where fore art thou Romeo

Today I went to a wedding.

I am really rather sad because the groom is my 90-year-old neighbour J and he has been a stalwart of this village for over 40 years.  When I was less mobile and unwell he planted up my wee garden with pretty spring flowers, cut back things that were over-grown and knew a plant from a weed. He looked in on me most days to ensure I was coping and brought me logs and kindling when it was cold. When I starter to become stronger I helped him in his large and quite beautiful garden by admiring it and also holding great lumps of wood while he wielded a chainsaw, something neither of us did very well, it’s a fair miracle we have all our limbs still remaining.

Then J met M. She used to live in the village but she and her (2nd) husband moved to a town on the south coast some years ago.  J's wife died 2 years ago and it's true he was lonely sometimes, especially in the winter months when he couldn't garden from dawn to dusk and chat to the passers by.

Somehow over the late summer and autumn M worked on J and persuaded him to leave his quintessential thatched and quite extraordinarily beautiful cottage with his prized garden and move south to her. We all asked him why M couldn't move in with him here, to the home he loved with his garden that he'd worked on for 40 years and which kept him fit, healthy and spritelier then many 50 year olds I know.  M lived in a tiny flat on a main road and none of his friends and family could understand why he eventually decided to buy a house along the road from M's flat and leave everything he knew and loved for a town in which he knew but one person and to a house without a garden. 

This last month J has been steadily trying to sort out his very many years of belongings and packing up his home and life.  Only 2 weeks ago we received invitations to the wedding, today, and learned that J was moving out this week.  The removal truck arrived on Monday and J arrived at my door with a rocking chair that M doesn't want. It hardly fits in here but I will keep it because it will remind me of J. He looked harassed and sad and nearly every one of his 90 years.  The move is killing him, and I get the feeling that now they are married M won't mind if it does. 

But today he looked smart and happy and I guess that's what counts.  The small village contingent that had travelled down to witness the ceremony walked passed by his modern townhouse to the reception along the busy main road; as one we looked at each other and wondered whether the next time we met here would be at J's funeral. 

Poor M.  Can one scheming woman withstand so much ill will I wonder?