The Old Maid

 

By

 

Jan

 

Amy Marsden rubbed her brow wearily. Monday mornings always found her two assistants in a talkative mood but this morning seemed to be particularly trying. Today was her fifty-eighth birthday and middle age seemed to have caught up with her all at once. Her head was pounding and she didn't know how much longer she could put up with their incessant chatter.

 

"Are you having a big party for your birthday tonight, Miss Marsden?" Tracey, the younger of the two, asked her with an air of amusement.

 

Amy could almost see the words 'as if' forming in the young girl's mind. She pushed back her chair and stood up. "If you two young ladies haven't anything to do I'm sure I can find you something," she said icily.

 

Tracey and Sarah, the other assistant, grimaced at each other before turning back to their respective computers.

 

Amy sat down again. Maybe now she would get a bit of peace but, uncharacteristically, her mind began to stray. The pitying looks she received from her colleagues no longer had the power to hurt her. She had heard people talking about her when they thought she wasn’t listening. Calling her unkind names and saying it was no wonder she was still a spinster, she hadn't an ounce of romance in her soul so no man would want her.

 

She smiled as she thought about Chris, the great love of her life. Chris, five years older than she was, slender with black hair and eyes so dark you could almost drown in them. They had met at a Christmas party almost forty years ago when they had both been there with other partners but the attraction had been mutual and they had left the party together. After a few years, people began questioning why they didn't get married and have children then they bought a house together and after a while the questions stopped and everyone accepted their unmarried state. Chris was her shield against the world, her strength and their love and respect for each other overcame all their problems. Chris was not only her lover but also her best friend and as such she didn't need anyone else.

 

She ate a solitary lunch in the work's canteen. Most of the other members of staff were much younger than her fifty-eight years so they gathered with their peers. Tracey and Sarah were sitting with a group of their friends from the Accounts Department, speaking in what they thought were whispers but their voices carried to her table.

 

"I bet old Amy got a bag of birthday cards," Tracey laughed maliciously.

 

"A wizened up old bat like her is bound to have," Sarah agreed sarcastically.

 

"Don’t be awful,” one of the least bitchy members of the group put in. “She's not that bad."

 

"You should try working for her," Sarah retorted. “She’s a right old slave-driver.”

 

Amy glanced at her watch. It was five minutes to one. Just enough time to comb her hair and wash her hands. It wouldn't do to be late back at her desk; she had to set an example to the younger members of staff.

 

The afternoon passed quietly enough. Amy sent Tracey off to do a pile of photocopying, which effectively split up the two chatterboxes for a while. She guessed Tracey would find someone else to gossip with in the photocopying room but she couldn't be behind her all the time.

 

At the stroke of five o'clock the two youngsters stood up in unison. "Big date tonight," Tracey said proudly.

 

"Me too," agreed Sarah. "Are you doing anything special for your birthday, Miss Marsden?” she asked condescendingly.

 

"I doubt it very much," she said frostily then on a kinder note, "Run along girls, I'll see you tomorrow."

 

The bus ride was interminable and when she eventually arrived home she closed the front door and leaned against it wearily. "I'm home," she called out.

 

An elderly woman came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. "Bad day?" she asked gently. Amy nodded. The woman took her arm and led her into the kitchen. "Come on, I've prepared all your favourites dishes as a special birthday treat."

 

Amy smiled when she saw the single red rose on her plate, the iced cake in the middle of the table, with one candle waiting to be lit. Her face softened as she looked at the woman, no longer slender and her hair was streaked with grey but with eyes you could still drown in. "Oh, Chris, what would I do without you?"

 

 

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