Valerie was hurrying to work one ordinary London morning when she suddenly realised shed left her mobile at home. Sighing, she turned back, entered her blocks lift, and pressed the button for her floor. But, to her irritation, the old lift juddered to a halt on the eighth floor and refused to budge.
Trapped inside, she waited anxiously for someone to come and let her out. It was then, through the thin metal door, she heard her husband Henrys voice drifting from the corridor outside.
He was speaking softly with a womanElaine, Valeries neighbour from thirty-four. My darling Elaine, Henry crooned in a voice that Valerie recognised all too well, I can hardly wait till were together again.
Tonight, after ten. Ill be waiting, Elaine whispered back.
And your husband? Is he still on night shifts this week? Henry asked in a low tone.
He leaves at half past nine and wont be back until early morning, Elaine replied, her voice gentle but hurried. Hell be back soon though, so we should hurry.
Why wont the lift move? Henry complained, clearly frustrated.
The pair lingered outside the lift for several more minutes, caught up in their affair and oblivious to the stuck woman listening on the other side. Eventually, realising the lift was truly broken, they headed downstairs, talking of their secret meetings and the joy they found in stolen moments together.
At first, Valerie couldnt believe her earssurely she was mistaken! But then came the names, and the realisation struck like cold rain: Henry, her Henry and Elaine, the neighbour. All this time shed believed Henrys evening walks for fresh air were just that. The truth was now painfully clear.
Right then, Valerie thought grimly, her resolve hardening. Next time you go out for fresh air, Henry, youll have something to remember it by.
Eventually, a pair of engineers arrived and prised open the lift doors. Valerie stepped out, a plan quietly forming in her mind.
That evening, as the clock marched towards ten, Henry prepared for his ritual walk. Val, he said, grabbing his umbrella, Ill step out for a bit.
But its pouring outside! Valerie exclaimed, peeking through the window at the drizzle.
I need to move, love. Good for the heart, Henry insisted. Umbrella will do.
You might be better off staying in tonight, Henry, she replied, her tone pointed.
Dont believe in bad omens, Val, he shrugged, and slipped out into the rainy street.
Half an hour later, Henry returned looking dishevelled and agitated.
Wheres your umbrella? Valerie asked, leaving the door on the chain. And why are you in your shirt sleeves?
Some blokes out there took my thingsjacket, shoes, everything! Can you let me in? Im freezing!
Oh, youll find your things by the bins, Henry. And do tell Elaine I wish her the best.
Which Elaine?
The one from number thirty-four, of course.
Valerie closed the door, left Henry standing in the hallway, and settled down with a cup of tea and the telly.
Thank goodness the children are all grown and out of the house, she thought ruefully. At least they were spared the sight of this humiliation.
Henry dashed to the bins, found a suitcase with some of his things, and dressed hurriedly. He decided to call a cab and go to his mothers. Only then did he realise his phone was still in Elaines flat. With no other choice, he returned to Valeries flat to ask for her phone. But this time, as he called the lift, the buildings electricity flickered, and he too became trappedon the eighth floor, just as Valerie had been.
When the power finally came back and the lift resumed, Henry found Elaine waiting outside with a suitcase of her own.
Do you have my phone? he asked in a low whisper.
I do, Elaine replied nervously. And your things.
They rode the lift together, in awkward silence, each clutching their suitcases. When they reached the ground floor, their separate cabs pulled away in different directions, leaving the building, and their secrets, behind.
As Valerie sipped her tea in peace, she reflected that sometimes, no matter how careful people are, the truth finds a way out. In the end, trust is as fragile as a spiders weband once broken, its hard to mend. And as for Henry, perhaps next time hed think twice before looking for fresh air somewhere else.
