Every man has his secrets. Some stash cash in their socks. Some fib about a trip to the pub. But Simon Carter always put his phone face down.
Everywhere and always. On the kitchen tableface down. On his nightstand before bedface down. In a café, at his parents placealways face down.
Grace didnt notice straightaway. At first, she just made a mental note. Later, she started to wonder. Then she made herself stop thinking about it, because the thoughts unsettled her. Thats just how women keep a lid on anxiety: ignore it till it demands attention.
Their marriage was perfectly ordinary. No fireworks, but no shouting matches either. Simon worked, Grace worked. Weekends meant errands, box sets, sometimes a visit from friends. Friends were David and Chloe. David had been Simons best mate since university. ChloeDavids wifewas vibrant and loud, brimming with an unshakable confidence that wore Grace out a bit, though she never let on.
Everything ticked along fine. Except for the business with his phone.
Grace saw that phone, face down, nearly always. And shed think: so what? Hes a grown man. Maybe it was just a quirk of his.
But one evening, she reached across him for the salt, nudged it by mistakephone slid off onto a chair and landed, face up.
Simon moved before she could glimpse anything. He just covered it with his hand.
Sorry, said Grace.
Its fine, said Simon.
And they both pretended nothing had happened. Because thats what you do, when something obviously has happened.
Grace prided herself on being sharp. Which, actually, was at the root of all her troubles.
A clever woman doesnt cause a row over a phone. She observes. She builds mental spreadsheetsa column for facts, another for explanations. And as long as the explanations hold up, she keeps quiet.
Grace had been quiet for months. Her mental list, though, was growing.
First: Simon had started coming home late. It happened occasionally before, but never later than eight. Now it might be nine, half past nine, once even eleven. The explanations were the same as always: quarter-end, report due, client from Manchester.
Second: Hed become distant. Distracted. Would watch TV without really seeing it. When spoken to, his replies were laggy, like a dodgy broadband connection.
Thirdand this really caught Graces attentionSimon tensed up whenever David rang.
Which was odd. Simon and David had known each other for twenty years. He used to pick up Davids calls eagerly, sometimes disappear to the kitchen for a half-hour conversation, coming back relaxed. Now, whenever Davids name flashed up, there was a subtle shift in Simons face. Not much, but enough for Grace to notice.
Once she asked him.
Everything all right with you and David?
All fine. Why do you ask?
You seem odd about his calls lately.
Youre imagining things, Simon said, picking up his phone.
Chloe called the following Wednesday, just for a chat. Sometimes they did thatcup of tea, idle talk with no husbands present. Chloe was as lively as ever, the sort who laughs loud enough to turn heads in a pub and always finds amusement in a queue.
How are things? Chloe asked.
All right. Simons working late again.
Oh, welljob and all that, Chloe replied lightly. A bit too lightly.
The usual Friday get-together rolled around the next week at Graces place. David and Chloe brought wine and a pud. Simon manned the kitchen, doing his best impression of a man thoroughly content. Grace set the table and kept a watchful eye.
Between Simon and Chloe hung a peculiar tension.
Two people who usually joined in the banter now seemed to avoid speaking to each other altogether.
David sipped his wine and spoke about office woes. Calm voice, weary eyes. Grace wondered: did he know? Or not? Or did he suspect, like she did, but kept it to himself because he was clever too?
Why so quiet? Simon asked after their friends left.
Im just tired.
Go to bed early, then.
Yeah, Grace murmured.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling. Through the wall, the TV murmured where Simon lingered. His phoneface downwaited by his side of the bed.
Grace turned to the wall.
She still clung to her explanations.
On Saturday, Simon said he had to take the car for an MOT, would be out for a few hours.
Grace sipped her coffee, then started tidying up. Hoover, dust, rearrange bits on a shelf. She reached the lounge, and spotted the phone.
It sat on the cushion. Face up.
Hed forgotten it!
In three years, Simon had never forgotten his phone. He might forget his keys, his wallethed even once left his coat at work and braved a November night in just a blazerbut the phone? Never.
Grace stopped, cleaning cloth in hand.
The phone just lay there, glowing. Quietly glowing.
She dropped the cloth, moved closer.
A notification on the screen. Just a few words. Shed never read his messages, not because she was especially trusting, but because she believed everyone deserved personal space. Her principle. A good one. Useful for everyone but herself.
She didnt read the message.
But there was a photo alongside it.
A small circular icon, just like the ones on messaging apps. About an inch across. A womans face, dark hair, smiling.
Grace knew that smile. Chloe.
She stood there, looking at that tiny circle with Chloe’s face, for a moment. Two, five. The screen darkened. Grace didnt move.
Then she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water.
Chloe. Davids wife. A friend, in the way wives of your husband’s mates are. Someone you spend Fridays with, someone whose citrus allergy and birthday22nd March, as it happenedyou know. Grace remembered Chloes birthday. She and Simon always picked out a present together.
Last year they had too.
She went back to the lounge. Another message arrived, lit up the screen, then faded.
Grace didnt read that one either.
Because she knew that reading it would be crossing a point of no return. As long as she hadnt, there was a sliver of hope that Chloe was messaging Simon for an innocent reason. To say hello. To ask after David. To… but accidentally messaging in a group chat isnt how it works, these apps show names.
Grace knew better.
She sat down beside the phone. Stared at it. It just lay theresilent and ominous, like someone who knows too much and has decided to keep it to themselves.
In her head, the events shed been storing started rearranging themselves. The lateness at work. The absentmindedness. That weird tension every time David rang. That Friday Chloe and Simon avoided speaking. That other night Chloe had casually made excuses for Simons late returnstoo quickly.
Of course Chloe knew. Because she was the reason.
Grace sat on the sofa, feeling something slowly rearrange itself inside her.
David had been Simons friend for two decades.
Did David know? Or suspect, and quietly endure, just as she had?
The front door banged. Footsteps on the stairs.
Simon had returned sooner than plannedperhaps the MOT was quick, or hed remembered about the forgotten phone.
Grace stayed where she was.
Simon walked in, saw her. Then saw his phone beside her. A flicker of something crossed his facetiny, momentary. But Grace had been studying his expressions for months.
Forgot it, he said, nodding at the phone. Casual as anything.
Yes, said Grace. I noticed.
She got up, walked past him to the kitchen, and downed a second glass of water.
Silence behind her.
Grace? Simon said.
Not now, she replied, levelly. Im not ready yet.
And that was true. She wasnt ready for a row, for tears, for explanations that explained nothing. She was ready only for what she already knew. And she knew more than enough.
The conversation happened on Sunday evening. No shouting, no crockery smashed, none of the drama Grace had played out in her head and dreaded. They just sat in the kitchen. Simon startedseemed hed been waiting for her to raise it, but couldnt wait any longer.
I dont know how to explain it, he said.
You dont need to, Grace replied. The profile picture said it all.
He said nothing for a long time. Then, Did you know?
I suspected. With a few different explanations.
So what now?
I dont know about you. I have to start thinking about getting a divorce.
Chloe found out that same nightGrace called herself. It was, perhaps, the briefest call of her life.
Chloe, I know. I dont need any explanations. Tell David or dontits up to you. But dont ring me anymore.
There was silence. Then, a soft Grace…but Grace hung up.
David found out the next day. How, Grace never knew nor cared to. Simon came home, face gloomy, sat down, stared into space, finally said:
David rang.
I see, Grace answered.
That was it. There wasnt anything else to say.
Three years of marriage. Twenty years of friendship. One tiny photo with a borrowed smile, and two homes folded in on themselves like houses of cards. Quietly, almost politely, without drama.
A week later, Grace packed her things. Books, clothes, a few kitchen bits that had been hers before him. Simon sat in the other room; she could hear him shifting in his chair now and then.
At the front door, she paused. The phone lay on the table.
Face down.
Grace closed the door behind her.
