Henry lingered before the familiar door, unable to summon the courage to ring the bell. A bulky holdall strained his arm, while the forgotten keys in his coat pocket felt suddenly as heavy as his dread. Three days prior, he’d stormed out after yet another row, slamming the door and vowing he’d never return. Dorothy had hurled a slipper at his retreating figure, shrieking he could clear off for good. Just another marital spat, like countless others across thirty years. Only this time had spiralled beyond reason.
His finger finally pressed the buzzer. Footsteps approached. Dorothy’s voice sliced through the wood:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s Will. Let me in.”
Silence pooled between them—thick, unnerving.
“Dot? Can you hear me?” Henry repeated.
“I hear,” came her icy reply. “What do you want?”
“What do I want? To come home.”
“This isn’t your home anymore.”
Henry faltered. Thirty years they’d endured each other’s storms, yet Dorothy had never crossed this line.
“Dot, stop being daft. Open the door. Let’s talk properly.”
“I won’t open it. And we’ve nothing to say.”
“Blimey, what’s got into you? What’s all this fuss?”
“You know bloody well.”
He did. Three days ago, Dorothy had uncovered a phone number in his pocket—a woman’s handwriting. A simple explanation: Susan from Accounting had given her number to discuss a meeting. But fury had rendered Dorothy deaf to reason.
“Dot, I told you! It’s Susan from Accounts. Work-related.”
“Work-related? Pull the other one,” she scoffed. “You called her at ten at night?”
“Bloody midnight? I never phoned her!”
“Liar. I saw the call log.”
Henry’s chest constricted. He had called Susan—but about her daughter hoping to read medicine at a university where Henry’s mate worked. A harmless favour, nothing more.
“Dot, please. Just let me in. I’ll explain everything calmly.”
“No. Explain from there.”
Henry glanced around. Neighbours might emerge, and he wouldn’t air their dirty laundry publicly.
“Alright then. Fine. I phoned Susan. True. But not why you think. Her daughter’s applying to medical school. My pal’s on faculty there. I promised I’d put in a word.”
“You expect me to believe that fairy tale?”
“It’s not a tale—it’s the truth!”
“Truth? Why keep it secret? Why hide it?”
Henry hesitated. He hadn’t mentioned his colleague’s request. No malice; he simply hadn’t thought Dorothy needed every trivial work detail.
“I wasn’t hiding it. Didn’t seem important.”
“Right. And what else isn’t important?” Dorothy snapped. “Care to explain why you took her to a café after work?”
Henry’s stomach dropped. How had she known?
“How did you—?”
“Molly from two doors saw you. Said you were canoodling over coffee.”
“We weren’t canoodling! One coffee! Half an hour! She thanked me for helping her daughter!”
“Oh, I’ll bet she thanked you. Proper grateful, these women.”
The venom in her tone told Henry she wouldn’t relent.
“Dot, my love, listen. Why would I want anyone else? I’ve got you. Got our family.”
“Had a family. Not anymore.”
“Not anymore? What’re you on about?”
“Had it up to here living with a cheat.”
“A cheat? I’ve done nothing!”
“Nothing? What’ve you been up to then? Dirty little flings?”
Henry pressed his forehead against the door. They were circling the drain.
“Dot, let’s meet tomorrow when you’ve cooled off. Talk like adults.”
“I won’t cool off. And we won’t meet.”
“Dot…”
“Go to your precious Susan. See if she’ll take you in.”
“What rubbish! Susan? I’m sixty! A grandfather! What would I want with flings?”
“Then why are you wining and dining women in cafes?”
“I explained! Once! Out of politeness!”
”
The engine turned over, rain streaking the windshield as Terence stared up at the darkened bedroom window, knowing with a sudden, cold clarity that the keys in his pocket would never again unlock that door, that Cynthia’s silence was the final word on thirty years, and in that sodden quiet, as Philip shifted into drive, he realised his pleas had died, replaced by a profound, weary acceptance that some breaches – fed by suspicion and time – could never truly be healed, and he gave a small, curt nod, his eyes fixed ahead on the wet road glistening under the streetlamps, leaving the house and everything it once meant dissolving in the rear-view mirror through the grey veil of English rain, the unspoken distance between them stretching now into a permanent, unbridgeable gulf that neither pride nor shared history could ever mend, the car pulling away into the damp night, carrying him towards a future irrevocably altered, alone with the echo of her accusations and the chill certainty that home was gone, perhaps had begun fading long before he stood ringing that bell, and he closed his breath, the weight settling heavy but final upon his shoulders as they drove away into the mist.
