Tango
Sarah, wherever are you off to dressed like that? Mrs. Margaret White gasped, peering at her neighbour and even rising a little from her bench.
Isabel Barker arched an eyebrow but didnt flinch. She gave a majestic nod, holding her hat steady, and swept past in dignified fashion. No time for explanations. She was already running late.
Margaret White froze, barely daring to breathe, her eyes following her friend.
Just fancy! Heels! And a proper hat! And thats Sarah, the one who, for the past five years, never went anywhere except the corner shop. And never in heels! Dressing gown and slippers, thats her summer look. True, her housecoats always fit just right, and even her plaits were always woven into a proper hairstyle a question of upbringing. Her mother wouldnt ever be seen out with her hair down, and neither would Isabel, no matter the circumstances. How many times had Margaret snatched at her own messy ponytail upon hearing Sarahs mother tell off her daughter?
Isabel! Whats this shambles? Tidy yourself up!
Shed given her girl such a striking name too, all for a purpose, no romance or poetry to it.
No one I know has a name like that. No confusion possible! A name, darling, is like a calling card. And you must live up to it. It demands it of you.
Isabel absolutely lived up to it. At least, until just her first name was in play. But when her middle name and surname made their entrance, peoples faces lit up in grins, or they outright laughed. Isabel Margaret Barker you couldnt make it up!
Change your surname when you get married! No big deal!
Isabels mother was immovable. She was enchanted by how her daughters name sounded. How had she guessed what her girl would grow into? For, when Isabel was little, all she did was cry. Sick so often, if not for her grandmother, her mother wouldve had to quit work to care for her. And what then? Her father wasnt much of a man, whatever he earned hed pour down his throat. Impossible to go on with him, so before Isabel turned two, her mother packed his things and threw him out.
Better alone than with a man like that. Ashamed for my daughter…
It was Isabels paternal gran who looked after her. Curiously, her mother and mother-in-law got on like a house on fire.
Whats there to squabble over? She knows all about her son, and Im no mystery either. We share one priority: the child. No room for strife.
Her nan was a plain countryside woman, oi-ing and ay-ing heartily, knew every wild herb on the green next to the council flats, and made magic toys just out of odds and sods.
Look here!
Her nan would stick a grape on a match, pluck thistle flowers, and hey presto! a princess in a grand dress!
And shed brew up weird-smelling teas, rinsing Isabels fine hair and declaring,
Just you see, everyone will marvel at your plaits!
She was right too. By Year 8 Isabel had shot up and her hair became the envy of every girl at school.
Sarah, look, youre just like a queen! Margaret would prod at a history textbook.
The queenly lady on the page didnt much resemble Isabel, but her friends praise made her glow anyway.
It was Isabels plaits, in fact, that drew the line for her fate as she grew older. Paul, her tomboy classmate, who sat beside her in lessons, used to tug on them, and, when older, would brush their ends when he thought nobody noticed. He fell for her in Year 11, and pined for her until he went off to the army.
Will you wait for me?
I dont know.
Oh, youre cruel! I really do care for you! And you…
Paul, I honestly dont know… Give me time.
I havent got time! None! Tell me, right now, will you wait?
… I will.
Isabel didnt chuck about promises lightly. She dutifully wrote letters, and by the end of his service, she was sure she was hopelessly in love. All those wonky lines said so much! Yet, letters were not real life.
The wedding was quick. Pauls parents eyed the pretty bride with slight pursed lips. Lovely enough, but too… proper. The dress was perfect, more elegant than anyone had ever seen, her gaze demure, and such a name!
If the dress made sense (Isabels mother could sew like a dream), the rest was less convincing. She was far too pretty. Did she really wait for their son, honestly?
A year, two, three… Isabel finished university, got a job. Paul kept finding himself, never settling. He brushed off his wifes queries:
I dunno what I want yet. Looking around. A degree? Who needs that nowadays? Its all about doing, not reading. Stop nagging, will you?
Isabel bit her tongue, trying to hold things together, but the problems mounted like a snowdrift and she couldnt handle them alone.
All this time, and shes barren. Son, its not right. Perhaps she did something before you and now she cant have children?
Pauls mum didnt pull her punches. Paul didnt listen at first; not everyone has a baby on cue… But water wears away stone. Finally, his mums poison seemed reasonable and Isabel received her first ever rebuke from Paul.
Are we never going to have kids? If somethings happened before, just tell me. Maybe Im not the problem after all.
Until that moment, Isabel considered herself tough as boots. Straight-A student, self-supporting at uni, helped her mum, kept house pristine, nothing for Paul or his folks to complain about. She believed she could endure anything.
But it wasnt true.
The blow landed so hard, she physically felt it break inside her. A small, sickening snap.
Her usual logic, which had always steadied her, failed utterly. She couldnt settle love and injury together.
When that talk with Paul took place, Isabel was already carrying their child, though she didnt know it yet. She retreated into herself, blaming nerves for her malaise. She had nobody to confide in. Her mum wouldnt understand; for Isabel, things could only be fine, nothing less. Any complaints from her and shed hear:
You, cant cope? Sarah, you astonish me!
But this time, Isabel couldnt.
It was Margaret who helped.
Returning home from work, Isabel reached her block and found she could go no further. She didnt want to see her husbands face, didnt want to share the days news.
Learning she would be a mother both elated and aggrieved her. She wanted to sing, yet also to groan in despair. Why? If only shed known two days earlier! Everything would have been rosy; shed have had the upper hand when anyone doubted her. Now? She had no energy for accusation, as though shed burnt out withinguilty for nothing.
Margaret sat on her bench, rocking the pram with her son inside.
The bench was her throne, built by her late husband when their eldest was born.
There you go! You and the other ladies can natter away out here. When we get home from work, its a waterfall of words. You miss each other, I know.
Margarets husband was a wise fellow, shame he left so early, not even fifty. Anniversary celebrated, a week later, heart attack, gone. Margaret grieved so hard Isabel nearly dragged her outside by force; best to weep in company, get it out in the air. Sorrows are like that, need to be poured out; then, perhaps, it lifts a bit.
That day, Margaret was nibbling seeds and waiting for the evening dusk to cool the sticky July air, for the estate to come alive and the women to gather for the latest neighbourhood whispers.
Sarah, whats wrong? You look dreadful! Margaret jumped up, searching her friends eyes. Whats happened?
Why did Isabel open up then? She never poured her heart out before. But today, the dam burst and, with hot tears streaking her cheeks, she let it all spill, desperate to ease the ache within her that had stolen hope itself.
Men! Margaret exclaimed, then immediately began rocking the pram more vigorously. Her boy was a crier; if he woke, thered be no stemming it, theyd have to go in. And right at such a moment!
Margaret shushed and hummed a lullaby and the baby stilled.
While she soothed him, she cooled off. Harsh words can break a family in a moment. And theres a child to think of! Would he really be better without a father?
You, Sarah, dont go off the deep end. Im not saying you should, but you might as well understand the mans perspective as well. When the same suspicion gets poured in your ear daily, you start to believe it. Just be clever. Theyll come round. Once you have your little one, let them dare say a word! And Paul, if hes got sense, will be apologetic. A bit of guilt in marriage, its a good thing. It helps you remember, when youre ready to fly off the handle, that youre not a saint yourself. Sometimes, you just back down. The anger fades. Remember the old saying? Sleep on your troubles, and in the morning they wont seem half as bad. Dont fret about what was. Think of what will be. Thats the better way.
Isabel listened, feeling somehow lighter. Maybe Margaret was right? No use brooding on whats gone. After all, what even was it? Foolishness; Paul listened to his mum who never liked Isabel though he couldve thought for himself! But whats done is done. Now what?
The equation balanced when Isabel finally told Paul she was expecting. The joy on his face would soften any heart. Isabel never could stay angry for long. She forgave him at once.
Her son, Michael, was born with a weak heart. Surgery, then more. Isabel stayed by his hospital bedside, knowing things were amiss at homewhispers that she wasnt right, the child wasnt right.
Despair came in waves, sometimes crushing her, sometimes letting her breathe. It was there, in that hospital room, she chopped off her famed plaits, snipping them to the root with the nurses shears. Her head felt lighter, the pain dimmed.
Isabels mum brought food for her grandson, saying nothing at the sight of her daughters short curls. She turned away a moment, exhaled, then dug through the lunch bag with forced cheer.
Mum…
Dont, Izzy love. Dont darken our hearts. Later, well talk. Now, what matters is he gets better. What do the doctors say?
That was more important, and Isabel focused on it, pushing aside thoughts about Pauls rare visits, and how her mother-in-law never came at all.
At last, Michael was discharged. But Isabel did not return to Paul. She went to her mothers. Her married life finished quietly, no drama.
So, Pauldone and dusted?
Im sorry…
Thank you for being honest.
Will you let me see my son?
Youre his father. I couldnt forbid it, could I?
Paul stuck around for three years, then remarried and moved with his new wife to the far side of the country, to Cornwall. Fresh start…
For Isabel, no such changes lay ahead. Her life became routine: caring for her sons health, tending to her ailing mother, and working, endlessly working.
Yet Isabel loved her work. She relished that moment when the accounts balanced, making sense of chaos. Immersed in papers and numbers, she forgot everything but her son.
Michael was her worldher life, joy, and pain. Endless anxiety, though the doctors assured her: nothing to fear, hed be long-lived and happy.
And so it was. When Michael accepted wedding congratulations, Isabel brimmed with pride so radiant that Margaret tugged her sleeve.
Most mums sob at their boys weddings, but youre glowing like the first rose of May. Arent you sad to lose him, Sarah?
Lose him? What do you mean, Margaret?
Well, youre giving your son away!
Into good hands. Margaret, dont you remember my mother-in-law, how she treated me? And how I grew up with such warmth? When my grandmother was ailing, my mum cared for her, theyd sing duets together when painkillers failed. When my gran died, my mum wept for her own mother. Never called her anything but Mum. My exs mum made it formal, insisted on calling by name. Why repeat that? Ill do it differently. Let Michaels wife live her own life. Ill fit myself in.
I think its my turn to take a lesson from you, Margaret mused. I never could let go properly. Married my son off but never welcomed his wife. That was a mistake Ill have to mend…
Grandson, granddaughterit left Isabel busy. Michaels wife understood and accepted her help with delight, and Isabel never felt alone. There was always something: school drop-offs, dance recitals, outings to the sea, long afternoons with the family teapot on the garden table. Everything, and thennothing.
The grandchildren grew up and scattered off to study, Michael and his wife moved to the coast, finally buying a cosy cottage on the Devon shore.
Mum, come with us! How will you cope alone?
Isabel hesitated for a long time, but refused.
Not now. Maybe one day. For now you two deserve your time. Threes a crowd.
Mum!
Dont fuss, Michael! I know better. Later, youll thank me. For now, Ill stay. I have work, friends, Margaret. Ill visit. Its best, really.
As soon as her son left, Isabel missed him deeply.
Its dreadful, Margaret. Feels like standing alone in an empty ballroom, shouting and getting no reply…
Then dont shout. Go to your son.
I cant. Id become a burden. I know Id just end up sitting, lying down, and never get up again. You know my daughter-in-law; she would have me lift nothing heavier than a teacup. No children there either what would I do? Howl at the moon? Provoke their nerves? I could, of course, but should I?
Margaret, living with her son in a tense flat and escaping each evening to her bench to dodge squabbles, said nothing. Isabel was always the sensible one.
Find something new to do.
What, Margaret?
I dont know. What did you always wish, when you had no time?
I dreamed of learning to dance the tango…
So get on with it!
At my age? Tango?
What age is that? Sarah, as long as youre breathing, its not too late! Dont wait and have regrets. Its better to regret what you did.
Whered you read that?
Dont remember, but its the truth. We all put things off til someday, as if were immortal!
Sarah took her friends advice seriously. Why not, after all?
Finding a dance class was easy. Entering it was not. She hovered by the big window, watched the dancing couples inside, then hurried home. Ashamed. They danced so well; even the older ones looked radiant. And she? Shed let herself go. Her figure slackened, her plaits gone grey.
Going home, she scolded herself for letting Margaret talk her round. Yet, passing a hairdressers, she suddenly stopped and marched in. Time for a proper spruce up!
The next day, Isabel was back at the door of the dance studio. This time she did not pause. She pulled the door open and stepped boldly inside, ignoring the curious looks.
Turned out, there was nothing to fear. There was even a group for over-50s, tango enthusiasts aplenty.
In this group, Isabel met Alexander Wright. A distinguished, silver-haired man, always courteous, happy to listen. He didnt say much about himself, but had an attentive ear like nobody else. It seemed perfectly natural, somehow, for Isabel to end up telling him about her son, her grandchildreneven her ex-husband.
Alex, why dont you ever talk about yourself?
Not in the habit. Old job, secrecy and all. Besides, not much good to tell, and bad memories are best left alone. But if youd like, I can tell you about my daughter.
Oh, Id love to hear!
Isabel marvelled that one human being could quietly bear so much. It was incredible.
I was married twice. First time, it just didnt work out. We didnt love each other, tried to prove something to one another, but there was nothing to prove we neither of us saw a future. Split up when I found shed ended a pregnancy. She just wasnt ready; still wanted her fun. We were always off hiking, climbing, at parties she wouldnt trade that for nappies. I would have, but it wasnt to be. The divorce was rough; her father messed up my job, but I got by. Did a spell up in Yorkshire, sorted myself out. Thats where I met my second wife, Gillian. She was wonderful, light of my days. Couldnt be unhappy in her presence. Shed just smile and every weight lifted. You remind me of her.
Oh, you hardly know me!
But I can see it, Isabel. That same light is in you.
Come now, lets not have all this about me.
Very well. Gill was special. I lost her, so stupidly… I still feel guilty. Wed just married, a year in. Id just formally adopted her girl. Gills daughter, Mary, was a toddler when we wed. Such a dear child. She called me Dad almost at once. Once the papers were sorted, I got leave. Couldnt go far, so we rented a cottage on the Norfolk Broads. River, woods, what more could we want? Bliss for a week. The cottage had two rooms. Gill and I, and her mum with Mary in the other. One morning, we left them asleep and went down to the water. We fished, then Gill fancied a swim. I didnt go in lay on the bank. Next I knew, she was gone… Three days. They found her, drowned. I blamed myself, couldnt look her mother in the face, but she just hugged me and said she herself nearly drowned as a girl, a stranger hauled her out, but you cant blame yourself for not hearing someones last call. I do, though. If I hadnt slept, if Id watched, Id have saved her.
Dont. We never know our hour.
Maybe youre right…
And the child?
Mary? She stayed with me. Could never send her away. The three of us her, me, her gran muddled on.
You never remarried?
No. Didnt want her to get a stepmum. Shes a firecracker, my Mary. A doctor now. Surgeon, with her husband, at the Royal Infirmary.
Any children?
Two. My grandsons.
But how do they manage it all?
Well, thats why Im still about. The boys never needed a nanny I was enough. Good lads: ice hockey, chess, physics. The eldests at university, the youngest, about to start.
Lovely…
So it was, word by word, their partnership formed. Soon came their first competition, dancing for all to see, and Alexander whispered,
Go on! You can do it!
He proposed to Isabel a year after they met.
Youre mad! Marriage? At our age? And the children, the grandchildren? What will they say?
Theyre fine with it.
How would you know? Isabel began, then caught herself. Oh no, what have you done?
Wrote, rang, invited them all to the wedding.
Wedding, goodness! Alex!
Why not?
Because… Isabel sighed and murmured People wont understand…
Why should we mind them? You said it yourself were not young. Most of lifes behind us. Who do we owe?
A month later, Margaret, all dolled up in a dress and heels she barely remembered how to walk in, watched Isabel radiant with happiness, standing among both families as the photographer corralled everyone together, and she whispered to her friend:
Mrs. Isabel Wright… Has a ring to it! So, tango, eh? Tell me, wheres that class? I want to learn too.
You said it wasnt for you!
Oh, the nonsense Ive spouted… Its horrid, being alone when youre surrounded by family, yet no one really sees you, they want only cups of tea or help. It hurts, makes you bitter, and soon youre snapping at your dearest, not knowing why. Youve done the right thing. See how happy your children are for you. Thats all we want, isnt it, to know someone we love is all right? Doubt my lot would be so pleased, but I want to try. If I dont find an Alex, Ill at least get to dance, use my time well. Anythings better. I only have a few months, after all.
Whys that?
Didnt I say? Im getting another grandchild soon.
Are you!
Yes! Youd think theyd have learned by now at their age…
Isabel shook her head and clapped a hand over her friends mouth.
Tango, Margaret, tango! Well overdue!
