Wanting to surprise her husband, Rebecca came home from visiting family three hours earlyonly to burst into tears the moment she stepped inside.
Shed spent three days looking after her mum up in Manchester, making soup, doling out medicine. The fever had finally broken the day before.
*»You should stay another night,»* her mum had said that morning.
*»James is home alone, Mum. Bet hes starving by now.»*
Now, swaying on the train back to London, she wished shed listened. James had called every evening, asking about her mum, complaining the fridge was empty. His voice had been offtired, maybe.
*»Miss you,»* hed murmured last night before bed.
Shed smiled at that. Thirty-two years married, and he still missed her. Good man, her James.
Across from her, a woman cracked sunflower seeds, nose buried in a paperback. On the cover, a glamorous woman clung to a man in a suit. Rebecca caught her reflection in the windowwrinkles, grey roots peeking through. When had she gotten so old?
*»Off to see the husband?»* the woman asked.
*»Yeah. Heading home.»*
*»Im off to see my bloke,»* the woman laughed. *»Husband thinks Im at my sisters.»*
Rebecca flushed and turned away. How could people say things like that?
Her phone buzzed.
*»Hows it going? When you back?»* James had texted.
She checked the timefour hours left. Started to reply honestly, then stopped. Let it be a surprise. Shed cook dinner. Hed be thrilled.
*»Tomorrow morning. Miss you too,»* she sent.
James hearted it instantly.
Fields and villages blurred past. She unscrewed her thermosher mum had packed tea and sandwiches, still treating her like a kid.
*»Youve got too thin, love. Bet that James of yours doesnt notice what you eat.»*
*»Mum, Im fifty-seven.»*
*»So? Youll always be my girl.»*
Chewing her ham sandwich, Rebecca thought about her mum alone in that house where shed grown up. Dad had died five years back. Mum refused to move in with them.
*»Youve got your own life,»* she always said. *»Dont need me underfoot.»*
Rebecca loved caring for peoplealways had. First her parents, then James, then the kids. Shed taught primary school before Oliver was born, then quit when Sophie came along. Somehow, she never went back.
*»Why work?»* James had said. *»I earn enough. Keep the house nice.»*
So she had. For thirty years. Cooked, cleaned, raised kids, ironed shirts, darned socks.
Now the kids were goneOliver up in Leeds with his own family, Sophie married with a baby of her own. And what was left for her?
The train slowed. She gathered her things, nodded goodbye to the woman. The station was packed. The bus home took half an hour.
She imagined Jamess face when she walked in early. He thought shed be back tomorrow. Maybe shed stop at Tesco, grab some steak, new potatoes, make a proper dinner.
At the checkout, the cashier grinned. *»Special occasion?»*
*»Just my husband waiting.»*
The bags were heavy. She barely made it to the flat. Fumbled forever with her keys.
Finally, the door swung open.
*»James? Its me!»* she called. *»Im home!»*
Silence. Probably asleepit was nearly ten.
She dropped the bags, shucked her coat. Lights were on. OddJames never slept with them on.
Heading to the closet, she froze.
Womens shoes. Black, heeled, glossy.
*»James?»* she whispered.
Her heart hammered. Maybe Sophies? But why wouldnt she have called?
A womans laugh trickled from the kitchen. Not Sophies voice.
*»Youre hilarious, James,»* the voice purred.
*»Becks isnt back till tomorrow. Weve got time,»* James replied.
Rebecca leaned against the wall. Legs like jelly. What the hell? Who was this?
*»What if she comes early?»* the woman asked.
*»She wont. Always on time, my Becks.»*
They laughed.
Rebecca tiptoed down the hall. The kitchen door was ajar. She peeked in.
James sat at the table in his pyjama top, hair mussed, grinning. Opposite hima blonde, mid-thirties, pretty. Wearing Rebeccas dressing gown.
Two coffee cups, a half-eaten cake, chocolates. James holding her hand.
*»Jen, youre amazing,»* he murmured.
Jen? Who the hell was Jen?
*»But your wifeyou said you loved her,»* the woman teased.
*»I do. But this is different. With you, I feel young again.»*
Rebecca gripped the doorframe. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of trust, of laundry, of packed lunches. And this?
*»James»* she breathed.
They whipped around. James went white. The womanJenjumped up, clutching the gown.
*»Becks? You saidtomorrow»*
*»Who is she?»* Rebecca pointed.
*»Jen. Neighbour. Flat 52.»*
*»Neighbour?»* Rebecca eyed the woman in her robe. *»In my dressing gown?»*
Jen edged toward the door. *»I should go. James, call me.»*
*»Stop!»* Rebecca barked. *»Explain this. Now.»*
Jen froze. Guilty, but not enough.
*»We were just talking. James fixed my tap.»*
*»Tap?»* Rebecca laughed, wild. *»In my robe?»*
*»Becks, calm down,»* James stood. *»Nothing happened. Jen needed help, I popped over. We had coffee»*
*»Held hands? In my kitchen? In my bloody robe?»*
Jen muttered, *»My clothes were in the wash. James lent me this so I wouldnt catch cold.»*
*»Lent my robe!»* Rebeccas voice cracked. *»In my flat! At my table! While I was nursing my mum!»*
James stepped closer. *»Dont shout. Neighboursll hear.»*
*»Neighbours?»* She staggered back. *»Youre worried about neighbours? What about me?»*
*»Nothing happened!»* He grabbed her shoulders. *»I swear!»*
She searched his face. Panic. Fear. Lies. Thirty-two yearsshe knew every twitch.
*»Let go,»* she said quietly.
He did. His hands shook.
Jen bolted.
*»Stop!»* Rebecca snapped. *»Take my robe off first!»*
*»Becks, come on»* James tried to block her.
*»Shy now?»* She shoved him. *»Not shy drinking coffee with her in my house!»*
Jen yanked off the robe, flung it on the chair. Jeans and a jumper underneath.
*»Sorry,»* she mumbled, then fled.
The front door slammed.
Rebecca sank onto a chair, face in hands. No tears. Just a hollow, black pit where her heart had been.
James sat beside her. *»Lets talk. Ill explain.»*
*»Go on.»*
*»Jens tap leaked. I fixed it. She offered coffee.»*
*»At 2 AM?»*
*»It was nine!»*
*»Its nearly midnight! Four-hour coffee?»*
James sweated, silent.
*»Jim, Im not stupid. Thirty-two years. I know when youre lying.»*
*»We just talked! Shes lonely!»*
*»And Im what? Furniture?»*
She stood, chest burning.
*»Talked about life with her, eh? And me? What am I? The laundry service?»*
*»Thats not»*
*»Thirty years at home! For you! For the kids! And youre bored?»*
She paced, a caged animal.
*»Ironed your shirts, washed your socks, made your dinners! And you chat up neighbours about life?»*
*»Just Jen»*
*»Just Jen? How many others?»*
*»None!»*
*»Liar!»* She got in his face. *»All those late nights? Work trips? Conferences?»*
*»That was work!»*
*»Like tonight was work?»*
James looked at the floor.
*»Becks, I love you. Youre everything to me.»*
*»Everything? Like a prized toaster?»*
*»Dont»*
*»I gave you my life! And you? Chasing young things?»*
*»Jen started it»*
*»Started what?»* Rebecca clutched her chest. *»You wanted this!»*
*»Becks, please»*
*»How long?»*
*»Six months.»*
She collapsed onto the kitchen tiles. *»Six months! Kissing me goodnight, saying you loved mewhile screwing her!»*
*»We barely met»*
*»But you met! Thats enough!»* She crawled toward the hall. *»Its over.»*
*»Where are you going?»*
*»Anywhere but here.»*
She yanked on her coat. James chased her.
*»Stay! Well talk tomorrow!»*
*»Tomorrow? Ill be rethinking my whole life tomorrow!»*
He stood therebalding, paunchy, pathetic in his crumpled shirt.
*»Know what?»* she said. *»Go to Jen. Talk about life.»*
The door slammed.
Outside, freezing. Where to go? Too late for Sophieshed wake the baby. Last train to Manchester long gone.
She rang her mate Claire.
*»Becks? You okay?»* a sleepy voice answered.
*»Can I come over? Please.»*
On the night bus, she thought: Thirty-two years. Gone. Just emptiness now.
Claire answered the door in a ratty dressing gown, hair wild. *»Tea. Talk.»*
She told her everything. Claire sighed. *»Bastard. Theyre all bastards.»*
*»What do I do?»*
*»Leave him.»*
*»Butthirty-two years»*
*»Exactly. He thinks youll put up with anything.»*
She didnt sleep. Just lay there, replaying it all. When had he checked out? Two years ago? Shed blamed midlife crisis.
Turns out hed just fancied someone else.
Morning came. She rang Sophie.
*»Mum? Dads been calling»*
*»Tell him Im at Claires. Thinking.»*
*»Thinking what?»*
*»Later, love.»*
James called all day. She ignored him. By evening, he showed up at Claires.
*»Rebecca here?»* he asked at the door.
*»Here,»* she stepped out. *»Well?»*
*»Jens done. I ended it.»*
*»Till the next Jen.»*
*»There wont be one! I swear!»*
She studied himtired eyes, wrinkled shirt. Probably meant it. For now.
*»Jim Ive been thinking. 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, the other just existing.»*
*»Ill respect you! Properly!»*
*»Heres what well do. Live apart awhile. Think.»*
*»A break?»*
*»A pause. If you realise you want meme, not just a cook and cleanercome back. If not»* She shrugged. *»Wasnt meant to be.»*
He nodded slowly. *»Ill fight for you.»*
*»Well see.»*
After he left, Claire hugged her. *»Good on you.»*
*»Terrified, Claire.»*
*»Course you are. But its honest.»*
Rebecca sat by the window. Rain tapped the glass. A new life at fifty-seven. Odd, but maybe not bad.
Tomorrow, shed job-hunt. Visit Mum properly. Talk.
Time to live for herself, too. Not just others.
She smiledfirst real smile in days.
