**Diary Entry**
I thought surprising my husband would be lovely. Coming home three hours early, I stepped inside our flatand couldnt hold back my tears.
I stared out the train window, thinking of Mum. Spent three days nursing herchicken soup, medicine. The fever only broke yesterday.
«Stay one more day,» shed urged this morning.
«Peters alone at home, Mum. Probably starving by now.»
Now, rattling along in the carriage, I regretted not listening. Peter had called every evening, asking after Mum, complaining about the empty fridge. His voice had sounded odd. Tired, maybe.
«Miss you,» hed murmured last night before bed.
Id smiled then. Thirty-two years married, and he still missed me. A good man, my Peter.
The train swayed. The woman opposite crunched crisps, nose buried in a thriller. On the cover, a glamorous woman clung to a suited man. I glanced at my reflectioncrows feet, grey roots. When had I aged so much?
«Off to see the husband?» the woman asked.
«Just home.»
«Im off to meet my lover,» she laughed. «Husband thinks Im at my sisters.»
I flushed and turned away. How could people speak so casually about such things?
My phone buzzed.
«Hows it going? When are you back?» Peter had texted.
I checked the time. Four more hours. Nearly replied honestlythen stopped. A surprise would be nicer. Cook him dinner. Hed be delighted.
«Tomorrow morning. Miss you too,» I sent.
Peter hearted it instantly.
Fields and cottages blurred past. I sipped tea from my thermos. Mum had packed sandwiches, fussing as if I were still ten.
«Youve lost weight. That husband of yours not feeding you?»
«Mum, Im fifty-seven.»
«So? Youll always be my little girl.»
I chewed the ham sandwich, thinking of her alone in the house where I grew up. Dad died five years ago. She refuses to move in with us.
«Youve your own life,» she always says. «Dont fuss over me.»
But I like caring for people. Always have. First parents, then Peter, then the kids. Taught at a primary school till James was bornthen took leave. Then Emily came along. Somehow, I never went back.
«Why work?» Peter had said. «I earn enough. Look after the home.»
So I did. For thirty years. Cooked, cleaned, laundered. Took the kids to clubs, ironed Peters shirts, darned his socks.
Now theyre grown. James works up in Manchester, has his own family. Emilys married, a mum herself. Im a grandmother.
And what now?
The train slowed. I gathered my things, bid the crisps woman goodbye. The platform heaved with commuters. The bus home took half an hour.
I imagined Peters faceexpecting me tomorrow, finding me tonight. Maybe Id pop into Sainsburys. Get some steak, new potatoes. Cook a nice meal, set the table properly.
At the till, the cashier smiled. «Special occasion?»
«Just my husband waiting.»
The bags were heavy. I barely made it to our building. Caught my breath in the lift. Dug forever for my keys.
Finally, the door swung open.
«Peter, loveIm home!»
Silence. Must be asleep. Nearly ten already.
I dropped the bags, shrugged off my coat. The lights were on. OddPeter never sleeps with them on.
Heading to the wardrobe, I froze. A pair of shoes by the door. Womens. Black heels, polished.
«Peter?» I called softly.
My pulse quickened. Maybe Emily left them. She has a key. Though shed have texted.
A womans laugh floated from the kitchen. Not Emilys.
«Peter, youre hilarious,» the voice said.
«Liz wont be back till tomorrow. No rush,» Peter replied.
I leaned against the wall, legs buckling. Who was this?
«What if she comes early?» the woman asked.
«She wont. Liz is always on time.»
They laughed. I couldnt breathe.
Crept to the kitchen. Door ajar. Peeked in.
Peter sat at the table in his pyjama top, hair mussed, grinning. Opposite hima blonde, thirtyish, in my dressing gown.
Coffee cups, a Victoria sponge, chocolates. Peter held her hand.
«Lucy, youre brilliant,» he murmured.
Lucy? Who?
«But your wifeyou said you loved her,» she simpered.
«I do. But this is different. You make me feel young.»
The room spun. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of trust, and this
«Peter,» I whispered.
They whipped around. Peter went white. The blonde leapt up, clutching the gown.
«Liz? You saidtomorrow»
«Who is she?»
«Lucy. Neighbour. Flat 22.»
«Neighbour?» I stared at my gown on her. «Neighbours wear my things now?»
«I should go,» Lucy muttered, sidling toward the door.
«Stop!» I snapped. «Explain this.»
Lucy halted, guilty but not enough.
«We were just talking. Peter helped fix my tap.»
«Tap?» A hysterical laugh escaped. «In my dressing gown?»
«Liz, calm down,» Peter stood. «Nothing happened. Lucy asked for help, I went over. She offered coffee. We talked»
«Talked? Holding hands? In my robe?»
«My laundrys wet,» Lucy mumbled. «Peter lent this so I wouldnt catch cold.»
«My robe!» My voice shook. «In my home! At my table! While I nursed my mother!»
Peter stepped closer. «Dont shout. The neighbours»
«Neighbours?» I recoiled. «Thats your concern? Not me?»
«Nothing happened!» He gripped my shoulders. «I swear!»
I searched his facepanic, fear, lies. After thirty-two years, I know his tells.
«Let go.»
«Liz»
«Let GO!»
His hands dropped, trembling.
«Ill go,» Lucy muttered, edging out.
«Stop!» I barked. «Take that off first!»
Peter blocked her. «Not in front of me»
«Shy now?» I shoved him. «Not shy drinking coffee in my house!»
Lucy flung the gown on a chairrevealing jeans and a jumper.
«Sorry,» she mumbled, fleeing.
The front door slammed.
I sank onto a chair, hollow. No tears. Just a black hole where my heart had been.
«Lets talk properly,» Peter began.
«Talk.»
«Lucy did ask for help. The tap leaked. I fixed it. She offered coffee.»
«At two in the morning?»
«Nine! It was nine!»
«Its midnight! Four hours of coffee?»
He flushed, sweating.
«Peter, Im not stupid. Thirty-two years. I know when youre lying.»
«We just talked! Shes lonely!»
«And me? Am I not company?»
«With you its chores, your mum, the grandkids. With her, its… life.»
I stood, chest burning.
«Life? And what am I? Furniture?»
«Thats not»
«Thirty years at home! For you! For the kids! Gave up everything! And Im boring?»
«Liz, please»
«No!» I slammed the table. «Ironing, cooking, cleaningwhile you chat up neighbours!»
«Just one»
«One? How many before her?»
«None!»
«Liar!» I got in his face. «All those late nights? Work trips?»
«It was work!»
«Work? Like Lucy was work tonight?»
He looked down.
«I love you. Truly.»
«Love? Like a prized appliance?»
«Dont»
«How else? Thirty years of my life! And youchasing young things!»
«Liz, I ended it. Its over.»
«Till the next Lucy.»
«There wont be!»
I studied himrumpled, sweating. Probably sincere. For now.
«Peter,» I said quietly, «Im fifty-seven. Maybe its time I lived for me.»
«How?»
«Work. Travel. Figure out what I want. Not just what you want.»
«Were family»
«Family respects each other. Not one living freely while the other serves.»
«Ill change!»
«Live apart awhile. Think. If you realise you want menot a housekeeper who warms your bedcome back. If not…» I shrugged.
He nodded stiffly. «Ill fight for you.»
«Well see.»
After he left, Sarah hugged me.
«Proud of you.»
«Im terrified.»
«Course you are. But its honest.»
I sat by the window. Rain pattered. A new life at fifty-seven. Odd, but maybe good.
Tomorrow, job hunting. Then Mumsproper talk, long overdue.
Well see. Maybe Peter will change. Maybe Ill find Im fine alone.
Main thinglive for myself too. Not just others.
The rain drummed on. I smiledproperly, for the first time in days.
