"My wife died."

The words were quiet and resigned but the emotion behind them was obviously still raw.

I had not seen this man since before Christmas last year. Prior to that I would see him and his wife in the shopping centre most Thursday mornings. It was just one of those casual relationships where recognised each other - or so I thought. We might exchange a few words about the weather or some major event. They seemed to me to be one of those many pleasant couples with a very good relationship with each other. Yes, a happy marriage.

I always noticed how well cared for their clothes were. The clothes themselves were nothing out of the ordinary but always spotlessly clean and well pressed. I know I joked once about how M... managed to keep him so clean and tidy. She laughed and said something like, "You should see him in the garden." 

I suppose that was what alerted me to something being wrong. He was still spotless but the ironing was amateur.  He had obviously tried but it looked wrong. 

"I haven't seen you for a while," I said after he had greeted me. It was then he told me his news. 

"I wanted to tell you," he said, "But I had no idea where you lived. I haven't seen you going backwards and forwards."

I explained I had moved. I had not moved but it was too far. There was no reason for me to have informed him. They were a couple who were perfectly able to care for themselves.  They did not even live on my actual pedalling route at the time but a little further up one of the streets. Obviously I could be seen from there. My movements had been observed.

His news gave me one of those small, unexpected jolts. M... was younger than I am, about ten years younger. She had seemed perfectly fit and healthy. They did a lot of walking together. Yes, it was very sudden. "She was gone - just like that. I didn't expect it at all. I thought she would be home the next day."

I listened. I tried to understand his obvious grief but how can I? I was not married to her for over forty years. 

Eventually we both knew it was time to move on and it was then he surprised me by saying, "You know M... and I always hoped we would see you. She was so pleased when you sorted out that knitting thing for her."

The "knitting thing" was a pattern. I remember it well. It was one of those patterns where the instructions did not appear to match the photograph. M...and I sorted it out between us. He has a wonderful Aran style pullover as a result.

"I don't like to wear it.  If it needed to be washed I might ruin it."

"Wear it," I told him. "If it needs to be washed take it to the dry cleaner and tell them it is pure wool. Think of it as a hug from M..."

"A hug from M...." he said. His voice sounded rough as he hurried off.  I hope he has many hugs from M... She would want him to wear it.