“Shut it,” the husband barked, 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 shed been frying potatoes for dinner. “This backwater fed your mother for twenty years while she traipsed from one doctor to the next. Forgotten already?”
“Whats Mum got to do with this? Leave her out of it!”
“Oh, its got everything to do with her, James. While you were off chasing big opportunities in London, I was here changing your paralysed mothers nappies. Just in case youve forgotten.”
James stood in the doorway of their two-bed council flat, sleek in a new suit, suitcase at his feet. Emily hadnt seen him look this polished in yearstrim, tanned, reeking of expensive cologne. A far cry from the factory days when hed come home reeking of engine oil.
She remembered how theyd met. The works dance at the social clubhim a young mechanic, her from accounts. Hed spun her around to “Careless Whisper,” whispering daft nothings in her ear. Then a modest weddingthirty guests, prawn cocktail, and cheap fizz. His mother had wept with joy, hugging Emily tight: “Thank you, love, for taming my Jimmy.”
Tamed him, had she? Twenty-two years. Theyd raised a daughter, Lucy, now in med schoolsurviving on scholarships and Emilys extra tutoring shifts. James hadnt contributed in three years, pouring everything into his latest “venture.” A garage, then a delivery service. All went belly-up.
“You just dont get it,” James snapped, lighting a fag right there in the hallway. “Daves offered me a job in London. Runs a chain of car washeswants me to manage one. Hell even sort a flat.”
“Going alone?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron. They trembled, but her voice held steady.
“Not alone.” James looked away. “With Sophie. She… she gets me. Believes in me.”
Sophie. Emily had known about her for months. Seen the texts when James was in the shower”Babe,” “Sweetheart,” “Miss you.” Twenty-eight years old, this “babe.” Worked at the dealership where James had been eyeing a caron finance, mind you, which Emily was still paying off from her teachers salary.
“What about Lucy?” Emily asked. “Your daughter. Graduating next year.”
“Shell understand. I cant live like this anymore, Em. Im forty-five. Still young. I can still turn things around.”
Emily walked to the window. Below, neighbour Margaret was hanging laundry. She spotted Emily, waved. Margaret knew everythingabout Sophie, about James only coming home to sleep these past six months. Shed brought pies over, saying, “Chin up, love.”
“Remember,” Emily said quietly, “when Lucy was five? Pneumonia. Doctors didnt hold out much hope. You worked double shifts for the medicine. I sat by her bed day and night. You said, Were a family, Em. Well get through this.”
“That was ages ago.”
“Fifteen years. Or when your mum had her stroke? Who dragged her to appointments? Who stayed up nights turning her every two hours so she wouldnt get bedsores? Me, James. You were always busy. What business? You were already chasing your next big idea.”
James stubbed his fag out on the windowsill. Emily wincednew sill, saved up for last month.
“You never let anything go,” he snapped. “All the bad stuff. What about the good? That time I took you to Brighton?”
“Ten years ago. For a week.”
“Nothings ever enough!”
Emily turned to him. Tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldnt let them fall. Not for him.
“Know what, James? Piss off. Run off to your Sophie. But heres the thingI looked after your mum till the end. Two years feeding her, bathing her, dosing her meds. Where were you? Working? On what, James? You havent held a proper job in five years. Just dreaming of striking it rich.”
“I tried! For this family!”
“For the family?” Emily scoffed. “Lucys pulling night shifts as a care assistant to afford textbooks because Daddys playing entrepreneur. Im teaching double classes and tutoring evenings. Who exactly were you trying for?”
James gripped his suitcase handle, silent.
“Know whats funny?” Emily continued. “Your mum told me before she died, Forgive him, love. Hes weak. Always was. Thank you for putting up with him. I didnt get it then. I do now.”
“Dont you dare!” James exploded. “Im not weak! Im suffocating here! In this flat, in this town, with you! Youll bury me with your bloody perfection!”
“My perfection?” Emily laugheddry, bitter. “Ive spent years biting my tongue. When you came home drunk. When money vanished from the savingsfor your latest project. When you stank of someone elses perfume. I thought youd grow out of it. For the family.”
She opened the cupboard, pulled out a folder. James stiffened.
“Whats that?”
“Divorce papers. Prepared them a month ago. Waited to see if youd leave first. Or if I would. But you beat me to itwell done. Sign them.”
James gaped at the papers.
“You… you knew?”
“Im not stupid, James. Just gave you a chance. Gave myself onemaybe I was wrong. I wasnt.”
“The flat…” he began.
“Mine. Left to me by my mum. Youre on the lease but have no rights. Try court if you likethough bit tricky when youve been unemployed for years. Fancy paying Lucys maintenance?”
“Shes an adult”
“A full-time student. Required till she graduates. Section 25 of the Family Law Act, if youre wondering.”
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, shed loved this man. Once, hed been hers. Now? A stranger.
“Not down the drain, James. Weve got Lucy. Clever, kind, hardworking. Takes after me,” she said with a sad smile. “And thanks for the years. There were good bits. You just took a wrong turn. Or maybe you were always like thisI just didnt see it.”
James hoisted his suitcase. Lingered in the doorway.
“Youll regret this. Youll be alone.”
“Wont be. Got Lucy. My job. Friends. Know what? Ill finally take those salsa classes. Always wanted to learn. You said I had two left feet. Well see.”
The door slammed. Silence. Emily exhaled, returned to the kitchen. The potatoes were burnt. She dumped the pan in the sink, cracked the windowair it out.
Her phone rang. Lucy.
“Mum? You alright? Margaret calledsaid Dad left with a suitcase.”
“Fine, love. Fancy dinner?”
“Mum… Are you crying?”
“No,” Emily wasnt. “Chopping onions. Making salad.”
“Im coming over. After my shift.”
“Dont, Luce. Youve got exams.”
“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.
Below, a taxi door thudded. James loaded his case as a young blonde waved from inside. Sophie. Emily had seen her at the dealershipnothing special. Just young.
Margaret called up from the yard:
“Em! Bringing you a pie! Cheese and onionyour 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 salsa. Maybe even get that bob shed fancied.
Tonight? Wine with Margaret, pie, and no thoughts of what lay ahead. Because ahead was life. Hers. No looking back at the man whod walked away.
Her phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Mrs. Thompson? Its the med school. Lucys been nominated for the Chancellors Scholarship. Congratulations! Shes one of our brightest!”
This time, Emily did cry. But they were happy tears.
