For two years, Alice was nothing more than a carer for his mother.
Alice found herself marrying Arthur, an upstanding man whose name was whispered at garden parties and praised at the local cricket club, to the envy of every friend shed ever had. Arthur owned his own business, lived in a grand house in Surrey with a heated conservatory, drove around in a fleet of gleaming Jaguars, and even boasted a thatched cottage in the Yorkshire countrysideall before his thirty-third birthday.
Alice, meanwhile, was fresh from university, having spent just a year as a primary school teacher. Their wedding took place one languid June afternoon. After the ceremony, Arthur decided Alice neednt bother herself making pittance at work, and insisted she prepare for motherhood from the comfort of a well-upholstered armchair. Alice submitted quietly, almost grateful for the respite.
The first year of marriage unravelled like a peculiar fairytale: the two travelled to strange, misty places and returned laden with countless memories and pricey trinkets. Yet Alice found she had no occasion to wear her new clothes; her friends were all consumed by demanding jobs and family dramas, and when weekends rolled around, Arthur was forever at some mysterious event, never inviting her along.
Days trickled into weeks; Alice grew restless. She couldnt seem to have a child, and her affection for Arthur began to fade, like sun on a drizzly afternoon. Once chores were done each day, she wandered the hallways of their home, drifting from room to room, pondering what shape her future might have. At the close of another year, Arthur was hardly ever home before dusk, arriving sour-faced and exhausted. He muttered that his business wasnt thriving as hed hoped.
First, Arthur told Alice she must tighten her spending. Next, he demanded receipts and scrutinised every purchase. Hed tally the figures and tut, insisting they could manage comfortably on half the outlay. Alices worry deepened. She longed to return to teaching, but no school would offer her a post.
Determined to change her fortunes, she tried enrolling in courses. Just then, Arthurs mother, Margaret, fell ill, and Alice was pressed into service, caring for her in their home for two surreal years. Arthur grew still more absent, his rare visits brief and distracted.
Margarets passing cast a shadow; Arthur drifted farther, speaking little, eyes dulled, hours spent buried in work, rarely crossing the threshold of their home.
Alice could not fathom what was happening, until, compelled by a strange urge, she went to Margarets old flata place she hadnt visited in ages. Behind the locked door, she heard the faint, lonely sobbing of a child. Startled by the sound in the empty flat, Alice pressed the bell.
The door swung open to reveal a young woman. The truth spilled out: before Margarets illness, Arthur had built another family and quietly installed them in his mothers flat.
Alices world turned as fantastical as a dreamshock and emptiness overtook her. She knew her marriage was beyond salvaging. With little more than a handbag and a longing for obscurity, she slipped away to her aunts terrace house in Liverpool. She took no reminders of the life shed lost, unwilling for any trinkets or tokens to haunt her with memories of all that had gone wrong.
