When James opened the heavy wooden door at the White Hart, their senses were assailed by smells of ale and overly rich pub food. Marg looked up at Jim, a question in her eyes and on her lips, "Are we having some dinner then?"

     He patted her gently on the shoulder and steered her towards a small table close by the large open fireplace that dominated one wall of the room. "No love, we just finished dinner." He reminded her softly, "We'll just have ourselves a pint and bit of a chatter, don't you know."

     Once James was sure that Marg was securely settled, he made his way across the room to the bar. Thomas, the barkeep, who'd been behind the bar almost as long as Jim & Marg had been coming in to the White Hart gave him a grin and shouted good-naturedly, "Will it be the usual for you Jimmy and the Missus, of course?"

     "Aye lad, it will." James replied. He pulled his wallet out and carefully counted out a couple of bills and some coins that would cover the cost and a bit extra for the barkeep. Thomas placed a pair of glasses in front of James, a shandy for Marg, and a pint of Guinness for him. "Thank you kindly, young Tom," he told him with a wink, "You're the best of a bad lot, you are!"

     James returned to the table, where Marg smiled up at him as he set the shandy down in front of her and then slid into a chair right next to her with his Guinness. Marg placed both her small hands carefully around the glass of beer and lemon-lime soda and brought it to her lips slowly. Her hands trembled ever so slightly. Her eyes surrounded by the deep lines, wrinkles and folds of skin that only the hard work of a lifetime could produce, still twinkled with happiness as the bubbles tickled her tongue. They sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the warmth from the crackling fire and watching the other patrons, some playing darts, others just chattering in small groups.

     James took a long pull from his Guinness then slid his arm protectively round his beloved wife. He leaned over and planted a little kiss on her cheek. She slowly placed her glass down before turning towards him with a puzzled look in her eyes. "Jimmy, what time is it?"

     James made a show of pushing back his sleeve to reveal the gold watch he had received 11 years before at his retirement dinner. "It's just gone eight love, we can stay for another if you like." He told her.

     She pondered that for some time, James watched as her face seemed to alternate between puzzlement, sadness and a twinkle of pure joy. Finally she sighed, snuggled her head against his broad chest and softly said, "I love you James Wilkinson, we've had a good run, haven't we, luv?"

     "Aye, that we have Mrs. Wilkinson, that we have indeed." He replied.

     She straightened up a little, her face turned up to look into his eyes. He could see her smiling even as tears trickled down her cheeks, sparkling in the light from the fire.

     "James, I think we should come to the pub often, we have to drive to the seaside and walk on the beach, we have to watch the sunrise and watch the sunset. Promise me, Jimmy boy that we'll be nothing but happy and share nothing but joy from now till the end, promise me."

     James took a deep breath, pushed aside his now empty Guinness glass, took both her hands in his, then spoke from his heart. "My beautiful girl, my special Margaret, of course, I can promise you this and anything else your heart desires."

     He helped her up, and as they strolled towards the door, he turned to give Thomas a quick wave. As they stepped through the door, James told her, "We start tonight, my darling, strolling under the stars. Look upwards, how beautiful they are!"

     They made their way slowly homeward arm in arm, stopping every now and then to simply look up at the millions of stars winking above them, each time they stopped, they shared a soft kiss before strolling onward. As they stopped again just before the front gate of their tidy little home, James took his wife in a warm and well-remembered embrace. He guided her in a slow and gentle waltz as overhead, the bright slice of a crescent moon winked down at them. He softly started to hum the notes of Moonlight Serenade, she smiled up at him and started to sing, "I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight…"

     His heart was just a little lighter as he walked her into the house that evening.

     © February 2024 – Jenn Jenkinson