried to sit on the curb; a security guard stepped out of his booth and gestured, Miss, you cant stay here. Please move on.
She nodded and continued, barefoot, her shoes abandoned near a flowerbed, as if shed left that life behind.
She sat at a bus stop. Cars passed, each carrying its own destiny. Her own now felt foreign.
A black 4×4 pulled up beside her. The door cracked open and a voice said, Excuse me are you Mabel?
She lifted her gaze. A man in his sixties, neatly dressed, wore a concerned expression. He seemed familiar, though she could not place him.
I dont remember you, she whispered.
He stepped out, leaned slightly, Two years ago, near the maternity ward, I suffered a heart attack. Everyone walked past. You stopped, called an ambulance, held my head on your lap, held my hand.
Mabels eyes widened. A flash of memory: cold, sirens, a bus she missed, but a life shed saved.
It was you she said.
Yes. Ive searched for you ever since. I wanted to thank you, but you walked away. And now I recognized you at once.
He looked at her drenched dress, her tearstreaked face, the pain she could not mask.
Come with me, he offered gently. Please.
She climbed in without question. Inside, the scent of leather and fresh mint filled the car. Georgius Hartleyso he introduced himselfdidnt ask many questions, simply handed her a warm blanket and turned on the heater.
After a while he said, I live outside town. My son needs someone. Not a nurse, not a caretakerjust someone who wont turn away, wont be frightened.
He paused, eyes catching his own reflection, I dont know what happened to you, and I wont ask. But if you wish, we can go to my place. Rest, then decideAnd so, for the first time in years, Mabel felt a quiet hope settle in her heart as she stepped toward a new, uncertain but possible tomorrow.
