James said he was off on a business trip, but I spotted his car parked outside my best friends flat.
Did you remember the charger? And the stomach tablets? You know how awful the food is on those trips; youll need them and I wont be there to help, I warned.
Of course I did, Emily! Are you treating me like a child? Im not heading to the North Pole, just York for three days. Ill finish the report, attend a couple of meetings, and be back. Let me gomy cab has been waiting for five minutes, the meters ticking, he replied, snapping the zip on his travel bag with a nervous tug.
James fidgeted with the zip, his fingers pinching the fabric, then finally closed it. He looked hurried, as if fearing hed miss the last train of his life. I leaned against the hallway wall, a quiet sadness flickering across my face. Ten years of marriage. Ten years of seeing him off on these trips, and each departure tightened my chest a little more.
Give me a call when you get to the hotel, I asked, smoothing his coat collar. And dont push it on the motorway; they said theres black ice.
Emily, Im on the train, remember? I left the car at home because the suspensions rattlingI dont want to risk it. All right, love. Dont miss me. Say hi to Rachel for me if you see her.
He planted a quick kiss on my cheek, the scent of fresh perfume and mint gum lingering, grabbed his bag and bolted out. The lock clicked behind him, sealing him away from our cosy flat. I listened to his footsteps fading up the stairs, the lift groaning as it descended.
Silence settled over the apartmentthe kind that arrives when the noisy person who fills every corner leaves. I drifted into the kitchen, poured a cold coffee for myself. Three days. Time for a bit of metime: a book Ive never managed to finish, a face mask, perhaps a catchup with friends.
Speaking of friends, James reminded me of Rachel. Rachel had been my best mate since school. Wed survived everything togetherexams, first crushes, my wedding, and the painful divorce she went through two years ago. She lived in the neighbouring suburb, in a brandnew development with tidy gardens.
I glanced at the clock. It was Saturday noon. No plans, nothing pressing. Maybe Id pop over to Rachels for a girls night since James was away? I reached for my phone, then changed my mind. Rachel had been complaining of migraines and work fatigue lately, saying she just wanted to sleep in on the weekend. Rather than disturb her, I thought Id wander to the nearby shopping centre, treat myself to something nice, and see what the day brought.
I slipped into sensible shoesgrey boots for the damp, November drizzle. Stepping outside, I inhaled the moist air; the city was buzzing with its usual hurried rhythm.
A bus took me to the centre. I wandered the stores, bought a soft cashmere scarf the colour of dusty rose. My mood lifted. Leaving the mall, I decided to cut through the courtyards of the estate where Rachel lived. Just a quick walk past, I thought. If I see lights on, maybe Ill ring. If not, Ill head home.
Rachels courtyard was upscale: a gate, wellkept flowerbeds that looked immaculate even in November, and a row of expensive foreign cars parked neatly. I walked slowly, admiring the vehiclesIm a bit of a car enthusiast, even if I rarely drive.
My eyes flicked over a black BMW, a red Mini Cooper, a silver Toyota Corolla Then I stopped short. The silver Corolla was identical to Jamess. The tiny dent on the rear bumper, the one hed nicked a month ago while parking at the supermarket, was in exactly the same spot.
My heart missed a beat, then thudded in my throat.
No, it cant be, I whispered to myself. Corollas are common; a dent is just a dent.
I moved closer, the air biting my fingers. The licence plate read VOR 377. James always joked about that combination, saying it brought him luck in business.
V377 OR.
It was his car.
I stood frozen, mind reeling. James had told me hed taken the train, that the car was broken, that he was heading to York. Yet the car sat here, outside Rachels building.
The first thought was: maybe hed dropped something off for Rachel? But hed left the house three hours ago. In three hours you could make ten deliveries and still catch a train.
I pressed my hand to the bonnet; it was warm, the engine having been turned off not long agoperhaps half an hour. So he wasnt at the station. He was here.
Trembling, I dialled James. The line rang, a long, dragging tone, each buzz echoing in my ears.
Hello, Emily? Jamess voice sounded bright, though faint background noise crackled. Whats up?
Nothing, I said, trying to steady my voice. Just checkingdid you get on the train? Hows it going?
Yes, were off! The carriage is old and noisy, but were moving. Signals spotty, so I might disappear for a bit. I could nap a little. Dont worry about me. Ill call from the hotel tonight.
Noisy carriage? It seemed quiet to me, I replied, glancing at the dark windows of the Corolla.
Its just the wheels rattling as we pick up speed. Batterys low, Ill need to charge later, he said, then hung up.
Hed lied. Hed lied boldly, not even bothering to fake a plausible background noise.
I looked up. Rachels flat was on the fifth floor. The curtains were drawn tight, even though daylight still filtered outside. Rachel usually loved natural light; shed always said it lifted her spirits.
Something snapped inside me. The thread of trust that had held ten years of marriage and twenty years of friendship together frayed, leaving only cold emptiness and a surge of anger that demanded release.
I could have turned and left, gone home, changed the locks. But that wouldnt be enough. I needed to see their faces, to confront both my best friend and my loving husband.
I walked to the intercom, but I didnt have a key. I dialled Rachels flat number.
The line buzzed for ages; no one answered. Perhaps they were too busy to attend to the buzzer.
A young mother emerged from the hallway with a pram. I slipped past her.
Thanks, I muttered, slipping inside.
The lift creaked up to the fifth floor, moving at a torturous pace. I stared at my reflection in the mirrorpale skin, wide eyes, the dustyrose scarf now looking more like a noose.
I reached flat 54, pressed the buzzer.
A soft shuffling, then footsteps.
Who is it? Rachels voice was cautious.
Rachel, its me, Emily! I called out, trying to sound casual. I was just passing by and thought Id pop in! Open the door, Ive brought a cake! (There was no cake, but it didnt matter.)
Silence stretched, heavy, as if someone was whispering behind the door.
Emily Im not dressed, and Im actually a bit illcontagious, maybe. Could we do this another time? Rachel finally replied.
Come on, Im only here a minute! I brought you some medicine for that migraine you mentioned. Dont keep a friend waiting at the doorstep! I pressed the buzzer again, louder this time.
The lock clicked, the door swung open just a crack. Rachels face appearedmessy hair, no makeup, red spots on her neck, a silk dressinggown barely covering her shoulders.
Emily, Im really not, she began.
Rachel, open up! My voice hardened. Or Ill keep ringing until the neighbours call the police.
Rachel blinked, startled. The chain clattered and fell. The door swung fully open.
I stepped inside. The familiar scent of Jamess aftershave lingered, mixed with coffee and something sweet.
Make yourself at home, Rachel said, adjusting her gown, trying to hide the chaos behind her.
I didnt remove my shoes, pushing past her.
Its fine, Im not an inspector. I just want a cup of tea, I said.
A pair of polished black mens shoes sat by the hallwayJamess shoes, the same ones hed taken to York. His coat hung on a peg.
Whose shoes are those? I asked, pointing.
Rachels face went pale.
Theyre my plumbers, she stammered. We have a leak; hes in the bathroom fixing it.
A plumbers shoes worth £150? And a silver Corolla? I chuckled dryly. Plumbers must be doing well these days.
I moved into the lounge. Two halfempty glasses of wine and a bowl of fruit rested on the coffee table. A mens shirt lay draped over the sofa.
James! I called, voice echoing. Come out! The plumbers report is due!
Silence. Only Rachel began to sob behind me.
Emily, please dont well explain everything she whispered.
I walked to the bedroom door, which was closed.
James, Ill count to three. If you dont appear, Ill smash that vase and ruin this flat. One, I warned.
Emily, stop! Rachel grabbed my wrist. Dont do anything foolish! He just popped over to help!
Help change a dressinggown? I retorted. Two.
The bedroom door swung open. James stood there, in jeans and a bare torso, looking as pitiful as a cat caught with its paw in the jam jar.
Emily, youve got it all wrong, he began, the classic excuse of every cheat.
I stared at the man Id shared a bed with, the man whod just an hour earlier lied about a train and a noisy carriage.
Seriously? I asked calmly. How was I supposed to know? You said you were in York on a business trip. Were you sending a hologram? An astral projection to my best friends flat?
James stepped forward, hands outstretched.
Emily, lets talk calmly. Not here. Ill get dressed, well go somewhere, he pleaded.
No, I cut him off. Well talk here. I want Rachel to hear everything too. Shes my best friend, after all.
I plopped onto a chair, keeping my shoes on, the mud from my soles staining the bright carpet.
Tell us, I said. When did this plumbing club start?
Rachel curled into a corner, clutching her dressinggown.
Six months, she whispered.
Six months, I repeated. So while I was comforting you after your divorce, you were already?
It was an accident! I was lonely, and he understood me. Youre always busy with work, the house, the plans. He was easy a spark! Rachel burst out, hysteria tinging her voice.
A spark, I echoed. And mine burned out? James, you said everything was fine. We were planning a child, saving for a cottage. Youve been lying for six months?
James lowered his head.
Emily, I didnt mean to hurt you. I got tangled. Rachel shes different. With her its fun, no endless worries. I wanted a bit of celebration.
A celebration? I rose, fury cold and precise. Fine, Ill give you a celebration youll never forget.
I fished out my phone.
What are you doing? James gasped.
Im writing to your mother, Margaret. She always praised Rachel as the perfect daughterinlaw: Oh, Rachel, such a domestic angel. Shell be thrilled to know her favourite nieceinlaw has become well, you know.
Dont! James lunged.
No, your mothers heart stays safe, I said, voice icy. Ive given her ten years of my life, waited for every trip, treated your gastritis, listened to your boss complaints. And you spent that time making love in my friends flat?
I typed a message and hit send.
Alright, James. You have an hour to collect your stuff from our flat. Leave the keys in the postbox. If I see even a single sock left, Ill burn it in the living room.
This is my flat too! he protested.
Its my parents property, bought before we married. Youre just a tenant. Ill have it reclaimed in court. For nowout, I said, pointing to the door.
Where will I go? he whined. My mother will kill me. Rents expensive
Stay here! Rachels got wine, fruit, and a spark. Live together! She doesnt cook, youre on a dietlove will sort it out, I said, almost smiling.
Rachel hiccuped, He cant stay! My mothers coming next week, shes oldfashioned and wont understand.
Your problem, I replied, heading for the hallway. Sort out your mums, diets, and sparks yourselves.
I paused in the entrance, looked at Jamess shoes, then at his coat. I tossed the coat onto the floor, wiped my feet on it, and said, Oops, slipped on you, didnt I? Accidents happen, just like your little spark.
I stalked out, slamming the door behind me. Down the stairs, my knees trembled, adrenaline draining, leaving a strange sense of release.
Outside, the silver Corolla still sat by Rachels entrancea symbol of betrayal. I walked over, pulled a spare house key from my bag and ran it along the cars edge, from the front light to the rear taillight. A deep, ugly scratch cut through the silver paint, a harsh rasp.
A souvenir from the trip, I murmured.
The alarm wailed, echoing through the courtyard. I didnt look back, heading to the bus stop, wrapped in my dustyrose scarf.
Back home, I moved like a robot. I gathered Jamess belongingsjust the essentials, the rest into trash bags. I placed everything in the hall, swapped the lock with a spare set Id bought a year ago when I lost the original key.
Evening phones rangJames, Rachel, my motherinlaw. I muted them all, poured a glass of the wine Id saved for a special occasion. The moment had arrived.
Soon, a frantic voice shouted through the door, Emily! Open up! Give me my things! I have rights!
My things are in the hall! Take them and go! The police are on the way! I yelled back.
It was a bluff, but it worked. James rumbled, grabbed his bags, and fled.
The next morning I woke to an empty flat. Silence where his snoring used to be, no need to cook two breakfasts. It hurt, a void the size of a decade. Yet the air felt cleaner.
I brewed coffee, stepped onto the balcony as the city stirred awake. Life went on.
A week later I filed for divorce. The process was swift; there were no children, little to split. James tried to win me backflowers at work, promises that his fling with Rachel was over, that it was a mistake. Rachel sent long apologies, claiming shed lost both a friend and a man simultaneously (James had left her two days later, blaming her for ruining his life).
I read the messages, deleted them without replying. They belonged to that noisy carriage that had left without me.
Six months on, I earned a promotion at work. I booked a twoweek seaside holiday at a proper resort. At the airport, waiting to board, I saw a familiar silhouetteJames, looking rumpled, older, with a woman who was scolding him for forgetting the tickets.
I smiled, adjusted my sunglasses, and walked past, toward my flight and a new beginning. In that new life there was no room for lies, betrayal, or cheap drama.
And what of Rachel? They say she still lives alone in that nicelyrenovated flat, and each time she spots a silver Corolla, she flinches. But thats another story.
The truth Ive learned is simple: trust is fragile, and once broken it cant be mended by apologies or excuses. The only lasting freedom comes from walking away and choosing honesty over comfort.
