Innocently accompanying a woman home is more than it appears
Hello readers, my name is Maisie and I would like to tell you a little story about something that happened to me a couple of years ago.
You think you know someone, but when it comes down to it, you don’t really. I thought I knew my husband, Patrick. But I didn’t. Even after almost fifty years of marriage, I realised that I didn’t know him at all. It was only after his untimely death that I found out all about him.
You see, you would expect that when you marry, make your vows, sign the marriage licence and the register that you would honour the bit about being faithful, honest and true. You would expect that, wouldn’t you? I did. How foolish was that? I decided to trust my life and everything I had to man I loved and respected and expected the same in return. Like I said, how foolish was that?
But the day after he died, was the day I found out how much of a ride I had been taken on, after almost fifty years.
Now before you start speculating, no, he wasn’t unfaithful. I suppose I ought to be relieved. In all honesty, I could have forgiven him, maybe. It could have been easier to deal with, if that is what I discovered after he died. But he had been one hundred per cent faithful to me.
I thought he had given me a good life, had taken good care of me and given me everything I ever wanted. Believe me, I am not high maintenance, nor do I demand a lot. We had a very nice house, not far from the ocean, with a very nice view. We brought up three marvellous boys, now all living their own lives and thankfully they all came to their father’s funeral, despite one living in Australia and one living in New York.
But the day after he died, I found out that most of what we had shared was a sham. My wonderful husband was lousy when it came to managing his and our finances. Thus, after all the funeral expenses had been met, after all the credit card bills had been paid (he apparently owned 6 credit cards that I never knew about), my finances were at zero. I was broke and there was still a chunk of change to be paid off on the house.
I was forced to sell my beloved house, but I didn’t have anywhere else to live. The one son I had who still lived in England, lived very far away and he didn’t have the room.
So after the dust of the funeral had settled and the house was sold, I was lucky enough to find a job in country house hotel. The prospect of going back to work after so long away from it, didn’t fill me with glee. But as restaurant supervisor, I had a small house out in the grounds attached to the hotel.
That was ten years ago.
The job can be demanding, but despite me being almost seventy years old, I have never been afraid of hard work and thankfully I had the stamina and strength to deal with whatever tasks were set for me.
It was while working at this hotel, that I met Kevin. The hotel had a lobby bar with a piano in it and Kevin was the resident piano player. I would have said he was in his early sixties, but I later discovered that his hair had been greying since his late twenties and he was in fact forty two.