Determined to surprise her husband, Margaret returned from visiting her mother three hours earlyonly to burst into tears the moment she stepped inside.
Margaret gazed out the train window, thinking of her mum. Shed spent three days looking after her, spooning her broth and doling out pills. The fever had only broken yesterday.
«You should stay another night,» her mother had said that morning.
«Simons home alone, Mum. Hes probably starving by now.»
Now, swaying in the train carriage, she wished shed listened. But Simon had called every evening, asking about her mother, complaining about the empty fridge. His voice had sounded offtired, almost hollow.
«Miss you,» hed murmured last night before bed.
She’d smiled then. Thirty-two years together, and he still missed her. A good man, her Simon.
The train rattled. A woman across from her cracked sunflower seeds, nose buried in a paperback. A glossy cover showed a young woman embracing a suited man. Margaret glanced at her own reflectionwrinkles, grey roots peeking through. When had she aged so much?
«Meeting your husband?» the woman asked.
«Yes. Going home.»
«Im off to see my lover,» the woman chuckled. «Husband thinks Im at my sisters.»
Margaret flushed and turned away. How could someone say such things so brazenly?
Her phone buzzed.
«Hows it going? When will you be back?» Simon had texted.
She checked the time. Still four hours to London. She meant to reply truthfully, then changed her mind. Let it be a surprise. Shed cook dinner, set the table nicely. Hed be thrilled.
«Tomorrow morning. Miss you too,» she sent back.
Simon hearted the message instantly.
Fields and villages flickered past. She unscrewed her thermosher mother had insisted she take it, along with sandwiches. Still treating her like a child.
«Youve lost weight, love. Bet that Simon of yours doesnt notice what you eat.»
«Mum, Im fifty-seven.»
«And what am I? Youll always be my girl.»
She chewed the ham sandwich, thinking of her mother alone in that house where shed grown up. Dad had passed five years ago. Mum refused to move in with them.
«Youve your own life,» she always said. «Dont fuss over me.»
But Margaret loved fussing. Always had. First her parents, then Simon, then the kids. Shed taught primary school, but when James was born, she left. Then Emily came along. Somehow, she never went back.
«Why bother working?» Simon had said. «I earn enough. Just take care of home.»
So she had. For thirty years. Cooking, cleaning, raising children. Ironing Simons shirts, darning his socks.
Now the kids were goneJames up in Manchester with his own family, Emily married with a baby. She was a grandmother now.
And what came next?
The train slowed. She gathered her things, bid the sunflower-seed woman farewell. The platform was chaos. The bus home took half an hour.
She imagined Simons shock. He thought shed return tomorrowbut here she was, early. Maybe shed stop at Tesco, grab some groceries. A nice cut of beef, fresh potatoes. Shed cook a proper meal, light candles.
The cashier smiled as she checked out. «Special occasion?»
«Oh, just my husband waiting.»
The bags were heavy. She barely made it to the lift, fumbling for her keys. Finally, the door swung open.
«Simon? Its me!» she called. «Im back!»
Silence. Probably asleep. Nearly midnight.
She set the bags down, shrugged off her coat. The lights were on. OddSimon never slept with them on.
She moved to hang her coatthen froze.
Black heels. Womens. Polished, elegant. Not hers.
«Simon?» she whispered.
Her pulse spiked. Maybe Emilys? But why wouldnt she warn her?
A womans laugh trickled from the kitchen. Light, unfamiliar.
Margaret stiffened. Not Emily.
«Youre hilarious, Simon,» the voice purred.
«Margaret wont be back till tomorrow. Weve time,» Simon replied.
Margaret pressed against the wall. Her legs buckled. What was happening? Who was she?
«What if she comes early?» the woman asked.
«She wont. Shes always punctual.»
They laughed. Margaret shut her eyes. The air thickened.
She crept down the hall. The kitchen door was ajar. Peering in, she saw Simon in his rumpled pyjamas, grinning. Opposite him, a blondethirtyish, pretty. Wearing Margarets dressing gown.
Two coffee cups, a half-eaten Victoria sponge. Simon held her hand.
«Liz, youre amazing,» he murmured.
Liz? Who the hell was Liz?
«What about your wife? You said you loved her,» the woman teased.
«I do. But this is different. With you, I feel young again.»
Margaret gripped the doorframe. The room swam. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of trust, of tending to him. And this
«Simon,» she choked out.
They whipped around. Simon paled. The blonde jumped up, clutching the gown.
«Maggie? You saidyou said tomorrow»
«Who is this?» Margaret pointed.
«Liz. Neighbour. Flat 52.»
«Neighbour?» Margaret stared at the woman in her robe. «Neighbours wear your wifes clothes now?»
«Listen, I should go,» Liz edged toward the door.
«Stay!» Margaret barked. «Explain this!»
Liz halted, guilty but not enough.
«We were just… talking. Simon helped me. My tap broke.»
«Tap?» Margaret laughed, shrill. «Fixing taps in my robe?»
«Love, calm down,» Simon stood. «Nothing happened. Liz needed help, I went over. She offered coffee. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Margaret looked at Simonreally lookedat the greying hair he used to slick back proudly, the hands that had once held hers at their wedding, now trembling slightly as he reached for her.
I made a mistake, he said, voice cracking. Just dont go.
She didnt answer. Instead, she walked slowly to the kitchen table, set down the grocery bag, and pulled out the cut of beef, still wrapped in its paper. She placed it carefully between the two coffee cups.
Then she took off her coat, hung it on the hookbeneath the blonde womans black heelsand said, quiet but clear, You finish your coffee. Im going to bed.
No one moved. No one spoke.
She walked past them, down the hall, her steps steady, her face unreadable. In the bedroom, she closed the door softly, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at the photograph on the nightstand: their younger selves, laughing on a beach, James in a bucket hat, Emily in a tiny sundress.
Outside, the city hummed. Inside, the house held its breath.
