A Random Notification
My phone was face down on the nightstand, just where Id left it. I had no intention of picking it up. All I meant to do was grab a glass of water, but as I reached out, my hand nudged the shiny plastic edge. The screen sprang to life on its own, the way things sometimes do that would be better off left in the dark.
Thats how I caught just one lineone single line from a chat notification.
I miss you too. Tonight was so lovely. Yours, Beth.
It didnt make sense at first. I stared at those words for a split second, two, three, as if they were in a foreign language and I needed time to puzzle them out. Then I looked over at Tom. He was asleep on his side, facing the wall, his shoulder slightly hunched, breathing steady and deep like someone with nothing to hide.
Yours, Beth.
Beth. Bethany Collins. My best friend. The same Beth who helped us pick out wallpaper for Alices room just three months ago. The same Beth whos sat in our kitchen a hundred times. The same Beth who rang me only last week, moaning that she couldnt find a decent bloke, that theyre all the same and she was sick of the single life.
I picked up my glass, drank, and set it back down. I got out of bed without the floorboards so much as creaking, slipped out the bedroom, door gently closed behind me, and padded into the kitchen. I switched on the little lamp above the cooker, not the main lighta soft glow, gentle on the eyes, though the ache inside wasnt from the light.
I sat at the table, staring at the speckled surface.
Outside it was just another October night, the blur of streetlights puddled among the soggy fallen leaves in the garden across the road. Kettle on the hob, half-full with yesterdays water. I didnt bother with tea. Just sat and listened to the silence.
Tonight was so lovely.
Tonight when? Wednesday, Tom came home half seven. Said hed stayed late with clients, had dinner at a restaurant, was knackered and just wanted bed. Id reheated his dinner, which he barely touched. Wed watched something forgettable on the telly, and hed dropped off on the sofa, so I covered him with a throw. I didme, with my own hands.
I gripped the table edge to steady myself.
Alice was sleeping in the next room. Eight years old, deep sleeper, sometimes talking about toys or school in her dreamsfunny stuff, really. Tomorrow morning, I had to take her to ballet by nine, pick up a loaf of bread, call Mum, who I hadnt rung in four days and who, no doubt, was sulking about it.
Normal life, familiar and predictable, right there in those little routines. But underneath, it turns out, another life had been ticking awaya parallel one. With other messages, other dinners, another woman signing off as yours.
I stood and drifted over to the window. On the sill sat a tired old geranium I didnt even like, but still I watered it, because Mrs. Jenkins gave it to me ages ago. The plant was alive, dusty, stubborn.
I found myself thinking about that silly geranium for ages. Then I sat back down at the table.
I probably ought to do something. Or maybe nothing, at least not tonightI couldnt decide. Inside, everything felt still, that strange quiet before the storm breaks. It wasnt tears or screaming, just a sharp-edged hush.
I stayed at the table till four in the morning, doing nothing. Just watching, as the lights in the windows opposite clicked off one by one. Eventually, I boiled the kettle after all, made tea, left it unfinished. Washed the mug. Went back to bed, slipped in beside Tom, not touching him, staring into the darkness.
Tom kept sleeping.
I listened to his breathingsomething so ordinary, as much part of the night as the hum of the fridge or the distant whoosh of buses. Now, though, every breath sounded different. Like I was hearing him, really hearing him, for the first time in countless yearsand it was unbearable.
I woke up earlier than him that morning. Got Alice up, made her porridge which she fussed about because she wanted jam on toast instead. I made her toast. Tied the laces on her trainers since shes not quick enough yet, and we had to hurry. Took her hand and headed out.
It was cold out, air thick with the smell of wet tarmac and rotting leaves. Alice chattered all the way down the street about maths class, about how Mrs. Burton was unfair and that she had got it right really, even if the teacher said not. I nodded, replied at all the right moments, all autopilot. Years of practice.
We made it to ballet on time. I handed her over to her instructor, stood in the doorway for a moment, watched her run to the other girls, giggling, shoving, just a normal kid with a ponytail. Then stepped outside.
On a bench near the entrance, I pulled out my phone. Found Beth C. in my contacts, stared at her name for ages. Put the phone away.
Not today.
Not yet.
Over those next few days, I replayed everything in my headmonths of tiny flashes like flipping through old photos, searching for missed clues. There the three of us are at Beths birthday in May; Tom laughing at a joke she made. Id thought how lucky I was that my husband and best friend got on so well. Theres Beth, dropping in on a Saturday, helping pick curtain fabric, her and Tom deep in conversation about her new job while I put Alice to bed. Id asked about it afterwardshed said: Work stuff, shes a designer, Im picking her brain about the office. Of course, Id said. Naturally.
I hadnt cried, and that surprised me. I thought tears would come, but nothing, just a dry aching tightness in my chest. I ate, slept, managed the house, answered calls. Tom didnt notice anything amisshe was exactly as attentive as always, no more, no less. He asked how my day had been. Sometimes a quick peck on the cheek on his way out in the morning. I offered my cheek, same as ever.
On the fourth day, Beth rang.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and her name came up, and for half a breath my chest seized. Then I exhaled, answered in my most normal voice.
Hello, Beth!
Hi, Em! Where have you disappeared to? I messaged you Monday, thought youd vanished!
Her voice was normalwarm, tinged with a bit of sheepishness, as if worried shed upset me. That warmth was the hardest thing to bear.
Sorry, got a bit swamped. Alices been a little poorly, I lied easily, surprising myself with how easily it came.
Oh no, is she alright? Fever?
No, just a sniffle, shes on the mend now.
Phew, you had me worried. Listen, are you guys free Saturday? I thought we could all go out, havent done anything in ages.
I stared at the wall. Theres a photo above the tellyTom and I on a windy Cornish beach, about six years back, before Alice was born, both of us laughing, hair whipped up. A really nice picture.
Saturdays not great, Im afraid, I said. But Ill call you later in the week, okay?
Of course, yeah. You alright? You sound
Just tired. Im alright.
Youre sure? Em, you know where I am.
I do, I know. Thanks, Beth. Bye for now.
I hung up, got to my feet. Stared at that happy old photo. Unhooked it from the wall, tucked it away in the sideboard drawer.
That night, I finally broke down. Silent tears, locked in the bathroom with the taps running so no one could hear, crying hard till my eyes puffed up. Not about losing Tom, not even that he was different from who Id thought. About something else entirelythe years, the trust, the self whod believed, so simply, that nothing like this would ever happen. About the stupidity of that faith. About Alice growing up in a house where her father lied, and by the time she found out itd be too late to undo.
Afterwards, I splashed my face with cold water. Looked in the mirrorthirty-eight, not young, not old, just a normal face puffy from weeping. Thought about how at work tomorrow Id have to pretend like all was fine.
I also thought: They cant just walk away from this; they cant keep hiding, making me and Alice just scenery for their secret. No.
Back in bed, Tom asleep. I lay beside him.
I had to think.
For the next fortnight, my days felt split in two. On the surface, everything the sameworking, doing the school run, talking to Tom, sometimes laughing at his jokes (because, lets be honest, some were funny). Id sometimes forget, just for a second, and then it would hit even harderbecause it meant I could still live alongside him as though nothing was wrong.
Inside, though, I was watching. I didnt hire a private eye. Just kept my eyes open. I noticed the way Tom would take his phone with him every time he left the room. The way hed grin at a message and then hide the screen when he saw me looking. How, come Wednesday, he was with clients again, back late, barely touched his food.
One evening while Tom showered, I picked up his phone. I knew his code, always the same four digitsAlices birth year. I opened the messages, found the thread with Beth.
I skimmed, I didnt need details, just needed the shape of things. Took five minutes. It started in July. Three months. While we painted the nursery, while Alice started Year 3, while I was at my mums birthday (Tom said he was busy, of course Id believed him).
I put the phone back, walked to the kitchen. Switched on the hob. Chopped onions for soup, methodically, square cubes.
Tom strolled in, towel round his waist.
Ooh, soup? Brilliant! Im starving.
Half an hour, I replied.
My voice was steady. My knife was steady. Everything steady.
That night, I made a decision: there would be a dinner.
Not immediately, not tomorrow. I needed time. It wasnt about revenge. I didnt want drama. I wanted to see them, both of them, in my home, at my table, and say what I needed to say. Calmly. No shouting, no scene. Id long since learned that screaming only gives them an excuse; then they talk to each other about how unreasonable you are.
I called Beth Friday night.
Beth, Ive been thinking about Saturdayyou still free?
Yeah, definitely! Is it happening then?
I thought, why dont you come round to ours? Ill do a proper meal, feels like ages since we hung out. Tom will be there too.
A brief pause. Just a heartbeat.
Lovely. What time?
Seven?
See you then. Need me to bring anything?
No, youre good.
Hung up. Wandered into the living room, told Tom, Invited Beth round Saturday. Proper meal, like old times.
Tom glanced up from the tellyjust a flicker passed over his face, gone in an instant.
Alright, sounds good.
Exactly, I said, and returned to the kitchen.
I knew that the moment Id hung up, theyd text each other, make a plan for how to act normal. That was fine. I didnt need a public barney. Alice was off to my mums for the night, arrangement made in advance. Dinner would be civil.
All week, I thought about what to cook. It needed to matter. Not to impress, but because keeping my hands busy let my thoughts settle. I decided: roast chicken with rosemary and potatoes, Beths favourite salad with rocket and pear, and apple crumble, which I make better than anyone. No drama. Just a beautiful table, clean, fresh flowers in a vasesomething for me to hold onto.
Saturday, I took Alice to my mums after lunch. Mum, as usual, tried to wheedle out of me what was wrong, said I looked worn out. I brushed her off, said I just hadnt slept much, kissed Alice on the head (she was already glued to the cartoons), and headed home.
It was silent. Tom had been out most of the morning, doing the shopping. He came back at three with bags of food and a bottle of winea nice one, expensive, I noted it.
For dinner, he said. Alright?
Ideally, yes, I replied.
He was on edge, little thingsmoving faster, checking his phone twice by the fridge, pretending to read the paper. I was busy prepping the food: rinsed the chicken, rubbed it with herbs, peeled potatoes, tossed together the salad. The place filled with the smell of rosemary and garlic; I cracked a window, drew in the chilly air laced with autumn.
By six, the table was setthree places, three glasses. No candles, didnt want it to be theatrical; just a nice tablecloth, bright flowers Id picked up at the shop.
At seven on the dot, the doorbell rang.
Beth turned up in a new navy coat, hair done, that old perfume Id recommended years ago. Brought posh chocolates even though Id told her not to.
Em, you always make it so lovely here, she gushed, taking off her coat. Smells amazing.
Come on in, Beth, I said, and I meant itin a strange, twisted way, I did mean it. Somehow, I was glad shed come.
Tom emerged from the front room. He and Beth exchanged a peck on the cheek, all breezy and polite, perfectly rehearsed.
We sat down.
For half an hour, chat was pure small talkBeth on about a new client who wanted gold tap handles, Tom joking about his own work headaches. I poured everyone wine, chipped in now and again. It was all so familiar, so heartbreakingly normal.
With wine flowing and conversation thinning, I decided. As Beth reached for salad, I spoke, calmly, no warning.
Id like to say something. To both of you. Please listen.
They both turned to lookBeths hand frozen around her fork, Toms wineglass halfway up.
I know about you. Since July. I read the messages, Tom. I know everything I need to know.
It was silent. The sort of silence where you could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen.
Tom spoke first, voice all twisted up.
Em
No, wait, I said. Im not here for an argument. I wanted to say this with you both here, to your faces, so you know. I know. Thats all.
I glanced to Beth. She stared at the tablecloth, face pale, knuckles white on her fork.
Beth, youve been in my home, whata hundred times, maybe? You knew everything about us. When I needed you, youd stay up with me. Do you remember waiting at the hospital when I had Alice? Im not saying this so you feel guilty, just so you knowI havent forgotten.
Beth finally looked up, eyes shining with unshed tears.
Em, I
Dont, I said softly. Not now.
I turned to Tom.
Tom, twelve years. Im not about to rake through everything, or ask when you decided this was okay. That talk can wait. All I wanted tonight was to look you both in the eye and say it. Because you thought I didnt know. Now I do. Theres a difference.
Tom gently set his wineglass down.
Em, its not what you thinkits complicated
Well talk. But not tonight.
I stood, drained my glass, set it back down.
Eat your dinner, its decent. Afterwards, youre both free to go. Alice is with Mum, shell stay the night. Ive got things to do.
Nobody moved.
Tom looked at me with an unreadable expressionnot guilt, not quite. More like uncertainty, someone expecting a row and not knowing what to do with quiet.
Beths voice cracked suddenly.
Im sorry, Em.
I looked at herthis face Id trusted for years, mascara smudged, the scent Id once bought myself.
I dont know yet, Beth. Maybe, one day. Not right now.
I left the room, quietly closing the door behind me. Sat on the edge of the bed. Through the wall, I could hear low voices, the scrape of chairs. Then the front door shut. Once. Then, after a pause, again.
Silence.
I let it soak in, the warmth of roast chicken and a whiff of Beths perfume thinning out by the minute. Three plates on the table, one barely touched.
I dont know how long I sat like that. I got up, tidied everything awaywrapped leftover chicken, stacked plates, wiped the table, brushed away crumbs.
Then I sat in the middle of my sparkling-clean kitchen.
That was it. Twelve years, a best friend, Tomreduced to scrubbed worktops and sudsy hands.
I rang my mum.
Mum, can Alice stay with you till Sunday?
Of course she can. Shes out like a light. Em, whats wrong?
Yes. Ill tell you later. Not now.
Come over, Im still awake.
No, Mum. I need to stay home right now.
She didnt push; Mums good at knowing when not to.
Have you eaten, at least?
I had a good dinner. The chicken came out well.
Thats something, she said, and somehow that comforted me and hurt the most, all at once.
I hung up and let myself finally cry. No holding back, just proper crying in the kitchen, so loud and harsh I could hardly breathe. Eventually, it eased. I blew my nose, washed my face right there by the sink.
London, November, a perfectly normal Saturday. Somewhere out there Tom and Beth might be together. Perhaps in the car, perhaps shouting, perhaps not. I realised I didnt particularly care to know.
I didnt think about tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight, it was enough just to have survived all this, not snapped, not said more than I needed to. Id said exactly what was needed.
Tom came back at one in the morning.
I lay in bed, listeningthe front door, his shoes, the tap in the kitchen. He lingered outside the bedroom for a moment. I felt it, that hesitation.
Then the door opened quietly.
Youre awake, he said. Not a question.
Yes.
He sat on the bed, his side, silent for ages.
Em, I dont know where to start.
Then dont tonight, I said. Get some sleep. Well talk tomorrow.
You dont want to
Its the middle of the night, Tom. Im tired. Tomorrow.
He lay down. I closed my eyes. We didnt touch. Two strangers, lying side by side out of habit or chance.
The next morning, I got up earlywhile Tom still slept, I packed a small bag. Not leaving for good, just a breather: passport, bank card, a couple of outfits, and a photo of Alice from my bedside. Put the bag by the door.
Made coffee, waited for Tom.
He came in, saw the bag, stopped.
Youre leaving?
Staying at Mums for now. Alice and I need some time away. We need to talk, Tom, but I need to be apart first. Give me a few days.
He looked at the bag, back at me.
I want to explain.
Im listening.
He was silent. I sipped my coffee and watched him.
I dont know how it happened. I didnt plan
No one ever does, Tom. Thats not how it works.
Do you want a divorce?
He put it between us. I didnt look away.
I dont know yet. I need time. I do know I cant stay here right now pretending nothings happened. You get that, right?
He noddedheavy, everything clear but no easier for it.
Alice
Alice will be fine. Thats ours to handle, not hers. Ill make sure of it.
I finished my coffee, put the mug in the sink, grabbed my bag.
Ill call you.
And left.
The stairwell smelled of ancient wood and burnt toast. I counted the steps down, not because I had toI just did. We lived on the third floortwelve flights, but for once, it was like seeing them for the first time.
I stepped out onto the street.
Chill, damp air, sodden leaves mashed underfoot as the caretaker swept them into piles by the bins. The sky was pure grey, classic English November gloom. But I stood on the top step, breathing it in, and was surprised to feel a tiny bit lighterjust for being there, outside, alone, with nothing to hide from.
I thought of Alice: waking at Mums, demanding pancakes, getting them. Blissfully untroubled. That was right. She was eightshe deserved pancakes and ballet classes and outbursts about unfair homework marks. Id sort out the rest.
I didnt know what would happen next. Divorce, maybe. Or not. Forgiving Beth someday? That was harder. Harder than Tom, reallyspouses betray, it happens, but not your best mate youve told everything. That needed time to digest.
For now, though, there I was, bag in hand, morning dull and cold, Alice two roads away with her breakfast. I took a step off the stoop, and walked.
Just walked.
Mum opened the door without a fuss, sized me up, saw the bag, nodded in that way she hasno words needed.
Go on, love, wash your faceIll put on the kettle.
Alice shot into the hallway, hair stuck up, socks half off.
Mum! Why are you here? You said you werent coming!
I missed you, I said, hugging her tight, breathing in her sweet, sleepy smell.
Youre tickling me! she squealed, wriggled away, and dashed off to finish watching cartoons.
I watched her, then wandered through to the kitchen. Mum was fussing with mugs, faded floral curtains, fridge plastered with magnets, including that rubbish one Alice made at nurserysquint, battered, my favourite. All so familiar it almost made me cry again.
I didnt, though.
Mum set a mug down, took her own seat.
Youll tell me?
I will. Let me settle in first, please.
Its Tom?
Yeah.
She nodded. Didnt press. Sipped her tea. Through the wall, I caught Alices laughter and the rise and fall of the cartoon.
Mum, can we stay a bit?
As long as you like, love. You know that.
It was all I needed to hear.
And so life begannothing temporary, but not exactly new, either. Just everyday, one day after another.
Tom and I talked, more than once. The conversations were hard, but without shoutingI kept that promise to myself, though sometimes it was nearly impossible. He said everything: he didnt know how it happened, he felt trapped, he was sorry, he thought about Alice, he didnt know what the right thing was.
I listened. Answered. Didnt forgive, didnt boil over.
Arranging the separationthe flat, Alice, the solicitordrained me of energy and hope, as messy things do. Still, I went through it.
Beth stayed away for a few weeks. Then she sent a message: Im here if you need me. I read it, didnt reply. Not for punishment, justI didnt know yet what to say. That would take longer.
One evening at the end of November, I picked Alice up after ballet. The first snow felltiny, uncertain, vanishing before it even touched the ground. Alice dashed out, tipped her head back, stuck her tongue out to catch a flake.
Its snowing! Mum, look!
I looked up, fat flakes tumbling from the black skyactually, from the sky, though for a second it felt like the other way round. One landed cold on my cheek, melted at once.
I see.
Are we gonna make a snowman?
When theres enough snow. This lots barely anything.
Oh muuum!
Come on or youll freeze.
She took my handgloved, warm, with her favourite doodled carchattered away about snowmen and boys in her class who boasted they could build the tallest.
I just held her hand, aching inside. The pain hadnt gone and I never expected it would, not so soon. Twelve years dont disappear between two autumn showers. But alongside it, I felt something I couldnt put a name to yet. Maybe a little freedom. The sense that, finally, I got to choose the direction.
I didnt know if I was making the right choice. Well, I knew it was right, but whether itd make things easier, that was differentsomething I was only just realising at thirty-eight, in the seasons first snow.
The next week, I found a tiny flat up the roadtwo rooms, fourth floor, windows facing the trees in the communal gardens. The landlords were a sweet old couple, not nosy. I poked around, listened to the quiet. The kitchen was a good size, lots of light. From the bedroom, you could see the playground.
Will you take it? asked the landlord.
Yes, I said.
The move took a day. Mums neighbours helped with furniture, Tom brought Alices toys himself, silent, stacked up the boxes.
Nice place, he offered.
It is.
He lingered at the door, said, Em, Im really sorry.
I looked at himthis man Id known so long. He looked tired, a bit older. Ordinary.
I know, Tom. Go on.
He left.
I shut the door, leaned against it.
Then started unpacking.
Alice tumbled through in the evening, straight to her new room, fascinated by the view, vowing shed lie on her belly on the windowsill to watch the cats in the garden below. I told her it was too narrow. She said, Im tiny. Ill fit! I laughed.
It came from nowhere, a real laugh I hadnt felt in ages. Alice looked at me, surprised.
Whats funny?
Nothing. Lets get dinner. I got ravioli.
Ravioli! and she shot off to the kitchen.
I flicked on the light, filled a pan. New kitchen, faint smell of old wallpaper, the remnants of other peoples livesbut that fades quick enough once you start to cook.
Water boiled. I tipped in the pasta.
Alice slouched at the table, head in homework, jotting last-minute for art class.
Mum, will we still make a snowman?
We will. Next time the snow sticks.
Promise?
Promise.
She nodded, satisfied, got back to her task.
Outside, proper snow beganthick, December flakes, settling on the trees, windowsill, roof opposite. The city felt muffled, whiter, a bit softer.
I leaned on the hob, stirring ravioli. Not thinking about anything much. Just stirring. Watching Alice doodle, and the snow falling outside.
What happens next, I dont know.
All I know is: tomorrow, Ill get up early, make sure Alices ready, pop out for bread, give Mum a ringsince Ive not called in three daysmaybe shift another box by the door, or not, itll wait.
Therell be pain, I know. Itll show up unannounced, as it likesa snatch of perfume, a certain voice, or a memory too real to ever stamp out. That wont disappear easily. I dont expect it to.
But the ravioli was done. Alice was already craning expectantly.
Coming! I called out.
