“Shut it,” the man snarled, hurling his suitcase onto the floor. “I’m leaving you and this bloody swamp you call a life.”
“A swamp?” Emily turned slowly from the stove, where potatoes sizzled for supper.
“This swamp fed your mother for twenty years while she traipsed from doctor to doctor. Forgotten that, have you?”
“Whats Mum got to do with it? Dont you dare bring her into this!”
“Everything, James. While you were chasing your big deals in London, I was here with your bedridden mother. Changing her nappies, if you must know.”
James stood in the doorway of their two-bed council flat, crisp in a new suit, suitcase at his feet. Emily hadnt seen him look this polished in yearstrim, tanned, reeking of expensive cologne. Nothing like the factory days, when hed come home stinking of engine oil.
She remembered how theyd met. A dance at the works social club, him a young mechanic, her from accounts. Hed spun her to *Careless Whisper*, whispering daft nothings in her ear. Then a modest wedding, thirty-odd guests, prawn cocktail and cheap fizz. His mother had wept with joy, hugging Emily: “Thank you, love, for taming my Jimmy.”
Tamed him. Twenty-two years theyd lasted. Raised a daughter, Sophie. Now in med school, scraping by on grants and Emilys tutoring. James hadnt given a penny in three yearsploughed it all into his “business ventures.” What business? Emily never quite grasped it. A garage one month, a haulage firm the next. All went belly-up.
“You just dont get it,” James snapped, lighting a fag right there in the hall. “Daves offered me a job up in London. Runs a chain of car washeswants me managing. Hell sort a flat to start.”
“Going alone?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron. They trembled, but her voice held steady.
“Not alone.” James looked away. “With Chloe. She… she understands me. Believes in me.”
Chloe. Emily had known about her for months. Seen the texts when James was in the shower. *Kitten. Babe. Miss you.* Twenty-eight-year-old *kitten*. Saleswoman at the dealership where James had eyed up a caron finance, mind, which Emily was still paying off from her teaching wages.
“What about Sophie?” Emily asked. “Your daughter. Graduating next year.”
“Shell understand when shes older. I cant live like this anymore, Em. Im forty-five. Still young. Still time to turn things round.”
Emily walked to the window. Below, their neighbour Margaret was hanging washing. She spotted Emily, gave a cheery wave. Margaret knew the lot. Knew about Chloe, knew James had only been home to sleep these past six months. Brought round scones sometimes: “Chin up, love.”
“Remember,” Emily said softly, “when Sophie was five? Pneumonia. Doctors didnt hold out much hope. You worked double shifts for the medicine. I sat by her bed night and day. You said, Were a family, Em. Well get through anything.”
“That was years ago.”
“Fifteen. Or when your mum had her stroke? Who dragged her round hospitals? Who stayed up nights, turning her every two hours so she wouldnt get sores? Me, James. And you? Always excuseswork, business. What business? You were already chasing your next pipe dream.”
James stubbed his fag out on the windowsill. Emily wincednew sill, saved up for last month.
“You never forget a thing, do you?” he sneered. “All the bad stuff. What about the good? That time I took you to Brighton?”
“Ten years back. For a week.”
“All *right*, never enough for you!”
Emily turned. Tears pricked, but she wouldnt let them fall. Not for him.
“Know what, James? Sod off. Run to your Chloe. But heres the thing. I saw your mum to the end. Two years she lay there. Two years I spoon-fed her, bathed her, doled out pills. Where were you? Working? On what, James? Youve not held a proper job in five years. Too busy playing tycoon.”
“I tried! For this family!”
“For the family?” Emily barked a laugh. “Sophies pulling night shifts as a care assistant to afford textbooks. Because Dad fancies himself an entrepreneur. Im teaching double classes *and* tutoring nights. Who exactly were you trying for?”
James said nothing, gripping his suitcase handle.
“Know the funniest bit?” Emily went on. “Your mums last words to me: Forgive him, love. Hes weak. Always was. Thanks for putting up with him. Didnt understand then. Do now.”
“Shut your mouth!” James exploded. “Weak? Im *suffocating* here! In this flat, this town, with *you*! Youll bury me with your bloody martyr act!”
“Martyr?” Emily laugheddry, sharp. “These past years, all Ive done is keep quiet. When you rolled in pissed. When the savings vanished for your latest venture. When you stank of someone elses perfume. Thought youd grow out of it. *Family*, and all that.”
She went to the cupboard, pulled out a folder. James stiffened.
“Whats that?”
“Divorce papers. Had them drawn up last month. Just waitingfor you to crack, or me. But you beat me to it. Well done. Sign.”
James gaped at the documents.
“You… you knew?”
“Im not stupid, James. Just gave you a chance. Gave *myself* onemaybe I was wrong. Wasnt.”
“The flat” he started.
“Mine. Mum left it to me. Youre on the lease, but thats it. Try court if you likeonly snag is, youve no paper trail for income these three years. Fancy paying Sophies maintenance?”
“Shes an adult”
“Full-time student. Legally entitled till she graduates. Section 25 of the Family Law Act, if youre curious.”
James snatched the pen, scrawled his name. Slammed the folder down.
“Happy now? Twenty-two years down the drain?”
Emily studied him. Grey at the temples, lines round the eyes. Once, shed loved this man. Once, hed been hers. Nowa stranger.
“Not down the drain. Weve got Sophie. Clever, kind, hardworking. Takes after me,” she said with a sad smile. “And thanks, anyway. There were good times. You just took a wrong turn somewhere. Or maybe you were always like thisI just didnt see it.”
James hoisted his suitcase. Lingered in the doorway.
“Youll regret this. End up alone.”
“Wont. Got Sophie. My job. Friends. Know what? Ill finally take those salsa classes. Always fancied learning. You said Id look dafttwo left feet. Well see.”
The door slammed. Emily stood in the silence, then returned to the kitchen. The potatoes were burnt. She tipped the pan into the sink, cranked the window openair it out.
The phone rang. Sophie.
“Mum, you okay? Margaret calledsaid Dad left with a suitcase.”
“Fine, love. Fancy supper?”
“Mum… Youre crying?”
“No,” Emily wasnt. “Chopping onions. Making salad.”
“Im coming over. After my shift.”
“Dont, Soph. Exam tomorrow.”
“Mum, dont be daft. On my way. And Mum… Love you. Youre the strongest person I know.”
Emily hung up. Fetched the wine from the fridgea Teachers Day gift, saved for a special occasion. Poured half a glass, raised it to the window where the sunset gilded the rooftops.
“To new beginnings,” she murmured.
Below, a taxi door thudded. James loaded his case while a young blonde waved from the cab. Chloe. Emily had seen her at the dealershipnothing special. Just young.
Margaret shouted up from the garden:
“Em! Brought you a pie! Cheese and onion, your 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. Sign up for dance class. Maybe that bob shed fancied.
Tonight, shed drink wine with Margaret, eat pie, and not think ahead. Because ahead was life. *Her* life. No glancing back at the one whod walked out.
The phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Mrs. Carter? Med school deans office. Your daughters been awarded the Chancellors Scholarship. Congratulations! Our
