Natasha was cooking dinner when there was a knock at the door. “Thats odd,” she thought. “Weve got a doorbell, and everyone we know uses it.” She opened the door to find a woman her own age staring back at her.
“Good evening,” the stranger said. “Are you Natasha?”
“I am. And you are?” Natasha replied, trying to place her.
“Oh, weve never met. But Im a close friend of your husbands.”
“Olivers?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.
“Ollie,” the woman corrected with a soft smile.
Natasha sighed. “Lovely. Shouldve guessed from the nickname. Though I will say, most of his little admirers dont just show up unannounced. They usually ring first. So, what do I call you?”
“Penelope,” the woman said, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, the thing is”
Natasha cut her off. “Let me guess. You and Ollie are in love, and Im standing in the way of your happily ever after?”
Penelopes eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“Because youre not the first, darling. But heres the thingIm not stopping him. Take him today if you want. Whats his excuse this time? That the kids are too young? That he cant leave me in a lurch?”
“No, nothing like that. I know your boys are grown, at university”
“Then what? That Im ill, and hes too decent to walk out?” Natasha scoffed. “As you can see, Im perfectly fine.”
Penelope bit her lip. “No, he didnt say that either.”
Natasha crossed her arms. “Lets hear it, then. Whats the grand reason?”
Penelope hesitated. “He said we had to wait until until your father passes.”
Natasha froze. Her father, Richard, was in his late sixties, fit as a fiddle, and had no plans to kick the bucket anytime soon.
“You must be mistaken.”
“Oh, no,” Penelope insisted. “Oliver was very clear. Once Richards gone, hell leave you straightaway.”
“Why wait?” Natashas voice turned icy. “Is he scared of my dad? Because trust me, Dad couldnt care less about him.”
“Its not that. Oliver respects him. But he said once your fathers gone, youll move into *his* flat.”
Natasha burst out laughing. “His flat? Thats rich. That place was mine before we even married. My grandmother left it to me, and my parents paid for the renovations. Dads kept every receipthes meticulous like that. So no, I wont be handing it over.”
Penelope looked flustered. “But Oliver said it would be his, and youd take the country house, the car, the garage”
“Oh, did he now?” Natasha smirked. “Then why didnt you wait for that to happen before coming here?”
Penelope sighed. “Im not getting any younger. I want my happiness now. I dont care if he has the flat or notwe can live at mine.”
“Fair enough. So what do you want from me?”
“Just let him go. Thats all.”
Natasha shrugged. “Take him. Im not stopping you.”
Penelope blinked. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Natasha said. “I stopped loving him years ago. Kept him around for the kids at first, then out of habit. Lately, I thought hed finally settled down. Guess I was wrong.”
Penelope nodded eagerly. “So youll really let him go? You promise?”
“Absolutely. In fact, you can take his things now if you like.”
“Oh no, I couldnt carry them. Hell collect them when hes ready.”
Natasha smiled sweetly. “Dont worry, Ill make sure hes ready *today*. Ill file for divorce tomorrow. Well split everything fairlythough the flat stays mine. Dads got the paperwork to prove it. But hey, youve got your own place, so Oliver wont be homeless.”
Penelope brightened. “He wont. Youve no idea how relieved I am.”
Natasha waved her off. “Oliver always lands on his feet. Now, if youll excuse me, Ive got packing to do.”
As soon as Penelope left, Natasha set to work, folding Olivers clothes into suitcases. *Wait until Dad dies so he can have my flat? The audacity. Ive let him get away with too much for too long. Well, no more.*
When Oliver came home from work, he barely noticed anything amissexcept that Natasha refused to eat with him. Not that he cared. He was too busy planning his usual “evening stroll,” after which hed slink back like nothing happened.
“Darling, dinner was lovely,” he said, grabbing his coat. “I think Ill take a walk.”
*Oh, Im sure you will,* Natasha thought. “Of course, dear. At your age, fresh airs important.”
Oliver froze. “My *what*?”
“Your age, love. Youre over fifty now. Not exactly a spring chicken.”
“I beg your pardon? Im in my prime!”
Natasha sighed. “Darling, lets not kid ourselves. Even the girls on the bus offer you their seats now.”
“Thats rubbish! When did that happen?”
“Last week, remember? They said, *Take a seat, sir, you must be tired.*”
Oliver turned red. “Youre making this up!”
“And weve been sleeping in separate rooms for a year. Face it, age catches up with us all.”
Oliver spluttered. “Ive still got it! I could outlast any bloke half my age!”
“Really? Because my friend Peteryour age, by the wayhas no such issues. In fact, hes been very attentive lately.”
Olivers jaw dropped. “*Whos Peter?*”
Natasha shrugged. “Just a man who appreciates me. But dont worrygo enjoy your walk. Clear your head. Well figure things out when you get back.”
Oliver stormed out, muttering about “disrespect.” Natasha smiled as the door slammed. His bags were already packed.
The divorce went smoothly. Oliver moved in with Penelope, who doted on him, constantly assuring him he was “still so youthful.” He got the car and garage; Natasha kept the country house.
She sold it, then set off on a grand tour with her father, Richardwho, much to Olivers chagrin, remained in excellent health.
Six months later, Penelope caught Oliver on one of his “walks” and threw him out. He turned up at Natashas doorstep, pride long gone.
*Fine, let her think Im old,* he thought. *Just give me a room.*
But the neighbours told him Natasha was awayagain, with her dad.
With nowhere else to go, Oliver trudged to his garage. It had electricity. He could rig up a loo, maybe a little stove. Summer was coming, after all.
Or maybe hed find some naive young thing. He *was* still a catch, wasnt he?
