Whod have you? Toothless, childless, mongrel Claire!
Whod have you? yelled Paul. Then he spat on the path and strode off.
Claire dashed to the window and watched the man shed shared fifteen years with march away, lugging his luggage and dignity. She always thought they were soulmates. Apparently, it was more about convenience.
Family photo session experience
Claires flat was lovely, thanks very much, and she cooked like Mary Berry on Bake Off; the woman could turn out a roast that would make you weep with joy. Shed do anything for himjust ask.
Claire considered flinging open the window and shouting after him, Dont leave me! She was even ready for a bit of humiliationanything but being forty-five, alone and abandoned. Better half a husband than no husband at all, right? She steeled herself to open the window. But then her eyes landed on her fathers portrait. There he was in full military regalia, chin up, looking the very picture of British pride.
Suddenly, Claire stopped. Shame simmered inside hernot about the husband, but about her own weakness.
She glanced out one last time as her dapper ex-husband, coat pressed, loaded his fancy bags into his shiny car.
Claire walked to the kitchen, passing the hallway where an ancient mirror from Granny took up half the wall. It reflected a tired, round-faced woman with grey hair and lifeless eyes.
Not exactly a head-turner, she thought. And her health wasnt tip-top: her teeth crumbling, purse too empty for replacements, all because Paul needed a new car. He had to look plush for work; she made do in her last century jumper, prehistoric skirt, two blouses, worn-down loafers, and boots so outdated, even her gran wouldnt wear them. His dinner requests read like a menu from The Ritzsteak, steamed patties, crêpes with fillings, beef Wellington. Why dont you just leave him? her mate Lucy at work would bark.
But Claire did what she wanted, regardless of advice. And then Paul declared he was offto a 27-year-old, no less, with four kids.
Shes young, Claire sighed.
But Lucy, who doubled as best friend and amateur detective, had done some diggingdeep dive into social media, a round of neighbourly interrogations, you name it.
“Put a stamp anywhere on her, shes trouble,” Lucy scoffed. “Calls you mongrel? Youre from a fine family! Shes never worked a day. All the kids have different dads. Apparently she spent her eighth month of pregnancy propping up the local pub. Her mums no peach either. Young and funthats what blokes like, apparently. But not the makings of a happy home. Chin up, Claire!”
And Claire did stay strong. Her father, sensing disaster years ago, fixed the paperwork so Paul couldnt claim a single square foot of her central London flat. Claire decided to rent out one of the rooms to help cover costs.
There were construction projects popping up nearby, and soon an engineer with a neat beard rolled inpolite, charming, and called William Fothergill. He eyed Claire carefully, then declared:
Let me pay up front, Mrs. Watts! Go treat yourself to some new teeth. Such a lovely lady shouldnt suffer!
Claire blushed. Lovely was up for debate, but a dental upgrade certainly wasnt. William handed her more cash than she asked forpay me back whenever, if you like. Then his brother arrived, and Claire nearly dropped a scone.
He bounced in wearing a canary-yellow jacket, purple trousers, and hair that belonged on a fashion magazine cover.
His name was Cyril. A stylist, obviously.
Hed come to visit William and swiftly took Claire under his wing. After sampling her legendary pies, Cyril offered to transform her look.
And he did. Bleach blonde hair shone, new makeup revealed soft cheekbones, dazzling dental work completed the metamorphosis. She started walking to work, lost the extra pounds, took up jogging in the park. A sweet, smiling woman with dimplesthe butterfly had left the cocoon.
One day, the intercom buzzed. William called: Claire, someones here for you!
There on the doorstep was Paulbarely recognisable. Hed aged a decade, pale and weary with bags by his side.
What do you want? asked Claire.
She remembered, early on, trying to reach him, only to be blocked. And now, suddenly, here he was.
You look incredible! Paul gushed.
Compliments bounced off Claire like raindrops. She remembered the sleepless nights, the tears, the panic attackswanting to simply disappear.
Oh Claire, you wouldnt believe what Ive been through. That oneleeched every penny off me. The kids seemed normal first, but theyre wild, always shouting. She wont bring them up properly, just sits glued to her phone. Cooking? She buys frozen rubbish. Once made instant noodles. Instant noodles! For me! Washed all my shirts together; colours ran. Ive bought nothing for myselfspent it all on them. I might as well be in an asylum. Claire I miss you. Life was good with you. Can we start again? he pleaded.
But his words echoed in her mind:
Whod have you? Toothless, childless, mongrel Claire.
She eyed him one last time. Just then, William Fothergill poked his head round the door.
Claire, everything all right? Sir, can we help you?
Paul huffed. And who exactly are you?
Hes my husband, William! And dont come back! Claire shut the door in Pauls face. He stood there, mouth hanging open in English disbelief.
She turned to William, a tad apologetic for calling him husband. He smiled and blurted:
About time, I suppose! Claire, I love you! How could anyone let such a wonderful woman go? Will you marry meproperly?
He was a widower. Claire married him in two months. He spoiled her with roses, they bought a cottage, and she hardly noticed the ex lurking round corners, muttering curses and regretting every idiotic choice.
Paul ended up with nothing.
Meanwhile, Claire and William strolled the lanes hand-in-hand, radiating happiness. And yesshe was expecting.
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