Please take me back
Honestly, Mum, you dont have to James trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
Margaret shakes her head gently, her fingers tracing the edge of an old armchair. The flat is filled with the scent of her perfume and dried lavendershe keeps bundles in every room. But soon enough, those smells will fade.
Im not doing it for you, she says quietly, Its for Oliver. The boy needs a real home. Not some rented box where the landlord can toss him out whenever he likes. Whatever happens between you and Emily, son, the flat needs to go to Oliver. Thats all I want.
Emily stands by the window, her hand resting on their sons shoulder. Oliver shifts quietly, not really understanding why the adults speak so softly, so carefully.
Thank you, James manages, his voice tight. Really, Mum. Thank you.
Margaret waves away his gratitude. She turns to Oliver, her face softening entirely.
Come here, my darling.
Oliver crosses the room, letting his grandmother pull him close. Her hands tremble slightly as she cradles his face.
You know, Ollie, youre the best thing that ever happened to me. Youve got my eyes. My stubbornness. My abysmal taste in music.
Nana Oliver mumbles, embarrassed but pleased.
This flat is yours, Margaret says, more serious now. Itll be in your fathers name, but only because youre not eighteen yet. Youre the reason Im giving it away now, while I still can. Were family, Oliver. I want to look after you properly.
Two months later, Margarets breathing stops
The three-bedroom flat consumes them entirely. At weekends, James strips off floral wallpaper, paints over years-old stains, installs new lights. Emily sorts and resorts their things, squeezing them in among Margarets remaining furniture.
Oliver races from room to room, delighting in the space. Now he finally has his own bedroom, walls he can cover with posters without asking permission.
Dad, can I put my desk by the window?
Put it wherever you want, mate, its your room.
James watches his son arrange his action figures on the windowsill. Thanks to his mum, he has a proper home for his family. He ought to feel grateful, happy.
Instead, he feels the walls pressing in on him. Routine, predictability, days bleeding into each other: wake up, work, home, dinner, telly, sleep. Over and over again, until the end
The café next to his office becomes his refuge. He stops in after work, staying out half an hour longer, then an hour. The barista knows his usual now. The corner table by the window is unofficially his.
Thats where James meets her
She laughs at something on her phoneloud, unselfconscious. Her laughter drowns out the background hum. James looks up from his laptop; she catches his gaze and, instead of looking away, raises an eyebrow.
Sorry, she says, without a hint of regret. My friend sent me the worst joke Ive ever heard. Want to hear it?
James should decline. Should finish his spreadsheet and head home to his wife and son.
Go on, then, he says
Her name is Sophie. She works in advertising, hates her job, loves silly puns. Sophie is lively, dazzling, real.
Youre drowning, she says to him on their third meeting.
Im not drowning. Ive got a good life.
But are you happy?
Three weeks later, theyre in bed together
James tells Emily the truth that evening. He watches her face change as she pieces together what hes saying.
You slept with someone else, Emily repeats, flatly.
Yes.
James stays silent. Any explanation would only make things worse.
Emily throws a towel at him; it hits his chest and falls to the floora pitiful gesture that only stokes her anger.
You betrayed our family for some younger woman? Fourteen years, James. Fourteen years of marriage and you got bored?
It isnt about being bored.
So what is it? Emily shouts. Explain, because apparently Im too stupid to understand why my husband decided to destroy everything we built!
James rubs his face with his hands.
Im suffocating with you, Emily. Every day just repeats. Work, home, dinner, bed. I needed to feel something else. Something real, alive.
Something real. Emily laughs, but tears roll down her cheeks. I gave you a son. I gave you my youth. And you needed to feel alive?
From down the hall, a door clicks quietly. Olivers awake, now hiding in his room. James feels himself shrink at the thought of what his son might have heard.
Fine. Emily wipes her face angrily, smearing mascara even more. Fine, James. You want to leave? Well get divorced. I wont keep you. But lets talk about the flat. Your mum wanted Oliver to have it. She said so, straight to him
The flat stays with me.
Emily pauses.
What did you say?
The paperworks all in my name. James cant meet her eyes. Legally, its mine. You and Oliver will have to find somewhere else to live.
Youre kicking your son out. Your own child. The boy your mother left the flat to. Emilys voice barely registers above a whisper.
Im not kicking anyone out. Youll have time to find somewhere. Ill help with the first months rent, with anything but
Youre a monster. Emily grips the kitchen worktop. Youre not a man, not a fatheryoure nothing. Your mother would have been sickened to see what youve become
The next morning, Emily packs, while Oliver sits on his bed staring at the walls hes just covered with posters. He wont look at his father. Doesnt say a word. Just walks out behind his mother.
…Three months later, the divorce is official. James pays maintenanceenough to satisfy the court. Every Sunday he calls Oliver, and every Sunday the call is rejected. Texts go unanswered. Birthday presents are accepted without a word.
James stops trying in time. The boys angry, he tells himself. Hell grow up and understand that grown-ups sometimes make hard choices.
Sophie moves in two weeks after Emily leaves. She fills the flat with candles, colourful cushions, music at all hours. She cooks extravagant, pricey meals and insists on shopping every weekend. Beside her, James feels young, reckless, beautifully, thrillingly free.
And six months later, his savings account is down to £47.
Hotels, restaurants, impulsive shopping tripsSophie would float out of fitting rooms twirling in dresses that cost more than his monthly food budget. The pleasure blinded him to the problem, until his account ran dry.
We need to talk about spending, James tells Sophie one evening.
Later, darling, lets talk tonight. Im meeting the girls.
She kisses his cheek, grabs her bagthe new one he bought last monthand heads out.
That night, Sophie doesnt return…
The next morning, she walks in and announces theres no future for their relationship. Shes bored, feels suffocated Sophie gathers her things and breezes out of his life as easily as she entered it.
For two weeks, James does nothing but pity himself. He wanders the empty flat in the same clothes, leaves dirty plates in the sink, leaves the blinds closed. Everyones left him, he tells himself. His son wont speak to him. His wife took the best of everything and walked out. Sophie, bold, carefree Sophie, vanished the moment the money dried up.
By week three, his self-pity turns desperate. He showers, shaves, pulls on the cleanest shirt he owns, and travels across the city to the address Emily listed in court.
The building is old but respectablea council block with new paint and a working lift. Emily lets him in without asking why hes there.
Oliver, she calls through to the kitchen, your dads here.
James steps into the narrow hall, taking in the modest space his family now calls home. Two rooms instead of three. A tight corridor, a small kitchen.
Yet the place breathes warmth and life.
Oliver stands in the doorway. Hes grown in the months James barely saw him, his face losing a childs softness. The look he gives his father is forged from ice.
Oliver, I know youre angry with me, James begins. But I realise I messed up. I made the wrong choices. But everything can change. We could be a family againall three of us. Your room is waiting, Oliver!
Emily leans against the wall, watching her ex-husband with indifference.
People change, James pleads to them. Ive had time to think about what I lost. I understand now.
You didnt lose anything, Oliver replies sharply. You made a choice. You chose her, not us.
Its not that simple, son.
Dont call me that. Oliver steps forward. You threw us out of Nanas flat. Our home. You kicked us out and picked Sophie.
Oliver, please
What happens next? You meet someone else, get bored again, toss us onto the streets like rubbish?
James tries to defend himself:
Never. I promise, Ive changed.
Oliver shakes his head slowly.
I dont want a father like that, he says quietly.
He turns and disappears into his room.
James looks at Emily, searching for any sign of support.
Emily, please talk to him. Tell him Ive learned my lesson, realised everything.
She shakes her head gently.
I wouldnt forgive you, James. Not even if you begged. Not because you cheated. Not even because you threw us out. Because you only came back when she left youwhen you had no one else left.
James doesnt remember leaving, doesnt remember the journey home
Hes alone now, in the three bedrooms, alone in the spacious flat. His mother believed it was meant for his family. But everyones gone. He pushed away those who actually loved him. And now, nothing can be fixed. Its too late…
