Olivia walks into a coffee shop for an interview and spots her husband sitting with another woman.
Mom, why are you doing this? Lily looks at Olivia as if shes about to jump out of a plane. Youre already fiftytwo!
Thats exactly why I need to, Olivia fastens her grey blouse, checks herself in the mirror and says, Im not planning to sit at home waiting for a pension.
But Victor hates the idea! He said
Your dad says a lot of things, Olivia adjusts her collar. I just want to feel useful. And the extra money wont hurt, by the way.
Lily sighs and falls silent. Olivia knows her daughter is worried, but the decision is made. After being made redundant from the library a year ago, she feels trapped at home. Victor earns well enough, but she feels empty, useless.
I have to go, she says, grabbing her handbag. Interview at two.
Where exactly?
On High Street, at the Mill coffee shop. They need a manager. I called yesterday and they set me up with the owner.
Lily nods, though its clear she isnt thrilled for her. It will make sense later.
Outside, the weather feels like spring, even though its only midApril. Olivia walks briskly, nerves buzzing. The last time she applied for a job was twenty years ago; everythings moved online now, but a modest newspaper ad with a phone number caught her eye, and a call later secured the interview.
The Mill is a small, cosy place. The sign reads The Mill. Olivia has passed it a hundred times without ever going in; Victor never likes cafés, preferring homecooked meals.
She pushes the door open. Light floods the room, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries fills the air. A young woman behind the counter greets a few patrons at the tables. Olivia scans the room, waiting for the owner.
Then she spots him.
At a window table, with his back to her, sits Victor in his favourite blue shirt. Hes instantly recognizablebroad shoulders, shortcropped greying hair, a mole on his neck.
Opposite him is a woman.
Olivia freezes. Her heart drops, a lead weight settles in her legs. The woman is about thirtyfive, with long red hair, laughing as she leans toward Victor. Her hand rests on the table, almost touching his.
Too close.
Olivia stands at the doorway, unable to move. Thoughts collide, her heart pounds so loudly she thinks everyone in the café can hear it. What should she do? Walk over? Turn and leave? Cause a scene?
Good afternoon, are you Olivia Bennett? a man in his forties, wearing a white shirt, asks as he approaches. Im Daniel Peters; we spoke on the phone.
Olivia turns toward him, but the words stick in her throat. She nods automatically.
Please, have a seat over there, he says, pointing to a table in clear view of Victors spot.
Maybe, Olivia begins, her voice trembling.
Itll be quieter there, Daniel says, already heading to the table. Olivia follows, sitting with her back to Victor. The position does little to ease the tight knot inside her.
So, you want to work as a manager? Daniel opens his notebook. Tell me about yourself. Where have you worked before?
Olivia tries to focus on his questions, but the only thing she can hear is Victor, with another woman.
I… I worked at the library for twenty years, she says, her voice sounding distant. I was the readingroom manager.
Good peopleskills, Daniel nods. Why the change?
Redundancy, Olivia swallows, her mouth dry. They reorganised the library.
From across the room, a waitress places a dish at Victors table, and the redhaired woman giggles.
Do you have cashregister experience? Daniel asks.
Yes, I do, Olivia replies, nodding without really understanding what shes saying.
She wants to turn around, to be sure its really Victor, not some lookalike. But she knows its him.
Can you start next week? Daniels voice pulls her back to the present.
What? she blinks.
Im asking when you could begin.
Olivia opens her mouth, but Victors soft voice reaches her from the other table, speaking gently to the womana tone he hasnt used with Olivia for years.
Excuse me, Olivia stands so abruptly she nearly knocks her chair over. I need the restroom.
She darts toward the signposted door, barely closing it behind her before tears flood her face. Bitter, scorching tears. She grips the sink, staring at her reflection: fiftytwo, a few grey strands in her chestnut hair, wrinkles around her eyes, a tired face. Across from her, the young, vibrant woman looks like a burst of sunlight.
Calm down, she tells herself. Maybe shes a colleague, a friend, a relative. But colleagues dont sit that close, and they dont rest their hands on the same table.
She splashes cold water on her face, touches up her makeup, tries to steady her shaking hands. She must return, finish the interview, or just walk out. Confront Victor? Ask whats happening?
Back at the table, Daniel sits reviewing papers. The window seat is emptyVictor and the woman have left. Olivia feels a hollow spread inside her. She doesnt know whether to be relieved or not.
Are you alright? Daniel asks, noting how pale she looks.
Yes, just a bit nervous, she forces a smile.
Dont worry. The interview is almost over. I think youre a good fit. Any questions?
Olivia mechanically asks about schedule, salary, duties, nodding at his answers while a fire burns beneath her. She wants to run home, to turn back time, to not be there at all.
Great, Daniel says, extending his hand. Well see you Monday at nine.
Agreed, Olivia shakes his hand and gets up.
Outside the café, she looks aroundVictor is nowhere in sight. She walks down the street without thinking about the route, thoughts flitting like trapped birds.
Maybe he really was just on a business lunch? He works for a construction firm as a sales manager, always meeting clients. Why didnt he tell her hed be at that café? He hates cafés.
And that womans smile, her laugh, their closeness.
Olivia pulls out her phone and dials Victor. The line rings three times.
Hey, Victors voice is calm.
Hi, its me, Olivias voice trembles. Where are you?
At work, why?
Just hows your day?
Its fine, he sounds slightly irritated. Olivia, Im busy now. Ill call you later, okay?
Did you already have lunch?
A brief pause, then, Yes, at the office. Listen, I really cant talk now. Well speak tonight.
He hangs up. Olivia stands on the pavement, staring at the phone screen. Hes lying. For the first time in twentyeight years of marriage he tells her a straight lie.
She slumps onto the nearest bench, legs giving out. Passersby rush past, absorbed in their own lives, while her world has just turned upside down.
She gets home late, wandering the city in her mind, trying to piece things together. Victor isnt homehe said hed be delayed. She used to trust everything he said without question. Now every word sparks doubt.
Lily is already asleep, the flat silent. Olivia brews tea, sits by the window, replaying scenarios: confront him? cause a scene? pretend nothing happened?
Victor returns around midnight, tired, dishevelled.
Cant sleep? he asks, surprised.
No, Olivia wraps her hands around the mug. Hows work?
Exhausted, he sighs, opening the fridge. What a day, a nightmare.
Meetings?
Yeah, one after another.
Olivia watches his back, the familiar silhouette of her husband, the same shoulders, the same arms shes known for decades.
Victor? she calls quietly.
He turns, a slice of ham in his hand.
Do you love me?
The question hangs in the air. Victor freezes, puzzled.
Whats that about? he taps his forehead. Twentyeight years, an adult daughter, and you ask me that now?
Just tell me. Do you love me?
He chews, then says, Of course. Were a family.
Not the answer she hoped for, not the tone she wanted. Olivia looks out the window.
Youre odd today, Victor says, moving closer. How did the interview go?
Fine. I got the job.
Good then. If you want it, youll work. Im off to bed, exhausted.
He heads to the bedroom, leaving Olivia by the window. Outside, the spring night deepens, traffic hums below, streetlights flicker. Life goes on, but hers has irrevocably changed.
In the morning Victor leaves early, as usual. Olivia lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing she must act. She cant just wait.
She dresses and hops on the tube, not knowing where shes headed. Eventually she realizes shes traveling to see her friend Vera, who lives on the other side of the city and is the only person Olivia trusts.
Blimey, you look pale, Vera says, opening the door and pulling Olivia into a hug. What happened?
Olivia tells the whole storycoffee shop, the redhaired woman, Victors lie. Vera listens, pouring tea.
What will you do now? she asks.
I dont know, Olivia wraps her arms around her head. Im completely lost.
Maybe it was just a business meeting?
No, I saw the way he looked at her.
Vera stirs her sugar, silent for a moment.
Did you ever consider confronting him right there?
I froze. I was confused.
I get that. What if we go back together, see if hes a regular there?
Olivia lifts her eyes. The idea feels odd, but
Hows that for a detective story? she says with a bitter smile.
Exactly. We need the truth.
The next day they sit in the same Mill café, a corner table. Olivia feels foolish, like a schoolgirl spying on her husband after fiftytwo years.
At exactly one oclock, Victor walks in alone, sits at the familiar window table, orders a coffee, pulls out his phone.
Bloody scoundrel, Vera mutters. Hes waiting for someone.
Olivia watches, heart thudding, as Victor sits five metres away, unaware of their presence.
A few minutes later the door opens. The redhaired woman enters, a light coat over a sleek bag, beautiful and wellkept. She smiles at Victor, he rises, embraces her briefly, pulls a chair out for her. They sit opposite each other, hands touching on the table.
I’m leaving, Vera says, eager to leave, but Olivia grabs her arm.
No.
How can you say no? Do you see whats happening? Vera asks, exasperated.
I do, Olivia says, her voice surprisingly steady. Thats why I dont need to.
They watch for half an hour as Victor and the woman chat, laugh, finish their coffees, pay, and leave together.
What now? Vera asks when theyre alone.
Now I know the truth, Olivia replies, standing. Thanks for being here.
Back home, Olivia pulls a large travel bag from the wardrobe and begins packing Victors thingsshirts, trousers, socks, his razor, deodorant, toothbrush, papers from his desk. Lily returns from school and freezes in the doorway.
Mum, whats happening?
Your father has another woman, Olivia says, still stuffing clothes. Im packing his suitcase.
What?! Lilys face turns as white as a sheet. Mum, are you serious?
Im telling the truth. I saw them together. Not once.
Lily sits on the bed.
But maybe
No maybes, Olivia snaps, zipping the bag. Ive spent twentyeight years with this man. I know when Im being lied to.
Victor arrives that evening, spots the open bag in the hallway.
Whats this? he asks.
Your things, Olivia stands in the doorway, calm. Take them.
His face turns pale.
What are you talking about?
The redhaired woman at the Mill. The lie. The affair.
Silence roars. Victor stands, staring at her, then slowly sinks onto the hallway chair.
How do you know?
I saw it. With my own eyes.
He covers his face with his hands.
This isnt what it looks like.
What is it then?
I didnt plan this. It just happened.
Six months, Olivia repeats, six months youve been living a double life.
I didnt want to break the family.
Youve already broken it.
He tries to get up, but Olivia steps back.
No.
What about Lily?
Shes an adult. Shell manage.
Victor looks at her for a long moment, then nods, picks up the bag, and walks out. The door closes softly, without a slam.
Olivia remains in the hallway, listening to his footsteps fade up the stairs, the front door later shutting downstairs. Only then does she lean against the wall, exhausted.
Lily emerges from the bedroom, sits beside her mother and embraces her. They sit like that for a long time, saying nothing.
A week later Olivia starts work at the Mill coffee shop. She puts on a uniform, pins an ID badge, steps behind the counter and smiles at the first customer. Life goes on. A different life. Her own.
