My husband Edward and I had been plodding along together for over twenty yearspeaceable as you like. Weekends found us at our little cottage in the Cotswolds. Edward would blitz the flat, Id whip up a roast, and wed while away our days thinking this was us sorted until we were both old and crinkly. Then, out of the blue, the man announces:
“Charlotte, Im terribly sorry. Im leaving you. Ive met someone else and Im absolutely smitten!”
Honestly, at thirty-eight, I wasnt completely naff. Id noticed he was off somewhere, captivated by another woman. I just pretended not to be fussedlets not make a scene, I thought. My ever-helpful friends regularly sent me sneaky snaps of him and the other woman as if I hadnt cottoned on. Still, I told myself Edward would never actually up and leave. So when he finally dropped the bombshell, I was gobsmacked.
At least our daughter was away at the seaside with mates just then. To take the edge off, I told my friends what had happened, toast and tea at the ready.
A proper girls summit was convened. Hazel advised me to drop a dress size and bag myself a new man. Lucy suggested I pay a visit to my nansurely shed know how to bring a husband grovelling. And Margaret, ever efficient, simply told me to crack on and find another bloke.
And Anna, practical as ever, said, “Just carry on as you were! It does get easier.”
“But how can I just keep going? Its awful!” I moaned.
“Of course you can. Listen, heartache passes. Honestly. Ive done three divorces myself. Just clean the flat, cook, go to work, binge some telly, stick your nose in a good book.”
“But who will I cook for?” I said, nearly wailing.
“Who? Us, obviously! Well pop round every evening and polish off everything you make!”
I thanked them for their pearls of wisdom. But for ages, I was stuckwhose advice did I actually follow?
In the end, desperate, I headed to see my nan. I took along a photo of Edward and the new woman. Nan got out her tarot cards, lit a stick of incense, muttered a bit, and assured me Edward would return in a fortnight.
He did not, oddly enough. Not in two weeks. Not in a month. All I got out of it was losing half my monthly salary. I was brooding, lonely, and glum. Soon enough I was trawling through the Sainsburys bakery aisle like a woman possessed. In just two weeks, Id piled on a stone.
I realised, with horror, that I had to do something. I gave the flat an almighty spring clean, polished every surface till it gleamed, repotted the houseplants, and jiggled the furniture about. Suddenly everything looked so homely and inviting. Then I joined a dance classsomeone had to tackle the aftermath of all those custard tarts and Victoria sponges. Every day, I made soupEdwards favourite. Funnily enough, my friends started turning up in the evenings and demolishing every last drop. When they left, Id sprawl on the sofa and catch up with Game of Thrones.
Edward and I had always fancied watching it, but never quite got round to it. Now, with a bit of room on the sofa, I was loving it. Then, one night, just as someone was getting spectacularly murdered on screen, the front door swung open. In walks Edward. He surveys the flatcleaner and cosier than everand the air is filled with the smell of fresh leek and potato soup. There I am, tucked up in a blanket, glued to the telly.
“Charlotte, evening. Just come for the bits I left behind.”
“Course! Ive already bagged them up. Got a carrier?”
“No”
“Hang onIve got a Whole Foods bag for life!”
I handed over his things.
“Youve made soup?”
“I have! Fancy a bowl?” Edward paused, then gave a sheepish nod.
Well, he polished off two bowls. Then he said, “Thank you, Charlotte. Id best be off.”
“Cheerio, Edward. I need to finish this episode anyway.”
“What are you watching?”
“Game of Thrones.”
“Didnt we always mean to watch that together?” he asked, all mournful.
“I remember,” I said.
He left. I had a little cry, then watched the rest and went to bed.
Two weeks later, Edward showed up, bags in hand. I stared at him, flummoxed.
“Charlotte, Im dreadfully sorry. I love youyour soup, this lovely flat, its all so comforting. Please forgive me for chasing after someone younger.”
“So, you missed the soup, did you?”
“I missed everything! Mostly you.”
“Well, go on then, come in.”
“Im mortified about our daughterdont say anything, will you?”
“Mums the word. Hungry?”
“Starving! Thank you so much.”
