Imogen Clarke clings to Victor Harts jacket sleeve so hard that the knuckles on her fingers turn white.
Emma, let go, Victor says calmly, pulling her hands away. Ive made up my mind. Stop the dramadont you see its over between us?
I dont understand anything! Yesterday we were talking about the holiday, about retiling the bathroom, and now youre packing? Imogens voice bursts into a scream.
She had indeed been making summer plans the day before. Victor nodded, gave vague answers, then suddenly blurted out, Emma, Im leaving with Laura. At first she thought shed misheard. Then she thought it must be a joke. But Victor was dead serious.
Whos Laura? Imogen manages to force out.
My colleague. Weve been seeing each other for six months, Victor replies as if hes discussing a new TV purchase, not the collapse of a marriage.
Imogen sinks into the armchair, staring at the man shes lived with for twenty years and not recognizing him. Where is the shy, gentle, caring Victor she once loved? In his place stands a stranger with cold eyes.
That night she cant close her eyes. She sits in the kitchen wrapped in an old housecoat, replaying every day of their life together, searching for the moment things went wrong. How did she miss his cooling affection? How did she fail to notice the rival?
Now Victor stands in the hallway with a travel bag, ready to leave her alone, bewildered, deafened, crushed.
Victor, lets talk, Imogen begs, no longer shouting. You cant just throw away twenty years in an instant. Did something happen at work? Do you need time to think?
Theres nothing to think about, Emma, Victor says without looking at her, fiddling with the zip on his bag. I love another woman. Im bored with you. Youre a good housewife, but thats not enough. Laura understands me, shes interesting.
So Im just a cook and a laundress then? Imogens bitterness overflows.
I never said that. Dont twist my words, Victor snaps, pursing his lips. And lets skip the scenes. Ill call a solicitor, well file for divorce. Ill leave you the flat, dont worry.
I dont want the flat! I want the family! I want you! she raises her voice again.
Emma, stop. My taxi is waiting downstairs.
He clicks the bags lock, glances around to make sure he hasnt forgotten anything, and heads for the door.
Victor! Imogen lunges after him. If you leave now, dont ever come back! Hear me? Never!
He turns at the threshold. Youve always been overly dramatic, Emma. No need for grand statements. Ill collect the rest of my things next week.
The door slams shut. Imogen leans against the wall and slowly slides down to the floor. The room is emptyno tears, no pain, just a deafening void and bewilderment.
Poppy, Imogens best friend, bursts in as soon as she hears the news. She darts into the flat, takes in the scene: Imogen sitting detached in a chair, photographs scattered, a smashed vase on the floor.
Emma, love, Poppy says, hugging her. Let me make you a cup of tea while you tell me everything.
While the kettle whistles, Poppy tidies the mess, sweeps up the shards, brings a blanket and wraps it around Imogens trembling shoulders.
Hes gone to a younger woman, right? Poppy asks once Imogen steadies herself a bit.
Im not even sure, Imogen shrugs. He said colleague. Laura, I think.
Typical case, Poppy sighs. Grey beard, devilish grin.
No grey at all! Victor looks great, Imogen protests. And that woman cant be much younger than us.
So what does it matter? Poppy rolls her eyes. The point is your husband swapped twenty years of a happy marriage for an affair with a coworker.
Maybe its my fault? Imogens eyes redden. Did I do something wrong, miss something?
Dont blame yourself! Poppy interrupts. Ive seen how you lived all these yearseverything for the family, everything for him. You stopped breathing without permission. Remember giving up your career when he said a woman belongs at home? The diet meals you made when the doctor warned about cholesterol? Skipping a visit to your sister because he wanted to redo the livingroom wallpaper?
But thats normal, Imogen whispers. Im his wife, I have to look after him
Exactlyhave to. All your life youve been shouldbe for someone else: husband, motherinlaw, society. For yourself? Have you ever been shouldbe?
She looks down, never having considered it. A pretty girl from a modest background, she married young to Victor, whose parents, from an affluent academic family, never treated her as an equal. To prove herself, she quit music schoolher motherinlaw called it frivolous and Victor backed her. She took a secretarial job at a respectable firm, then gave it up when Victor decided she should devote herself entirely to the home.
They never had childrenshe suffered a miscarriage at three months and doctors said future pregnancies were unlikely. Victor was disappointed; hed wanted a son. He eventually accepted, and Imogen tried to fill the void with endless care.
Emma, maybe its for the best, Poppy says, breaking the heavy thoughts. Its time you start living for you.
What are you talking about? For the best? My life is over! Imogen exclaims.
Nonsense! Youre fortytwo, beautiful, with a whole life ahead. Look at youyouve disappeared into him. Wheres the real Emma? The one who sang until her skin tingled? The one who dreamed of traveling? The one who wanted to help children in care homes?
Imogen stays silent. Poppy is rightthe real Emma is somewhere in the past. Those twenty years she lived not her own life.
Alright, love, Poppy says, getting up. Ill stay the night. Tomorrow well figure out what to do next. For now, take a shower and have this, she hands over a pill. Itll help you sleep.
Morning brings no relief. Imogen feels shattered. Poppy is already bustling in the kitchen, making breakfast, humming cheerfully.
Good morning, sleepyhead! she chirps, spotting Imogen. Omelettes almost ready. Sit down, lets eat.
I dont want to, Imogen shakes her head. I cant swallow a bite.
You know what, Poppy decides, turning off the stove. Lets pack a bag and head to my cottage. Fresh air helps clear the mind, and theres plenty to keep you busy.
No, thanks, Poppy, Imogen sighs. Ill stay. Maybe Victor will change his mind and come back
And youd take him back after he dumped you for the first woman he saw?
Laura isnt just the firsthe says shes interesting.
So Im boring then? Poppy snaps. What does he even understand about interesting people? Hes glued to work, has almost no friends, hobbies are the sofa and the telly. Youve read his mind for twenty years, guessed every need, and now hes bored.
Stop, Imogen grimaces. Victors smart, educated. He reads books, attends lectures
One lecture at a time, Poppy notes. Did he ever take you along?
I never wanted to, Imogen admits weakly. I always had house duties.
Of course, a borscht wont cook itself, Poppy jokes. And Laura probably cooks borscht and goes to lectures.
Imogen sighs, wondering if shes to blame for becoming uninteresting to her husband. Shes sunk into domesticity and forgotten selfdevelopment.
Lets go to the cottage, she decides suddenly. Youre right, I need a distraction.
Poppys cottage is a tiny, cozy cottage with a garden bursting with flowers, the only sound being birdsongperfect for healing.
From dawn till dusk Poppy works in the garden; Imogen helpsweeding, watering, picking berries. The hard physical work keeps Victors betrayal from crowding her thoughts.
One evening on the veranda, sipping tea made from fresh blackcurrants, Poppy asks, Do you remember how you sang at music school? You had a lovely voice!
Its a thing of the past, Imogen waves it off.
No, it isnt, Poppy insists. You buried that talent. Victor was always jealous of your music.
Thats nonsense, Imogen replies. He thought singing in clubs was not serious, and he was rightits not a profession.
You could have gone professional, Poppy says stubbornly. Your teacher said you had huge potential. Remember Mr. Ivanov? He wanted to send you to the conservatoire.
What does that have to do with now?
It shows you buried yourself alive for a husband who never appreciated it.
Imogen pauses. She had once dreamed of the stage, of music. Then Victor arrived and everything changed.
I have an idea, Poppy bursts out. Lets go to the local community club. They have live music on weekends, karaoke. Lets shake things up.
Are you crazy? Imogen gasps. Im almost fortythree, married well, I was married.
Exactlywas. Now youre single. You have a choice: sit and cry over the man who left you, or start living anew.
The club is noisy and lively. Imogen feels out of placebright lights, loud music, crowds of young people. But with Poppys encouragement and a glass of wine, she begins to relax.
Nowkaraoke! Poppy shouts as the host steps on stage.
No, no, I wont, Imogen protests.
You will, Poppy says firmly. Stop hiding.
Before she knows it, Imogen is on stage, microphone in hand. The first lyrics appear: Ill never forget you from a classic ballad she once loved. She starts softly, nervous, but each note grows stronger. The room quiets, everyone listening. When she finishes, applause erupts.
Bravo! someone yells.
She steps down, shaking, when a middleaged man in jeans and a checkered shirt approaches.
Fantastic! I havent heard a performance like that in ages. Are you a professional singer? he asks.
No, Im just a housewife, Imogen stammers.
I dont buy it. With that voice, you cant be just a housewife. Im Michael, I run the local choir, he says, extending his hand.
Imogen Clarke, she replies.
Pleasure. Listen, we have a solo spot open. Would you consider trying out? Michael asks, handing her a card.
Poppy elbows her. Of course she wants to! Right, Emma?
Imogen hesitates. I dont know I havent sung in years
But you sound divine, Michael insists. Think about it. Heres my card. Ill await your call.
On the way home Poppy cant stop gushing. Did you see that? You were brilliant! And Michaelwhat a charming bloke.
Stop, Imogen says, blushing. Im not looking for another man.
Why not? Youre free now, Poppy shrugs. Legally youre still married, but he dumped you for someone else. You have every right to start a new life.
A new life Imogen turns the card over, feeling the possibility of singing in a choir, doing what she once loved.
The next morning she wakes with a strange excitement. She calls Michael and arranges a meeting.
The choir meets three times a week at the local community centre. Michael, after hearing her again, is thrilled and offers her solo parts.
You have amazing talent, he says. Its a shame you didnt pursue it professionally.
It just turned out differently, Imogen replies.
Its never too late to change, Michael smiles.
Rehearsals become a breath of fresh air. Imogen feels like shes returned to the youthful days when music was her joy. She also enjoys meeting new peoplechorus members of all ages, united by song.
A month passes. She still hasnt signed the divorce papers, hoping Victor might return. She calls him, but he either doesnt answer or speaks coldly. The solicitor has emailed the paperwork, but she delays signing.
One afternoon, after rehearsal, she opens her front door to find Victor standing there. Her heart hammershas he come back?
Hi, he says. May I come in?
Of course, Imogen rushes to let him in. Come in.
Victor looks around the flat, surprised. Did you do the redecorating?
No, just moved the furniture, put up new curtains. Ive been busychanging the interior, clearing out things, making space.
It looks different, he remarks. You havent signed the papers. My solicitor is pressing.
Imogen feels a knot tighten. Hes not here to reconcile; hes here to speed up the divorce.
I havent had time, she stammers. Ive been occupied.
Occupied with what? Victor asks, skeptical. Youre not working.
I sing in a choir, she snaps back. Three rehearsals a week, plus performances.
What? You? In a choir?
Yes, I am. Whats wrong with that? she says, anger rising. You know Ive always loved singing.
I know, but its just a hobby, Victor scoffs. Its not serious.
It matters to me, Imogen replies coldly. I even have solo parts now.
Victor smirks. How long have you been at it?
Almost a month.
And how did you get into it?
Poppy helped. Look, if youre only here for the documents, I wont hold you up. Ill sign and send them to your solicitor.
Actually, I wanted to talk, Victor says suddenly. Maybe you could make a coffee?
Imogen heads to the kitchen, heart pounding. Could he have changed his mind? As she brews coffee, Victor watches her.
You look different. Lost some weight?
A bit, she says, handing him the mug. What did you want to discuss?
Victor pauses, collecting his thoughts. You know, things with Laura arent smooth. Shes not what I expected.
Oh? Imogen keeps her voice steady, though shes trembling inside. And?
Shes always out with friends, has her own interests. At home theres chaos, she doesnt cook every day
Imogen cant help a small smile. So thats the problemLaura isnt the tidy housewife hes used to.
What do you want from me? she asks.
Maybe we could try again? Victor suggests. I havent filed for divorce
And the solicitors papers?
It was just a scare tactic, he waves his hand. Emma, you love me. Twenty years isnt a joke.
Imogen looks at him and suddenly feels nothingno joy, no relief, not even spite. Nothing.
No, Victor, she says calmly. I wont try again.
What? he looks as if hes hearing it for the first time. Youre refusing?
Yes, she replies firmly. In this month Ive realized a lot. I lived for you, and you never valued that. You left when you wanted something new, never considering my feelings. Now youre back because its inconvenient.
You dont understand! Victor shouts. I was wrong! I love you!
No, Victor, you dont understand, Imogen shakes her head. You love the comfort I created. You love being served. The real meyou never knew, never wanted to know.
What are you talking about? The real me?
The me who loves to sing. The me who wants to learn and grow. The me who is curious about the world beyond this flat.
Victor stares at her as if shes mad. Emma, stop. Weve been together twenty years. I acted like a fool, but itll be different now. I promise!
You can promise all you like, Imogen smiles. But not with me. Ill sign the papers and send them to your solicitor. Now I have to get to rehearsal.
She rises from the table, ending the conversation.
Youll regret this! Victor yells as he heads for the door. You wont belong in your choir! Youll just be a pretended singer and come back. Ill never take you back!
Imogen says nothing. When the door shuts, she stands for a moment, listening to the quiet inside. It feels light and calm. She walks to the mirror, fixes her hair, touches up her lipstick, and smiles at her reflection.
Lived for him. And it was pointless, she thinks, then heads out to rehearsal, where new songs and new friends await. Perhaps a new love tooMichael has been showing a clear interest lately. But thats a story for another day.
