“Shut it,” snarled the husband, slamming his suitcase onto the floor. “I’m leaving you and this backwater you call a life.”
“Backwater?” Emily turned slowly from the stove, where potatoes sizzled for supper.
“This backwater fed your mother for twenty years while she traipsed to doctors. Forgotten already?”
“Whats Mum got to do with it? Dont you dare bring her into this!”
“Everything, James. While you were chasing big deals in London, I was here with your bedridden mother. Changing her nappies, if you must know.”
James stood in the doorway of their two-bed council flat, smart in a new suit, suitcase at his feet. Emily hadnt seen him this polished in yearstrim, tanned, smelling of expensive cologne. A far cry from the factory days, when hed come home reeking of motor oil.
She remembered how theyd met. A dance at the workers clubhim a young mechanic, her from accounts. Hed spun her to *Careless Whisper*, whispering daft nothings in her ear. Then a modest weddingthirty guests, prawn cocktails, and cheap bubbly. His mother had wept with joy, hugging her: “Thank you, love, for taming my Jimmy.”
Tamed him, had she? Twenty-two years married. Raised a daughter, Lucynow in med school, scraping by on grants and Emilys tutoring gigs. James hadnt coughed up a penny in three years, funneling everything into his “business ventures.” What business? Emily never quite grasped itcar repairs one month, haulage the next. All went belly-up.
“You just dont get it,” James snapped, lighting a fag right there in the hall. “Steves offered me a job in London. Runs a chain of car washeswants me managing. Hell sort a flat to start.”
“Going alone?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron. They trembled, but her voice held steady.
“Not alone.” James looked away. “With Chloe. She… gets me. Believes in me.”
Chloe. Emily had known about her for months. Seen the texts when James was in the shower*”Babe,” “Miss you,” “Thinking of you.”* Twenty-eight-year-old “babe.” Salesgirl at the dealership where James had eyed up a caron finance, mind you, which Emily was still paying off from her teachers salary.
“What about Lucy?” Emily asked. “Your daughter. She graduates next year.”
“Shell understand. I cant live like this, Em. Im forty-five. Still young enough to start over.”
Emily walked to the window. Below, their neighbour Margaret pegged out washing. Spotting Emily, she waved. Margaret knew everythingabout Chloe, about James only coming home to sleep these last six months. Pity pies appeared weekly: “Chin up, love.”
“Remember,” Emily said softly, “when Lucy was five? Pneumonia. Doctors were useless. You worked double shifts for her medicine. I sat by her bed night and day. You said, Were family, Em. Well get through anything.”
“That was a lifetime ago.”
“Fifteen years. Or when your mum had her stroke? Who dragged her to appointments? Who turned her every two hours so she wouldnt get bedsores? Me, James. You were always busy. What business? You were already chasing your next scheme.”
James stubbed his fag on the windowsill. Emily wincednew sill, saved up for and fitted last month.
“You never forget a thing,” he spat. “All the bad. What about the good? That holiday I took you on?”
“Ten years ago. A week in Blackpool.”
“Nothings ever enough for you!”
Emily turned. Tears pricked, but she wouldnt let them fall. Not for him.
“Know what, James? Sod off. Run to Chloe. But heres the thingI looked after your mum till the end. Two years spoon-feeding, washing, pills. Where were you? Working? On what? Youve not held a proper job in five years. Too busy playing tycoon.”
“I tried! For this family!”
“Family?” Emily scoffed. “Lucys pulling night shifts as a care assistant to afford textbooksbecause Dads too busy investing. Im teaching double classes plus tutoring. Who exactly were you trying for?”
James gripped his suitcase handle, silent.
“And the funniest bit?” Emily continued. “Your mums last words to me: Forgive him, love. Hes weak. Always was. Thanks for putting up with him. Didnt understand then. I do now.”
“Dont!” James exploded. “Dont you call me weak! Im suffocating here! In this flat, this town, with you! Youll bury me with your bloody perfection!”
“My perfection?” Emily laugheddry, bitter. “Ive spent years biting my tongue. When you rolled in drunk. When the savings vanished for your projects. When you stank of someone elses perfume. Thought youd grow out of it. Family, and all that.”
She opened the cupboard, pulled out a folder. James stiffened.
“Whats that?”
“Divorce papers. Prepared a month ago. Waited to see if youd go first. Or me. But you beat me to itwell done. Sign.”
James gaped at the documents.
“You… knew?”
“Im not stupid, James. Just gave you a chance. Gave myself onemaybe I was wrong. I wasnt.”
“The flat…” he started.
“Mine. Mum left it to me. Youre on the lease, but good luck claiming itthree years unemployed. Fancy explaining that in court? Oh, and Lucys maintenance? Shes still a full-time studentliable till she graduates. Section 25 of the Family Law Act, if youre curious.”
James snatched the pen, scrawled his name, flung the folder onto the sideboard.
“Happy now? Twenty-two years down the drain?”
Emily studied himgrey at his temples, lines by his eyes. Once, her whole world. Now a stranger.
“Not down the drain, James. Weve got Lucyclever, kind, hardworking. Takes after me,” she said with a sad smile. “And thank you. There were good times. You just… took a wrong turn. Or maybe you were always this way, and I refused to see.”
James hoisted his suitcase. Lingered in the doorway.
“Youll regret this. Youll be lonely.”
“Wont be. Got Lucy. My job. Friends. Know what? Im signing up for dance classes. Always wanted to learn the tango. You said I had two left feetwell see.”
The door slammed. Emily stood in the quiet, then returned to the kitchen. Burnt potatoes. She dumped the pan in the sink, opened the windowair it out.
The phone rang. Lucy.
“Mum? You okay? Margaret calledsaid Dad left with a suitcase.”
“Fine, love. Fancy supper?”
“Mum Are you crying?”
“No,” Emily truly wasnt. “Chopping onions. Making salad.”
“Im coming over. Right after my shift.”
“Dont, Luce. Exam tomorrow.”
“Mum, dont be daft. Already on my way. And Mum I love you. Youre the strongest person I know.”
Emily hung up. Fetched the winea Teachers Day gift, saved for a special occasion. Poured half a glass, raised it to the sunset-gilded rooftops.
“To new beginnings,” she murmured.
A car door slammed below. James loaded his suitcase into a taxi while a young blonde waved from insideChloe. Emily had seen her at the dealership. Nothing remarkable. Just young.
Margaret called up: “Em! Bringing you pie! Cheese and onion, your favourite!”
Emily smiledproperly, for the first time in months. The divorce papers lay on the table beside Jamess abandoned keys. She picked them up, weighed them in her palm.
Tomorrow, shed change the locks. Sign up for dance class. Maybe finally get that bob cut shed fancied.
Tonight, shed drink wine with Margaret, eat pie, and not think ahead. Because ahead was life. Her life. No glancing back at the one whod walked away.
The phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Mrs. Thompson? Medical faculty here. Lucys been nominated for the Chancellors Scholarship. Congratulations! Shes a credit to us all!”
This time, Emily did cry. But they were happy tears.
