Are you joking, Oliver? Please tell me its a bad joke or that I misheard you over the sound of the tap?
Caroline turned off the kitchen tap, wiped her hands on the tea towel, and slowly faced her husband. The kitchen was filled with the smell of boiled veg, fresh parsley, and satsumasthe scents of Christmas Eve. There were just six hours left until midnight. On the table, shed carefully diced the bits for potato salad, a duck with apples was roasting away in the oven, and her jelly terrine, which had set overnight, was resting in the fridge.
Oliver shuffled awkwardly in the doorway, fiddling with a button on his checked shirta sure sign he knew hed done something daft and wasnt planning to back down.
Carrie, please dont start, he pleaded, voice almost wheedling. Clares heatings packed up, and theres no water either. Imagine her and the boys sitting in a freezing flat on Christmas Eve. I couldnt say no. Theyre my sons, after all.
Yesyour sons. But Clare? Is she your child too? Caroline tried to keep her tone even, even though hurt prickled through every limb. Cant she go to her mums? Or stay at a friends? Or a hotel, perhaps? She gets plenty of your maintenanceenough for a posh room somewhere.
Her mums in hospital, her friends are scattered Oliver looked down at his feet. And its Christmas. The boys would love to be with their dad. Well just have dinner and watch the Queens speech. Nothing odd about it. Theres lots of space.
Caroline looked around. Yes, the flat was roomy, but it was theirshers and Olivers. Shed spent all week scrubbing, decorating the tree, choosing napkins to match the curtains, even splashed out on that cologne Oliver had wanted for ages. Shed pictured the evening so differently: candles, gentle fairy lights, a playlist of their favourite classics, just the two of them. The first Christmas in three years they hadnt dashed around visiting or entertaining. That fragile idyll was now tumbling like a soggy trifle.
Oliver, we agreed this year was just for us, she reminded him quietly. You know I dont mind your boys. Theyre always welcome here at the weekends. But Clareyour ex-wifeat our table? Do you get how that looks?
Youre exaggerating, he said, waving a hand in that half-hearted way of his, trying to sound in control. Were grown-ups. Clares just the kids mum. Dont be selfish, Carrie. Its Christmas. Theyll be here in an hour.
He turned quickly and left, as if worried Caroline might lob a potato at his back. She stayed leaning on the counter, duck popping away behind her, appetite vanished. Those wordsdont be selfishtore through her more sharply than anything. For three years, shed done her best to be the dream wife: managed the house, welcomed Olivers sons; even put up with all-hours calls from Clare for everything from DIY disasters to picking up her cat from the vet. And thisthis was her reward.
Mechanical, she kept dicing potatoes, trying to reason with herself. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Clare would behave. Christmas was, after all, about goodwill.
The miracle didnt come. Fifty minutes later, the front bell rang. Caroline only just had time to swap her dressing gown for a dress and flick on a bit of mascara. Oliver threw the door open, beaming.
The chaos swept in: first the boysten-year-old Thomas and seven-year-old Benpelting straight through the hallway without wiping their boots. Mud specks trailing across the new carpet. Then Clare, regal as the Titanic, swept in behind them.
She was all in red, with a neckline that plunged and bags the size of small suitcases. Her perfume hit the air with full force, smothering the satsumas in clouds of sickly sweetness.
Oh, finally! she declared, shaking snow off her coat onto the floor. Traffics horrendous. Told the taxi driver to stop faffing and just get on with it. Oliver, grab thesepresents for the boys and bubbly. Good stuff, not that supermarket nonsense you usually get.
Caroline pulled on her most civil smile and went to the hallway.
Merry Christmas, Clare. Hello boys!
Clare gave her a cursory glance, eyes pausing on Carolines simple but smart dress.
Hi, Carrie, she replied carelessly. Golly, its boiling in here, isnt it? Someone crack a window. And where are my slippers? The pink ones. I left them last time when I came for the child support.
Just a tick, Clare, Oliver said quickly, rummaging in the shoe cupboard.
Clare. The word stuck like a sharp splinter. Her ex-wife kept her own slippers here? And Oliver knew where they were.
Everyone streamed into the lounge. The boys cranked the telly up and bounced all over the brand new sofaCarolines pride and joy.
Thomas, Ben, careful please, she called, gentle but firm.
Oh let them be, theyre just kids! Clare interjected, plopping herself into the armchair. Oliver, a glass of waterparched over here.
The next hour unfolded like a one-woman show. Clare was everywhere. She critiqued the Christmas tree (Rather dull ornaments, arent they?), mocked the table settings (So many forksthought we were in Buckingham Palace), and alternated between barking at and babying the boys. Oliver was at her elbow, fetching pillows, fussing with the remote, charger here, battery there. He barely met Carolines eyes.
Caroline laid the table in silence. She ferried the plates, set the glasses, feeling like the unpaid help.
Carrie! Clare shouted from the living room. Is that ham in the potato salad? Ughhow very retro. Olivers always liked it with roast beef. Didnt know? We always had it that way.
Hes been happily eating my version for three years, Caroline replied, a bit louder than intended, banging the salad bowl down.
Oh, hes just polite, Clare sniped. My poor Ollieforcing it down.
Olivers face hovered for a moment in the lounge doorway, and then he said nothing, not a word of protest, just a smart, awkward smile.
That was the first warning bell. The next rang out when Caroline presented her duck: perfectly roasted, golden, surrounded by apples and prunes, a proper showstopper.
Tuck in, everyone! Duck with apples and prunes.
The boys wrinkled their noses.
Yuck, its burnt! Ben declared. I want pizza! Dad, order pizza!
Its a crispy skin, not burnt, Caroline said, trying not to flinch.
Honestly, kids these days, Clare chimed in, poking the duck with distaste. All that fat. And pruneswho puts prunes in meat? Order pizza, Oliver. And get me one too, just in case. My stomachs not strong enough for experiments.
Oliver avoided Carolines eye again.
Carrie, maybe just let the kids have a treat? Ill be quickIll order. Well have duck and pizza. Bit of everything.
He started dialling, asking Clare, Do you want mushrooms or pepperoni on yours?
Caroline slumped on a chair. This all felt so surreal. Her home, her Christmas, and she was banished to the corner while her husband sorted takeaway toppings with his ex, who took the opportunity to slate her cooking.
Remember New Years 2015? Clare brightened, popping the cork on the champagne. When we went to that country hotelOliver, you wore a Santa suit and the beard nearly caught fire! We all roared with laughter.
Oh yes! Oliver grinned, easing up. And you tried to be Mrs Claus, but got your heel stuck in the snow. That was a night!
Together, they relived old talessummer trips, buying the first clapped-out car, Thomass first wobbly steps. Their laughter blended, their eyes sparkledlost in a past where Caroline did not exist. She sat at her elegant table, invisible. Furniture. Less than.
The boys raced around. One clipped a wine glass, and a wave of red spilled straight across the tablecloth Caroline had pressed to perfection that afternoon. The stain spread like ink.
Oh, for goodness sake, Clare scolded. Oliver, do something! This is why you keep wine away from children. Carrie, you got salt? Best sprinkle italthough, lets be honest, the cloth wasnt much to look at anyway.
Caroline rose, ears ringing with the TV noise and chatter. She looked towards Oliver. He was dashing obediently for the salt, no thought spared for herfixated on making everything nice for his old family.
And there, in that moment, Caroline realised: she simply didnt exist here. Olivers guilt, his priorities, all swirled around someone else. Shed become this silent prop, responsible for everyones comfort and nothing else.
She left, unmissed. Nobody noticed. Clare carried on about some trip to her mother-in-law, Oliver chortled dutifully.
In the bedroom, Caroline packed a weekend bag, her motions steady, almost calm. Jeans, cosy jumper, spare things, makeup, phone charger, passport just in case. She changed out of her dress. Looked herself in the eyetired, firm, determined.
As she passed the lounge, the pizza delivery arrived.
Yay! Pizza! the boys screamed.
Oliver, pay the manIve only got notes, Clare barked.
Caroline slipped through the hall. He was busy at the front door handing over cash. She waited until hed turned back, boxes in hand, and then she pulled the front door shut behind her. The click of the lock disappeared into the row. She called the lift, only when she was headed down did she finally breathe out.
Outside, thick snow was falling. The city buzzed with firecrackers and laughter, shops shutting, everyone ready for the countdown. Caroline pulled out her phone.
Sophie, you awake? Its not even midnight. Me and Dave have cracked open the prosecco! Why?
Ive left Oliver. Can I come over?
Blimey Of course! Dave, get another plate, Carries coming! Where are you? Ill order you a cab.
Forty minutes later, Caroline was curled on Sophies warm kitchen bench. It smelled of cinnamon and peace. Dave excused himself to the loungejust checking the TV settingsand left the women alone.
Come on, spill it, Sophie poured her a big mug of tea. Whats this muppet done now?
Caroline told her everything. The leaking pipes, the potato salad, the ex-wifes chit-chat, the untouched duck.
Its not that they turned up, she said, hands cupped round the tea. Its him. He became the butler. I was staff while they played happy families. Why am I even here?
Sophie shook her head. Classic nice-guy syndrome. Wanting to please everyone and ending up letting down the only person who counts. You did right, Carrie. Hed never learn otherwise.
Her phone buzzed an hour later. Clearly, theyd only just noticed shed vanished.
Oliver called. She ignored it.
He called again. And again.
Then the messages:
Carrie, where are you? Cant find you.
Gone to the shops? Pizzas getting cold.
This isnt funny, Carrie. Pick up. Clares asking where the host is.
Are you sulking? Really? Back now, or youll embarrass me in front of Clare!
Caroline almost laughed at the last one. Embarrassed in front of Clare, not the wife hed humiliated, but the ex whod likely be gloating by now.
Dont answer, Sophie said, topping up her tea. Let him stew. He can play host to Queen Clare and round up the mess himself.
Caroline switched her phone off.
That New Year, she didnt bother with resolutions. She drank prosecco with Sophie and Dave, watched Love Actually, and felt a strange sense of ease. Like shrugging off a rucksack after lugging it for years.
On New Years Morning, sunlight streamed in. Caroline woke to coffee smells, powered on her phone: fifty missed calls and a flood of messagesanxious, demanding, then apologetic.
The boys broke your favourite vase. Sorry.
Clares furiousthe sofas too hard, apparently.
Theyve gone. The place looks like a war zone.
Carrie, love, forgive me. Im an idiot. Please, call me.
At noon, the bell rang at Sophies. Oliver stood, wild-haired, shirt crumpled and wine-stained, dark circles under his eyes, and holding a slightly tragic supermarket bouquet.
Sophie opened the door and crossed her arms.
Yes?
Sophie, can I please see Carrie? I know shes here. I need to talk to her.
Caroline appeared. She felt no malice, not even pityjust a gentle, deep exhaustion.
Carrie! Oliver started forward but stopped short at her chilly look. Im so sorry. I get it now. Everything fell apart. Clare started bossing everyone, the boys went mad, I couldnt calm them. Clare shouted I was ruining their Christmas. They all stormed out. I put them in a taxi at three a.m.
He gulped, looking for her eyes. I see what I did. I was spineless. Wanted to be the good guy and just lost sight of youthe one person who matters the most to me. Can you please come home? The flats so empty. I cleaned upalmost.
Caroline eyed the roses, water dripping onto Sophies hallway rug.
You didnt just hurt me, Oliver. You showed me Im less important than a guest in my own home. You let someone else take over and slate me.
I swear, it will never happen again, Oliver said, voice trembling. Clares blocked. Ill only talk to her about the boys, and only in neutral places. No more house calls, no more late-night fixes. Itll all change. I promise.
Caroline was quiet. He meant it, she saw; he really did. But could she ever forget how lonely she felt at that table?
Im not coming back today, she said finally. I need a few days here with Sophie. You go home. Think hard about why your exs opinion means more than your wifes feelings.
Ill wait, said Oliver, head bowed. As long as it takes. I love you, Carrie. I really do.
He set the flowers on the side and left. The door clicked shut.
Back in the kitchen, Sophie slid over a fresh cuppa.
So? Are you going to forgive him? she asked.
Caroline sipped the tea. Maybe. In time. Hes a good man, just lost his way. But if I do go back, itll be on new terms. I wont be second best ever again.
She crossed to the window. Outside, London was under a blanket of snowclean, untouched, like a fresh sheet of paper. Life was still moving on, and Caroline knew, for the first time in ages, that the pen for writing her own story was firmly in her hands, not left behind in someone elses past.
