Margaret gazed out the window of the train, thinking of her mother. Shed spent three days nursing her, spooning soup into her frail hands, counting out pills. The fever had only broken yesterday.
«You should stay another day,» her mother had insisted that morning.
«Harrys alone at home, Mum. Hes probably starving by now.»
Now, rattling along the tracks, she wished shed listened. Harry had called every evening, asked after her mother, complained about the empty fridge. His voice had sounded oddtired, perhaps.
«Miss you,» hed murmured last night before bed.
Margaret had smiled then. Thirty-two years married, and he still missed her. A good man, shed always thought.
The train swayed. A woman across the aisle cracked sunflower seeds and thumbed through a paperbacksome romance with a glossy cover. Margaret caught her own reflection in the glass. Wrinkles, grey roots creeping in. When had she aged so much?
«Meeting your husband?» the woman asked.
«Yes. Going home.»
«Me, Im off to see my lover,» the woman chuckled. «Husband thinks Im at my sisters.»
Margaret flushed and turned away. How could anyone speak so brazenly?
Her phone buzzed.
«Hows it going? Whenll you be back?» Harry had texted.
She checked the time. Four hours still. She meant to reply honestly, then changed her mind. Let it be a surprise. Shed cook dinner. Hed be pleased.
«Tomorrow morning. Miss you too,» she sent.
Harry hearted the message at once.
Fields and cottages blurred past. Margaret unscrewed her thermosher mother had packed tea and sandwiches, fussing over her as if she were still a child.
«Youve got thin, love. That Harry of yours not feeding you proper?»
«Mum, Im fifty-seven.»
«And whats that to me? Youll always be my girl.»
She chewed the ham sandwich, thinking of her mother alone in that old flat where shed grown up. Dad had passed five years back. Mum refused to move in with them.
«Youve got your own life,» she always said. «No need to trouble yourselves.»
Margaret loved caring for people. Always had. First her parents, then Harry, then the children. Shed taught at the primary school until Simon was born. Then came Emily. Somehow, she never went backjust became a housewife.
«Why work?» Harry had asked. «I earn enough. You keep the home.»
So she had. For thirty years. Cooking, cleaning, raising children. Ironing shirts, darning socks.
Now the kids were gone. Simon worked up in Leeds, Emily married with a baby of her own. And Margaret? What came next?
The train slowed. She gathered her things, bid the woman goodbye. The station swarmed with people. The bus home took half an hour.
She imagined Harrys surprise. He expected her tomorrowshed arrive tonight. Maybe shed stop at the shops first. Pick up some meat, potatoes. Set a nice table.
The cashier smiled as she rang up the groceries. «Special occasion?»
«Oh, just a treat for my husband.»
The bags weighed heavy. She barely made it to the lift. Fumbled forever with her keys.
Finally, the door swung open.
«Harry? Its me!» she called. «Im home!»
Silence. Asleep, likely. Nearly ten oclock.
She set down the shopping, hung up her coat. The lights were on. OddHarry never slept with them burning.
Then she saw themshiny black heels by the door. Not hers.
«Harry?» she whispered.
Her pulse quickened. Perhaps Emilys? But why wouldnt she have said?
A womans laugh trickled from the kitchen. Not Emilys voice.
Margaret froze.
«Youre dreadful, Harry,» the voice teased.
«Margaret wont be back till morning. No rush,» Harry answered.
She leaned against the wall. Her legs threatened to buckle.
«What if she comes early?» the woman asked.
«She wont. Always keeps to her word.»
They laughed. Margaret shut her eyes. Breathing hurt.
She crept down the hall. The kitchen door stood ajar. Peered in.
Harry sat there in his dressing gown, hair mussed, grinning. Opposite hima blonde, thirty if that. Wearing Margarets robe.
Two coffee cups on the table. Cake. Sweets. Harry held her hand.
«Claire, youre brilliant,» he murmured.
Claire? Who was Claire?
«But your wifeyou said you loved her,» the woman simpered.
«I do. But this is different. You make me feel young.»
Margaret gripped the doorframe. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of trust, of care. And this
«Harry,» she choked out.
They whipped around. Harry blanched. The blonde sprang up, smoothing the robe.
«Margaret? You saidtomorrow»
«Who is this?»
«Claire. From flat fifty-two.»
«Your neighbour?» Margaret stared at the woman in her robe. «In my kitchen? In my clothes?»
«Listen, I should go,» Claire edged toward the door.
«Stay!» Margaret shrieked. «Explain this!»
Claire halted. Guilt flickeredbut not enough.
«We were just talking,» she said. «Harry fixed my tap.»
«Your tap?» Margaret laughed wildly. «In my robe?»
«Margaret, calm down,» Harry stood. «Nothing happened. She asked for help, I went over. We had coffee»
«Talking?» Margarets voice cracked. «Holding hands? Wearing my things?»
«Id done laundry,» Claire mumbled. «Harry lent me this so I wouldnt catch cold.»
«My robe!» Margaret couldnt stop. «In my home! At my table! While I nursed my mother!»
Harry stepped closer. «Dont shout. The neighbours»
«The neighbours?» She recoiled. «Thats what matters?»
«Nothing happened!» He grabbed her shoulders. «I swear!»
She searched his face. Panic. Fear. Lies. After all these years, she knew.
«Let go,» she whispered.
«Margaret»
«Let go!»
He did. His hands shook.
«Ill go,» Claire muttered, darting for the door.
«Stop!» Margaret barked. «Take off my robe!»
«Margaret, really» Harry moved between them.
«Shy now?» She shoved him. «Not shy drinking my coffee with her!»
Claire shed the robe, flung it on a chair. Jeans and jumper underneath.
«Sorry,» she said, and fled.
The front door slammed.
Margaret sank onto a chair, face in hands. No tearsjust a yawning void where her heart had been.
«Lets talk properly,» Harry sat beside her. «Ill explain.»
«Explain.»
«Claire did need help with the tap. I fixed it. She offered coffee»
«At two in the morning?»
«Nine, when I went over.»
«Its midnight now! Four hours of coffee?»
Harry fell silent. Sweat gleamed on his red face.
«Harry, Im not stupid,» she said quietly. «Thirty-two years. I know when youre lying.»
«We just talked! Shes lonely»
«And Im what? Furniture?»
«Youre twisting my words!»
«Am I?» She stood, chest burning. «Thirty years at home. For you. For the kids. Gave up everything. And Im dull?»
«Margaret, please»
«I wont calm down!» She paced like a caged animal. «I cook, I cleanand you chat up neighbours?»
«Just one»
«Just one? How many before her?»
«None!»
«Liar!» She stepped close. «All those late nights. Business trips. Meetings.»
«Work!»
«Work? Like Claire was work tonight?»
Harry hung his head.
«I love you. Truly. Youre everything to me.»
«Everything?» She laughed bitterly. «Like an old armchair?»
«Dont say that»
«What should I say?» Tears came now. «I gave my life to you. And youchasing after girls half your age?»
«Its over with Claire. I swear.»
«Until the next one.»
«There wont be a next one!»
Margaret walked to the hall. Harry trailed her.
«Where are you going?»
«Out.»
«Stay! Well talk tomorrow»
«Tomorrow?» She yanked on her coat. «Ill need a clear head for the rest of my life!»
He stood there in his vest and pants. Balding, paunchy. Pathetic.
«You know what?» she said. «Go to Claire. Talk about life.»
The door slammed behind her. She took the stairscouldnt bear the lift, couldnt risk him catching up.
Outside, the cold bit deep. Where to go? Too late for Emilyshed wake the baby. The last train to Mums had gone.
She rang Janet. Her oldest friend.
«Margaret? Whats wrong?» A sleep-thick voice.
«Can I come over? Please.»
«Of course. What happened?»
«Ill tell you later.»
On the bus, she thought: Thirty-two years. Gone. What remained? Emptiness. Pain.
Janet met her at the door, hair wild, robe askew.
«Sit. Ill put the kettle on. Talk.»
Margaret told her everything. Janet listened, shaking her head.
«Bastard,» she said flatly. «Theyre all bastards.»
«Janet, I dont know what to do.»
«Whats to know? Leave him.»
«But all those years»
«Which is why he thinks youll put up with anything.»
She didnt sleep. Lay on Janets sofa, replaying it all. How theyd met. Married. Had the children. How Harry worked late, how she kept house.
When had he drifted away? Shed noticed it two years backthe distance, the distraction. Thought it was his age. Men had their crises.
Turns out, hed just fancied someone else.
Come morning, she rang Emily.
«Mum? Dads been callingwhats happened?»
«Tell him Im at Aunt Janets. Tell him Im thinking.»
«Thinking about what?»
«Ill explain later, love.»
Harry called all day. She ignored him. By evening, he turned up at Janets door.
«Is Margaret here?»
She stepped into the hall. «What do you want?»
«To talk. Properly.»
«Talk.»
«Its over with Claire. Done.»
«Until the next Claire.»
«There wont be one! I swear!»
She studied himthe tired eyes, the creased shirt. He meant it now, perhaps.
«Harry,» she said softly, «Ive been thinking. Im fifty-seven. Maybe I should live for myself awhile.»
«How do you mean?»
«Work. Travel. Think what I want. Not just what you want.»
«But were family»
«Family?» She scoffed. «Family respects each other. Doesnt take while the other gives.»
«I will respect you! Honestly!»
«Know what? Lets live apart awhile. See if you still want menot just a housekeeper who warms your bed.»
His mouth worked soundlessly. Then, a nod.
«Alright. But Ill fight for you.»
«Well see.»
He left. Janet hugged her.
«Well done. Right choice.»
«Im terrified, Janet.»
«Course you are. But youre free.»
Margaret sat by the window. Rain pattered against the glass. A new life at fifty-seven. Strange. But perhaps not bad.
Tomorrow, shed look for work. Visit Mum. Talk properly. It had been too long.
As for Harrymaybe hed change. Maybe shed find she didnt need him.
The point wasshed live for herself now too. Not just others.
The rain drummed on. Margaret smiled. A real smile, for the first time in days.
