**The Fur Coat**
— Well, I’m off… Emily.
— Go on, then.
— I’m leaving, Emily, d’you hear?
— Just go, James, go.
Only once the door had slammed shut behind James did Emily let the tears come. She curled up in the old armchair—inherited from her grandmother—knees tucked to her chest, and wept silently, like a child afraid of being heard. She cried until she hiccupped, just like a little girl.
How was she supposed to carry on without James? Without the man she’d shared her life with all these years?
Emily stood to make dinner, then stopped. What was the point? James wasn’t here. She sank back into the chair, and the tears returned in a flood.
But then she remembered the children. Soon, their daughter Charlotte would be home from university lectures, hungry as ever. Later, their son Oliver would return from football practice. They’d need feeding. Emily forced herself up, wiped her face, and walked to the kitchen.
Thinking of her years with James, she broke down again. How? How could she live without him?
That evening, the kids burst in as usual, bickering and teasing each other. But they quickly noticed their father’s absence.
— Mum, where’s Dad? On a business trip? — asked Charlotte.
— Yeah, where is he? — Oliver chimed in.
Emily couldn’t hold back. Tears spilled over as she slumped onto a chair, sobbing uncontrollably.
— Mum, what’s wrong? Is he in hospital? — Charlotte’s voice wavered.
— No… He’s left… — Emily managed. — For good… for another woman.
— What? — they exclaimed in unison. — Mum, are you joking?
But it wasn’t a joke.
Oliver’s lip trembled. He was a tough lad, but at thirteen, still a boy. He looked helplessly between his mother and sister, on the verge of tears himself.
— Right, — Charlotte rubbed her forehead firmly. — Oliver, go wash up and do your homework. Mum, enough of this. We need to figure things out.
Charlotte was sharp, decisive. Oliver obeyed without argument.
Later, she slipped into his room.
— Crying?
He shook his head without meeting her eyes.
She hugged him, ruffling his hair.
— We’ll be fine, Ol. Hear me? We’re the family. He’s the one who’s alone. He’s worse off.
— And I’m supposed to feel sorry for him? — Oliver spat, tears falling.
— Sorry? Maybe. But we’ll be happy—happier than ever. And one day, he’ll realise what a mistake he made.
After calming her brother and mother, Charlotte shut herself in the bathroom and finally let go. How? How could their dad—the best dad in the world—do this? He wasn’t some Adonis, just a bloke with a bit of a belly, thanks to Mum’s cooking. His jokes were mediocre, only ever making her laugh. Drove an old car he fixed himself. A middle manager at a factory, modest salary.
But their family had always been happy. Charlotte had boasted to friends that her dad was the only one who never strayed. Turns out she was wrong.
She splashed cold water on her face.
Life moved on, steady but emptier. The word *Dad* vanished from their vocabulary. Now it was *him* or *Father*, and even that grew rare.
One day, Charlotte heard behind her:
— Lottie, wait!
She turned. There was James, red-faced, hustling after her in a suit that looked too tight, his tie like a noose.
Charlotte quickened her pace.
— Sweetheart, please! — he begged.
— What d’you want? — she said coldly.
— Here, take this. — He thrust a wad of notes at her. — There’s plenty. Come visit us, Lottie. Lorraine—she’s lovely, sells fur coats. We’ll get you one. And your mum, for her birthday—a proper mink! Lorraine doesn’t mind. We’re off to Greece again soon, buying more stock…
— Piss off, — Charlotte snapped.
— Where?
— Anywhere. Can’t say what I really mean—Mum raised me better… *Dad*.
James froze, as if doused in ice water. He knew money was tight. They’d lived simply, and now he’d gone and tangled himself up with Lorraine.
It started with his mate, Gary. He’d dragged James to meet a friend, and there was Lorraine. At first, he didn’t like her—too flashy, brash, built like a wardrobe. Stared at him like he was lunch. James left early, lied to Emily about working late. Felt so guilty his temperature spiked.
But Gary kept at it: *Just half an hour!* And there was Lorraine again.
— What’s the harm, Jim? She imports furs from Greece, owns two market stalls! Get Emily a proper coat, whatever she wants!
— Why would I? I’ve got Emily.
— Ah, she’s bored stiff with you. What’s it cost you? A mink for Emily—want it or not?
— Fine…
So he went. And again. And again. All for that damned coat. Didn’t even realise how he ended up in bed with Lorraine. Cried all the way home, sick with shame. Then Emily found out… and kicked him out.
Lorraine was thrilled.
That evening, Charlotte was stormy.
— Lottie, did he come to you? — Oliver mumbled.
— You too?
He nodded.
— Told him to sod off. Hate him. Traitor.
Charlotte agreed.
James was miserable.
— What’s wrong, love? — Lorraine asked.
— The kids won’t speak to me. Neither will Emily… I offered money, but they’re too proud. I know they’re struggling…
— Well, she threw you out, — Lorraine shrugged.
— She did… But how’d she know? We were so careful…
Lorraine slid off the lavish bed—posher than anything James had seen—set down her champagne flute. She drank it constantly, forced him to join, though he hated the stuff. Strawberries too, even though they made him itch.
— I told her.
— *What?*
— Just did. She didn’t believe me, so I described your birthmark… and how you cry when you—you know.
— *You* told her?! Why?!
— Duh. How else were you gonna leave her? Jim, where’re you—?
— Home. To my wife. My kids.
— She *kicked you out*, idiot!
— Doesn’t matter. I’ll beg. Emily’s soft-hearted. If she says no, I’ll sleep in the hallway.
— Jim, we bought her a *fur*—
— Keep it, Lorraine. Don’t look for me.
— Em, sweetheart…
— I’ve said all I need to, James.
— Just listen! I never meant… Wanted to get you that coat, a proper mink. Gary said, *Just humour her, she’ll sort you out*. Then she told you. I just wanted the coat… for your birthday. And you threw me out.
— Go, James.
— Still there? — Emily asked Charlotte.
— Yeah. Raining now. He’ll catch his death.
— Serves him right… A *coat*, he says. Mink. For my birthday.
— Should we let him in? — Charlotte murmured.
— Dunno… Ol? Your call. He’ll freeze out there.
Oliver sniffed, silent.
— Let’s, — Emily decided. — He’s still a person.
They called him in. Sat him at the kitchen table, steaming tea in hand, none of them meeting each other’s eyes.
— I’m sorry… Em, forgive me… Kids, Ollie, Lottie, please…
— What’d *we* do? — they muttered. — You hurt Mum.
Then they all wept, holding each other.
— Jim, what’s Greece like? — Emily asked.
— Oh, Em, — James brightened, spinning tales of places he’d barely seen.
He never spoke to Gary again. And years later, they *did* buy Emily a fur coat. Not mink—proper sable.
*Never trade love for trinkets.*
