My dear, Emma, dont you think were starting to drift apart? David said, his voice as casual as if he were suggesting we pick up brown instead of white bread for supper. He didnt even look up from his bowl of tomato soup, in which he was dipping a slice of ham. I froze, ladle in hand, feeling a hot drop of broth trickle down my wrist, stinging my skin, yet the pain barely registered. In my ears, there was a loud ringingas though a vacuum cleaner had been switched on at full pelt right next to me.
What do you mean, apart? I managed, working hard to keep my voice steady. I put the ladle back in the pot, afraid it might just slip from my trembling fingers. Are you going away for work?
No, not work, David grimaced, finally meeting my eyes. His look was weary, slightly agitatedthe sort of look you give a student whos missing the obvious. Im talking about having a break. A chance to reassess things. The sparks gone. I come home and it feels suffocating. The same thing every day: work, dinner, telly, sleep. I need to figure out whether I still feel drawn to you, or if its just habit.
I slowly sat in the chair opposite him. Twenty years of marriage. Two children, both at university in different cities. The mortgage, finally paid off three years ago. The renovation wed done ourselves, stripping wallpaper every weekend. And nowsuffocating?
So, where are you planning to live while you reassess? I asked quietly.
Ive rented a bedsit. Just for a couple of months. Its near work, so I wont get stuck in traffic, he replied a touch too quickly, as if the answer had been rehearsed. Ive already started moving my stuffits in the bedroom.
So, hed decided ages ago. While I was planning which shrubs to plant at the allotment in the spring, or scouring the January sales for a new jumper for him, he was fishing around for a flat. Putting down a deposit, keeping quiet.
And my opinion? Doesnt that count? I looked at my husband, searching for the young man Id once married. But the man in front of me was a middle-aged stranger with fidgeting eyes.
Dont start making this all dramatic, Emma, David put his spoon down, his appetite obviously gone. Im not talking divorce. Yet. I just want a time-out. Its perfectly normallots of people do it. Therapists recommend it. Maybe well realise we cant live without each other, and itll be like a second honeymoon. Or well, if not, at least well go our separate ways honestly.
He stood up, tossed his napkin onto the table, and went to the bedroom. I heard wardrobe doors slide open, bags rustling. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the congealing tomato souphis favourite, with beans, as he likedand felt a vast, icy emptiness well up inside.
The rest of the evening passed in a daze. David busied himself methodically around the house, shifting suitcases into the hallway. He took his laptop, his beloved coffee machine (a gift my colleagues gave me, but somehow he used it more), his jumpers.
Well, then. Im off, he said at the door in his coat, looking simultaneously ceremonial and faintly sheepish. Dont ring me, alright? Lets agree: a month of silence. So the experiment is fair.
What if a pipe bursts? I blurted out.
Call a plumber. Youre a grown woman, youll cope. Im keeping my key, just in case I need to pop back for anything urgent. Right then, see you. Dont pine.
The door slammed. The lock clicked. I was alone in the flatit suddenly seemed enormous, and scarily silent.
For the next three days, I barely moved. Got up only for water and the loo. It felt as if my life had come to an end. I kept replaying the past months in my head, trying to figure out where Id gone wrong. Nagged him too much about his socks? Put on weight? Got dull?
On the fourth day, my sister, Rachel, turned up like a force of nature, arms full of shopping and a bottle of wine. She took one look at meteary, in a dressing gown, hair unwashedand rolled her eyes.
Right, love, this wont do. Up you getshower. Ill chop up some cheese.
An hour later, we were perched in the kitchen, glasses of wine in hand, as I recounted my husbands break announcement. Rachel listened intently, eyes narrowed.
Reassess his feelings, did he? Says hes suffocating? Em, youre cleveraccounts whizz, numbers are your thing. Yet you havent added this up. Hes seeing someone.
Dont talk daft, I brushed her off. Him? Hes fifty-two, bad back, acid reflux. Whos interested?
Oh, please! Rachel took a swig. Acid reflux doesnt get in the way of a roaring affair, especially not with a mid-life itch. Rented a bedsit, dont ring for a monththese are all classic moves. He wants to try her out, but keep you as a backup. In case her cookings rubbish or she refuses to do his laundry. If things dont work, hell come back and say, Realised I cant live without you, darling, or if they dowell, hell file for a divorce.
Rachels words sank in heavy as stones. I tried to object, to defend David, but deep down, I knew she was right. It all made sensethe new phone password; the late evenings at the office; the shirt hed bought himself, living out his usual hatred of shopping.
So what am I supposed to do? I said, now feeling anger steadily replacing misery.
What else? Live! Rachel smacked the table. And live well. Go to a salon. Buy yourself something. And for heavens sake, stop waiting for his call like its Second Coming. Whose flat is this?
Mine. Mum and Dad left it to me, I answered out of habit. Hes on the paperwork at his mumsnever got round to fixing it.
Exactly. Legally, youre in charge. Listendont sit and sob. He thinks youre home, clutching a pillow and yearning for him. Surprise him.
When Rachel left, I couldnt sleep for ages. I wandered about the flat, turning all the lights on. In the bathroom I saw his shaving gel on the shelf. I picked up the tube and chucked it into the bin, hard. The thud landed like the first shot in a war I never wanted.
The next fortnight was oddly peaceful. I forced myself back to work. My colleagues noticed Id lost weight and looked tired, but put it down to the March blues. I started noticing things Id missed before.
The flat was neater without David. No crumbs on the table, no dirty jeans on the armchair. Food in the fridge lasted forever, and I didnt have to cook every nightsalad was plenty. Evenings stretched empty and quiet. I rediscovered my old love for knittingdragged out my needles and yarn to start a scarf while watching my favourite drama.
Silence stopped feeling lonely. It became healing. No more constant muttering about politics, no changing channel when I was halfway through a film.
Yet, a little worm of doubt gnawedwhat if Rachel was wrong? What if he really was alone, thinking of me?
Everything was answered that Friday evening. Coming back from work, I nipped into the shopping centre for new wool. Riding the escalator up, I saw them.
David stood by a jewellers window. Looping her arm through his, a young womannot more than thirty, in a bright coat. He grinned at her with the very smile hed once given me, two decades before. He was saying something, pointing to a bracelet; she threw her head back, laughing. They looked absolutely blissful.
I slipped behind a large man, heart hammering so loud it echoed in my temples. I watched as my husbandwhose spark had gone and who needed spaceput his arm round another womans waist and led her away.
That moment, something inside me finally died, and something newincredibly cold and steadywas born.
I didnt storm over. Didnt stalk them. I turned around, went down to the car park, sat in my car, and drove home.
Once in the flat, I immediately took out the deeds. All in my name. The transfer from Mum. Stamp in my passportjust me and the kids. David wasnt even registered here. Always used to say, Why bother with the paperworkIm listed at Mums, we live together, dont we?
I searched up a locksmiths number online.
Hello, can you come urgently and change my front door locks? Metal door, yes. Ive got proof the flats mine. You can be here in an hour? Brilliant.
The locksmithstocky chap, blue overallsarrived quickly. No questions, just asked what sort of lock I wanted.
The very best, I said. So no-one can get inno matter what old keys theyve got.
Understood, missus. Well fit a Chubbtoughest there is. Even a professional burglar will struggle, let alone your bloke.
The clatter of the drill was sweet music. Little curls of metal sprinkled on the mat. The old lock cylinder thudded onto the floor. That was the old pain dropping away, old dependency, the old habit of being convenient.
When the locksmith lefthanding me a set of shiny new keysI locked the door, all four turns. Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk. Four turns; four walls of my own fortress.
I gathered up the last of Davids things. Winter coats, shoes, rods from the balcony, tools. All neatly packed in black bin bags. Five bulging sacks in total. I set them in the communal hallway just outside my flat.
Another week went by. No word from David. Clearly, the reassessment was dragging on with his new companion. I had already calmed myself. Id started the divorce process online. Ridiculously easy, as it turned out.
It was Saturday morning when the bell rang, long and demanding.
I checked the spyhole. There stood David: a bit scruffy, but looking fairly triumphant. Groceries in one hand, a bunch of carnations in the other.
I didnt open up. I pressed my forehead to the cool metal, waiting.
He tried his keymetal grated on metal. No luck. Tried again, harder. Another time. Pulled the key out, glared at it, blew on it; tried again.
Emma! he shouted. You in there? Whats up with the lock?
I stayed silent.
Come on, Emopen up! Cars outside, I know youre home!
He began pounding on the door.
Whats thissome sort of joke? Im here! With flowers! We said a month, but I came back early. Missed you!
I took a deep breath and called through the door, clear and firm, Your things are in the black bags to the left of the door. Take them and go.
Silence. Then I heard the rustle as he found the bags.
Are you mad? His tone went shrill with shock. What do you think youre doing? Open up! Im your husbandI have every right to be here!
This isnt your home, David, I replied calmly. Its mine. Youre not even registered here. Wanted to live on your own? Go ahead. From now on, thats exactly what youll do.
You you changed the locks? How dare you? Ill get the police! Call the fire brigade! Theyll break the door down for me!
Go ahead, I said. Show them your registration and tell them how you left your wife to test your feelings with your mistress. I expect theyll see the funny side.
What mistress? Youre talking nonsense! I lived on my own!
I saw you at the shopping centre, David. Jewellers. Red coat. Stop lying. The experiments over. Result: negative.
He burst out with swearing and kicked the door. I heard, faintly, the smack of a bouquet hitting the floor, then the rustle of bin bags being dragged about as he tried to gather up his belongings.
You cow! he finally howled. You absolute cow!
Then came the lift doors and the crash of bagsand quiet.
I slid down the inside of the door, trembling. Tears ran down my face, but they werent the tears of grief. They were just my body letting go of all that tension, drop by salty drop.
After ten minutes I rose, washed my face with cold water. In the mirror I saw a woman with tired eyes, but her chin was liftedproud.
My phone pinged. Rachels text: How did Romeo get on? His cars on the street.
I replied: Gone. Took his things. The locks work beautifully.
Brilliant! So proud of you! Ill pop round later with a caketoasting your new chapter.
I headed for the kitchen and put the kettle on. I could see, just past the edge of the mat by the door, the crumpled carnations hed thrown down. Good thing I hadnt opened the door. Carnations. After twenty years, and he couldnt remember I loathed them. I always liked tulips.
A month later, the divorce was final. It was all over quickly, since the kids were adults. The assets were split: the allotment sold and shared, the car went to Davidhe paid me compensation (which paid for my holiday).
As it turned out, Davids new flame dumped him as soon as she realised hed lost the comfy flat and any hope of an easy settlement. The rented bedsit was too expensive too, so he had to move back in with his mum, into her grim little house on the outskirts.
I heard all this from mutual friends. I didnt care. Id just got back from Turkey, where Id spent my first solo holiday in years. Id come home tanned, with a bright new dress, and, if Im honest, a holiday romance with a charming German. Nothing serious, just a flirt, but enough to remind me I was still attractive.
One evening, coming home from work, I heard my name called outside my block.
Emma?
David was perched on a benchthinner, in a crumpled old jacket, looking battered.
Hello, I said, carrying on, but slowing my step.
Em, could we talk? He took a hesitant step. I was an idiot. Made a mistake. Got led astray. Mums nagging me to death. I miss our home. Your soup. Couldnt we start again? Twenty years cant just be erased
I looked at himand to my surprise, felt nothing. No anger, no sadness, no pity. Just emptiness. Like you feel for a stranger asking for spare change.
Twenty years cant be erased, I agreed. But the past belongs in the past. Ive got a new life now, David. Theres no room in it for old mistakes. Or for you.
But Ive changed! I get it now!
So have I. I smiled. Ive realised I dont feel suffocated by being on my own. I feel free.
I took out my keysgleaming, newand strode to the entrance. The buzzer beeped, unlocking the door. I went inside, the door shutting firmly behind me, shutting Davidand his regretsout.
As I rode up in the lift, I caught myself thinking it was time to re-paper the hallway. Something brightpeach, maybe. And Id buy a new chair, a comfy one, for my evening knitting. My life was only just beginning, and the keys to it were truly in my hands.
