Snow had been falling since first thing in the morningthick, heavy flakes that clung stubbornly to the tarmac, turning the A-road into a slippery ribbon of disaster waiting to happen. Olivia stared out of the passenger window of their black four-by-four, unseeing, everything outside blurred by the storm and her own grinding worry. Her focus was jammed on a tight, cold knot in her chest and the slow, methodical voice of her solicitor crackling through her mobile, which sweated in her nervous palm.
Assets gained in marriage are split fifty-fifty, Mrs. Tomlinson. Yes. But the flat your husband bought before you were marriedregardless of your name on the post and your seven years living theredoesnt count. Itll stay with him.
She let the phone drop onto her lap. Seven years. Seven years shed turned that concrete shoebox on the citys outskirts into a true home: picking out wallpapers, curtains, trawling through online shops for precisely the right lamp to stick by the battered old sofa. Seven years spent ironing, cooking, putting up with his mates raving into the small hours, coping with his thunderous moods and ferocious jealousy. And all of itshe realisedhad been done inside his fortress, a borrowed castle where she was only ever a tolerated tenant. Now, with the card-house of her marriage toppled after that night when he failed to come home and shed found lipstick not her own smeared on his collar and a text full of hearts, it turned out shed be the one to pack her bags. Off shed go, with her modest teachers salary and a battered suitcase full of jumpers.
Well? barked Simon from behind the wheel as he swung the car past a lorry, never missing a beat. His once-handsome, assured face was pulled tight with a sneer hed worn often of late. He knew. Oh, he knew exactly. Looked positively gleeful, in fact.
Olivia turned to him. Her eyes looked too large for her pale face and were as dry as January.
Its your flat, Simon. You bought it pre-marriage. I get nothing.
He didnt say a word, but clamped his hand tighter to the steering wheel, the muscles in his jaw bunching up like they wanted to eat his face.
I could have told you that. Did you honestly think Id be thick enough to put half down in your name, Liv? Expect me to miss a trick? He grinned like a fox in a chicken run. Lifes a numbers game, pet. Dont be naïve. Women like youll all be queuing for maintenance soon as the law changes. ‘Least I saved you the bother. Free rent for seven years. Count your blessings.
Something deep in Olivia gave way. Not pain from his affair, not even angerit was something colder, clearer. He hadnt just stopped loving her. He had never loved her. For him, shed only ever been a temporary squatter, useful until further notice. And hed planned accordingly.
You planned it all, she said, her own voice sounding unfamiliar.
Of course. Youve got to have a strategy in this life, he crowed. Good thing youve got a costly lawyer for all your trouble. Now you know where you stand.
Her trembling stopped; she was suddenly entirely calm, iced through. The blizzard inside had won.
Take me home, Simon. Ill pack my things tonight and be off.
Home? he snorted. Its my home, Liv. But dont fretIve found you a new spot. Over theresee?
He jerked the car off the main road, onto a deserted verge outside town where the streetlights were nothing but a rumour and the lorries thundered by in the dark, trailing sprays of filthy slush across the windscreen.
Out you get. Go for a walk. Think about your prospects.
Youre mad. Its freezing! she protested, shrinking back in her seat, exposing little more than a pair of fluffy slippers and her thin house coat.
I said out. Now! His roar stung her ears, and he slammed the central locking open. Suddenly she could smell his fancy cologne under the sharper tang of last nights whisky bender.
She tried to cling on, but he was huge and furious. His fistbig, ring flashingcrashed into her temple. An explosion of stars. Hot pain flooded her face. Another blow, this time the shoulder. Rough as a sack of potatoes, he shoved her out onto the icy verge. Her knee struck the concrete barrier. The car door thudded shut. Before she registered what had happened, the black four-by-four was spraying a hail of mucky snow in her face and vanishing into the whiteout.
For several moments, she was unable to move. Everything ached, her cheek and temple numb and throbbing. Snow fell onto her face, melted and merged with the tears, now coming thick and fast. Wobbly, she got to her feet; on her feetthin-soled slippers, flung on in haste when shed dashed out after the solicitors call. Over her shouldersa flimsy jacket nowhere near up to a British January.
She dug out her phone. Dead. The chargerleft behind. In his plug socket. On his wall. Where hed left her. She was truly alone. Only the distant rush of traffic, whizzing past at dangerous speeds, filled the air. No one would bother stopping for a small, desperate shape floundering on the hard shouldernot tonight.
The fear settled down in lumps. She realised what he wanted. He wanted her to freeze, to refresh herself, as he called it. To know her place. Certainly not actual murderbut if she didnt make it? Not his problem. Shed just been thrown out with the rest of the rubbish.
She had to move. Had to walk. Somewhere, anywhere. Olivia turned her face into the biting wind and began, step by wincing step, hobbling back towards the city. Every movement screamed in her throbbing knee. The cold wormed its way under her clothes, gripped her skin with frozen claws. In five minutes, Olivia couldnt feel her feet. In ten, even her cheeks and nose were strangers. Her breath came in painful, short gasps, freezing in white ghosts on her lashes.
In her head, pounding above all else: Hell be off now, celebrating. Down the pub or wherever, having a pint with the lads, raising a glass to his great triumph.
And, in fact, Simon was off celebrating. Hed decamped to the most expensive leisure club on the ring road, where his old uni mates Dave and Nickbeefy, smug, entirely devoid of shamewere already three pints deep.
Whats with the ear-to-ear grin, Si? Managed to keep the flat? Dave clapped him on the back, handing him a shot.
She left my property lickety split. Sent her out for some fresh air. Top result, mate! Simon crowed, downing the vodka. Warmth crept through his belly, bolstering his confidence. He regaled them with the whole talesolicitor, her face, the roadside, the lotall done with a smirk and a few too many rude details.
The lads roared their approval. Well played! Got to keep them in their place, eh? Too many of em fancying half our wages and half our homes these days. They sweated it out in the sauna, knocked back brandy from cut-glass tumblers, ordered steaks rare, and swapped idiotic jokes at the world’s expense. Simon was on top of the world. Hed pulled off the perfect plan. Life was grand.
Yet deep inside him, under the alcohol and hubris, wriggled something unpleasant and stickya flicker of her eyes just before hed hit her. Not fearsomething colder. The sense shed already left even before he had torn her out. He knocked the thought aside and poured himself another. It was his night.
The three of them finished up around three in the morning. Simon, plastered and cocky, got an Uber back to his flat. His. Now definitely, finally his. He fumbled with the keys, crashed through the front door and snapped the hall light on.
And stopped dead.
The flat was spotless. But it was a cemeterys kind of order, or maybe a museumssilent, chilling. Every last trace of Olivia had vanished. Photos, handmade cushions, her books, the silly violets lined up along the window sillall gone. But that wasnt the most unsettling part.
Shed removed only her things. Absolutely, murderously preciseevery item shed bought, brought in, or chosen for the pair of them was gone.
Living room curtains? Snatched awaynow the windows gaped, black and bare. Those curtains shed spent months stalking online, dried rose shed called them. Wall hangings, pictures, even the neat little frames theyd hung togethergone. Just ghost marks and paler patches in the dust where theyd used to be. Kitchen shelves clearedspice jars, the matching mugs she adored, even the kitchen roll holder, unscrewed from its tile and spirited away (only the lonely screw left behind).
He staggered through the flat. Her half of the bedroomlaid to waste. Bare bedside table, half-empty wardrobe. Even half the pillowshers and any of his that shed chosen. Bathroom: wiped clean. Every shampoo, scrunchie, and bathrobe scrubbed from both line and memory. Not so much as the bathmat left behind.
Simon found himself sitting on the kitchen floor, staring at a blank wall. The place was quiet, incredibly so. Not literally emptythe furniture was still here. But it was soulless, stripped bare. Seven years scrubbed out. His so-called fortress now just a concrete box with gaping, empty eyes.
That last look shed given himhe saw it now in the reflection of the wind-polished window. Not pain. Not even appeal. Calculation, as cold as his own. She hadnt planned to freeze by the roadside. She gave him the performance he wantedthe weak, abandoned exthen returned, probably in the same cab as he’d use later, and methodically erased herself. Not one tear shed as she packed.
Rage flared. He leapt up, slammed his fist into the wall. Cow! he bellowed at the silent, unblinking flat. The silence gobbled up his shout. He grabbed his phone to ring herto demand back his curtains, maybebut realised he was already blocked. Her numbergone. And what would he even say? Bring me back my rose curtains?
He paced to the window. The city twinkled far below. Somewhere out there she wasat a friends, maybe, or renting a box room on a teachers salary. And wherever she was, her own space would be cosy; it would have those stupid curtains and some sorry violets. And here, all that remained was coldnot the outside cold, but something far worse inside, shivering through his bones.
Hed calculated it all, right down to the decimal. Everything except her departure being an act of pure, unassailable victory: winner takes all, and leaves scorched earth behind. He had his flat. Every last inch. But the air pressed down on him, icier than the blizzard outside, heavier than bricks.
Simon lingered at the window, haunted by his own reflection in the black squares of his empty home. Finally, he shuffled to the kitchen to pour himself a drinkbut there were no glasses left. Just his Worlds Best Dad mug, pilfered from work years ago. He swigged brandy straight from the bottle, sitting on the empty floor in a silent, cold flat that now truly belonged only to him.
Outside, beyond the double glazing, the snow kept steadfastly, irrevocably falling.
