Im embarrassed to bring you to the dinner, Edward mutters, not bothering to look up from his phone. Therell be people there. Decent people.
Alice stands by the fridge, slowly squeezing the milk carton. Twelve years of marriage, two children. And nowhes embarrassed.
Ill wear the black dress. The one you bought for me.
Its not the dress, he finally looks at her. Its you. Youve let yourself go. The hair, the makeupeverything. George will be there with his wife. Shes a stylist. And you well, you know.
Fine, I wont go then.
Good. Ill say youve come down with something. No one will say a word.
He disappears into the shower, while Alice stands motionless in the kitchen. In the next room, their children are asleep. Oliver is ten, Grace is eight. The mortgage, bills, parents evenings. Shes dissolved into this house, and her husband is ashamed of her.
Has he completely lost the plot? asks her friend Rachel, a hairdresser, with an expression as if Alice just announced the end times.
Embarrassed to bring his wife to a dinner? Who exactly does he think he is?
Warehouse manager. He just got promoted.
And now youre not good enough? Unbelievable, Rachel snaps, pouring boiling water into the teapot. Think, Alicewhat did you do before the kids?
I was teaching.
No, not work. You made jewellery. Out of beads and stones. Ive still got that necklace with the blue stone. People always ask where I bought it.
Alice remembers. Aventurine. She used to make pieces in the evenings, back when Edward still looked at her with interest.
That was ages ago.
And you can do it again, Rachel nudges her. Whens the dinner?
Saturday.
Perfect. Youre coming round tomorrow. Ill do your hair and makeup. Well ring Emilyshes got dresses. And as for jewellery, youll sort that yourself.
But Rachel, Edward said
Oh, sod what he said. Youre going to that dinner. And hell be the one squirming.
Emily brings a plum-coloured gown, long, with bare shoulders. They spend an hour fitting it, pinning and adjusting.
Youll need special jewellery for this colour, Emily fusses. Silvers too cold. Gold doesnt work either.
Alice opens her old jewellery box. At the bottom, wrapped carefully in soft cloth, is a setnecklace and earrings. Deep blue aventurine, made by her own hands, eight years ago, for a special occasion that never happened.
Good grief, this is a masterpiece, Emily breathes. You made it?
I did.
Rachel styles her hair into soft waves, nothing over-the-top. The makeup is understated, but striking. Alice slips on the dress, fastens the jewellery. The stones rest cool and heavy on her throat.
Come see yourself, Emily urges, nudging her to the mirror.
Alice steps closer. Staring back isnt the woman whos spent twelve years cleaning and cooking. Its herthe woman she used to be.
The riverside restaurant is bustlingtables, men in suits, women in evening gowns, the hum of music. Alice enters late, as planned. Conversation hushes for a few seconds.
Edward is at the bar, laughing at someones joke. Then he spots her and his face freezes. She walks past without a glance, settling at a distant table. Her back is straight, hands folded calmly.
Excuse me, is this seat taken?
A man in his mid-forties, grey suit, intelligent eyes.
Its free.
Patrick. Partner of Georges from another venture. Bakeries. May I askyou are?
Alice. The warehouse managers wife.
He studies her, then her jewellery.
Aventurine? Handmade, Id say. My mum used to collect gemstones. You rarely see work like this.
I made it myself.
Really? Patrick leans in, examining the weave. Thats exceptional. Do you sell these?
No. I stay at home.
Thats a shame. People with hands like yours rarely do.
He lingers by her all evening. They talk about stones, creativity, how people lose themselves to routine. Patrick invites her to dance, brings her sparkling wine, makes her laugh. Alice notices Edwards glances across the room, his face growing darker by the minute.
Patrick walks her to the car.
Alice, if you ever decide to get back into jewellery, do give me a ring, he says, handing her a card. I know people looking for quality work. Truly looking.
She takes the card and nods.
At home, Edward cant last five minutes.
What the hell did you think you were doing? The whole evening with Patrick! Everyone was watching, you know? They saw my wife hanging off another man!
I wasnt hanging off him. I was talking.
Talking! You danced with him! Three times! Three times! George asked me what was going on. I was mortified!
Youre always mortified, Alice slips off her shoes, sets them by the door. Youre ashamed to bring me out, youre ashamed when people look at me. Is there anything youre not ashamed of?
Shut up. You think wearing a fancy dress makes you someone? Youre nobody. A housewife, living off me, spending my money, and now you think youre a queen.
Once, she would have cried. Gone to the bedroom, turned her face to the wall. But something inside her has snapped. Or maybe its finally clicked into place.
Weak men fear strong wives, she murmurs, calm and quiet. Youre insecure, Edward. Youre terrified Ill see how small you really are.
Get out.
Im filing for divorce.
He is silent. He stares at her, and its not anger in his eyes for once, but panic.
And where will you go, with the kids? You wont make a living selling beads.
I will.
In the morning, she picks up Patricks card and dials.
Patrick takes things slowly. They meet in cafés, discussing possibilities. He tells her about a contact who runs a gallery for handmade crafts, how people now crave what isnt mass-produced.
Youre talented, Alice. Its rare to find true talent and taste together.
She starts working at night. Aventurine, jasper, carnelian. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings. Patrick collects finished pieces, takes them to the gallery. A week later, the phone ringstheyve all sold. The orders start pouring in.
Does Edward know?
He doesnt speak to me at all.
And the divorce?
Found a solicitor. Its being sorted.
Patrick helps. No fanfares, no drama. He gives her contacts, helps her find a rented flat. When Alice packs her bags, Edward laughs from the doorway.
Youll be back in a week. Crawling.
She zips her suitcase and leaves, saying nothing.
Six months. A two-bedroom flat on the outskirts of town, the children, work. Orders flow in. The gallery offers her a showcase. Alice sets up a page online, posts photographs. Her followers grow.
Patrick visits, brings books for the children, calls her regularly. Hes never pushy or intrusive. Hes simply there.
Mum, do you like him? Grace asks one day.
I do.
We do too. He doesnt shout.
A year later, Patrick proposes. No getting down on one knee, no roses. Just says over dinner
Id like us to be together. All three of you, with me.
Alice is ready.
Two years have passed.
Edward trudges through the shopping centre. After getting sacked, he now lifts boxes for a livingGeorge heard about his behaviour from a colleague and let him go after three months. A dingy rented room, debts, loneliness.
He spots them near the jewellers: Alice in a pale coat, hair elegantly styled, the same aventurine necklace around her throat. Patrick holding her hand. Oliver and Grace laughing, chatting away.
Edward stops by the shop window. Watches as they pile into a car, as Patrick opens the door for Alice, as she smiles.
Then he glances at his own reflection in the glass. Worn jacket, grey face, empty eyes.
He lost a queen. And she learned to live without him.
And the hardest punishment is realising now, far too late, what she truly was.
