The Widower's Hour: A Newcastle Afternoon

He booked for a Thursday afternoon, two o'clock, one hour. His email was short and polite, and in the last line he'd written: "I should say, my wife died in March. I'm not sure what I'm doing. I hope that's all right."

I wrote back that it was more than all right, and that we'd go at whatever pace suited him, including simply having a cup of tea and a talk if that's what he needed. I've learnt to say that out loud in advance. It takes the pressure off everyone.

Arrival

He was tall, stooped, in a pressed shirt with the fold lines still in it from the packet. I suspected he'd bought it for today. He stood in the doorway for a second too long, and I stepped back and said, "Come in, it's warm inside." Newcastle in August has that wind that comes straight off the ocean and into your bones.

We sat by the window where you can see a slice of the harbour and the coal ships waiting offshore like patient animals. I made tea. He took two sugars and apologised for it.

The talking

For twenty minutes he talked about her. How they met at a dance in Maitland in 1981. How she ran the house, the money, the social calendar, the garden. How he didn't know how the washing machine worked until April. How the silence at dinner was the worst thing.

I didn't try to fix anything. There's nothing to fix. I just listened, and asked about her, and let him say her name as many times as he wanted.

Then, quite suddenly, he stopped and said, "I don't want to spend the whole hour being sad." I said, "You can spend it any way you like. Sad is allowed. So is anything else."

The rest of the hour

It was slow and quiet and, I think, what he needed: a reminder that he was still here, still a person who could be warm with someone. I will leave it at that.

Afterwards

At the door he said he felt guilty and grateful at the same time. I told him that both are allowed, and that his wife sounded like someone who would want him looked after.

He's rebooked for next month. I have a feeling he'll bring biscuits. I'll make the tea with two sugars without asking.