My love, I need you to move out and make room for his friend, he said.
Should I really pack my things for your friend? I wanted to pinch myself. Sam, are you out of your mind?
He flailed his arms in the tiny dormitory room we shared. Where will he sleep? Theres only one bed, and youll feel awkward. Ethel, what are you saying? Sam stood in the centre of our sole room, gesturing wildly. I cant turn Victor down, you understand! Hes a mate from school. You know the story! Just two weeks, Ethel, two weeks!
I perched on the edge of the sofa wed bought on hire purchase three years ago, after two hours of debating the upholstery colour, twirling a strand of hair around my fingera habit from childhood. Whenever I faced a decision, Id fiddle with my hair. Mum used to warn, Stop or youll be bald by thirty. Im not bald, but Im thirtytwo now.
It felt odd watching Sam as if for the first time. The little mole above his left eyebrow, the fresh line at his mouth from the layoff last year, his large hands with stubby fingershands that could fix a crane and assemble a wardrobe.
Are you going to see your mum? he asked, sitting beside me, reaching for my hand, which I slipped under my thigh. Mum would be thrilled. She hasnt seen you in ages. And her flat is roomyno queue for the shower.
Two months ago, I corrected automatically.
What?
Two months ago I was at Mums for her birthday in August.
Right, of course Ethel, why are you digging in? Its only temporary! Victors looking for work in London, has nowhere to stay, and you know how pricey the hotels are. I owe him, Ethel, I really do.
Sam, I whispered, and he flinchedonly on rare occasions do I use his full name. Tell me honestly. Is this all for Victor, or have you just found an excuse to get a break from me?
He sprang from the sofa, pacing three steps forward, three back, as if the eighteen metres of our room were a tennis court. I watched his jittery movements, holding my breath like a spectator at a match.
No, Ethel! Of course its for Victor! Do you think Id Id never Ethel!
And in that instant I knew he was lying. Not about Victorhe would certainly arrive, I had no doubt. But about something else he didnt even fully understand. I saw it in his averted gaze, his darting eyes, the way his neck tightened. He always did that when he wasnt telling the truth.
I lunged to the wardrobe and grabbed my bag.
Youre really leaving right now? Sam halted, a shocked look on his face.
Whats the rush? Victors due tomorrow, right?
Yes, but Ethel, stop being so dramatic! Two weeks, thats all!
***
Mum opened the front door in a bathrobe, a towel draped over her hair. She spotted me with the bag and understood without a word. Mothers are that intuitive.
Come in, love, she said simply. Make yourself at home.
For two weeks I lived in my little girls room, posters and classphoto prints still plastered on the walls. It felt as though I had slipped back to my teenage self, seventeen again, with the whole future ahead. Mum never pried; she made my favourite cheese scones each morning and we brewed tea with jam in the evenings while watching the telly.
Sam called constantlytwenty missed calls, then thirty, then forty. Eventually the phone battery died and I didnt bother charging it.
On the fifth day I bumped into Lucy, a former classmate, at a café.
Listen, I saw you the day before yesterday, she said, stirring sugar into her cappuccino. You were with some tall bloke in a leather jacket.
Thats Victor, a childhood friend, I replied automatically. Hes staying here while Im at Mums just for a while.
Lucys eyes widened oddly. A friend, then.
I didnt ask what she meant; I didnt want to know.
Exactly two weeks later, Sam rang Mums landline because my mobile was still off. I had no desire to switch it on.
Ethel, you can come back now, he said, his voice weary. Victors gone.
Alright, I replied calmly. Ill be back tomorrow.
Really? he asked, delighted. The flats a mess! The fridge is empty, my shirts are all wrinkled, Ive been living on instant noodles for two weeks
Tomorrow Ill be there, I repeated, then hung up.
Mum stood in the kitchen doorway.
Going back? Really? she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
Yeah, for my things. Im filing for divorce, thats it.
She nodded and went on preparing dinner.
Sam met me at the entrance, looking pale, a fiveday stubble on his cheek. The room was truly a disasterempty bottles, cigarette ends, pizza boxes, noodle packs. The air smelled of stale beer and something sour.
Ethel, he lunged, trying to hug me, but I stepped back. Ethel, its over! Lets forget this like a bad dream! I swear Ill never bring anyone into our home again!
I walked to the wardrobe and opened the doors.
Need a hand? he fanned himself, eager. Let me take the bag Why is it so light? Empty?
Im filing for divorce, I said, folding my dresses neatly. In a month itll all be settled.
He collapsed onto the floor where hed been standing, folding himself in half.
Ethel he whispered. Because of two weeks? Because of Victor?
Not because of him.
Then why?
Sam lifted his eyes to mine, filled with bewilderment and genuine confusion, and for a heartbeat I felt sorry for him.
Ethel, explain! What did I do wrong? We had a good thing, didnt we?
I zipped my bag, turned to face him. Sam was seated on the floor in grubby jeans and a crumpled Tshirt, looking lost like a stray dog.
Sam, I said slowly, choosing my words. You asked me to leave my own home for two weeks so your friend could stay. You didnt ask, you just decided. And the scariest part? I actually left. I walked out like a dog tossed out the door because I didnt know what else to do. Those two weeks I kept wonderingwill another friend come and youll kick me out again? Or will you just want a break and send me back to Mum?
I said Id never do it again
Its not about that, I interrupted. Its that you thought you could just ask your wife to go, replace her with a mate, and Id just disappear. I realised that if I dont walk out now, Ill keep being asked to leave whenever you feel like it. Im not a dog, Sam. Im a person.
His lips trembled like a child on the brink of tears.
But I love you, he whispered. Ethel, I love you
And I loved you, I replied, shouldering my bag and heading for the door. Sell the room, give me half the deposit. Theres nothing left for us to share.
