DIFFERENT PEOPLE
Grahams wifeCharlottehas always been a bit of an odd one. Beautiful, yes: a natural blonde with jet-black eyes, fantastic figure, long legs. And in bedabsolute fire. In the early days, there was such passion that Graham had no time to even think. Then she got pregnant. So, like everyone expects, they married.
Their son was born, same fair hair and dark eyes. Everything ran its course: nappies, bottles, first steps, first words. Charlotte acted just like a typical young mum, cooing over their boy.
Things started to change as their son grew into a teenager. Charlotte suddenly became obsessed with photography. She was always snapping shots, enrolling on various courses, forever wandering about with her camera.
What do you need all that for? Graham would ask. Youre a solicitorjust get on with your job.
Solicitor, Charlotte would gently correct.
Yeah, solicitor. Pay a bit more attention to your family, instead of always running off who-knows-where.
He didnt even understand what exactly bothered him; after all, she never neglected the home. Dinner was hot, the house clean, their sons schoolwork all sortedGraham would come home from work and collapse on the sofa in front of the telly, as you do. But it irked him that somehow, Charlotte seemed to vanish into a world where he didnt belong. She was there, but as if she wasn’t. She never watched TV with him, never discussed anything interesting. Shed feed him, then disappear again.
Are you my wife or not? Graham would snap if he found her at the computer yet again, editing her photos.
Charlotte would just fall silent, shutting herself away.
She also loved travelling to all sorts of exotic places. Shed book time off work, grab her backpack and camera, then head off somewhere impossible to pronounce. Graham didnt get it at all.
We could go see our mates at their new housegot a cracking wood-fired sauna, and Geoffs homebrew is top notch. We should really think about getting our own place in the country too, like everyone else.
Charlotte refused, but kept inviting him along on her trips. Once, he tried coming along. Absolutely hated it. Everything was strange, people jabbering in some foreign tongue, food so spicy he could barely eat. Hed never cared about picturesque views anyway.
After that, Charlotte started travelling without him. Then she quit her job.
What about your pension? Graham protested. And seriously, what do you think you aresome famous photographer? Do you even realise how much money you need to break into that lot?
Charlotte said nothing. Only once, quietly, she told him:
Im having my first exhibition. My very own.
Everyones got an exhibition, Graham scoffed. Big deal.
Still, he went to the opening. Understood none of itfaces, many quite plain, wrinkled hands, gulls over the water. All strange, just like Charlotte herself.
Hed laughed at her then. But she turned around and bought him a car. Here you gowere family, arent we? Enjoy. She didnt even bother learning to drive herself, just handed him the keys. Earned the money through her photography commissions, rushing about for clients.
That unsettled him. What sort of unfamiliar creature was living in the house instead of the wife he knew? Where was all this cash coming from? Was she seeing other men? You could hardly rake in that sort of money with a few camera snaps. If she wasnt cheating yet, she soon would be, surely.
He even tried to teach her a lessonjust a light slap. She grabbed a kitchen knife, slashed blindlytwo stitches across his stomach. Thank heavens she didnt stab properly, madwoman. Apologised afterwards. But after that, Graham never let his hands fly again.
She adored cats. Always helping strays, bringing them home to nurse, placing them with new owners. They always had at least two cats, affectionate and sweet, but honestlynot people! How could anyone love cats more than her own husband?
One day, one of her cats diedcouldnt be saved, passed away in her arms at the vets. Charlotte was devastated: sobbing, downing brandy, blaming herself for days. Graham was sick of it, finally snapped:
Why not hold a bloody funeral for your pet spiders while youre at it!
He caught her heavy, silent stare, fell quiet, and left the room. Let her do what she likes.
Friends commiserated, and Grahams mates wives agreed with him. Everyone said Charlotte had lost the plot, didnt know when to stop. Thats when Graham found comfort with the next-door neighbourincidentally, Charlottes childhood friend, Mary. Mary was simpler, easier to understand. She worked as a cashier, had no time for art, always up for a chat or a quick roll in the hay. True, she drank quite a bit, but Graham wasnt about to marry her…
He waited for Charlotte to notice, get angry, throw a fitmaybe smash a plate or two. Then hed say And you? Youre always off gallivanting! Theyd forgive each other, patch things up, and he could forget about Mary.
But Charlotte said nothing. Only gave him a strange, unreadable look. What little intimacy remained disappearedshe tensed if Graham so much as tried to cuddle her. Soon she moved into the spare room.
Their son had finished university by nowa carbon copy of his mum: black-eyed, fair-haired, a bit of a mystery himself.
So, when am I getting a grandchild? Graham pestered.
Danny just laughed, saying he wanted to accomplish something first, maybe even find true love, then, Dad, youll get your grandkids. Alien, impossible to understanda real mums boy. Charlotte and Danny had always been perfectly in sync, understanding each other without words. Graham felt surplus, shuddering whenever he caught those black eyes he could never read. He kept going back to Mary for comfort.
Then one day, Charlotte found out. Some neighbour must have told her; Graham hardly went out of his way to be discreet. He came home one evening to find his wife at the kitchen table, smoking. She spoke so softly, it was almost a whisper:
Get out. Leave this house.
Her black eyes were dark and hollow.
Graham packed his things and moved in with Mary, waiting for Charlotte to ask him back. A week later, she messaged, We need to talk. Elated, he showered, splashed on his best aftershavesure theyd sort things out. But as soon as he walked in, Charlotte said coldly:
Tomorrow, were filing for divorce.
The rest unfolded like a dream: paperwork, signatures, him giving up his share of the flatfor peaces sake, it was hers anyway, inherited from her parents.
What will you do now, live some lonely spinsters life? he asked bitterly after the decree was final. He wanted to add, Whod ever want you now?but held his tongue.
Charlotte smiled at himproperly, for the first time in years, wide and genuine.
Im moving to London. Got a big photography project there Ive been offered.
Dont sell the flat, he said, for some reason. Where will you come back to?
Im not coming back, she said calmlyhis ex-wife, now in truth. Ive fallen in love with someone else, a photographer from London. Hes fascinating. But I didnt want to cheat, and divorcing you never seemed necessary. Were just different people, Graham. Is that a reason to get divorced? Or isnt it?
No, people dont divorce for that, Graham admitted.
And yet, here we are, Charlotte laughed. I was angry when I found out about Mary, at first. But then I realisedmaybe its for the best. Ill be happy, and so will you. Marry her, and may it go well for you both.
And she walked out.
Im not marrying her, Graham called after her.
But Charlotte didnt hear him.
Since then, Graham hasnt heard a word from her, save once a yeara brief text on WhatsApp: Happy Birthday! Wishing you health and happiness! Thank you for our son.Graham never replied to her birthday messages. He tried once, tapping out, You too, but deleted it when he realized he didnt know what too even meant now. At Christmastime, he drove out to see Danny, bringing a bottle of good whisky. The old flat belonged to Charlotte alone; Danny rented a place with friends. They shared awkward silences over takeout curry until Danny nodded gently toward Graham, as if forgiving him for things never said aloud.
Mary, for a while, tried dreaming up domestic routinesa new comforter, boxed wine dinners, her laughter too loud for the hush Graham still carried inside. One night, she told him, I know youll never be in love with me, not really. He almost protested, but stopped himself; she was right. He moved into a smaller place outside town, spent long hours alone.
The years passed in gentle increments: new lines on Grahams face, dusty sunlight in rented rooms, football on the telly. Once, he saw Charlottes name in a magazineAward-winning street photographer, Charlotte Beaumont. He looked at her portrait, sharp and radiant, her black eyes bright as ever. For a moment, he almost picked up the phone.
Instead, he scrolled back through their old photosthe blurry ones shed insisted on, even when he grumbled, Just take the bloody picture. His sons first wobbly steps. Charlotte, laughing, wind tangling her hair. He remembered her silence after his careless words, the unbridgeable distance he’d always blamed on her.
One morning, Graham stood by the window with his tea, watching a stray cat thread its way along the wall outside. He opened the door, leaving out a saucer of milk. The cat hesitated, then lapped it up, flicking its bright tail.
He found himself smilingwistful, but hopeful, too. People changed. Some drifted away; some remade themselves bold as comets. Hed never understand those other, different people. But as he watched the sunlight flicker through the steam of his cup, Graham realized: perhaps it was enough to wish them well as they passed by, and to find, in the gentle hush of ordinary mornings, a little peace at last.
