No, really, Alice, said Harriet, eyeing her faded cotton dress as though it belonged in some dusty museum corner. Do you actually wear this old rag? With your husband seeing you?
Alice instinctively tugged at her hem. The dress was soft, comfortable, worn in by countless washes.
I like it she muttered.
You ‘like’ all sorts of things, piped in Emily, her eyes glued to her phone. You like staying home, making stews, knitting doilies. Do you realise youre wasting your best years? You should be living, not just existing.
Harriet nodded, her big gold hoop earrings swaying with each enthusiastic movement. Last night, Tom and I went to that new place in Soho. Absolutely divine! You probably just fried up potatoes again, didnt you?
Alice had, in fact, fried potatoes. With mushrooms, the way Michael liked. Hed come home exhausted, eaten two helpings, then dozed against her shoulder in front of the telly. Alice didnt mention any of this; there was no point. Her friends would never understand.
Years ago, the three of them had married within months of one another. Alice remembered it well: her own modest registry ceremony; Harriets grand affair with live music and fireworks; then Emilys wedding, where every guest received a personalised keepsake crafted by hand. Even back then, Alice noticed the exchanged glances when she talked about spending her honeymoon at Michaels parents cottage in Devon. Harriet had scoffed into her champagne; Emily had rolled her eyes so dramatically it was impossible to ignore.
Since then, these little jibes became the backdrop of their gatherings. Alice learned to ignore them, though something always pinched inside whenever they came up.
Harriet was the sort of woman who could walk into a room and command attentionboisterous laughter, sweeping gestures, and endless tales about who said what and who looked at whom. Their flat with Tom had become a hub for friends, colleagues, acquaintances: people came and went, leaving behind smudged glasses and red wine stains on the pale carpet.
Were having about fifteen people over on Saturday, shed announce on the phone. Come by! Toms doing roast beef.
Alice would politely decline. Michael valued quiet after a long workweek, not a kitchen crowded with strangers.
Well, stay in your little burrow then, Harriet would retort, her tone brushing close to pity.
Tom had supported Harriet for a whilehelping set the table, joking with guests, patiently cleaning after them. Alice would see him at those rare gatherings she attended: tired eyes, tight smile, robotic gestures. Hed pour wine, laugh on cue, but his gaze always drifted, searching for something elsewhere.
Tom, why so glum? Harriet would pinch his cheek in front of everyone. Smile, or theyll think Im starving you!
Tom would grin, guests would laugh, and Alice would wonder how long someone could wear a mask before it fused with their faceor until they were tempted to tear it off, skin and all.
After ten years, the mask finally cracked. Tom left for a colleaguea quiet woman in accounting who, rumour had it, baked him pastries for lunch and never raised her voice. Harriet found out last; the office had been whispering for weeks.
He left me, Harriet sobbed over the phone, and Alice could hear crashing and banging in the background. Ungrateful sod! I gave him my best years! And he just walked away!
Alice listened quietly. What could you say? That Tom had spent a decade falling asleep to strangers laughter and waking to others chatter? That a home isnt meant to be a perpetual festival?
After the divorce, it turned out their flat was mortgaged, with debts piling up like a stack of boarding passes. Harriet was left alone clearing the financial wreckage, and her hearty laughter grew rare.
Meanwhile, Emily was building her perfect life empire. Her social media page overflowed with photos: restaurants, boutiques, seaside holidays. Everything was a flawless shot with flawless makeup and captions about happiness and gratitude to the universe. Dennis hovered in the backgrounda blurry shape, quietly funding the glossy façade.
Look, Emily thrust her phone at Alice. Jessicas husband bought her a necklace from Tiffanys. Mine always brings rubbish.
Maybe he likes picking things himself, Alice suggested.
Emily gave her an odd look. No, thanks. I sent him a list. He can choose from there.
Alice stayed silent. Yesterday, Michael had surprised her with a book shed mentioned wanting to read. Hed found it in a tiny bookshop near the station, wrapped it himself in brown paper. Alice didnt share thisEmily would only laugh at such poverty.
Dennis kept up for five yearsworking late, taking freelance jobs, trying to reach whatever new standard Emily set. And then he met a shop assistant at a bookshopdivorced, with a child, no polished nails or designer bags. She saw Dennis as enough, just as he was. No requirements.
The divorce was quick and messy. Emily demanded everything, but got halfby law, not by desire. By then, their budget was gutted: spa memberships, beauty treatments, endless shopping trips. No savings remained.
How am I supposed to live? Emily wept in a café, dabbing at her cheeks with a napkin. On what?
Alice sipped her coffee and thought about how, in all these years, Emily had never once asked about her own life, or about how Michael was doing. Any questions always orbited the sun of Emily herself.
Both friends suddenly found themselves in similar straits: no husbands, no money, no old comforts. Harriet took on a second job to pay off debts. Emily downsized and stopped posting pictures.
Alice simply carried on as she always had. She made Michael dinner, asked about his day, listened to worries and supplier problems. She didnt demand gifts, start arguments, or compare him to other men. She was just therereliable as a houses wall, warming as a kitchen lamp.
Michael noticed. One day, he came home with a folder and laid it on the table in front of Alice.
Whats this?
Half the business. Its yours now.
Alice stared a long while at the paperwork, not daring to touch it.
Why?
Because youve earned it. Because I want you safe. Because none of this would exist without you.
A year later, he bought a flatbright, spacious, with wide windowsand put it in her name. Alice cried into his shoulder, and Michael stroked her hair, repeating that she was his treasure. His quiet refuge.
Old friends began dropping by for tea. Sparingly at first, then more and more. They sat on the new sofa, stroked silky cushion covers, eyed the paintings on the walls. Alice caught the expressions on their faces: puzzlement, embarrassment, and barely masked envy.
How did you get all this? Harriet glanced around the lounge.
Michael gave it to me.
For no reason?
For no reason.
Her friends exchanged glances. Alice poured their coffee and said nothing.
During one visit, Harriet snapped, setting her cup down so hard that coffee dripped onto the saucer. She blurted,
Tell me. Why? Why did we lose everything, and yousuch a boring little mouseget to keep your happiness?
A hush fell over the room. Emily stared out the windowpretending indifference, but fiddling nervously with a ring; fake silver, not the old diamond.
Alice could have explained. She could have talked about patience. About caring for details. About how true happiness in marriage isnt a public spectacle, but patient, daily work. About how loving someone is listening, noticing, protectingnot demanding, but giving.
But why bother? For twenty years, those friends barely saw her except as background. For twenty years, their advice was live brighter, dont be dull. For twenty years, theyd never heard anything but themselves.
Guess I just got lucky, Alice smiled.
After that visit, her friends came by less and less, and finally stopped altogether. Their envy overpowered the friendship, the shared past, even common sense. It was easier to walk away than admit theyd misjudged everything.
Alice didnt grieve. Amazingly, the emptiness left by those relationships filled up with a sort of peaceful clarityas if shed finally taken off tight shoes and could at last breathe freely.
Ten more years passed. Alice turned fifty-four, and life was good. Grown children, a grandchild, Michaelwho still brought her books wrapped in brown paper. She heard from an old acquaintance that Harriet had never remarried, was working several jobs, and frequently complained of her health. Emily had been through three men, but each ended in the same way: endless drama, grievances, demands.
Alice listened to the news with no sense of triumph. She simply listened, and thought how sometimes its the quiet mice who find real happinessunnoticed by others, priceless to themselves.
She switched off her phone and went to make dinner. Michael had promised to get home early and wanted fried potatoes with mushrooms for tea.
