So, listen to thismy husband, Tom, kept saying for weeks his parents were seriously ill, so he had to go check on them. I got this mad idea to surprise him and just show up without telling.
Every morning lately, Emma would wake up to the sound of rain hitting the windows, seeing grey clouds outside. It felt like the weather itself matched how she was feelinguneasy, uncertain, and full of vague suspicions.
For three weeks straight, Tom packed his gym bag and announced, My parents arent well, Im off to theirs for a few days.
At first, Emma was understanding. His mum, Margaret, had recently had surgery on her gallbladder, and his dad, Harold, had been moaning about his blood pressure. At sixty-five, health really does begin to slip.
Of course, go, Emma said. Let them know Im worried too.
Tom left every Friday night and came back Monday morning, drained and rather quiet, as if hed returned from some difficult shift. Whenever Emma asked how his parents were, his answers were short.
Theyre better. Still weak, though.
Whats wrong with your mum now? Emma would ask.
Everything hurts. Its the age, was his reply, with a dismissive wave.
A week latersame story.
Are they still not well? Emma was genuinely surprised.
Mum slipped and bruised herself. Dads stressed. Gotta go help, Tom explained, folding clean shirts into his bag.
Should I come and help out? Emma offered.
No need. Its cramped enough already. You stay here.
Emma agreed. She always kept her distance with Toms parents, never interfering, never giving unsolicited advice. Margaret was reserved, not warm at all, and their conversations were polite but never very heartfelt.
Next week, off he went again.
Whats this time? Emma asked, watching Tom stuff jeans and a jumper into his bag.
Dads really unwell. His blood pressures all over the place. Mum cant handle it alone.
Have you called the doctor?
He came. Took one look, prescribed some pills, and left. You know how they are these days.
Tom sounded convincing, but the way he spoke started to bother Emma. Too rehearsed, no real emotion for someone whose parents were supposedly really ill.
Tom, maybe they should be in hospital if its that bad?
They wont go. Theyre terrified of hospitals. Say they feel better at home.
He zipped up his bag, kissed her cheek, and said, Dont miss me. Ill be back as quickly as I can.
After Tom left, Emma was left alone with her growing doubts. She tried to remember the last time shed spoken to Margaret on the phoneturned out, it was about a month ago, when Margaret called to wish her friend happy birthday. Shed been lively, asking about Emmas work, bragging about the tomatoes she grew, planning for the winternothing about her health.
Its strange, Emma muttered, staring at the autumn drizzle outside. If shes so unwell, why hasnt she called? She always kept me updated before.
Monday, Tom came home gloomier than ever.
How are your parents? Emma asked.
Dads better. Mums still weak.
What did the doctor say?
What doctor? Tom looked confused.
The GP. You said you called him.
Oh, yeah. He said just keep an eye on things. If she gets worse, take her to hospital.
Tom changed quickly and sat at his computer. Clearly, he didnt want a conversation.
That night, while Tom was in the shower, Emma picked up his phone. Shed never snooped before, but something told her she needed to look this time.
There were no calls to his parents. None, incoming or outgoing. Not one message to Margaret or Harold in two weeks.
Hows that possible? Emma whispered. If Toms with them, why not ring?
Normally, whenever Tom went away, his parents would at least call Emma once, check if she needed anything or ask after Tom. This timetotal silence.
The fourth visit happened the next Friday.
Off to your parents again? Emma checked.
Yeah. Mums running a temperature. Worried she caught something.
Tom, what if I come with you this time? Lend a hand.
Why would you want extra hassle? Tom snapped. Youve got plenty on at work.
Its no trouble. Theyre your parentstheyre mine too, in a way.
Emma, dont. Its crowded as it is. Youll only end up catching it yourself.
Tom sounded convincing but avoided meeting Emmas eyes and moved quickly, as if late for a train.
What train are you taking? Emma asked.
The usual. Seven oclock.
Want me to walk you to the station?
No need. Ill manage.
Tom kissed her and rushed out. Emma was left in an apartment full of uncertainty and odd coincidences.
Saturday morning, Emma wrestled with her thoughts. On the one hand, accusing Tom without proof was unfair. On the other, there were just too many oddities lately.
Am I being paranoid? Emma scolded herself. Maybe his parents really are ill, and Im inventing problems out of thin air.
By lunchtime, she decidedif Harold and Margaret were so sick, surely they would appreciate a bit of care from their daughter-in-law. Emma would bake her mums special apple pie, grab some fruit, pack a few treats, and pop round for a visit.
Ill surprise them, she decided. And Ill surprise Tom too.
The kitchen was a messin a good way. Emma mixed up the pie dough, her mums favourite recipe, while the oven worked away. She popped to the shops for oranges, bananas, and juice.
By three in the afternoon, everything was ready. The pie cooled on the table, fruit bags by the door. Emma put on a lovely dress, just a dab of makeup, and set off for the station.
On the train, she grinned, picturing Toms face. Hed open the door, see Emma with all the groceries, stare for a moment, and then break out in a smile.
Emma? Where did you come from? hed say.
Came to check on you lot, shed reply. See if the patients are all right.
It took an hour and a half to get to his parents place. Margaret and Harold lived in a small town near Oxford, in a two-storey house with a garden. Tom grew up there, knew every inch of it.
Emma walked up to the familiar gate and rang the bell. A minute later, Margaret opened the door.
Emma? Margaret gasped. What are you doing here?
She looked perfectly finerosy cheeks, bright eyes, no sign of illness. She was dressed in a tracksuit, hair tied up neatly.
Margaret, hello, Emma greeted, a bit awkwardly. I came to see how youre doing. Tom said you were unwell.
Sick? Margaret laughed, genuinely amused. What sickness? Were fit as fiddles! Where did you hear that?
Emma felt her face flush and her heart started thudding. The bags of goodies suddenly felt terribly heavy.
But Tom… he said he was caring for you. Said you werent well.
Caring? Emma, love, we havent seen Tom in a week! Maybe longer!
Harolds voice came from inside: Margaret, whos that?
Emmas come to visit! Margaret called back.
Harold appeared in the hallwaya seventy-year-old, grey haired but sturdy, in work trousers and a checked shirt, clearly straight from his shed.
Oh, our daughter-in-law! Harold cheered. How come? You dont often drop by!
Harold, wheres Tom? Emma asked directly.
How would I know? Harold shrugged. Hes probably at work. Or at your place.
He said he was here, looking after you, that you were ill.
Harold raised his eyebrows at Margaret.
Emma, were not ill. And Tom hasnt been here. Last saw him… when was that, Margaret?
St. Peters Day, Margaret recalled. July. Came for Harolds birthday.
Thats right. Not so much as a phone call since, Harold confirmed.
Inside, Emma felt something snap. Every elaborate excuse Tom gave, every trip to sick parents, was a blatant lie.
Emma, are you all right? Margaret asked, worried. You look pale. Come have a cup of tea.
Thanks, but I really ought to go, Emma mumbled.
Go? Youve only just got here! And you brought a pie, I see! Margaret protested.
Another time, Emma handed over the bags. These are for you. Enjoy.
Wheres Tom, though? Harold asked. Why isnt he with you?
I dont know, Emma admitted.
Margaret and Harold saw her off at the gate, exchanging puzzled looks. Emma walked to the bus stop, legs numb.
Her mind raced: Where had Tom gone all those weekends? With whom? Why use his parents as a cover? And how long had this lie been going on?
The bus to the station took half an hour. Emma stared out at the grey September landscape, trying to gather herself. Every trip Tom made to his ill parents now felt like a cruel joke. Every explanationa manipulative bluff.
So while I worried about his parents, he Emma couldnt finish the thought.
In the train back, Emma pulled out her phone, tempted to ring Tom. But she stopped herself. What would she ask? Where are you? Who are you with? Why are you lying?
Better to wait until she got home, look him in the eye when he spun another tale.
Emma got back at eight in the evening. The flat was quiet, empty. She sat on the sofa, just waiting.
Tom arrived Monday morning, just like always. The keys jingled in the lock, door swung open. He came in tired, rumpled, dragging the same gym bag.
Morning, he mumbled, heading to the bedroom. How was your weekend?
All right, Emma answered calmly. Yours?
Tough. My parents are in a bad way.
Oh? she stood up. What exactly is wrong with them?
Mums got a fever, Dad spent all night checking his blood pressure. Exhausting.
Tom wouldnt meet her eyes, busy emptying dirty laundry and unpacking medicine.
Tom, Emma called quietly. Look at me.
He glanced up, worry flickering in his eyes.
Whereve you been all weekend? Emma asked, straight.
Where do you think? At my parents. I told you.
Your parents are fine. Havent seen you for a week.
Tom froze, shirt in hand.
What are you going on about?
I went to theirs yesterday. Wanted to help. Margaret burst out laughing when I asked if she was ill.
Toms face went white.
You went to my parents? Why?
Because I believed you. Thought they genuinely needed help.
Emma, you dont understand
What dont I understand? Emma cut in. That youve been lying to me for weeks? Using your parents as your excuse?
Its not a lie
So what is it? Emma moved closer. Tom, where did you spend your weekends? With whom?
He turned to the window.
I cant explain right now.
Cant or wont?
Emma, please. Believe me. Its not what you think.
Oh, and what is it I think? Emma asked icily.
Well that Ive got someone else. Another woman.
So is that not true?
Tom was silent. One minute, then another. Finally, he sighed heavily.
It is, he admitted quietly.
Emma nodded. Oddly enough, she wasnt angryjust empty, and clear-headed.
I see.
Emma, its not serious! It just happened
When? A month ago?
No, earlier. But I didnt know how to tell you.
So you made up sick parents?
I needed time. To figure things out.
And did you?
Tom was silent again.
Im asking: did you work out what you want?
I dont know, he said honestly.
Well, I do, Emma said. I want someone who doesnt lie. Who doesnt use their parents as a cover for an affair.
Its not an affair
Call it what you like. Outcomes the sameyou lied to me for weeks.
She went to the bedroom and pulled out her small suitcase.
What are you doing? Tom asked, suddenly alarmed.
Packing. Emma folded her essentials into the case. Ill stay with a friend. Until we sort this out.
Sort out what?
Youyour feelings. Methe divorce papers.
Emma, dont rush it! Lets talk calmly!
Talk about what? she closed the suitcase. About how you lied for weeks? About how I spent nights worrying over your perfectly healthy parents?
I didnt mean to hurt you
And you ended up hurting me more.
Emma took documents from the safe, popped her phone and charger into her bag.
If you want to explain, ring me. But I doubt theres anything to justify weeks of lying.
What about our home? Our family?
Family means trust. The rest can go through solicitors.
Emma walked to the front door.
Wait, Tom begged. Can we give it another go? No more lies, Ill end things, well start afresh
Start with what? Another lie about sick parents?
No more lies. I promise.
Tom, Emma paused at the door. You promised to be a faithful husband. See how that worked out.
She left the flat and shut the door. The stairwell was still, some distant music playing somewhere above.
Outside, drizzle fellthe same as a month ago, when all this started. Emma pulled up her collar and headed towards the tube.
Her phone rang as she walked underground. Toms name lit up the screen. Emma declined the call and dropped the phone in her bag.
Her decision was made. Living with someone who spent weeks using made-up sick parents as cover for cheatingEmma couldnt do it. Trust was gone, family was too.
Now ahead lay lawyer meetings, splitting the flat, starting again. But at least this new life would be honestno lies about sick parents and no hidden weekends with someone else.
As the underground carried Emma away from her past, towards whatever comes next, she finally felt like she was moving towards something real.
