At long last, the end is nigh

Mrs B and I have shared a roof for nearly 40 years. During that time, I have continually promised her I would sit down at my desk and write a few books.

My attitude for failing to fulfil this promise has been almost nonchalant, excuse after excuse, delay after delay.

I must have started a dozen manuscripts and now, finally, I’m about to complete the first one, with a second already outlined in my notes. I’m not giving anything away when I reveal that the central character and hero of my first attempt at a humorous novel is a woman of mature years whose hopeless husband dies in mysterious circumstances.

Perhaps on occasions the thought has crossed her mind - she loves a good murder story - but Mrs B is, above all in a long list of good points, a very patient woman.

I’ve discussed ‘the book’ with her as well as with family and friends, since the day we met. Over the years, when the subject has cropped up, everyone has been encouraging while Mrs B has looked increasingly exasperated, wearing her ‘pigs might fly’ expression that she does so well.

To be fair, she’s patient with everyone. It’s one of her greatest strengths and I have to admit I’ve tested that strength to its limits over the years, thankful, that every day, she’s been able to put up with failures and defeat.

I’m especially thankful that she’s been able to put up with my sense of humour. For example, when a friend, in jocular mood, asked me what the secret is to a long marriage, I said it was many things rather than just one, but that we dined out at least once a week, both enjoying good food and fine wine, before soft music and a night of passion. Mrs B goes on Tuesdays, and I go on Thursdays.

(Luckily Mrs B didn’t hear me, so I’m still good to go this week.)

For some people, a long marriage isn’t the same as a happy marriage, which isn’t the same as a good marriage. We all like the idea of being in love but some relationships appear to be built on wealth, power, ambition, and even a bored ‘make-do’ attitude. They last because both parties gain from each other being in that relationship, so each is happy about the benefits it brings.

I have no wealth but still Mrs B and I get along just fine, although, to be honest, we’d get along just fine if we were wealthy. I’m just trying to sound modest while Mrs B buys the lottery ticket.

In a world seemingly driven by self-centred ambition, I too have few ambitions left, although, at my age, breathing is top of the list. Mrs B and I often mention our decades together and those we perhaps have left. “We could make 50 years,” I suggested one evening.

She looked at her glass of wine, thoughtfully turning the stem in her fingers. “I don’t think I could live without you,” she says, a tear in her eye.

I smile tenderly. “Is that you talking, or the wine?”

She continues staring at her glass. “That’s me talking to the wine.”