Im staying with a friend while Aunt Hilda from Norwich is here for a month, said my husband, shoving my suitcase out the door.
Mrs. Hilda! Youve parked on my space again! I asked you yesterday not to hog it!
Miss Margaret, what space? The courtyard has no allocated bays! I park wherever I like!
How can you say that? I’ve lived here thirty years; that spot has always been mine!
And that gives you any right to claim it!
Alison stood in the hallway, heavy grocery bags in her arms, listening to the two neighbours squabble over a parking slot. She wanted to slip by, but the women blocked the whole passage, waving their arms and raising their voices.
Excuse me, may I get through? Alison whispered.
Reluctantly the neighbours shuffled aside, still shooting angry glances at each other. Alison squeezed between them, nudging the entrance door with her shoulder. The bags weighed her arms down until her fingers went numb. She should have brought a trolley, but she always forgot until she reached the front step.
She climbed the stairs to the fourth floor on foot the lift was, as usual, out of order. In front of her flat she set the bags down, slipped a hand into her coat pocket and fished out the keys. She opened the door and stopped dead.
In the hallway stood her suitcase, the same blue travel case she took on holiday, its handle lifted as if it were about to be carried away.
Victor? Alison called as she stepped inside. Are you home?
In the kitchen! his voice drifted from the other room.
Alison dropped the bags, shrugged off her coat and padded to the kitchen. Victor sat at the table with a mug of tea, scrolling on his phone.
Hey, he said without looking up.
Hey. Victor, why is the suitcase in the hallway?
Victor finally put the phone down and stared at her.
Right, listen, Al. Remember my Aunt Hilda from Norwich?
Alison frowned, trying to recall. Aunt Hilda, Victors father’s sister, an elderly woman shed only seen a couple of times at family gatherings.
Vaguely.
Shes arrived in London for a whole month. Shell need an operation and then rehab. I invited her to stay with us.
Alison sank slowly onto a chair.
You invited her here? For a month?
Yeah. Whats the problem? Shes family.
Victor, we only have a onebedroom flat. Where will she live?
Victor finished his tea, set the mug down.
Thats the snag. Space is tight, so I thought maybe you could stay with a friend? Like Emma, for instance.
Alison stared at him, disbelief rising like a tide.
What?
Just stay with Emma. She lives alone in a twobedroom flat, plenty of room. Aunt Hilda will be here for the month, then shell go, and youll be back.
Victors smile was thin.
You want me to move out of my own flat?
Not move out, just stay elsewhere for a while. Its Aunt Hilda, she needs home care after her surgery.
Who will look after her?
Me, and her as best she can.
Alison paced the kitchen, her head spinning. It was absurdher husband was kicking her out for some distant relative.
Victor, this is my flat. I live here. Im not going anywhere.
Victors brow furrowed.
Al, dont be stubborn. Its only temporaryjust a month.
A month is a long time! Why should I leave? Let Aunt Hilda find a hotel or rent a place!
She doesnt have the money for a hotel! Come on, Al, are you being selfish? Shes family!
Im not selfish! I just dont get why I should sacrifice my comfort!
Victor sprang up, snatching the keys from the table.
Ive already sorted everything. Aunt Hilda arrives tonight. I packed your suitcase, put the money for a taxi in your hand. Go to Emmas. Ive already called her; shes agreed.
You called Emma without telling me?
Yes, why waste time? No dramas, Al. Pack up.
He stalked out of the kitchen. Alison felt a storm brewing inside her. She drifted toward the hallway, Victor already pulling on his coat.
Victor, wait. We need to talk about this.
Theres nothing to discuss. The decisions made. Heres your suitcase and the cash.
He thrust a few tenpound notes into her palm. Alison stared at the money, at the suitcase, at Victor. Was this really happening? Was she truly being forced out of her own home?
Im not going.
You will. Its only a month, then youll be back.
What if I dont want to?
Victor sighed, rubbing his face.
Dont be childish, Al. Aunt Hilda is ill, old. She needs help, and youre being difficult!
Im defending my right to live in my own flat!
Rights, rights All you think about is yourself! Think about the family!
Tears welled, then spilled, as Alison turned away so Victor couldnt see.
Fine. Ill go.
She hoisted the suitcase, Victor escorted her to the door.
Good girl. Ill call when Aunt Hilda leaves.
Alison stepped onto the landing, the door clanged shut behind her. She stood there, suitcase at her feet, tears soaking the floor.
She fumbled for her phone and dialed Emma.
Al, hi! Victor called, said youre coming over. Ive got space!
Emma, are you sure you dont mind?
Of course! Come quick, theres plenty of room!
She hailed a black cab, slid into the back seat, whispered the address, and watched the city rush past through a blur of rainstreaked windows.
Emma met her at the door, pulling her into a hug.
What happened? Victor said youd be staying here because Aunt Hilda is here, but you look like youve cried a river!
He kicked me out. Just kicked me out.
Kicked you out?
Alison recounted the absurd scene. Emma shook her head.
Thats nasty. Throwing your wife out for an aunt? Are you two alright?
Alison thought of the past monthsVictors growing silence, his late nights glued to his phone, dinner turned into a quick bite before he vanished to his bedroom.
I dont know. Hes changed.
Changed how?
Quiet, irritable. We used to watch films together, talk after work. Now its just tea, phone, and bed.
Emma frowned.
Could he have someone else?
You think?
An affair?
Alison shook her head.
No. Victors decent or at least I thought he was.
The words lodged like a splinter. She fell asleep on Emmas couch, turning over the nights events in a restless sleep.
The next morning she called Victor.
Victor, hows Aunt Hilda?
Shes here, all good. How are you?
Can I swing by for a minute? Pick up a few things?
Victor hesitated.
No, please dont. Shes resting. I dont want to disturb her.
Ill just be quick
No, Al. Ill bring whatever you need later.
She listed a couple of items; he promised to deliver them that evening. She hung up, feeling the weight of his refusal.
Emma, he doesnt want me back. Somethings off.
See? Somethings wrong. Go back when hes not there. Hes at work all day, right?
I have the keys.
Then go today.
She wrestled with herself, but curiosity won. At noon, when Victor was definitely at the office, she slipped back into their flat, the fourthfloor door clicking open with her key.
Silence greeted her. She wandered the hallway, peeked into the bedroom the bed was made, a nightstand held a few pills, just as usual.
In the kitchen a note lay on the table. She picked it up, read:
Victor, Ive gone for a checkup at the hospital. Ill be back this evening. Dont worry. Aunt Hilda
So the aunt really was staying there. A sigh of relief escaped her. The imagined lover vanished; perhaps there was no affair after all.
She turned to leave when the house phone rang. The display flashed Mum. It was Victors mother, Margaret, his mother-inlaw.
Alison answered.
Hello?
Victor? a voice crackled. Its Margaret.
Margaret? What are you doing here? Victor said youd left.
Im on my way. I heard youre at Emmas.
I just went in to pick up a few things.
Hows Aunt Hilda?
Shes at the hospital for tests.
Tests? Victor said shed have surgery tomorrow!
Tomorrow? I was told it was only a weeks stay.
A week? Where did you get that?
Victor told me.
Alisons heart thudded. A week versus a monthVictor had been lying. She hung up, the phone clattering onto the kitchen counter.
She opened the wardrobe; her clothes were exactly where she left them. She opened a drawer; everything was untouched. The flat felt normal, yet something was off, a thread tugging at the back of her mind.
She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes drifting to the nightstand, where a small notebook lay. She opened it.
The first page bore Victors handwriting: Plan.
Beneath it a list:
1. Convince Al to leave.
2. Meet estate agent.
3. Show flat to potential buyers.
4. Finalise paperwork.
5. Collect money.
6. Move in with Sarah.
Alison read it over and over, disbelief sharpening her jaw. Sell the flat? Move in with Sarah? Who was Sarah?
She snapped a photo of the page, slipped the notebook back, and fled the flat, heart hammering.
Back at Emmas, she showed the picture. Emmas face turned ashen.
Hes a rogue! He wants to sell the flatyours!
Its in his name.
But you bought it together!
We did, but the titles his. I was on maternity leave, not working, so we put it in his name.
So what now?
Alison sank onto the sofa, hands covering her face.
I dont know. Hes deceived me, Emma. Hes kicked me out to sell the place and move in with someone else.
Call him. Get answers.
Not now. I need to think.
She spent the evening turning the situation over. Victor never brought the belongings he promised, citing busy. She kept silent.
The next day she visited Margaret at her tearoom.
Margaret, tell me the truth. Does Victor really want to sell the flat?
Margarets face went pale.
Where did you hear that?
From this notebook.
Oh Victor did say he wanted a smaller place, a studio perhaps, and the rest of the money for a car.
A studio? Our flat is a onebedroom!
He meant a studio. Cheaper, he said, and the rest for
Hes planning to move in with another woman.
Margarets mouth opened, then closed.
I Ill speak to him.
No need. Ill handle it.
Alison left, her resolve hardening. She phoned Victor.
Victor, we need to meet.
Im swamped, Al.
Make time. Its important.
Victor arrived later that night at a café near Emmas flat. They sat opposite each other, coffee steaming.
Whats this about? Victor asked.
Alison slid the photo across the table. Victors eyes widened, colour draining.
Where did you get that?
It doesnt matter. Explain.
Victor stared at the notebook, then at her.
I wanted to tell you Ive met someone. Sarah. Weve been together six months. I love her.
Alison felt as if a slap had landed on her cheek.
Six months?
Yes. Im sorry. I didnt know how.
And you want to sell our flat?
Its in my name, so I can. Ill give you cash, you can find somewhere else. Or you could stay with your parents.
Alison rose abruptly.
You know what, Victor? Do what you like. Sell the flat. Move in with Sarah. Youve lost me, forever.
She walked out, not looking back.
Emma met her at the door, wrapping her in a warm embrace while tears streamed down Alisons face.
Youre brave, Al. You didnt let him humiliate you.
But where will I go? Hell take the flat, wont give me a penny.
Your parents have a onebedroom. No space.
Then Ill stay here. Ill make do.
Alison lived with Emma for a month while Victor sold the flat and moved in with Sarah. She filed for divorce, fought in court for a share, but the title was Victors, so she received only a modest sum.
She found a job, saved, and eventually rented a tiny room in a council block. It wasnt luxurious, but it was hers. She rebuilt her life, took up yoga, met friends, let the old pain soften into a quiet ache.
Months later, Margaret called.
Alison, how are you?
Fine, thank you.
I thought you should know Victor and Sarah split. He ran out of money, she left. Hes now renting a room, keeps asking about you. He wonders if you might reconcile.
Alison paused.
No, Margaret. I dont want to go back to a man who betrayed me.
Hes sorry, though.
Thats his problem. Ive started a new life, and Im happy with it.
She hung up, looked out at the grey city, at people hurrying past. It was still hard, a modest flat, a modest salary, occasional loneliness. Yet it was honest, free of deceit and betrayal. That mattered more than any flat or any husband who never valued her.
