Returning home earlier than expected, Margaret heard her husband talking to her sisterand was utterly stunned
Margaret had left the surgery early; the clinic cancelled all appointments because the GP was ill. What luck! A precious, unexpected evening at homea chance to cook a proper meal instead of just throwing something together like usual.
She slid the key quietly into the lock, not wanting to rouse Philip in case he was napping after work. But he wasnt napping at all.
Voices drifted from the kitchen.
I just cant keep this up, Fran. Hiding it every weekend Philips tone sounded so weary.
What do you want then? To just come clean? her sister Frances replied sharply. When did she even arrive?
Margaret froze by the slightly ajar door. Her stomach lurched.
If Mags finds out, itll all collapse. Thirty years married, down the drain, Philip went on.
You have to make a decision, Frances voice sharpened, Will you keep going over there every Saturday?
Over there?!
How could I just stop? Shes all aloneno one else but me.
And what about your wife? Does she not exist or what?
Margaret gripped the door frame painfully. Her heart thudded so violently, she swore the whole house must be shaking.
So, there was no fishing after all.
He never went lake-hopping with old Roger.
So there was a her. And every weekend, her husband drove off to see this mysterious woman.
Fran, if I told Mags nowshed hate me! For the lying. But if I keep quiet Philips sigh was leaden. My consciences eating me up.
Conscience! Frances snorted. Where was that the last thirty years?
It was easier then. Now shes gotten much worse.
Listen, maybe its time you were honest with Margaret.
Are you mad? Philip sounded almost afraid. Shed kill me! Or worsethrow me out! Where am I meant to go in my sixties?
Margaret flinched away from the door.
Thirty years shed packed homemade chicken pies for his fishing trips. Washed his flannel shirts. Cleaned his wellies. Worried when he was late. And hed been driving to someone else.
And Frances knew!
Her own sister knewkept it secret!
My God.
How utterly blind shed been.
All right, Frances said, Id best get going. Just think about how long you can keep it up. These things always surface in the end.
I know. I do.
Margaret heard footsteps approaching and darted into the bathroom.
She needed time.
Time to digest this truth.
Time to decide how (or whether) to carry on living at all.
In the bathroom, Margaret stared at her reflection in disbelief. Was this really herMargaret Pearson, model wife?
Model fool, more like.
She emerged into the kitchen wearing her usual face. Philip sat at the little table, flipping through The Times. So ordinary, so familiar.
Oh, Mags! he exclaimed with hollow cheer. Back early today.
Appointments cancelled.
Fran popped round. Sends her regards.
Liar. Shed sent a very different kind of message.
Will you have supper? Margaret asked evenly.
Of course! Whats on tonight?
Meatballs. As usual.
The following week was hell. Margaret watched every move Philip made, every word he spoke. And saw the lies everywhere. The way he concealed his mobile. How he grew edgy each Friday. The elaborate fussing over fishing tackle.
Saturday morning she cracked.
Philip, why dont I come fishing with you? she suggested sweetly.
He turned pale.
Why? Youd be bored stiff.
Id like to try. Maybe Ill enjoy it.
No, notoo cold, too many midges. Youd be miserable. Stay home and relax.
He left. Guilty eyes, trembling hands.
Margaret was left gnawed by thoughts, restless as worms.
On Monday she resolved to confront her sister.
Fran, fancy a chat?
What about? Francess eyes narrowed.
Oh, just a proper catch-up. Been ages.
They met at a tea shop on neutral ground. Frances fiddled nervously with the charm ring on her finger.
Hows things? Margaret asked carefully.
Fine. You two?
All good. Philips gone fishing mad lately.
Frances nearly choked on her coffee.
Oh? Often?
Every Saturday. Obsessed, he is.
Men and their hobbies, Frances mumbled, eyes darting.
You know where exactly he goes?
Me? How would I know?
Those shifty eyes. Lies.
Just thought Id tag along sometime. See what the fuss is.
Margaretwhy bother? Frances turned grave. Give the man space. Everyone needs privacy.
Privacy! Was that her excuse for betrayal?
Fran, Margaret leaned closer, you know something, dont you?
I know nothing! Frances snapped. And Id advise you not to dig.
She fled, leaving Margaret with bitter certaintyher sister was covering things up.
Back home, Margaret launched her own investigation. She rifled Philips pockets, inspected his wallet, checked his car.
There it was.
Receipts in the glovebox. Regular payments. £250 every month.
Private care home Hope House. Seaview.
A care home?!
Not a lakeside fishing lodge. Not a holiday spot. A care home.
Margaret sat staring at the receipther world was collapsing for good. Care homes were for the ill. For those needing constant care.
So Philip had someonesick. Someone he supported, visited every Saturday.
Wife? Mistress?
She didnt sleep that night, spun every possible explanation. Each grimmer than the last.
By morning, shed made up her mind.
She would go to Seaview. See with her own eyes what secrets her husband had kept from her.
She took Friday off. Told Philip she had a doctors appointment.
The road to Seaview took three hours, plenty of time for her worries to fester and mushroom. She braced herself for the worst.
Hope House was cosy and modest. Sign above the door: For adults with disabilities.
Disabled residents.
Her heart twisted. Did Philip have a disabled person stashed away somewhere?
Who are you visiting? asked the nurse at reception.
Margaret hesitated. Could I see who here gets visits from Mr Philip Pearson?
Are you family?
Im his wife.
The nurse leafed through a ledger.
Sophia Pearson, room twelve. Youre welcome to go through.
Pearson!
Shes even using his surname!
Margaret stood before the door to room twelve, unable to force herself in. The truth lurked behind that doorthe same truth shed dreaded and hunted.
Sophia Pearson.
Bearing her own husbands name.
She knocked, her hand trembling.
May I?
The room was bright, the air tinged with medication and daffodils. By the window, in a wheelchair, sat a womanmid-thirties, dark-haired, thin.
Strikingly similar to Philip.
Are you here for me? the woman asked, voice frail but friendly.
Yes Im Margaret. Are you Sophia?
Yes. Have we met?
Have they met? How was she meant to answer?
Im Philips wife.
Sophias face drained of colour, eyes wide as plates.
Oh, God, she whispered. You know everything?
I do now. Margaret stepped closer. Will you tell me?
I cant, my dad asked me never to say.
Dad.
Margarets knees buckled. She took a chair beside the bed.
Hes your father?
Yes, Sophia broke down in tears. Im sorry, I never meant you to know. He said you didnt have children, and youd be heartbroken if you found out.
Wait. Margaret raised a hand. Start at the beginning. How old are you?
Thirty-four.
Thirty-four! Born just a year before their marriagewhen Philip was seeing someone else.
Your mother?
Mum died two years agocancer. Sophia wiped her eyes. Dad took care of us always. Sent money, visited. When mum died, he got me a place here. Ive got cerebral palsycant live alone.
Margaret just listened, absorbing it all.
Her husband had a daughter. A sick daughterliving off his support. Thirty years and Margaret had never known.
Hes wonderful, Sophia sobbed. Comes every Saturday. Brings food, medicine. Talks about you. Says youre amazing.
He talks about me?
All the time. He loves you so much. Always my Mags, my Magsthe best wife in the world.
Margaret laughed bitterly.
The best wife he lied to for thirty years.
He didnt lie! Sophia protested. Hes just scared! Scared youd leave if you knew. Im not normalhe worries Im a burden.
Youre not a burden.
To most, I am. Mum used to say wish youd never been born. But Dad never did. He said Im his girl. Hes responsible.
A nurse knocked, entered.
Sophia, company! Thats marvellous. Then, spotting Margaret, Is something wrong?
All fine, Mrs Wyatt. Its Auntie Mags.
Auntie Mags.
Oh! The nurses face lit. At last youve met! Mr Pearson always says what a kind, understanding soul you are.
Kind and understanding. Yet here she was, suspecting adulteryplaying detective.
The nurse departed, leaving Margaret and Sophia alone.
Tell me about your mum, Margaret prompted.
Mum was beautiful. Dad courted her, but met you later. When they found out how Id turned out, Mum told him he wouldnt want a family with a disabled child. Said he should marry the healthy womanin other words, you.
And he left?
He wanted to stay. Marry Mum. But she wouldnt have itsaid no one needed pity. Told him to go if he loved someone else.
And after that?
He married you. But he never abandoned us. Always sent money. When I got older, came visiting. Mum agreedwith one rule: you mustnt know. She feared our existence would wreck your family.
Margaret sat and pondered. All her life shed envied mothers, cried after failed rounds of IVF. All those yearsand her husband had a daughter. Always had.
Why didnt he tell me? she asked quietly.
He was frightened. He said you wanted children so badly, and if you learned he already had oneespecially a disabled childyoud hate him.
Hate him for what?
For lying. For spending money on me instead of on your children. For taking time away from you.
Sophia fell silent, then whispered:
He suffers. Each visit he asks, How do I tell Mags? How to explain? I say: Dad, maybe shed understand?
Familiar footsteps sounded in the hallway. Heavy, deliberate.
Philip.
Oh no, Sophia whispered, he doesnt know youre here!
Footsteps neared.
All right, sweetheart! Philips voice sang from behind the door.
Margaret turned.
Philip stood in the doorway, clutching a bunch of tulips and a carrier bag. Seeing Margaret, the bag fell from his hand.
Mags? he croaked. Whyhow?
I came to meet your daughter, she announced, her tone unwavering.
Philip paled, slumping against the frame.
How did you find out?
You were a lousy secret-keeper.
Philip entered, closed the door, dropped heavy onto a chair.
So. Thats that. Now you know.
I do.
Do you hate me?
Margaret looked from him to Sophia.
Im not sure yet. Im still making sense of it.
Whats there to make sense of? Thirty years of lies. Fishing trips that never were. Family money spent.”
Dad, please! Sophia cut in. “Auntie Mags, he’s good! He was simply afraid.”
Margaret stood and gazed out the window.
Outside was an ordinary garden. Trees, benches, winding paths. Everyday life.
Inside, hers was shatteringand remaking itself.
I need to think, she said, finally.
Margaret didnt speak a word to Philip for three days. He drifted through the house like a ghost, trying to start a conversation. She said nothing. She cooked, she tidiedas though he wasnt there.
She thought.
About thirty years in the dark. About her new stepdaughter. About how Philip feared truth more than deceit.
Wednesday evening, she broke her silence.
Sit down, she ordered Philip. We need to talk.
He sat, hands folded, awaiting sentence.
I visited Sophia again, Margaret began. We talked in full.
And?
And I realised something. Youre an idiot, Philip.
He flinched.
Idiot for believing Id reject a child because shes ill. Idiot for suffering alone, when we couldve borne it together.
Mags
Quiet. Im not done. Margaret paced the kitchen. You thought me so heartless Id dump you over a sick child. That I was that shallow
No! I justdidnt want to lose you!
And nearly did for real.
Philip hung his head.
Im sorry. I dont deserve forgiveness. Butplease.
Get up.
He obeyed.
Tomorrow, were visiting Sophiatogether. I also want to speak to her doctors about moving her home.
Philip blinked.
Really?
You heard. If shes my daughtershes family. She belongs with us.
But, shes disabledshe needs special care.
Well find a carer. Set up a room. Well manage. Margaret gripped Philips hands. Do you know what I wanted more than anything all these years?
A child.
A family. A real one. Now I have that: a fool for a husband, an extraordinary daughter. But a family nonetheless.
Philip began to cry. Margaret had never seen his tears before.
Are you serious? Youll have her?
I already do. Bought her pyjamas and a new shampoo yesterday. Well bring them tomorrow.
He hugged herfiercely.
I dont deserve you.
You dont, Margaret agreed, but youre stuck with me. One rule: no more secrets. Ever.
Promise.
And one more thing. I want Sophia to call me Mum. If Im to be a mother, its for real.
A month later, Sophia moved in. She took over the converted box roomsmall, but flooded with sunlight. Margaret personally chose the wallpaper, curtains, duvet cover.
Mum, Sophia said that first evening, are you sure? Ill be such a burden
You say that again, and Ill smack you, Margaret threatened (with a smile). Youre not a burden. Youre my daughter. And thats that.
At night, Sophia slept, and Margaret and Philip sat in the kitchen sipping tea.
You know, Margaret mused, it feels like lifes only begun.
At sixty? Philip chuckled.
Thats right. Were a proper family now. Not a tired old married couple. Parentswith a daughter to help stand tall.
Philip nodded.
Thank you.
Dont thank me. Just promisenever keep things from me ever again.
I wont.
And from Sophias room came the gentle sound of laughtershe was watching a comedy on her tablet.
That, Margaret thought, was the loveliest sound in all the world.
