“Shut up,” the husband snapped, slamming his suitcase onto the floor. “I’m leaving you and this backwater you call a life.”
“Backwater?” Emily turned slowly from the stove, where potatoes sizzled for dinner.
“This backwater fed your mother for twenty years while she went to doctors. Forgotten already?”
“Whats Mum got to do with it? Dont you dare bring her into this!”
“Everything, James. While you were off chasing big opportunities in London, I was here with your paralysed mother. Changing her pads, if you must know.”
James stood in the doorway of their two-bed flat, dressed in a sharp new suit, his suitcase at his feet. Emily hadnt seen him look this polished in yearstrim, tanned, smelling of expensive cologne. A far cry from the factory worker who used to come home reeking of machine oil.
She remembered how theyd met. A dance at the factory social clubhim a young mechanic, her from the accounts office. Hed spun her under the dim lights, whispering nonsense in her ear. Then came the modest weddingthirty guests, chicken salad, and cheap sparkling wine. His mother had wept with joy, hugging Emily tight. “Thank you, love, for taming my Jimmy.”
Tamed him. Twenty-two years theyd spent together. Raised a daughter, Sophie, now in medical school, scraping by on scholarships and Emilys extra tutoring shifts. James hadnt given them a penny in three yearspoured everything into his “business ventures.” What business? She still didnt know. One minute it was a car repair shop, the next haulage. All of it went bust.
“You just dont understand,” James lit a cigarette right there in the hallway. “Daves offered me a job in London. Runs a chain of car washeswants me to manage one. Even sorted a flat to start.”
“Going alone?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron. They trembled, but her voice stayed steady.
“Not alone.” He looked away. “With Jess. She… gets me. Believes in me.”
Jess. Emily had known about her for three months. Seen the texts on his phone while he showered. “Babe,” “Sweetheart,” “Miss you.” Twenty-eight years old. Sales manager at the dealership where James had eyed up a caron finance, mind you, which Emily was still paying off from her teachers salary.
“What about Sophie?” Emily asked. “Your daughter. She graduates next year.”
“Shell understand when shes older. I cant live like this anymore, Em. Im forty-five. Still young enough to turn things around.”
Emily walked to the window. Outside, their neighbour Margaret hung washing on the line. She spotted Emily, gave a little wave. Margaret knew everythingabout Jess, about James barely coming home the past six months. Brought pies sometimes, muttering, “Stay strong, love.”
“Remember,” Emily said quietly, “when Sophie was five? Pneumonia. Doctors didnt know if shed pull through. You worked double shifts for the medicine. I sat by her bed day and night. You said, Were family, Em. Well get through anything.”
“That was years ago.”
“Fifteen. Or when your mum had her stroke? Who dragged her to appointments? Who stayed up nights turning her so she wouldnt get sores? Me, James. You were always too busy. What business? You were already chasing pipe dreams.”
James stubbed his cigarette on the windowsill. Emily wincednewly fitted last month. Shed saved for it.
“You never forget a thing, do you?” he snapped. “All the bad stuff. What about the good? That holiday in Brighton?”
“Ten years ago. A week in a B&B.”
“Nothings ever enough for you!”
Emily turned to him. Tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldnt let them fall. Not for him.
“Know what, James? Go. Run off with Jess. But Ill tell you thisI looked after your mum till the end. Two years she lay there. Two years I spoon-fed her, bathed her, gave her meds. Where were you? Working? On what? Youve barely held a job in five years. Too busy playing entrepreneur.”
“I tried! For this family!”
“For us?” Emily scoffed. “Sophie works night shifts as a care assistant to afford textbooksbecause Dads too busy chasing schemes. I teach double hours and tutor evenings. Who were you trying for?”
James gripped his suitcase handle, silent.
“Know the funny part?” Emily continued. “Your mum told me before she died, Forgive him, love. Hes weak. Always was. Thank you for putting up with him. I didnt get it then. I do now.”
“Dont!” James exploded. “Dont call me weak! Im suffocating here! In this flat, this town, with you! Youll bury me with your bloody righteousness!”
“My righteousness?” Emily laugheddry, bitter. “Ive spent years biting my tongue. When you stumbled in drunk. When money vanished from the savingsfor your latest project. When you reeked of another womans perfume. I thought youd grow out of it. For the family.”
She opened the cupboard, pulled out a folder. James stiffened.
“Whats that?”
“Divorce papers. Prepared them a month ago. Waited to see if youd leave first. Or if I would. But you beat me to itwell done. Sign them.”
James gaped at the documents.
“You… knew?”
“Im not stupid, James. Just gave you chances. Gave myself onein case I was wrong. I wasnt.”
“The flat…” he started.
“Mine. Mum left it to me. Youre on the lease, but youve no claim. Try court if you likebut youve no income for three years. Fancy paying Sophies maintenance?”
“Shes an adult”
“A full-time student. Legally entitled till she graduates. Section 85 of the Family Law Act, if youre curious.”
James snatched the pen, scrawled his signature. Slammed the folder down.
“Happy now? Twenty-two years down the drain?”
Emily studied him. Grey at the temples, lines by his eyes. Once, her whole world. Now a stranger.
“Not wasted. Weve got Sophie. Clever, kind, hardworking. Takes after me,” she smiled sadly. “And thank youfor the good years. But you lost your way. Or maybe you were always like this, and I ignored it.”
James lifted his suitcase. Hesitated in the doorway.
“Youll regret this. Youll be lonely.”
“I wont. Ive got Sophie. My job. Friends. Know what? Ill finally take those dance lessons. Always wanted to learn the waltz. You laughedsaid I had two left feet. Well see.”
The door slammed. Silence. Emily walked to the kitchen. The potatoes were burnt. She dumped the pan in the sink, opened the windowair it out.
Her phone rang. Sophie.
“Mum? You okay? Margaret calledsaid Dad left with a suitcase.”
“Im fine, love. Dinner later?”
“Mum… Are you crying?”
“No,” Emily wasnt. “Just chopping onions. Making salad.”
“Im coming over. Right after my shift.”
“Dont, Soph. Youve exams tomorrow.”
“Mum, dont be daft. Im on my way. And Mum… I love you. Youre the strongest person I know.”
Emily hung up. Took a bottle of wine from the fridgea Teachers Day gift, saved for a special occasion. Poured half a glass, raised it to the sunset-gilded rooftops.
“To new beginnings,” she murmured.
Below, a taxi door thudded shut. James loaded his case while a young blonde waved from the passenger seat. Jess. Emily had seen her at the dealershipnothing special. Just young.
Margaret called up from the yard:
“Em! Bringing you a pie! Cheese and onionyour favourite!”
Emily smiled. Properly, for the first time in months. The divorce papers lay on the table, beside Jamess abandoned keys. She picked them up, weighed them in her palm.
Tomorrow, shed change the locks. Book dance lessons. Maybe finally get that bob cut.
Tonight, shed drink wine with Margaret. Eat pie. Not think about what came next.
Because next was life. Hers. No looking back at the man whod walked away.
The phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Mrs. Carter? Medical school here. Sophies been nominated for the Chancellors Scholarship. Congratulationsshes a credit to you!”
This time, Emily did cry. But they were happy tears.
