“Shut up,” the husband barked, slamming his suitcase onto the floor. “I’m leaving you and this swamp you call a life.”
“A swamp?” Margaret turned slowly from the stove, where potatoes sizzled for dinner.
“That swamp fed your mother for twenty years while she went from doctor to doctor. Forgotten already?”
“Whats Mum got to do with this? Dont you dare bring her into it!”
“Oh, its got everything to do with it, James. While you were off chasing your big deals in London, I was here looking after your paralysed mother. Changing her nappies, if you must know.”
James stood in the doorway of their two-bed terrace, dressed in a sharp new suit, his suitcase at his feet. Margaret hadnt seen him look this polished in yearstrim, tanned, smelling of expensive cologne. A far cry from the factory days when hed come home reeking of engine oil.
She remembered how theyd met. A dance at the works social club, him a young mechanic, her from accounts. Hed spun her around to “Sweet Caroline,” whispering silly things in her ear. Then a modest wedding, thirty guests, prawn cocktail and cheap sparkling wine. His mother had cried with joy, hugging Margaret. “Thank you, love, for taming my Jimmy.”
Tamed him, had she? Twenty-two years married. Raised a daughter, Emily, now at med school, scraping by on grants and Margarets extra tutoring shifts. James hadnt given them a penny in three yearspoured it all into his “business ventures.” What business? She never quite figured it out. A garage one minute, haulage the next. All of it went bust.
“You just dont get it,” James snapped, lighting a cigarette right there in the hall. “Daves offered me a job in London. Runs a chain of car washeswants me to manage one. Even sorted a flat to start.”
“Going alone, then?” Margaret wiped her hands on her apron. They trembled, but her voice stayed steady.
“Not alone.” James looked away. “With Lucy. She… understands me. Believes in me.”
Lucy. Margaret had known about her for months. Seen the texts when James was in the shower. “Babe,” “love,” “miss you.” Twenty-eight years old. Worked at the dealership where James had been eyeing a caron finance, mind you, which Margaret was still paying off from her teachers wages.
“What about Emily?” Margaret asked. “Your daughter. Shes got finals next year.”
“Shell grow up, see sense. I cant live like this anymore. Im forty-five, Maggie. Still young. I can still turn things around.”
Margaret walked to the window. Outside, their neighbour Diane was hanging washing. She spotted Margaret, gave a wave. Diane knew everything. About Lucy. About James barely coming home the last six months. Brought pies over sometimes. “Hang in there, love.”
“Remember,” Margaret said quietly, “when Emily was five? Pneumonia. Doctors didnt know if shed pull through. You worked double shifts for the medicine. I sat by her bed day and night. You said, Were family, Maggie. Well get through anything.”
“That was years ago.”
“Fifteen years. Or when your mum had her stroke? Who trailed round hospitals with her? Who stayed up nights, turning her every two hours so she wouldnt get sores? Me, James. You? Always an excusework, business. What business? You were already chasing your next big idea.”
James stubbed his cigarette out on the windowsill. Margaret wincednew sill, saved up for it herself last month.
“You never forget, do you?” he spat. “Only the bad stuff. What about the good? That trip to Brighton?”
“Ten years ago. One week.”
“Nothings ever enough for you!”
Margaret turned to face him. Tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldnt let them fall. Not for him.
“You know what, James? Go. Run off with Lucy. But heres the thing. I looked after your mum till the end. Two years she lay there. Two years I spoon-fed her, bathed her, gave her meds. Where were you? Working? On what, James? Youve barely held a job in five years. Too busy dreaming of riches.”
“I tried! For this family!”
“For the family?” Margaret laughed dryly. “Emilys working night shifts as a care assistant to afford textbooks. Because Dads playing businessman. Im doing double teaching loads and tutoring. Who exactly were you trying for?”
James gripped his suitcase handle, silent.
“Know the funniest bit?” Margaret went on. “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!” James exploded. “Dont you dare call me weak! Im suffocating here! In this house, this town, with you! Your bloody perfections burying me alive!”
“My perfection?” Margaret let out a harsh laugh. “These last years, all Ive done is stay quiet. When you stumbled in drunk. When money vanished from savingsfor your latest scheme. When you reeked of someone elses perfume. I thought youd snap 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 grow a spine. Or I would. But you beat me to itwell done. Sign them.”
James gaped at the documents.
“You… knew?”
“Im not stupid, James. Just gave you a chance. Gave myself one toomaybe I was wrong. I wasnt.”
“The house” he started.
“Mine. In my mums name, left to me. Youre on the lease, but youve no claim. Try court if you likebut funny thing, youve no payslips for three years. Fancy paying Emily maintenance?”
“Shes an adult”
“Full-time student. Entitled till she graduates. Section 25 of the Family Law Act, if youre interested.”
James snatched the pen, scrawled his signature. Slammed the folder onto the sideboard.
“Happy now? Twenty-two years down the drain?”
Margaret studied him. Grey at his temples, lines around his eyes. Once, shed loved this man. Once, hed been hers. Now? A stranger.
“Not down the drain, James. Weve got Emily. Clever, kind, hardworking. Takes after me,” she said with a sad smile. “And thank you. There were good times. You just took a wrong turn somewhere. Or maybe you were always like this, and I refused to see it.”
James lifted his suitcase. Paused in the doorway.
“Youll regret this. Youll be alone.”
“I wont be. Ive got Emily. My job. Friends. You know what? Im finally joining that dance class. Always wanted to learn the tango. You said I had two left feet. Well see.”
The door slammed. Margaret stood in the silence, then walked to the kitchen. The potatoes were burnt. She dumped the pan in the sink, opened the windowlet the air clear.
Her phone rang. Emily.
“Mum, you alright? Diane called, said Dad left with a suitcase.”
“Im fine, love. Fancy dinner?”
“Mum… Are you crying?”
“No,” Margaret wasnt. “Chopping onions. Making salad.”
“Im coming over. Right after my shift.”
“Dont, Em. Youve exams tomorrow.”
“Mum, stop it. Im on my way. And Mum… I love you. Youre the strongest person I know.”
Margaret hung up. Pulled a bottle of wine from the fridgea Teachers Day gift, saved for a special occasion. Poured half a glass, raised it to the window where the sunset gilded the rooftops.
“To a new life,” she murmured.
Below, a taxi door thudded shut. James loaded his suitcase while a young blonde waved from the car. Lucy. Margaret had seen her at the dealershipnothing special. Just young.
Diane called up from the yard:
“Maggie! Bringing you pie! Cheese and onion, your favourite!”
Margaret smiled. Properly, for the first time in months. The divorce papers lay on the table, next to the keys James had left. She picked them up, weighed them in her palm.
Tomorrow, shed change the locks. Sign up for that dance class. Maybe even get that bob cut shed fancied.
Tonight? Wine with Diane, pie, and no thoughts of what came next. Because whatever it was, it was hers. No looking back at the man whod walked away.
The phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Margaret? Its the med school deans office. Your
