Jenna woke up and listened. The silence in the flat told her Nigel wasn’t home. She stretched, got out of bed, and shuffled to the kitchen. A note on the table read, “Sorry, forgot to mention last night. Be back by lunch—working.”
She scoffed, crumpled the paper, and tossed it in the bin. She’d suspected Nigel was seeing someone for ages. Always out, barely talking, just going through the motions. Their daughter had married and moved to her husband’s army base, leaving Jenna with the hollow shell of a marriage.
Her phone buzzed. Margot.
“You busy?” asked her oldest friend from secondary school.
“Just got up.”
“Listen, it’s gorgeous out—proper spring sunshine. Fancy a shopping trip? I’m craving something colourful. Please say you’re free.”
“Free as a bird. Nigel’s at work.”
“On a weekend? Right, get yourself sorted, dress sharp. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” Margot hung up.
Jenna put the kettle on and headed to the bathroom. Shopping with Margot was always a win. She had a knack for spotting the perfect item in a sea of rubbish. Jenna would dither, overwhelmed, while Margot—like magic—pulled out the exact dress, fit, and quality needed.
Margot’s rule: always shop dressed to impress. “If sales assistants think you’re loaded, they’ll show you the good stuff.” Oddly, it worked. They never left empty-handed.
Jenna did her makeup, slipped into a smart outfit, and checked the mirror. Shopping was just the mood booster she needed.
Ten minutes later, Margot rang. “I’m outside.”
“Got anything specific in mind?” Jenna asked, settling into Margot’s Mini.
“Nah. New collection’s due, so last season’s stuff’ll be on sale. Feel that, love? Spring’s here.”
“Nigel’ll kill me. We’re saving for holiday…”
“He won’t. Cut the tags, ditch the receipts, halve the price when you tell him.”
“Right, so I’ll spend double instead.”
“I’ve got a foolproof way to distract him.”
“Do share,” Jenna grinned.
“You’ll see.”
Margot was statuesque—not plump, but broad-shouldered, curvy, with dark eyes and lips that turned heads. Jenna was her opposite: petite, slim, with honey-blonde curls and green eyes. In jeans, she could pass for a teenager. Next to Margot, she felt tiny, unsure.
Shop assistants fawned over Margot, offering their best. Jenna? They’d talk down to her till she flustered and fled.
Two hours in, arms laden with branded bags, Jenna groaned. “Enough. Nigel’ll lose it.”
“One more.” Margot dragged her to lingerie.
“No way. He won’t speak to me for a week!”
“Look at this lace! Raspberry set—perfect with your hair.” Margot held up a stunning bra. “Could pair it with a negligée… No, too much.”
“Who’ll even see it? And it’s pricey. Not a chance.”
“Honestly, after all my lessons… This isn’t for under clothes. It’s for *bedtime*. Make him remember what he’s got. With your figure? No brainer. Take it.” Margot marched to the till.
“My feet are dead. Let’s sit somewhere. Only had coffee this morning.” Jenna hesitated. “Margot… I think Nigel’s cheating.”
“Because he’s working weekends?” Margot eyed her as they walked to a café.
“I’ve suspected for—”
“Café’s here. Later.”
They sat by the window. Jenna scanned the room—then froze. Two tables over, a man in a white jumper sat with his back to them. Same haircut as Nigel. Same jumper she’d gifted him at Christmas. But why wear it to work? His office was across town.
She told herself she was wrong, but her eyes kept darting back. Then he turned slightly—profile unmistakable. Nigel.
Her stomach dropped. Like a kid caught misbehaving, she panicked—but he hadn’t seen her.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Margot said.
“Shh. That’s Nigel. Let’s go before he spots us.”
“So what? *He* should be nervous. Told you he was working. And why’s he dressed like that? Checking his watch—waiting for someone?” Margot smirked. “Ring any bells?”
Jenna stood.
“Where’re you—?”
“Confronting him.” She walked over and slid into Nigel’s booth.
“Hi.”
Nigel gaped. “What’re you—?”
“Shopping with Margot. Needed a break.” She waved at Margot, who grinned. Nigel didn’t turn.
“Waiting for someone? Keep checking your watch.”
He recovered, scowling. “How much did you spend? We agreed no splurges before holiday.”
“Relax. I was sensible. Can’t holiday in rags.” Jenna felt eerily calm. Truth hurt less than doubt.
Nigel’s phone buzzed. He flipped it face-down.
“Why d’you do that? Hide your phone around me? Bathroom trips with it—hiding something?”
“Just habit.”
“New habit. Let me see.” She reached, but he snatched it away.
A woman passed their table, pausing slightly before sitting nearby. Nigel glanced—too quick, but Jenna caught it.
“Your date’s here. Ordered already?” A waitress appeared, winking at Nigel.
“So, just coffee, then?” Jenna bit back fury, eyeing the floral centrepiece like a weapon. “Five minutes?”
The waitress vanished.
“That her? The one you’re waiting for?” Jenna nodded at the woman. “Twenty-five, max. That insecure, are you?”
“Stop. We’ll talk at home.”
“What about lunch? She must be hungry. I can’t spend, but you can play charity?”
Margot waved frantically; Jenna ignored her.
“How long? Six months? That’s when you started hiding your phone. Just admit it. Be a man.”
“Jenna, you’re mad. What affair? I dropped documents for a client, stopped for coffee—”
“Let’s see.” She stood to approach the woman—but the waitress returned with plates, one domed.
“Enjoy.”
“Coffee, huh?” Jenna lifted the dome. A velvet ring box sat on the plate.
“When were you going to tell me you’re divorcing me?”
“Home. Not here.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You don’t *have* a home. Pack your things tomorrow. Enjoy lunch.” She walked out.
Margot caught up outside. “Jenna, the car’s the other way! I’m not chasing you in heels—help me with these bags!”
Jenna obeyed.
“If we hadn’t stopped, I’d never have known. I *knew*, but I ignored it. Too scared to lose him. Lose *us*. But it’s already gone.” She crumpled into tears in the car.
“Love, maybe you’re jumping to conclusions? She’s your Lara’s age. Might just be a fling. Men, eh?” Margot patted her back.
“Remember his Edinburgh trip? He took *her*. Some stranger sent me their photo—him, her, by his car. Said some girl asked for a pic to make her bloke jealous. And I *believed* him. Now this ring…” She shook. “How do I even…? All these years…”
She flung a bag’s contents onto the pavement.
“You daft mare.” Margot scooped up the clothes, hugged her tight as Jenna sobbed.
“Right, enough moping. Home.”
There, Margot poured brandy, then more. Jenna stormed to the wardrobe, hurling Nigel’s things into suitcases, stuffing overflow into bags, tossing in his toothbrush, shaving cream…
“Good riddance. Never liked him,” Margot said, hauling bags to the hall.
“Done. I’m off—my bloke’s waiting. Sleep. I’ll call tomorrow.”
Oddly, Jenna slept. She woke to light from the kitchen. Nigel sat on the sofa.
“Take your things and *go*,” she rasped.
“Jenna, talk to me.” He looked wrecked.
“More lies?”
“No. Yeah, I messed about. Thought it’d fizzle out. But she’s pregnant. I can’t leave her.”
“*Messed about*? Get out!” She hurled a pillow, then collapsed, weeping.
She didn’t hear him leave.
Days blurred, the pain relentless. Jenna wandered the empty flat, listless. She almost called him—stopped herself. Margot learned he’d rented a flat; the girl wasn’t local.
Jenna remembered renovating this place—She stepped off the train into the warm embrace of her daughter, knowing that somewhere beyond the station, a new chapter—brighter and freer—was waiting to begin.
