Mid-Life Ex-Wife by Stella Grey

Author:Stella Grey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-03-05T16:00:00+00:00

Landings on Islands

SUMMER, YEAR TWO

I came across Martin when I did because of an idiot. I don’t know why it is that men not interested in a woman would think to write to her to tell her so—it must be about power, of some sort, mustn’t it? I received these rejection slips every now and then. The one that sticks in my mind simply said: “Not my type, sorry.” (I hadn’t approached him, nor seen him on the site, and had absolutely no idea who he was.)

On this occasion the message said: “Just wanted to tell you that while you look lovely, I’m looking for someone younger.” He was fifty-five and his profile stated that he wanted someone “under thirty-five, preferably twenty-four–twenty-nine,” so I asked what he was doing straying into the geriatric-females area of the site. “I was trying to compliment you,” he wrote. He’d been divorced for a year, having left his wife “when she became overweight and argumentative.” He’d spent his whole working life supporting her and their children, he argued, and now he deserved a young woman, one who was firm-breasted, flat-bellied and tight. But what about compatibility? I asked; what about going into old age with someone? He didn’t plan to retire for another twenty years, he said. He was young and vital. “As for having things in common, if she’s young enough, she can learn.”

After this I craved a conversation with a regular human. Having exhausted the local lineup of men (we’d exhausted each other, in fact), I cast my net wider. Generally I stuck to a circle drawn around the accessible hinterland of my own city limits, of about an hour’s travel, so that dating in a casual way was possible. Distance makes this difficult; a trip to the cinema is loaded with expectation when you’ve had to travel far to get there. I knew this, but I couldn’t help myself. I extended and extended until I blundered into the catchments of other cities, and saw a whole new row of faces. There was one among them I was immediately attracted to. Not the handsome tanned one, nor the actor, nor the floppy-haired Peter Pan type: none of those. The potato-faced one, the teacher with the ridiculous goatee and twinkly eyes: that was the one. Martin. I went to his profile and experienced one of those immediate recognitions, the sort that tells us that someone newly met is already a friend. He’d written a funny essay about his life, breaking it down into categories (hairstyles I have been pictured with; music phases I have gone through, and so on). “No expectations of who I’ll meet, what they’ll be like; no checklist,” he’d also written. I sent a one-word message: “Hello.” Martin’s online green light wasn’t lit, but as I watched, I saw it light up. He’d received an alert to say mail was waiting, and in turn I got a notification saying he’d visited my profile.

Shortly after this a message arrived in my inbox.

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