He rang on a Tuesday evening. Maggie had just got home from her shift at the primary school; the Year9 class was due to hand in an essay that day and shed rather not lug a stack of heavy exercise books back to the house, so shed stayed late.
Hey, its Victor.
She imagined he thought shed deleted his number. She hadnt.
I hear you. Something up?
For a heartbeat Maggies mind leapt to Andrew. A month ago their son had taken a job up in the Highlands, tending a tiny railway signal box. Hed been out of touch, and oddly enough that made her a little lighter she was tired of constantly worrying, of wondering whether something had happened to him. Neither she nor Victor ever drank much it wasnt a family thing but Andrew After his breakup with the cynical Lena, everything went downhill. Hed been in and out of hospitals, sometimes the police station, and shed hauled him home more times than she cared to count.
Why do I have to call you when somethings wrong? Victor sounded a touch hurt. Just thought Id check if you needed a hand. Youre on your own now, arent you?
Maggie thought, Ive been on my own for ten years, but she said something far softer.
Thanks, Im managing.
If you need anything fixed, just shout.
His voice was exactly the same, and for a few seconds Maggie imagined a life where there had never been an Alice, no messy divorce, no decade of singlehood. She pictured Victor calling from work, popping round for dinner, asking what was on the menu. The daydream evaporated as quickly as it came.
Alright, thanks.
She held the phone a while after he said goodbye, staring out the window. Something in his tone gave her the creeps even after ten years she still knew him too well. Hed never called her, only Andrew, and never once her.
Trying to shake the feeling, she went looking for a cigarette. Maggie had quit ages ago after catching Andrew with a fag and giving him a good talkingto; hed shot back, Why can you have one and I cant? She kept a halfempty pack hidden behind the spice rack a place Andrew never ventured and on particularly rough evenings shed steal one, coughing through the smoke.
The cigarette did nothing. So she put on her coat and walked to the corner stall that sold fruit and veg, intending to make a salad the fridge was empty anyway.
She hadnt gone to the stall because she loved produce; she went because she wanted a chat with Stan. He always knew how to lift her spirits, tossed in something special a fresh pomegranate at the start of the season or a handful of premium nuts. Hed used to work with his wife; now his daughter helped him. After his wifes funeral hed confided that the girl wasnt his daughter at all when his brothers seventh child was born, the brother handed the baby girl over to Stan and his wife because they couldnt have any of their own.
The story knocked the wind out of Maggie. How could anyone give away their own child? Andrew was the most precious thing in her life, and now, separated from her son for the first time, she felt a strange ache, even though she understood the job was good for him. Maybe when you have seven kids youre a bit less attached.
Ah, look who it is! Stan called cheerfully. Maggie Thompson, what can I get you today? Fresh apples, just the way you like em!
Sometimes Maggie wondered if his smiles and freebies meant more than simple customer service, but she brushed the thought aside. Who needed a plump old aunt, after all?
That wasnt her own voice. It was Victors, when hed left Alice, saying she was young and beautiful while Maggie felt like a rotund old aunt.
Still, the little interaction brightened her mood. After the salad and a crisp red apple she read a few pages of a novel, still thinking about Victor, then went to bed resolved to ring him the next day.
She didnt even have to invent an excuse the bathroom tap had been dripping for weeks, and she was too lazy to call a plumber.
Victor turned up that same evening. Maggie blinked at how gaunt he looked; perhaps Alice wasnt feeding him any more.
You look well, he said.
Thanks, you too!
Any news from the boy?
No, you know the signal box has no reception.
Right, right.
He fixed the tap, didnt turn down a plate of spaghetti with meatballs, and kept praising her cooking, her hair, everything, which made Maggie wonder whether he was hinting at getting back together. Had Alice dumped him?
She cut straight to the chase.
Hows it going with Alice? All good?
Victor averted his eyes.
We split a year ago. Andrew never mentioned it.
Didnt know.
She guessed correctly Victor never liked dealing with domestic drama and would rather return to a plump old aunt than survive on dumplings alone.
She snapped. How dare he? To think he could just show up like that!
Luckily he didnt bring up getting back together. He changed the subject, said the tap would hold only a short while and that the mixer needed replacing.
Ill buy you a new one and bring it over, he promised.
When he left, Maggie stood in front of the mirror and took stock. Could anyone still find her attractive? A streak of grey in her hair, a waist that resembled a hippopotamus, varicoseveined legs the whole lot. She turned away and went to bed.
Victor caught up with her at the bus stop, lugging the new mixer, declaring hed install it that night. She didnt want to go back into the stall with him, but he said hed love a fresh salad and wouldnt turn down fruit. It felt odd, because when Stan chose the fruit he talked to her as if they were a married couple, and Maggie didnt like that notion.
At home, while Victor tinkered with the mixer, she sliced veg for the salad and reheated yesterdays soup. Victor tossed his apples into his backpack, and she reached for them. A stack of loose papers in a clear folder caught her eye; she skimmed them, read them again, flipped through quickly. No doubt about it Victor was ill. Multiple sclerosis, diagnosed a year back.
That explained the split with Alice.
Maggie slipped the papers back, pretended she hadnt seen anything, but inside she decided she would look after him, help him live his remaining years with dignity.
Victor became a regular visitor. They talked, reminisced about Andrews childhood, ate dinner together. She waited for the moment hed ask to come back, to say he didnt mind, but he stayed quiet. He fixed everything he could, ordered a new bookcase and assembled it himself. Now that she knew about his illness, his quirks made sense: the dark glasses he never took off outside, his occasional clumsiness, his slower gait even slower than her own, despite the extra weight.
One day Victor did something out of the ordinary: as he left, he gave her a firm hug. Maggie wanted to tell him he could stay, but he stepped back and hurried away.
The next morning, when she went for apples, Stan handed her an envelope.
Whats this? Maggie asked, puzzled.
Your former, Stan began.
Victor?
Got a lot of them?
No, just him.
She clutched the envelope, feeling
