Never Again

**Never Again**

After work, Elaine popped into the corner shop. She couldn’t be bothered to cook, but Lily needed feeding. She grabbed a pack of pasta and some sausages—Lily had adored them since she was little. A loaf of bread and a carton of milk rounded off the basics.

A short queue had formed at the checkout. Ahead of her stood a burly man in a black jacket and a knitted bobble hat. “Young bloke, wearing that ridiculous thing. Probably knitted by his doting wife. Some women have a knack for making their husbands look a right state—keeps other women at bay, I suppose. Bet he’s got one of those baby-faced grins,” she mused, glaring at the garish stripes of his hat.

The man turned, sensing her stare. Elaine quickly looked away. “Not bad-looking, actually. Doesn’t seem like an idiot,” she conceded. He glanced back again.

“See something interesting?” he asked.

“Hardly. Nothing better to do than stand in a queue,” Elaine muttered irritably.

The line wasn’t moving. Annoyance prickled under her skin. That stupid hat… She nearly abandoned her basket, but there were no other shops nearby. “Men always drag things out. Bet he’ll faff over his cigs—’No, not those, the blue pack with the green stripe.’ Then dig for loose change like he didn’t know he’d have to pay.” She sighed loudly.

Sure enough, he rummaged through his tight jeans for coins. Elaine huffed dramatically.

“In a rush? Go ahead,” said Bobble Hat, stepping aside.

Elaine shrugged and took his place. Finally, he scraped together the right amount, bagged his meagre shopping, and left.

Her turn came. The cashier scanned her items while Elaine fruitlessly hunted for her card.

“Get a move on, love. Have your money ready,” someone snapped behind her.

“Lost your card?” Bobble Hat quipped, smirking.

Elaine ignored him, still rifling through her purse.

“I’ll cover it,” he told the cashier.

“Don’t!” Elaine flushed, finally slapping her card on the reader. “Found it. Sorry.” She snatched her bag and hurried out.

“What’s wrong with me? So what if he wears a daft hat? I’ve turned into a right grump,” she scolded herself on the walk home.

“It’s all Paul’s fault. We were happy—or was I just fooling myself? Ran off with some dim-witted girl who got knocked up. Noble of him to marry her. Never mind that Lily grows up without a father. And I’m nearly forty. Forty! God, that’s old.”

“He left us the flat, at least. Small mercies. Why do we always suffer for men? Same story everywhere. The rare ones who don’t cheat, or at least have the decency to hide it. At forty, they’re chasing girls half their age. What’s left for us?” Her thoughts spiralled, tears pricking her eyes.

The lift doors creaked open on a waft of beer and cheap fags. A swaying drunk stumbled past. Elaine wrinkled her nose. “All the same—boozing or tomcatting. Can’t stand them.”

Upstairs, she fumbled with her keys, gloves snagging, nearly dropping them on the grubby carpet. Finally, the door opened.

Lily sat at her desk, homework spread out. She glanced up, eyes flickering with something—disdain? Irritation?

“Mum, I need money for the theatre. School trip on Saturday,” she demanded.

“I’ll cook dinner first,” Elaine deflected, retreating to the kitchen.

“More money. Like I print the stuff. One income now—rent, food, bills… Counting every penny.” She filled a pot, muttering to an imaginary confidant about life’s unfairness.

“Mum? The theatre?” Lily stood in the doorway, bookmarking her page.

“I’ll withdraw cash tomorrow,” Elaine sighed, not turning around.

Satisfied, Lily vanished.

“Let’s see how long *his* luck lasts. She won’t stay young and pretty. Babies ruin that. Sleepless nights, no time for herself… And he’s no spring chicken either. Serves him right. Should be thinking grandkids, not newborns. Ugh, why do I keep dwelling on him?”

After dinner, Elaine switched on her desk lamp. A crackle, a pop—darkness. “Perfect. Just bought this last week. What else today?” She fiddled with the bulb. No luck. “I’ll exchange it tomorrow. If I kept the receipt.” She hadn’t.

Next evening, lugging the heavy lamp, she headed to the electronics shop across the road.

On the steps, *he* stood smoking. Elaine shot him a withering look and marched inside.

Bobble Hat followed, slipping behind the counter. At her stunned expression, he grinned.

“Bought this last week,” she snapped, slamming the lamp down.

“Got the receipt?” he asked smoothly. “No wonder you’re single. With that temper.”

“Who said I’m single?” she spluttered.

“If you had a husband, he’d fix this himself.”

“He’s busy. Writing his thesis.” A pathetic lie. “No, no receipt. So it’s useless?” She turned to leave.

“Give me your address. I’ll repair it and drop it off. Or come by tomorrow.”

“Like I’ll haul it back. Flat 96, across the road.” She shoved the door open.

“So *he* sold me the lamp. Didn’t recognise him without that hat. Clever eyes, though. Decent.” She walked home, pleased at the free repair.

In the hallway mirror, she studied herself—hat pulled low, dull eyes, pinched mouth. Shrunk, faded. No one at work had said a word. Some sisterhood.

“My fault Paul strayed. That girl *tries*. Nails, heels… Men love that. Me? Stuck in trousers. Enough. Time to change. Spite him. Let him think I’ve moved on too.”

Next morning, she wore a dress, mascara lightly applied. Lily gaped.

“About time. Now do your hair.”

Elaine turned.

“Eyes sparkling. Met someone?” Lily grinned.

“No one. Just me.” She fluffed her hair. “Maybe a haircut?”

At work, compliments rained all day. Her mood lifted.

Home again, she swapped her dressing gown for jeans and a tee. Peeling potatoes, she scoffed. Paul hated onions and garlic—afraid of bad breath. His *angel* probably lived on air.

The sizzle of fried onions filled the flat. Lily darted in.

“Special occasion?”

“No. Just fancy it. Toss a pod in the wash, will you?” Elaine fetched pickled gherkins.

As the potatoes browned, the doorbell rang. The shopkeeper stood there—no bobble hat this time. She barely recognised him until she spotted the lamp.

“You?”

“Evening. Fixed it.” He handed it over. His gaze flicked past her, toward the kitchen.

“Tea? There’s soup, if you’re hungry,” she offered.

A crash cut him off. They rushed in—books scattered, a shelf collapsed.

“I told Paul that screw was loose,” Elaine groaned. “You show up, and everything falls apart.”

“Got any tools? I’ll sort it,” he said, ignoring her jab.

Spring bled into summer. On the station platform, Oliver wheeled a suitcase, a duffel slung over his shoulder. Elaine walked beside him in a floral dress, hair loose in the breeze. Lily chattered excitedly about finding a house by the sea…

That rubbish about women not needing men? Nonsense. Made up by the unlucky ones who never met the right one. How lovely it was to just be a woman—soft, happy.

When a man leaves, a woman builds walls, armors herself with distrust. She forgets how to be happy, fearing betrayal, trusting no one. But then *he* comes—says she’s the best, and suddenly, she remembers. She’s a woman again. *His* woman.

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Never Again