Margaret! came a bright, ringing call, and her friend, shaking raindrops from a scarlet mackintosh, landed with a dramatic plop opposite her. Sorry, the traffic was abysmal. Have you ordered yet?
Only coffee, Margaret smiled wearily. Was waiting for you.
Elizabeth flung off her mac, scrutinised Margaret with amused disdain, then gave a low whistle.
Good heavens, Mags, have you actually looked in a mirror lately? Whats with you? Grey jumper, grey trousers. Are you depressed or just decided on invisibility as a lifestyle choice?
Its comfortable, Margaret shrugged. Im fifty-two now, Liz, too old for faffing about with outfits.
Right, Elizabeth made her order cappuccino and a croissant with a casual flourish. And wheres your beloved Sam? Off fishing again, I suppose?
Margaret nodded.
Left Friday night. Be back for Sunday lunch, as ever.
As ever, Elizabeth mimicked. And you, as ever, stuck at home alone? Watching telly, darning socks? Mags, when was the last time he took you out? Restaurant, theatre, even the cinema? Try, come on, remember!
Margaret felt heat creeping into her cheeks.
We went to the cottage in July. Together.
The cottage! Elizabeth burst into laughter. Where you weeded the veg beds and he fixed the leaky shed. Pure romance. Oh, darling, lifes passing you by. Were not girls anymore, but were hardly ready for the retirement home yet, are we? And youre just, well, disappearing.
Dont be daft, Margaret sipped her coffee, finding it bitter. Were a normal couple. Twenty-eight years together. Doesnt that count for something?
Twenty-eight years of habit, you mean, Elizabeth retorted. You know what I see? Youre transparent. To him, youre like a fridge or a stool. Present, functioning, tick. When did he last say anything nice to you? Or even ask how you are?
Margaret tried to protest, but the words stuck in her throat. The truth was, their evenings slipped by in silence. Sam would read about fishing gear on his tablet, shed knit or watch dramas. Sometimes hed ask what was for dinner. Sometimes shed remind him about the bills. That was it, that was conversation.
Hit a nerve, did I? Elizabeth leaned in, her eyes intensely bright. Listen, Ive met someone. A photographer. David. Fascinating man, really listens when you talk. Hes got a showing opening on Saturday at that new gallery on Church Lane. Come with me? Get you out of the house for a change.
Liz, I dont know
Youre not wriggling out of this, Elizabeth waved her off. This shell youre tucked away in needs cracking. Time to look at people let people look at you, for a change. Ill help you dress properly. Youll see how refreshing it is, being noticed, not just asked if the boilers still leaking.
Arguing with Elizabeth was pointless. And truth be told, the idea of actually stepping out didnt sound so awful. The house really was too quiet, too empty.
***
By Saturday evening Margaret stood before her bedroom mirror, not recognising herself. Elizabeth had brought a wine-red dress understated, stylish, with a belt cinched at the waist. Margaret put on makeup for the first time in ages, styled her hair.
Well, I never, she muttered, peering at her reflection. I thought Id become
A granny, you mean? Elizabeth gave a crow of satisfaction. Not in the slightest, darling. Youve simply forgotten yourself, thats all.
The gallery turned out to be a small, warm space with high ceilings, all whitewashed walls. Black-and-white photos hung everywhere: old alleyways, stony faces of strangers, abandoned train stops. About thirty people hovered, murmuring over glasses of wine.
Elizabeth led Margaret at once to a tall man with streaks of grey in his dark hair, dressed in a black jumper and jeans.
David, this is Margaret, my dearest friend, Elizabeth introduced. Margaret, David, the maestro himself.
David turned, and Margaret met his gaze. Grey eyes, a kind smile, deep creases beside them. He shook her hand.
Lovely to meet you. I hope you enjoy it.
I dont really know much about photography, Margaret confessed as his hand enveloped hers: warm and dry.
No need to, David smiled broader. The main thing is to feel. Come, let me show you my favourite.
He led her to a corner photograph an old woman at a window, sunlight painting her face, each wrinkle a story lived, her eyes vast and sorrowful, gazing elsewhere entirely.
Thats my neighbour, David said softly. Eighty-three. I snapped her a year and a half ago. She told me of the war, her husband lost, raising three on her own. But in her eyes? No self-pity. Just this deep sadness, real poise.
Margaret stared at the photo, her heart tightening.
Shes beautiful, she whispered.
Yes, agreed David. Beautys not just shiny skin and youth. Its what you live through and hold onto. He looked long at Margaret. You have a trace of that sorrow in your eyes, as if youre always thinking about something you dont share.
Margaret felt undone. No one had looked so keenly at her for years. Sam looked but didnt see. And this stranger seemed to peer inside.
Maybe Im just tired, I suppose, she muttered.
Of what? Davids question was gentle, utterly without curiosity, as if they were old acquaintances.
Margaret meant to brush it off, but the words spilled out of her.
Of everything always being the same. Every day a copy. Up, breakfast, bits and bobs. Sam at work, or off fishing. Children grown, living their own lives. And I sit in this flat wondering where did I go? I used to dream, travel, want something bigger
She froze, startled by her own honesty.
Sorry, she managed. Dont know what came over me.
Dont apologise, David gently laid a hand on her elbow, soothing, calm. Thats honesty. Rare these days. Listen, I have an idea. I run a club. We meet once a week, talk books, photos, sometimes sketch outdoors. Come next Wednesday. Promise youll like it.
Margaret wanted to say no. Wanted to say she was too busy, couldnt just
Alright, she heard herself say. Ill come.
***
Sam came back Sunday, as always, fragrant with river and campfire. Margaret met him at the door.
Well? she asked. Any luck?
A couple of perch, Sam dumped his rucksack in the kitchen. Not bad. You?
All fine, Margaret replied. I went to a photo exhibition with Liz.
Good, Sam opened the fridge, hunted for ham. You ought to get out more. Cant just sit at home.
He barely looked up, back to his business. Margaret felt a flash of irritation.
Sam, shall we go out sometime? Both of us. To a restaurant maybe, or the theatre?
Sam looked at her, puzzled.
Whatever for? Costs a fortune. Besides, Im knackered after fishing. Maybe another time, yeah?
Always another time. Margaret nodded and left the kitchen. In her room, she texted Elizabeth: Send me the club address. Im coming Wednesday.
***
The club met in an old converted cellar: squishy sofas, book-laden shelves, vintage cameras on tables. About fifteen people, most in middle age. David greeted her at the door.
Glad you came, he said warmly. Find a spot wherever.
The night danced by. A French photographer, snatches of poetry, unexpected laughter. Nobody asked about the bills, dinner, shopping. Margaret hardly spoke, but felt oddly lifted, floating. She mattered here, not just as household staff.
After, David walked her to the bus stop.
Did you enjoy it? he asked.
Immensely, Margaret admitted. I never imagined It feels like another world.
It is, he smiled. You know what I see? Someone living her whole life for others. Husband, kids, house. When did you last do something just for you?
Margaret was stumped; she couldnt remember.
Thats the midlife trap, David said. One day you realise youve given yourself away, forgotten your own self. Feels like lifes slipping through your fingers. But you know what? Its never too late to remember who you really are.
His words soothed her soul. She listened, spellbound.
Tell you what, David paused. Lets head out of town Saturday. I know an old manor gorgeous autumn light. Come take some photos with me? Just a friendly outing. Promise you, youll love it.
Margaret hesitated. Saturday. Sam would be off fishing again. Shed be home, alone. As always.
Im not sure, she faltered. Its all rather
Wrong? David smiled with sadness. Margaret, Im offering a countryside stroll, beautiful company, a bit of adventure. You do have a right to live, dont you?
I do, she whispered.
Splendid. Meet me at the station at ten. Wrap up warm its windy there.
He waved goodbye and sauntered off. Margaret stood at the stop, heart drumming wildly, as if she were twenty again.
***
Friday night. Sam, as ever, was packing for fishing.
Back Sunday, he called, buckling up his rucksack. Ill have my mobile. Ring if you need me.
Alright, Margaret watched him fuss with his gear. Sam, maybe I could come with you this time?
He looked up, perplexed.
Why? You get bored. You said last time it was cold, and the midges
Just wed be together, she faltered.
Margaret, were always together, Sam shrugged. Take it easy. Watch your shows.
He kissed her cheek, shouldered his rucksack and left. Margaret remained, staring at the closed door.
Were always together, she repeated in her mind. Were they really? In any real sense?
Next morning she dressed early. Jeans, thick jumper, warm coat. She looked in the mirror; her cheeks burned, her eyes shone. She looked younger awake.
Im just going for a walk in the countryside, she told herself. With a new friend. Its not a crime. Just a walk.
David greeted her with takeaway coffees.
Morning, he said, handing her one. Ready for an adventure?
They drove out in his battered old Ford, music low, sharing stories. David spun tales of his travels. Margaret laughed, and felt strikingly light, as if dusted off.
The manor was broken but enchanting: crumbling columns, drifting leaves in an untended park, a cold pond. David took photos; Margaret wandered, collecting yellow leaves.
Just there, by the column, David called. Dont look at the camera, look away.
He snapped a few shots, then showed her on the screen.
See? Incredibly photogenic. The melancholy makes you profound.
Margaret gaped at the image. Windswept, dreamy was that really her?
They ambled all day. Later, they found a tiny pub, ate hot pies, drank tea, conversation growing ever more personal.
Married long? David asked.
Twenty-eight years, Margaret replied.
Happy?
She fell silent. What did happy mean? Habit? Stability?
I dont know, she said finally. I used to think so. Now now its all numb. Like dreaming while awake. I have everything, but somethings missing.
Passion, David supplied gently. That essential thrum of being alive. Youre more than a utility in someones home. You have desires.
He laid a hand over hers.
Margaret, youre remarkable intelligent, beautiful, complex. You deserve happiness. Yours.
Margaret stared at his touch, her heart hammering. She should pull away, get up, leave. But she didnt want to.
***
The next weeks passed in a fevered, shrouded daze. Margaret and David met often: at the club, at exhibitions, on walks. He gave her what was missing at home attention, compliments, conversations that dug beneath the surface.
With Sam, it was unchanged. He worked, fished, watched the news. Margaret cooked, cleaned, washed. Barely anything was said.
Mags, did you buy milk? hed ask.
Yes, shed reply.
Ta. Wherere my socks?
In the drawer. Like always.
Nothing more. No questions about how she was, or what she felt. But David asked, always and she blossomed, unfurled.
Elizabeth, of course, noticed everything.
So, youve gone and fallen for him? she grinned one day when they met in the same café.
Dont be daft, Margaret blushed. Were just friends.
Oh, friends, are we? Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Mags, youre glowing! Havent seen you like this in years. And you know what? Im properly glad. You deserve a dash of happiness.
But Im married, Margaret whispered.
And? Elizabeth shrugged. Sam barely remembers you exist. Why deny your own life? Youre not a saint, youre a living, breathing woman. If David makes you happy well, there it is.
Margaret listened, Elizabeths words rooting in her soil. Shed been thinking the same things. Im just living, she rationalised. I deserve a bit of joy.
It all changed in November. David invited her to a small city about a hundred miles from London, for a street photography festival.
Well stay overnight I booked two rooms, he said. Should be brilliant.
Two rooms. Margaret clung to those words like a lifeline. She told Sam she was going shopping with Elizabeth in a nearby town.
Alright, he nodded, eyes on his tablet. And dont spend too much.
She hovered in the hallway, wishing hed ask something else, look at her, see her. But he didnt.
David did get them separate rooms at the hotel. They spent the day at the festival, the evening in a restaurant with wine. David talked of seizing moments, of lifes brevity, refusing to put happiness on hold.
You know, Margaret, he told her, looking into her eyes, Ive met many women. But you youre different. Something untouched, something pure. Such sorrow it makes me want to drive it away.
He held her hand.
Im not pressuring you. I just want you to know you mean a lot to me.
Margarets mind reeled: from wine, from his words, from his look. When they went up to their rooms, he kissed her cheek at her door.
Goodnight, he murmured. If you want to talk, Im right next door.
Margaret shut her door, undressed, lay in unfamiliar sheets, staring at the ceiling.
Im married. I have a husband. Twenty-eight years. I cant.
When did he last kiss you for no reason? When did he say you were special?
This is betrayal.
This is living. My last chance to feel alive.
At 2 a.m. Margaret rose, threw on her dressing gown, and knocked on Davids door.
He answered straightaway, as if he too hadnt slept.
Margaret, he whispered.
She crossed the threshold.
***
Morning dawned chastening, although the wine had nothing to do with it. Margaret lay in a strangers bed beside a stranger, disbelieving. That it had happened at all.
David slept, arms flung wide. Margaret dressed quietly, slipped to her own room, and collapsed on her bed, head in her hands.
What have I done? she thought, What on earth have I done?
But on the drive back David was tender, attentive, held her hand. Gradually shame ebbed, melting into a brittle sense of happiness.
Im alive, she thought. After so long, Im really alive.
At home, Sam greeted her as usual.
Get much shopping done?
Not much, Margaret avoided his gaze. There wasnt much worth buying.
Alright. Im starving whats for dinner?
Life reverted to old grooves. By day, Margaret was Sams wife, dutifully running the house. By night she wrote to David, crept off for secret meetings. He took her to new places, gave her books, recited poetry.
With Sam, dialogue dwindled to necessities.
The boiler needs looking at at the cottage, hed say.
In spring, shed answer.
Right you are.
Silence. Nagging, endless silence.
Elizabeth preened herself.
You see? she smirked. Now youre living. Instead of rotting in that bog.
Margaret tried to reassure herself: Its Sams fault. He distanced first. He chose fishing over me. I deserve happiness.
But at night, listening to Sams breathing, she lay sleepless, feeling as though she cracked apart inside.
***
December brought wind and frost. Margaret and David were now meeting almost weekly. Hed rented a little studio to take photos, Margaret telling Sam it was for computer classes.
Sam nodded, didnt question it.
David was wonderful. Attentive, passionate, endlessly eloquent. Yet sometimes Margaret noticed how rehearsed his words began to sound. Likely she wasnt the first. Or the last. But shed gone too far to turn back now.
Mid-December, fate played its hand.
Margaret visited the chemist for Sams cold remedy. At the till, her perfume box tumbled out of her bag Moon Sonata, Davids recent gift. Delicate, heady scent.
She didnt see it fall, paid, then left.
That evening, Sam came home early. She was preparing dinner when he laid the perfume box on the counter.
This yours? he asked quietly.
Margaret turned, her heart plunging.
I yes. I found it outside, she said the first thing springing to mind.
Found it, did you? Perfume that dear, on the street?
He popped the lid, sniffed.
Margaret, Im not a fool, he said, still quietly. You think Ive not noticed? The changes in you. The constant outings. The way you look through me.
Margaret pressed herself against the cooker.
Sam, I
Who is he? Sam cut in. Who is this man?
No one, she whispered. Just a friend. We
Dont lie, he clenched the box. Dont dare lie. You slept with him, didnt you?
The silence was immense. Margaret saw something slip away in his face the old, gentle affection evaporated.
Yes, she breathed. Yes, Sam. Im sorry. I didnt mean to, but
Didnt mean to, he said bitterly. But you did. Got it.
He turned for the door.
Sam, wait, Margaret chased after him. Can we please talk? Please, let me
Explain what? he swung around, pain filling his eyes. That you slept with someone else because I dont pay enough attention? Maybe I am to blame. Maybe I got too absorbed in work and fishing, forgot to ask about your day. But Id never, never betray you. I loved you. Still do. And you youve shattered it.
Sam, please, Margaret wept. Dont leave. Lets try lets try to fix it.
I cant stay here, he said. I need space. Ill stay at Toms for a bit.
He packed swiftly. Margaret watched as he folded shirts, socks, coats.
Sam, she whispered. Dont leave me.
He zipped his bag, met her eyes.
Didnt you leave me first? he asked quietly. When you went to him?
He went, closing the door softly. The silence after him was hollow an echoing void.
***
Margaret drifted through the flat, unsure what to do. She rang Sam; no answer. Messaged: Forgive me. Please come back. Nothing.
She called David.
David, her voice trembling, Sam found out. Hes gone. I dont know what to do.
Oh, Margaret, Davids voice was kind, almost rehearsed. Im so sorry. Shall we meet? Ill help, well talk.
They met in his studio. Margaret sobbed, told her story. David embraced her, stroked her hair.
Youll be alright, he promised. It couldnt go on like that forever. You werent happy. This is your chance for a new start.
A new start? Margarets eyes were red-rimmed. What start?
Well, David hesitated, youre free now. Free to travel, create, be yourself.
And you? Margaret asked softly. Are you staying with me? Us together?
David slipped away, scratched the back of his neck.
Margaret, dear, he began carefully, I cant give you a home, or stability. Im a free spirit. I live moment to moment. What we had was beautiful, but
But what? cold fear crept over Margaret.
Im not one for tying myself down. I told you. I love freedom. I thought you just wanted a bit of that too.
Margaret stared through him. The charming words, the compliments just part of a game. She was only a guest player.
So I was just a bit of fun? she managed quietly.
No, never, David tried to clasp her hand; she pulled away. You meant so much to me. But I cant be with anyone, not really. We both needed to feel alive, and you did, didnt you?
Margaret stood.
Youre right, David, she said, voice calm, distant. I did feel alive. Now I feel shattered. By you, by me, by my idiocy.
She left, walking the street as snowflakes mingled with her tears.
***
The flat was empty, the rooms echoing her steps. Margaret switched on the light, dropped her coat, sat on the sofa, staring at the wall. At last, she called Elizabeth.
Liz, she croaked when her friend picked up. I need to talk.
They met in Maggies Café, where it all began. Elizabeth listened, nursing her cappuccino.
Well then, she said as Margaret finished, at least youve felt something. Beats shrivelling up, doesnt it?
Margaret could barely believe her ears.
Are you serious? My lifes in ruins, and you
What? Elizabeth shrugged. You chose this. I introduced you, sure, but it was your decision from there. Were grown-ups, Mags.
You pushed me, Margarets anger grew. You were always telling me Sam didnt appreciate me, that I should live for myself.
Was I wrong? Elizabeth smirked. He didnt see you. Maybe now he will. Or wont. Lifes not a neat package, darling.
Margaret stood up.
You know Liz, she hissed, I thought you were my best friend. But you were just jealous: of my steady life, my family. You wanted me as miserable as you forever searching, never finding.
Oh, do stop with the dramatics, Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
Goodbye, Elizabeth, Margaret turned and walked out.
***
A week passed. Sam didnt come home. Her calls, her messages all met with silence save a curt I need time.
She wandered the empty flat, everything suddenly too big, too quiet. Nights were sleepless, memories swirling: meeting David, the thrill, the lies told to Sam.
What have I done? What have I done?
She remembered Sam fixing the leaky tap, bringing her tea when she was ill, planting the apple tree at the cottage together. All those ordinary moments that had seemed so dull. Now shed give anything to bring them back.
New Years Eve, she couldnt take it. She went to Toms Sams friends house. Tom answered awkwardly.
You want Sam? he muttered.
Yes, please. Just five minutes.
Tom sighed, fetching Sam.
He looked worn, older. Seeing his misery pained her more than anything.
What do you want, Margaret? he asked quietly.
To say sorry. Words tumbled out. Sam, I made a terrible mistake. I lost my head. The other man he was a fantasy. You were always real. My home. Please, let me try to fix things.
Sam said nothing for a long time, then shook his head.
Mags, I dont know. When I found out, it was like I couldnt breathe. Even now, looking at you, I cant stop seeing you with him. Dont know if Ill ever be able to let it go.
I understand, Margaret sobbed. I do. Maybe, with time
Maybe, Sam interrupted. Maybe not. I really dont know. I dont know if forgiveness is possible. Or if I even want to try.
And I she wiped her eyes. I dont even know who I am anymore. Ive smashed everything home, trust, myself.
A long pause. There in the dim hallway, two people who had been married for almost thirty years, suddenly strangers.
I need to go, Sam said at last. Sorry.
He closed the door. Margaret remained on the cold landing, listening as his footsteps faded inside.
She stumbled out into the snow. All around her the city glittered for the holidays; people laughed, lights blazed. Margaret walked alone, hollowed out, emptier than ever before.
***
New Years Eve she spent on her own. Watched the countdown on telly, raised a lonely glass of sparkling wine.
To a new life, she murmured, with a crooked smile. Though what kind, I cant say.
January came. Elizabeth rang her.
Mags, you cant just hide away, Elizabeths voice was chirpy. Ive met someone new, fascinating chap. Teaches yoga. Youd love him. Shall we meet?
Margaret held the phone, silent.
Margaret, are you there? Youre being ever so quiet.
Im here, Margaret said at last.
Well? Shall we all meet up at our café, the usual spot?
Margaret closed her eyes. She saw it: the café, Elizabeth bustling with someone new, another man of the hour. The cycle threatening to repeat.
No, Liz, she said softly. I cant.
Cant what? came Elizabeths confusion.
I just cant, Margaret felt something finally break inside her. Sorry.
She hung up.
A few days later Margaret found herself alone in Maggies Café. She cradled a coffee, gazed out at the falling snow, people rushed by, lost in their own stories.
The bell rang; in walked Elizabeth, spotting Margaret.
Oh, Mags, youre here, Elizabeth plopped down, unwinding her scarf. Listen, this new man, hes brilliant yoga and meditation, calm as anything. I tell you, hes exactly what you need now. Shall I introduce you?
Margaret studied her: the bright lipstick, keen eyes, infectious energy. Within it, an emptiness the same as hers. Except Elizabeth never admitted it.
Well? Cat got your tongue? Elizabeth leaned in. You need shaking up. Sitting at home, stewing thats not living. Life moves on, love. Youve got to let it.
Margaret opened her mouth, intending to reply but couldnt. Thoughts tumbled: How often would she walk the same loop? Keep hoping another person would bring happiness? Maybe happiness had been there all along. Maybe shed thrown it away.
Margaret, Elizabeth clicked her fingers. Are you listening at all?
Margaret looked at her, long and hard a gaze heavy with loss and the bitter edge of understanding. Shed been a marionette. Searching in the wrong places. Destroyed something precious for a handful of smoke.
I hear you, she whispered.
Elizabeth waited. Margaret said nothing more. Outside, the snow kept falling, and in the silence was all the pain and regret and sudden clarity of choices that could not be undone.
Well, what do you say? Elizabeth pressed, impatient. Shall I set you up?
Margaret simply watched her, silent. And in that silence was her answer an answer she herself was just beginning to grasp.
