Emily stared wistfully at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Old age, old age, she muttered. Her face sagged, a double chin and deep lines marked the years. At sixtysix, life hadnt been gentle, and she sighed, trying to push a stray curlroller back onto her head. Her daughter had set it in place that morning.
Today the village of Littlebrook was celebrating the 50th anniversary of its secondary school. Emily had been among the first cohort to graduate from the little school that had stood on the hill. The hall was being decked out for the occasion, and officials from the nearby town of Norwich were due to attend. Former classmates had promised to travel in, though most lived far away and many had already passed on.
Buster, the family terrier, barked in the garden. Emily glanced out the window. A woman lingered by the gate. Throwing on her faded cardigan, Emily went to meet the guest. At first she didnt recognize her, but when the woman spoke, the memory clickedher schoolfriend Lucy.
Didnt you get the invitation? I thought Id come back for once. I have nowhere to stay now; everyone I knew here is gone. Lucy asked shyly.
Of course youre welcome, Emily replied, pulling her into a hug. Both women hiccuped with tearspart joy, part sorrow.
You look lovely and stylish, Emily said, admiring her friend.
Living in the city polished me up, Lucy said, laughing. My husband was a senior manager, so I had to keep up appearances. If Id stayed in the country Id look just like you! Im sorry if I sounded boastful.
Dont worry, Im not offended, Emily said, sipping tea. Youre about fifteen years younger than me, even though were the same age.
That evening the women, dressed in their finest, walked to the school. Only eight people had made the trip from Norwich, and many struggled to recognize each other after so many years. After the formal programme, tables were laid, glasses raised, and stories swapped over drinks. Laughter filled the room, and the gathering lingered until midnight.
Lucy stayed on with Emily; neither felt like sleeping. They talked until dawn. Lucy recounted her city life: her husband had been wonderful, but he died three years ago. Their only daughter lived in London, had graduated from university and married a man who chose not to have children. Lucy pronounced the word childfree with a hint of pride, explaining to Emily that it described couples who deliberately decided against parenthood.
Lucys daughter visited only a few times, always busy with her demanding job. She hadnt even been able to attend her fathers funeral. Though Lucys mother never invited the daughter to stay, she sent money to help. Thanks to that support, Lucy could afford occasional stays at a seaside spa, despite her modest pensionher own work record had been interrupted when her husband discouraged her from seeking employment.
Are you sure youre a widow? I heard your husband Nikol was a heavy drinker. Where are the children? Lucy probed.
Life in the village was rough after the local woods mill closed. Most men turned to the local pub for solace. My husband was sober and steady, but when he drank, he turned into a beast. I fought him, sometimes physically, because his drunken rage was terrifying. I ran a small pigletraising venturetwo sows, a few piglets for sale. My brother-inlaw, the school headmaster, later became a county councillor and fought to keep the school from being cut to nine grades. He wrote to London and saved it.
My sons, twins, served together in the army and now work at the offshore wind farm on the coast; they earn well, Lucy added. We have six grandchildren, each with two children of their own. They love having a big family, and the boys only drink on special occasions, having learned from our own missteps.
The next morning Emily walked Lucy to the bus stop, handing her a parcel of smoked bacon and a jar of raspberry jam. The chill outside made Emily feel even more plain than her citygrown friend.
Lucy was slim, wrapped in a sleek down jacket and a playful mink hat, her boots perched on modest heels, lips tinted with bright lipstick. Emily, by contrast, wore an outoffashion coat, sturdy sheepskin slippers, and a thick wool shawl.
When the bus arrived, the friends embraced, promising to keep in touch. Lucy hopped aboard with ease; Emily trudged home with a heavier step.
Life had given the two women similar beginnings, yet their roads diverged wildlyby chance, by luck, perhaps by forces beyond their control. In the end, both learned that happiness does not hinge on wealth or status, but on the strength of the ties we keep and the gratitude we hold for every chapter of our story.
