A Random Notification
Back in those days, the phone always lay face down on the bedside table, just as was our custom. Helen had no intention of disturbing it. She was merely reaching for a glass of water, her hand brushed against the smooth plastic, and the screen flickered to lifeas things sometimes do, for no good reason, illuminating what would have been better left in the dark.
She caught only a sliver of text. A single messenger notification.
I miss you as well. Today was so lovely. Yours, Iris.
Helen, at first, didnt understand. She stared at the words for a second, then two, then three, as if trying to translate from a foreign tongue. She turned to glimpse her sleeping husband. Andrew lay on his side, facing the wall, one shoulder slightly raised, breathing deep and evenas those with an untroubled conscience do.
Yours, Iris.
Iris. Iris Sullivan. Her friend. The same Iris who, only three months ago, had helped them choose wallpaper for their little ones nursery. The same Iris whod sat at the kitchen, likely a hundred times before. The same Iris who called Helen just last week to moan about how hopeless it was finding a decent manthat they were all the same, that she was tired of being alone.
Helen quietly took the water, drank, set the glass back. She rose so softly from the bed that the old floorboards didnt creak. Out in the hallway, she shut the bedroom door behind her, went to the kitchen, flicked on the hob lightjust the small one, not the ceiling lamp, too harsh for her eyes, though it probably wasnt the light that hurt.
She sat and stared at the clean but empty table.
Outside, the autumn night hung heavy, blurred street lamps shining beyond the garden. The kettle was still half-full from yesterday, but she didnt bother boiling water. She simply sat there.
Today was so lovely.
When today? Wednesday, Andrew had come home about half past seven, muttering about clients, business dinners, exhaustionneed to sleep. Shed warmed his supper, which hed barely touched. Later, they watched a little telly; hed fallen asleep on the sofa, and shed covered him herself. With her own hands.
She gripped the tables edge.
In the other room, young David slept. Eight years old. He slept soundly, mumbling sometimes about toy cars or school, saying funny things. Tomorrow, shed need to get him to football practice by nine. Buy a loaf of bread. Ring her mother, who no doubt was sulkingshe hadnt called for four days.
Ordinary life, reliable and knowable, was right there in the little things. But beneath it, all along, another life had been quietly running alongside. Parallel. With different messages, different dinners, a different woman, calling herself yours.
Helen rose, walked to the window. The geranium on the sill, which she disliked but watered dutifully because it came from a neighbour, stood there stubborn and slightly dusty.
She found herself thinking about that plant for much longer than made sense. Then she sat back down at the table.
Something needed to be done. Or perhaps nothingnot just yet. She didnt know what was best; everything inside was silent. That knife-edge sort of quiet, sharp in its stillness, before something loud.
She sat there until four in the morning, doing nothing, just watching lights wink out in the houses across the way. Eventually, she switched on the kettle after all, made herself tea she didnt finish, washed the cup, returned to the bedroom, settled herself beside her husband, not touching him, staring at the ceiling.
Andrew slept.
She listened to him breathe, and realisedjust yesterday his breath was simply part of nights background, as unremarkable as the fridges hum or passing traffic. Now, every inhalation sounded differentas if she heard it properly for the first time in years, and it was unbearable.
That morning, she got up before him. Woke David, fed him porridgewhich he picked at, wanting a ham sandwich instead. She gave in, made him the sandwich, laced up his trainers since he hadnt quite mastered speedy knots and time was tight. She took his hand and left the house.
The air outside was brisk, thick with the scent of wet tarmac and fallen leaves. David trotted along, rambling on about yesterdays maths lessonthe teacher was unfair, he insisted hed done everything right, but she didnt agree. Helen nodded and replied in all the proper places. She had mastered that sort of autopilotyears of practice.
They got to practice on time. She handed David to the coach, lingered by the hall doors for a moment, watching her boy racing to his mates, grinning, shovingan ordinary child. Then stepped outside.
On a bench near the entrance, she took out her phone. Scrolled down to Iris S. in her contacts. Stared at the name. Then replaced the phone.
Not yet. Not now.
Those first days, she often wondered how far back it all began. She combed over recent months the way you do old photographs, searching for details once missed. There they were at Iriss birthday in MayAndrew laughing at one of Iriss jokes, and Helen remembering being glad her husband got on with her friend, not everyone was so fortunate. There was Iris, helping pick curtain fabric on a Saturday, she and Andrew chatting in the kitchen while Helen tucked David in. What were they talking about? Andrew had saidabout work, shes a designer, I asked about my office. Helen accepted that. Of course.
Of course.
She didnt cry. Oddly, that surprised her. She waited, but tears refused to comeonly a dryness in her throat, a cold weight under her ribs, dense and heavy. She ate, slept, cooked, answered calls. Andrew noticed nothing. He was attentive as always, no more, no less. Hed ask about her day, kiss her cheek in the mornings, and shed turn her face for him, just as before.
On the fourth day, Iris rang.
The phone vibrated in Helens pocket. Her chest caught for a split second, but she exhaled, tapped ‘accept’ and spoke in her usual voice.
Hello, Iris.
Helen! Whereve you vanished? I sent you a message Monday, never heard back.
Iriss tone was her ordinary one. Warm, the faint guilt of someone fearing theyd caused some slight. That warmth, precisely, was what hurt the most.
Sorry, things got hectic. Davids been a bit under the weather, Helen said, the lie slipping out without effort, surprising even herself.
Oh no, is it a fever?
No, just a bit of a cold. Hes on the mend.
Thank goodness. Listen, are you two free Saturday? Thought we might actually go out, its been ages.
Helen gazed at the wall in front of her. On it hung a photographher and Andrew by the sea, maybe six years ago, before David was born. Both laughing, their hair blown wild by the wind. A good picture.
Saturday probably wont work, she said. But Ill ring you closer to the weekend, alright?
Sure, sure. Are you alright? You sound a bit
Just tired. Im alright.
Are you sure? Helen, if you ever need anything, call me, wont you?
I know, Iris. Thanks. Bye for now.
She hung up. Got up. Walked over to the photo on the wall, studied her laughing face. She took the photo down, tucked it away in a dresser drawer, closed it.
That night, at last, she wept. Quietly, in the bathroom, running the tap so no one would hear. She cried for ages, in an awkward, snotty way until her eyes and throat throbbed. She did not weep for the loss of a man, nor even for the fact hed let her down. She wept for something elseyears together, for trust, for the version of herself who wholeheartedly believed. For the foolishness of that faith. For the knowledge that David would now be growing up in a home where his father lied, and hed only realise it too late, or not at all.
After, she washed her face with cold water and looked at her reflection. Thirty-eight. No longer young, not old either. Just a normal face, puffy-eyed. Tomorrow, shed have to be lively at work.
She also thought: she couldnt just let them be. She couldnt let them think life would continue as it had, their secret carrying on while hers and Davids lives became mere scenery. She couldnt.
She returned to the bedroom. Andrew slept. She lay down beside him.
She had to think.
For the next fortnight, Helen lived in two layers. Outwardly, nothing changed. She kept house, worked, ferried David to practice, chatted with Andrew, sometimes even chuckling at his jokesthey were still funny, that much she couldnt pretend away. Occasionally shed forget herself and just live for a moment; those were the hardest, for it proved she could survive beside him, as if nothing had happened.
Inside, though, plans quietly took shape. She didnt hire detectives. She simply began to notice what had once been invisible. How Andrew slipped off to another room with his mobile. The smile that played about his mouth as he stared at a text, only to quickly hide his phone when she looked his way. Wednesdayanother dinner with clients, another missed supper.
One evening, while he showered, she took his phone. She knew the passcode, never changed from the year David was born. She opened the messenger. Found the exchange with Iris.
She read quickly, not all, just enough to gauge the scope. July, it began. Three months. While they painted the nursery, as David started Year Three, while Helen visited her mother alone for her birthdayAndrew had claimed to be ‘tied up’, and of course she understood.
She returned the phone and went to the kitchen. Switched on the hob. Began dicing onions for soup, methodically, evenly.
Andrew emerged from the shower in a towel, peeked in.
Oh, soup? I could eat.
Ready in half an hour, she replied.
Her voice was steady. The onions chopped steadily. Everything neat.
That night, she decided: there would be a supper.
Not right away, not the next day. She needed timenot for vengeance; that wasnt what she wanted. She only wished to see them bothtogether at her table, in her homeand say what she needed to say. Calmly. Without shouting. Without theatrics. Shed long known shouting only made matters worse, for her anywaytheyd simply call her unbalanced and sneak away.
She phoned Iris Friday night.
Iris, Im calling about Saturday. You remember you suggested meeting up?
Yes, do you think itll work after all?
I thought you might come round to ours. Ill make something nice, its been ages since we all just sat down over a proper meal. Andrewll be here. Just us.
A brief pause. Barely a second.
Wonderful. What time?
Seven. Can you come?
Ill be there. Shall I bring anything?
Nothing at all.
She hung up. Walked to the lounge, where Andrew sat watching TV.
Ive invited Iris Saturday. Well have a proper supper, its about time we caught up.
Andrew turned his head, something flickering across his face, gone in an instant.
Alright, he said. Sounds good.
Exactly, Helen replied, and went back to the kitchen.
She knew well enough theyd text each other at once, agree how to behave, resolve to act like old friends. That didnt frighten her. She wasnt planning a spectacle. David would be staying the night with her mother; shed sorted that already. The supper would be quiet.
All week, Helen pondered what to cook. It mattered, not because she wanted to impress, but because keeping her hands busy with food helped her think. She settled on roast chicken with rosemary and potatoes, a rocket and pear salad Iris adored, and an apple tarta recipe Helen knew better than anyone. Everything would be just right. The table would look beautiful.
Saturday, she dropped David at her mothers at two. Her mother, as always, tried to probe, asking why she looked so tired. Helen insisted she was simply short on sleep. She kissed David, whod already legged it to the telly, and set off home.
The flat was quiet. Andrew had been out all morningshopping, he said. Back by three, loaded with bags. Brought a good bottle of wineshe noted the label.
For supper, he said. You dont mind?
Not at all. Perfect, she replied.
He seemed tense, movements too quick, checked his phone twice beside the fridge. Then steeled himself, sat at the table pretending to read the newspapera pastime shed never seen him care for.
She cooked. Scrubbed the chicken, grated spices, cut potatoes. The aroma of rosemary and garlic spread through the homewarm, comforting. She opened the window; the autumn air rolled in, sharp and earthy.
By six, the table was setthree plates, three glasses. No candles, that would have been cruel. Just a clean white cloth, a vase of flowers bought the previous day.
At seven, the bell rang.
Iris appeared in a new navy coat, hair perfectly arranged, a familiar fragrance trailing behind. Shed brought a box of sweets, though Helen had said not to.
Helen, its always so lovely here, Iris exclaimed, hanging her coat. It smells wonderful.
Come in, Im glad you could make it, Helen said, strangely honest. In some twisted way, she was glad.
Andrew sauntered out. He exchanged the usual pleasantries with Irisa kiss on the cheek. Casual. Effortless. They were both very good at pretending.
They sat.
The first half hour was all small talk. Iris discussed a new design project, some office across the city, with clients fancying golden door handles. Andrew joked about clients of his own. Helen ate, listened, offering comments here and there, poured wine for all.
Outside, the darkness thickened. She switched on the overhead lamp, its warm light settling uneasily amidst the cosiness.
She waited until everyone was on their second glass; Iris was reaching for more salad, Andrew mid-sip. Then Helen spoke, steadily, without preamble.
I have something to say. I need you both to listen.
They looked at her. Iris with her fork in hand, Andrew his glass paused mid-air.
I know about the two of you. Since July. Ive read the messages, Andrew. I know everything I need to know.
Silence. So absolute you could hear the kitchen clock tick.
Andrew spoke first. His tone, rather small, as if something in him had shrunk.
Helen
Wait, Helen cut in. I dont mean to make a scene. But here, while were all at this table, I want you both to understand: I know. Thats all.
She turned to Iris. Iris stared at the tablecloth, cheeks flushed, knuckles white around the fork.
Iris, youve been in my home hundreds of times. You knew everything about us. When I was having a hard time, you kept me company all night. When I gave birth to David, you waited at the hospital doors for three hoursdo you remember? Im not saying this to make you feel guilty, just so you know: I remember it all. Ive forgotten nothing.
Iris at last looked up. Her eyes were watery, helpless.
Helen, I
Dont, Helen said quietly. Not now.
She turned to Andrew.
Andrew. Weve been married twelve years. I wont go through what went wrong, nor when you decided you could do this. That could take forever, and this isnt the day for it. Today, I only wanted to bring us together so youd know Im aware. Thats the difference.
Andrew carefully set down his glass.
Helen, its more complicated than you think. We should talk, properly, just the two of us
I know we should. We will. But not tonight.
She got up, finished her wine, set the glass aside.
Please finish your meal. The chicken turned out wellI did make an effort. Afterwards, you may both leave. Davids at Mums, hell stay the night. I have things to do.
Nobody moved.
Andrew gazed at her with an odd, unfathomable looknot guilt, precisely, more bafflement. As if hed been expecting a row and was lost with all this calm.
Suddenly Iris stammered, her voice betraying her.
Helen, Im sorry.
Helen gazed at her friendthe face shed known for fifteen years, mascara starting to streak, the smell of that perfume Helen herself once recommended.
I dont know, Iris, she murmured, finally. Maybe, someday. But not now.
She left them then, went into the bedroom, shut the door, sat on the bed. She heard them whispering in the kitchen, shifting chairs. The front door banged once. Then again, a minute after.
It was quiet.
She sat, listening to the hush. The flat smelled of rosemary chicken and Iriss fading perfume. Three plates were on the table, one nearly untouched.
She didnt know how long she sat before she got up, tidied away leftovers into foil, put them in the fridge. Washed up, wiped down, swept the crumbs.
And then she sat on a kitchen chair in the middle of that neat room.
That was it. It seemed such a tiny thing after so many, many years. That was what remainedtwelve years, a dearest friend, everything between themwhittled down to a clean table and the scent of soap.
She rang her mother.
Mum, can David stay with you until Sunday?
Of course, love, hes already asleep. Helen, has something happened?
Yes. Ill tell you later. Not now.
Come round if you like, Im still awake.
No, Mum. Id rather stay in. Just for a bit.
Her mother didnt pushshe always did know when to stop.
Have you eaten at all?
I did. I cooked rather well tonight, actually. The chicken was good.
Thats good then, her mother replied, and that strangely ordinary phrase stung Helen more than anything that evening.
Helen ended the calland wept. No more sneaking into the bathroom, no tap running. Just sitting in the kitchen and crying, not bothering to hide it anymore. For ages. Then she stopped, blew her nose, washed her face at the kitchen sink.
Beyond the window, the city quietly glimmeredNovember, just an ordinary Saturday. Somewhere out in that dark, Andrew and Iris were either talking in the car or wandering the streets. What they might say to one another, Helen did not knowand, surprisingly, didnt much care.
She refused to think about the future. Not that night. For now, it was enough that shed endured that evening, without breaking, or shouting, or saying too much. Shed said everything she wanted to.
Andrew returned at one in the morning.
She lay in the darkness, fully awake, as she heard him open the front door, walk softly through the hall, pour himself water in the kitchen. He paused outside their bedroom for some time.
Then the door creaked softly.
Youre awake, he said. It wasnt a question.
Yes.
He sat at the edge of the bed, his side. Stayed silent for a long time.
Helen, I dont know where to begin.
Then dont, not tonight, she replied. Go to sleep. Well speak tomorrow.
Would you rather
Andrew. Its the middle of the night. Im tired. Tomorrow.
He climbed in. She lay with her eyes closed. He didnt touch her. She didnt touch him. They lay side by side, two strangers sharing a bed through habit or misfortune.
The next morning, before Andrew awoke, she packed a small bag. Not to leave for goodjust a few essentials. Passport, bank card, some clothes, a photo of David from her bedside.
She placed the bag by the door.
She brewed coffee, waiting until Andrew came out.
He noticed the bag. Froze.
Youre leaving?
Ill stay with Mum for a while. With David. We need to talk, Andrew, but first I need some time. A few days.
He looked from the bag, to her.
Helen, I want to explain.
Im listening.
He was silent. She sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim.
I dont know how it happened. I wasnt planning
No one ever plans, Andrew. It doesnt work like that.
Do you want a divorce?
He let the word drop between them. She didnt flinch.
I dont know yet. I need time to decide. But I do know I cant stay here right now and pretend nothings wrong. You understand?
He nodded. Slowly, as if aware but none the better for it.
David
David will be fine. This is between us. Ill make sure hes alright.
She drained her coffee. Placed the mug in the sink. Picked up her bag.
Ill call you.
And left.
The stairs smelled of old wood and burnt toast from someones breakfast. She counted each step, even though shed lived on the sixth floor for years; today, it was as if she was counting for the first time.
Outside, the air was damp, cold. The pavement slick with rotting leaves, a workman sweeping them into piles at the curb. The sky was grey, not a scrap of suna classic English November. But Helen stood at the entrance, breathing deep. For some reason, simply standing there, not hiding from anyone, made things easier.
She thought of Davidhow he would wake at Grans, ask for pancakes, be given them, and be content. How he knew nothing of what had happened, and that was for the best. He was eight. Let him have his pancakes, his football, and his battles at school. The rest she would sort out.
She had no idea what came next. Divorce, something else, or nothingwhether shed ever forgive Iris. That, truthfully, was the hardest thing. With Andrew, it happened, people drift apart, yes, its painful but comprehensible. With a friend youve trusted with your soul, it was another matter. She had no idea how many years it might take.
Yet here she was, on the street with her bag, beneath a dull morning. In two streets time, her boy awaited with pancakesand she took a step off the stoop and began to walk.
Simply walked.
Her mother welcomed her with no fuss. Opened the door, saw the suitcase, looked at Helens face, understood everything. Simply said:
Off you go and freshen up, Ill put the kettle on.
David darted from the back room, socks trailing, hair rumpled.
Mum! Whyve you come? Yesterday you said you wouldnt!
I missed you, she replied, scooping him up, burying her nose in his hair. He smelt of bubble bath and sleep.
Youre tickling me! he giggled, wriggled free, and ran back to cartoons.
She watched him go.
Then padded to the kitchen where her mother rattled teacups. That tiny kitchenthose old, flowered curtains her mum refused to replace, the fridge covered in magnets, including one David had made at nursery, crooked, but cherished. All so familiar it made her almost cry again.
She held back.
Her mother set a cup before her, sat opposite.
Will you tell me?
I will. Not just now. Let me settle.
Is it Andrew?
Yes.
Her mother nodded and said nothing, just sipped her tea. Cartoon laughter pealed from the other room, and Davids delighted cackles joined in.
Mum, mind if I stay for a bit?
As long as you need, my love. The spare room is yours.
It was all she needed to hear.
After that, a new life beganone she didnt know how to name. Not temporary, though it seemed that way. Not new, though it slowly became so. Just life, quietly, one day after the next.
She and Andrew talked, not once but many times. The conversations were heavy, but Helen kept her promiseno shouting. Much as she struggled sometimes, she managed. Andrew said many things: he hadnt realised what was happening, he was sorry, thought a lot about David, was confused about what was right.
She listened. Replied. Neither forgiving nor cursing him.
Divorce took a long time, inching along through paperwork, discussions about the flat, custody of David. It was as wretched and messy as such business is, but she pressed on.
Iris didnt call for weeks. When she finally messagedit was short. Im here if you want me. Helen read it, answered nothingnot out of retribution, but because she simply didnt know what to say. That would take time.
Late November, as she fetched David from practice, the years first snow appearedfine, hesitant flakes, melting before they touched the ground. David tumbled out, face upturned.
Snow, Mum! Look!
She looked up. The flakes drifted from the black nightno, into the black night, shed got her directions muddled. One landed on her cheek and vanished.
I see, she said.
Can we make a snowman?
When we get a proper bit of snow. Not this little bit.
Oh, Mum, please
Come on or youll freeze.
He grabbed her gloved hand, warm with a cartoon car on the back, chattering the whole way about snowmen and a schoolmate who could roll one taller than himself.
Helen listened, holding his hand.
It still hurt. Hurt would not go away, nor should ittwelve years dont dissolve in a single November. Along with that ache, though, was something elseair, perhaps. A sense that she was walking now on her own, holding a hand, making her own decisions.
She didnt know if what shed done was right. Or, rather, she knew it was right, but wasnt sure it would ever make things easier. Those were different thingsright and easy. Only now, at thirty-eight, beneath the first snow, did she truly understand that.
The following week, she found a listing for a small flat nearbya two-bedroom on the fourth floor, windows over the green. The landlords, a gentle elderly couple, asked no probing questions. Helen admired the quiet of the empty rooms, the bright little kitchen. From the nursery, she could see tall, bare trees.
Will you take it? asked the landlord.
Yes, I will, she replied.
Moving took only a day. The neighbours her mother knew helped with the heavier items. Andrew brought Davids things himselfset the boxes in the hall, looked about.
Nice flat, he said.
Yes, Helen agreed.
He was almost out the door when he stopped.
Helen. I really am sorry.
She looked at himthe man shed known for so many years. He looked tired, aged just a little. Utterly ordinary.
I know. Take care, Andrew.
He left.
Helen closed the door, leaned back against it for a moment.
Then she began to unpack.
David bustled in that evening, straight to his new room, admiring the trees outside, declaring hed lie on the windowsill to watch the cats playing below. It was too narrow, Helen said. He was sure hed fit. She laughed.
It was suddentrue laughter, not planned, not cautious, just a bubble of it. David gave her a puzzled look.
Whats up with you?
Nothing! Lets have supper. I bought dumplings.
Brilliant! Hed already dashed to the kitchen.
She switched on the hob, filled a pot with water, found the salt. The unfamiliar kitchen still smelt of other people, but that would fadefood changes the way any place smells.
The water boiled. She dropped in the dumplings.
David scribbled away in his workbookhed remembered last-minute that he had art homework for tomorrow.
Mum, will we really make a snowman?
We will. When theres proper snow, well go, I promise.
Promise?
I promise.
He nodded, satisfied, bent back over his drawing.
Outside, real snow was falling nownot the timid November flurries, but a thick December blanket settling on trees, the windowsill, the overhang across the street. The city outside grew quieter, gentler, a little kinder beneath the white.
Helen stood at the stove, swirling dumplings as David muttered over his picture, watching the snow settle through the glass.
She had no idea what would come next.
Just that tomorrow morning, shed rise early, get David ready for school, nip to the shop for bread, ring her mothershed forgotten for three days now. Perhaps shed unpack a few more boxes from the hallwayor perhaps not. It didnt matter.
The pain would return, she knew. Sometimes at night, sometimes in the day, without warning. A memory would surfacea hint of perfume, a voice on the phone, a happy moment from those yearsreal, irretrievable. This wouldnt pass quickly. She didnt expect it would.
But the dumplings were ready. David had already flung down his book and was looking at her, waiting.
Alright, Im bringing them, she called.
