“It’s Never Too Late”
*”Mum, have you completely lost your mind?”*
Her daughter’s words hit Lydia like a punch to the gut. Sharp, brutal. *Painful.* She kept peeling potatoes in silence as the accusations flew.
*”People are already gossiping about us—’the mum’s gone off the rails’—as if it’s just fine for Dad, because he’s a man, but you? A woman! The heart of the home! Aren’t you ashamed?”*
A tear rolled down Lydia’s cheek, lingered, then dropped onto her hand. Another followed. Soon, they were falling freely, but her daughter, Tamsin, raged on.
Her husband, Kevin, sat slumped in a chair, shoulders hunched, bottom lip jutting out. *”Dad’s ill, for God’s sake! He needs care. Is this how you repay him? After everything he’s given you? After raising a child together?”* He sniffled. *”Mum? Is this really how you act when things get tough?”*
*”How *should* I act, then?”* Lydia asked quietly.
*”What? Are you taking the mick? Look at Dad—she’s taking the mick!”*
*”Tammy, you talk as if I’m not your mother, but some villain. Suddenly so concerned for your father…”*
*”Mum! Stop playing the victim! I can’t take this anymore—I’m calling Nan. Let *her* deal with you. This is a disgrace.”*
*”Imagine,”* Tamsin turned to her father, *”I’m walking home from uni, and there they are—strolling arm in arm. Reciting poetry, probably his own rubbish. Love poems, was it, Mum?”*
*”You’re cruel, Tammy. Young and stupid.”*
Not a shred of remorse! Fine—I’m calling both nans. Let *them* handle you.”*
Lydia straightened up, smoothed the wrinkles from her housedress, brushed off invisible lint. Then she stood.
*”Right then, my dears. I’m off.”*
*”Where, Lyd?”* Kevin’s voice wavered.
*”Leaving you, Kev.”*
*”What—how? What about me?”*
Tamsin, meanwhile, was hissing into the phone, shooting daggers at her mother.
*”Taaams! Tammy!”* Kevin wailed like it was a funeral. *”She’s—your mum—she says she’s leaving!”*
*”What? Leaving? Where? Mum—what are you playing at? At your age?”*
Lydia smirked, neatly packing her suitcase. She’d almost left once before, when Kevin’s back “suddenly” gave out—oh, how he’d groaned, poor thing. *”Lyd, think it’s a hernia…”*
*”The MRI showed nothing.”*
*”Ah, what do those quacks know? They keep it quiet at first—more money later. Like Pete at work—started with back pain, then bam! Hernia, some fancy Latin name…”*
Back then, she’d stayed. Couldn’t abandon him in his “agony.” But now?
*”How much life d’you have left, Lyd?”* Her best mate, Lizzie, had been blunt. *”You’re slaving away for them like a galley slave. What’s Kevin ever done for you? *Nothing.*”* She smacked the table for emphasis. *”Spent his prime tomcatting around—remember that hairdresser, what’s-her-name—Milly! Brought her home like some prize cow. Meanwhile, you’re working two jobs plus gigs, and Kev’s glued to the sofa.
Oh, Kev needs a spa break? Off he trots to the seaside. But you? Straight to your mother-in-law’s veg patch, then your mum’s. And you dragging your leg since forty? Totally normal, eh?”*
*”Liz… he’s just—”*
*”Just *what*? Made of some precious stuff? Men out there break their backs for their families. Yours? Lets you do it all.”*
*”You’ve never liked him,”* Lydia ventured. *”Like he wronged you somehow. Always dodging him at gatherings…”*
Lizzie exhaled. *”Fine. I’ll say it.”*
Lydia braced herself.
*”I’ve no reason to love that weasel. Still remember his grubby hands groping me. You recall his birthday at the cottage? I’d had a few, passed out in the guest room. Woke up struggling to breathe—he’d clamped a hand over my mouth, the other up my top. His *mum* watched from the next bed! Said *I* led him on. Threatened to claim *I* came onto *him* if I told you.
I left fast. Couldn’t wreck your marriage—you seemed so happy with him. You were pregnant with Tammy then. That’s why I’ve avoided him since. If my Mike knew, he’d pulp Kevin. And I couldn’t lose you—you’d take his side.”*
Lydia sat stunned. All these years, Lizzie biting her tongue.
The scales had been falling for a while. Watching other wives—properly *married*—consult husbands named Dave, Paul, Steve. Flaunting anniversary gifts, holiday snaps. Lydia’s sole family photo? Kevin’s yearly birthday snap.
She racked her brain—what had he ever given her? Oh! A hoover. A dumpling steamer (*his* favourite). Perfume—his mum’s ancient bottle, regifted. Three tulips and a sprig of mimosa on Mother’s Day. One rose for her birthday.
*How had she sleepwalked through life?*
Lizzie was harsher: *”Tell me, Lyd—when did you last eat *fresh* jam? Not last year’s leftovers?”*
*”We’ve still got—”* She caught herself.
Later, she’d gone to Lizzie—not to complain, just to *speak*.
*”Mike, love—fancy fishing?”* Lizzie had shooed the kids out. *”We need a natter.”*
And natter they did.
*”Tammy’s selfish, Liz. My fault.”*
*”Bollocks. How?”*
*”Shouldn’t have listened to Kev and his mum. Should’ve had that second baby. Mum said Kev worked five days, Tammy just started nursery… So I went to the clinic. The doctor begged me not to—I refused. After that… nothing. And *he* blamed me.”*
Lizzie gaped. *”Why’d you marry him? He was premature, wasn’t he?”*
*”Six months. His nan baked him in an oven mitt.”*
*”…What?”*
*”Old trick—heat the range, cool it, pop him in. Only child, dad died young…”*
*”Fascinating. Still don’t see why *you* married him.”*
*”I felt sorry for him,”* Lydia admitted. *”All the lads were off biking or breakdancing—Kev just moped in thick glasses. Mum caught us talking once, said if he’s hanging about, wed him. I was daft, Liz. Thought he was safe. Just… *sad.*”*
*”Poor you,”* Lizzie muttered. *”Pity’s no foundation.”*
They’d talked and cried half the night.
Now, Lydia scanned the room. She *could* leave. Rent a flat, file for divorce. Fight for what she’d earned—every sock, every spoon. Tammy would side with Kevin. So be it.
No, she wasn’t leaving for Peter. Just a hiking mate. She wanted *peace.*
***
Oh, the backlash. *Poor Kevin, wicked Lydia—destroying such a “perfect” family!*
*”Beg him back!”* her mother shrieked. His mum fake-fainted. Lydia stepped over her. Neighbours—long witnesses to her drudgery—backed *her.*
Tammy eventually apologised. They’re rebuilding.
Kevin came bearing four carnations wrapped in newspaper.
She didn’t return.
A month post-divorce, he was parading with Milly—back pain *miraculously* cured.
Lydia? Booked a salon day with Tammy.
Peter’s taking her hiking—like old times.
It’s never too late to start over. The first step’s the hardest. Then? Smooth sailing.
