Reflections

The wise old jeweler scrutinized the sapphire and diamond ring through his loupe eye-glass, twisting it this way and that between his skilled fingertips. The soft grunting noises he made signaled neither good nor bad news. Mary waited patiently, clutching her shopping bag and shifting impatiently from one foot to another.

The old man behind the counter was examining her engagement ring. Bought in this very shop so many years ago when she and Bob had been young, carefree and head over heels in love. She remembered how eagerly Bob had taken the five and one pound notes from his wallet, even though it had meant sacrificing his motorbike, laying them on the counter for Mr. Brooksbank to count. Then, almost in a ceremonial fashion, the assistant had lifted the ring from its royal blue velvet bedding and given it to Bob, who placed it on Mary’s finger, there and then.

Mary blushed at the memory and smiled to herself at the way things had turned out between her and Bob. He was a good husband and a doting father to their two boys. She could have done a lot worse.

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to send it away,’ the old man declared, taking the eye-piece and putting it to one side. ‘The claw has been damaged and the work is a little too delicate for my old hands, I’m afraid.’ He spoke slowly, his words full of compassion. He could see how much the ring meant to Mary, and he smiled at the memory of the young couple who had betrothed their love to each other all those years ago.

Mary was unsure what to do. If she had the ring repaired and sent away, Bob would notice that she wasn’t wearing it. But it was out of the question to wear it as it was. It looked awful; an ugly gaping hole where once sat a beautiful diamond; like graffiti on a work of art, a blot an all those happy years. There was nothing else for it; she would have to tell Bob.

She thanked the man for his time and placed the ring into a small black box which he had given her. Tucking it safely into her handbag, she walked slowly through the shopping precinct, stopping now and again to browse at the brightly lit windows displaying new summer fashions and footwear. It was in the reflection of one such window that she saw Bob. He was reading a magazine and seemed to be hanging around as if waiting for someone. Then she saw Jean, their next-door neighbor, and close friend. They were both laughing and seemed quite triumphant, almost celebratory. They linked arms and, still smiling broadly, made for a nearby coffee shop.

Bob had been acting strangely of late, side-stepping questions of his whereabouts, and he had been putting in a lot of overtime recently. Sometimes four or five evenings a week, not the odd one or two. Mary made for a concourse of wooden seats amidst an avalanche of greenery and sat down. Tucking herself away in a corner, trying to be invisible, she buried herself in her thoughts.

Had she been that neglectful? She admitted not having as much time for Bob as she perhaps had in the early days of their marriage, but the boys still demanded a lot of her time, dumping great bag loads of washing on her at weekends, Ian from his bedsit and Michael from his digs at college. And she had taken a part-time job at the local hospice which recently had somehow extended almost into full-time. But the money was handy. The boys always seemed to need something and their rents weren’t cheap either. Now, having seen Bob and Jean together looking so happy, she wondered sadly whether it had all been worth it.

Catching the next bus home, she tried to forget what she had just seen. Trying to convince herself that it was probably completely innocent, she set about the household chores with a slow hand. She almost missed the wad of notes tucked away at the back of Bob’s bedside cabinet drawer, they were so well concealed in an old sock. Flicking through the notes quickly, she counted almost eight hundred pounds. Replacing them exactly where she had found them, she felt physically sick.

‘Mary! I’m home love! Had a good day?’ She could hear Bob down in the kitchen and she stopped to tidy herself in the mirror. She was still an attractive woman and had kept herself in good shape. Her hair was beautifully styled but was showing silvery flecks of grey, but she liked the distinguished look it gave her. Rubbing some rouge into her pale cheeks and painting her full lips with a soft peach lipstick, she suddenly felt a lot better about her appearance. She even saw a flicker of a sparkle return to her wise eyes. There was a lot of life left in her yet and she was going to enjoy it. With or without Bob. She chided herself for thinking such thoughts. Of course, Bob wouldn’t leave her, would he? ‘Till death us do part.’ That’s what they had said, all those years ago. ‘Till death us do part.’

She went down to greet her husband, but instead of pecking him casually on the cheek as she usually did, she brushed straight past him and busied herself at the sink.

‘What’s wrong, love. Are you okay?’

Slowly, she poured two coffees, surreptitiously wiping a tear from her eye.

‘Bob. I’ve got something to tell you. My engagement ring. I’ve lost one of the stones out of it and it’s damaged. It must have happened while I was gardening’.

From behind his newspaper, Bob responded, ‘Don’t worry love. I’ll get it fixed.’

Suddenly, the tears welled up and overflowed. Why had she been so foolish? Letting those years slip away, not showing him how much she cared. Letting domesticity creep into their lives, choking them with its boredom and routine.

‘Hey, love. What’s the matter?’ Bob put his paper down and held her to him in a warm embrace. She wanted to push him away.

‘I saw you today. With Jean,’ she blurted out. The words sounded choked and strangled in between her sobs.

‘Oh, Mary. I should have told you. I’m so sorry.’ Releasing her, he reached for his jacket on the back of the kitchen chair. He was still a handsome man, broad-shouldered and lean. Mary still got butterflies sometimes when she looked at him.

‘I’ve booked a surprise for you,’ he said, showing her a brochure.

Mary looked up, wiping her eyes. ‘But we’ve just come back from holiday,’ she said, confused.

‘That was different. This is just you and me. I’ve got tickets for the Orient Express. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? It’s our silver wedding anniversary next month and Jean has been helping me to arrange it all. She said you had been telling her how much you would love to go.’

Mary stopped crying.

‘All that overtime,’ Bob continued, ‘Was to help pay for the trip and I’ve still got some leftover to buy you an eternity ring. We never did get round to buying you one, did we?’

‘Oh Bob! How could I have even thought such a thing?’ She felt stupid for doubting the man that she loved as much today, if not more, than she had when they first got engaged all those years ago.

‘Before we go though,’ Bob said, ‘We’ll pay a visit to Brooksbank’s and get that ring repaired. And, being as you’ve spoiled my surprise, you can choose your own eternity ring. I probably wouldn’t have chosen one you liked anyway.’

This story was first published on Medium, where you can find more of my work. You can also follow me on Twitter and Substack.