Three New Keys
You look terribly pale. Or is it your diets again? Mum-in-laws voice rang out across the hallway, not bothering with a hello.
I was hunched over the hob in my oldest dressing gown, giving the porridge a stir, and thinking how, finally, Saturday was all mine. All of it. From eight in the morning until late at night. Graham had gone fishing with Colin from the next block and promised hed be home for tea. Id already mapped out my day in my mind: breakfast in peace, a gentle walk around Clapham Common, then back home with a book and absolutely no pressure to go anywhere or do anything. Days like this were rare. Almost unheard of.
And yet
I turned around. Rosemary Bailey was already striding into the kitchen, peeling off her coat and tossing it across the nearest chair without looking. It slid straight onto the floor. She didnt bat an eyelid.
Good morning, Rosemary, I said. My voice came out steady. Years of practice.
Morning, morning. Wheres Graham?
Hes gone fishing.
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen with a face that suggested Id just told her hed headed off to climb Everest. Fishing? He never mentioned a thing.
Probably just forgot to tell you, I said and turned back to the hob.
The porridge was bubbling away softly. I turned the heat down. Outside, the grey October sky pressed against the window, calm and windless, and just half an hour ago Id thought Id go out for a walk. The air seemed soft and properly autumnal, with that musty, leafy smell. Now, I watched the porridge turn and churn, realising my day wasnt my own anymore.
Rosemary scooped her coat up and hung it in the hall before returning to the table. She reached into her bag and produced a large Tesco bag, plonking it squarely on my wipe-clean tablecloth.
I made some pasties. Cabbage ones. Grahams favourite, isnt it?
Thank you.
Do try one, and dont pull faces.
I hadnt. I stood with my back to her, scooping out porridge into a bowl. My hands were steady, but deep inside I felt like a spring wound so tight it might snap, though outside calm. Seven years of hard-earned composure.
Join me for breakfast? I asked. Politeness automatic as breathing.
Ive already eaten, just a tea for me.
I put the kettle on and sat, picking at my porridge. Rosemary eyed my bowl critically.
‘Is that it for your breakfast? Porridge with water?’
Its with milk.
Still Did Graham at least get a proper fry-up before fishing?
No idea, Rosemary. He left at six, I was still asleep.
She shook her headone of those disapproving gestures I knew all too well. The kind that meant: what sort of wife lets her husband leave hungry?
I watched a pigeon hop along the window ledge, pecking at invisible crumbs. Living its life.
You ought to change those curtains, Rosemary said, giving my kitchen the once-over. Theyre looking grey.
I like them.
You might, but Graham mentioned he wanted new ones.
He never had. At least, not to me. Maybe to her, in some other conversation, somewhere I wasnt and would never be.
The kettle boiled. I made her tea, put it down with a sugar bowl and spoon.
Thank you, she said, and started stirring. Ring Graham, will you, let him know Im here?
Hes at a lake in the middle of nowhere, Rosemary. No signal there.
No signal? Where is this place?
Its what he told me, honestly.
Her lips pressed together. She sipped her tea, thoughtful. Glanced at the pasties.
Could you get a plate out so I can lay these out properly?
I handed her a plate. She carefully lined up the pastiesbig, golden, the scent of cabbage and pastry drifting across. On another day, with another mood, Id probably have had one.
Today, I just watched.
Tell me honestly, she said, eyes on her plate, do you and Graham even talk?
Of course.
He phones me every day. Keeps me in the loop. Youre so quiet.
What does he talk about?
She paused just long enough to seem mysterious, then started laying out another pasty. Oh, you know. That work tires him. That it’s sometimes a bit stressful at home.
I set my spoon down.
Stressful at home, I echoed. More of a statement than a question.
Well, you know, theres always a bit of tension. I can feel it.
You can feel it? When youre here a couple times a month, at best?
Im his mother. I can tell.
I got up to put my bowl in the sink, lingered at the window. A man was out walking his small ginger terrier, who tugged on the lead towards a bush. The man followed behind, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket. A peaceful scene through the drizzle-stained glass.
Elaine, Rosemary saidshed always refused to call me Ellie, as everyone else did.
Yes?
Youre not cross with me, are you?
I turned. The look she gave meId learned to read it. Not regret, just the expectation Id say: no, of course not, all’s well, so she could carry on.
No, I said. Not cross.
She nodded, satisfied, and sipped her tea. ‘Well, thats alright then. I dont want trouble, you know. I just want you two to be happy.
I know.
I was forty-eight. Graham, fifty-one. His mother, seventy-three. Wed been married seven yearssecond time for us both. Id thought people would be wiser second time round. That adults could work things out, know what works and what doesnt. Turns out, its more about the person than the marriage.
Rosemary finished her tea and stood.
Show me whats in your fridge.
Why?
She was already halfway there. To see what I can cook for Graham when hes back. He’ll come in hungry. Always does after fishing.
Rosemary.
What?
I paused, fighting an impulse to stay polite. Ill sort dinner.
She gripped the fridge handle, surprised. But Im only trying to help, Elaine.
I know. Ill manage.
Thats what you always say. But I can tell, you know. Grahams lost weight lately.
Graham eats whatever he likes, Rosemary.
Hes a man; if you dont feed him, he wont feed himself.
He doesn’t live alone.
A beat of silence. She by the fridge, me by the sink, two metres of beige lino between us. Graham and I chose that lino, years ago, when I moved in and we decided the kitchen needed a little freshen up. I picked, he agreed. Now, Rosemary reckoned it was time we changed itedges curling by the door.
Well, fine, she said at last. Suit yourself.
She returned to the table to gather her things. I thought shed leavesomething inside me loosened a littleuntil she straightened up.
Ill just wait for Graham, dear, she said, taking out her knitting. A ball of wool and needles. Settling in for the long haul. The spring inside me recoiled, tight again.
He wont be home until its late.
Thats alright. No rush.
She began to knit, perfectly at home. I watched her: the busy needles, the wool right beside her pasties, her coat, casually thrown on the chair. I picked up my mug, poured myself more tea, and went into the lounge.
I perched on the sofa, legs folded up, staring at a little framed print on the walla riverbank, meadow, old willow tree. Id bought it at the car boot sale three years ago. Something tranquil about it; Id always loved it.
From the kitchen, the clicking of knitting needles.
I texted my friend Emily: Shes back. Emily replied a minute later: Unannounced again?! I typed, Shes got keys. Emily sent an emoji, eyes squeezed shut, then: Ellie, how long are you going to let this go on? Will you ever have a proper talk with Graham?
I put my phone down.
I had tried. The first time had been a couple of years after our wedding, when I realised Rosemary didnt come to visit us, but to see Grahamin the flat that had only ever been his until I moved in. Id said: Graham, couldnt you at least warn me? Hed shrugged: shes used to just popping round; shes my mum. Id said: This is our home now. Hed said: So? Let her come. Id said: But no more just turning up. Hed brushed it off: Youre making a fuss.
The second discussion was after she came over and rearranged the spice rack. All the jars Id put there, in the order that made sense to me, in my kitchen, now all shifted. Might seem ridiculous, but it was my shelf, my spices, my system. Now it was gone.
Graham had said: You can just swap them back. Id said: It isnt about spices. He said: So whats the real problem? I couldnt explain in a way hed getor maybe I was just tired of trying.
The third time, she cleaned the whole flat while I was outbut to me it felt like a message: she could come in, do as she liked, even see my things in the bedroom, my books, my old slippers. Maybe judge them, maybe not.
Graham said: She was only trying to do something nice. I said: I know. He said: So, what’s the problem? I said: She’s got keys. He said: Its my flat. I said: I live here too. He said: I dont know what you want from me.
That stuck. I dont know what you want from me. After seven years.
Back on the sofa, I could hear Rosemary by the sink, running water, washing something; then the fridge opened, a bag rustled.
I went back into the kitchen.
She was at the chopping board, dicing onions.
What are you doing?
Making some soup, Graham loves it.
Rosemary. I did ask you not to touch anything.
Its just a soup, Elaine.
Its my kitchen. Ill decide what gets cooked in it.
Her knife paused; she looked at me, properly. For a long beat.
Your kitchen, is it?
Yes.
She gave a wry little smile, picked up the knife again. Well. If you say so.
I reached for the board, took it away from heronions scattered on the table.
Please, not today.
We were close now. I could see the fine lines on her forehead, the tension in her mouth, the glimmer of something sharp in her eyes.
Youre forbidding me to cook?
Im only asking you to respect that this is my home, too.
Grahams home. Hes lived here since he was born.
And its my home now as well, Ive lived here seven years.
She took the board back quietly, her face set. Ill talk to Graham.
Please do.
Youre being unreasonable.
Im asking for respect, thats all.
She made a face. Watch too much telly, thats your trouble, all these modern ideas.
I stepped aside, went to the window. The pigeon was long gone, the man and his terrier as well. The courtyard was empty, streaked with orange leaves.
Elaine, Rosemary said, more softly. Dont take it to heart. I mean well.
I know.
Graham droops when he doesnt get a good meal. You work all week, youre tiredlet me help.
I find time for us.
Alright. Well, let me help anyway.
She went back to the onions, undeterred, only hearing what suited her. I left her to it, went into the bedroom and shut the door. I sat on the bed, hearing her in the kitchenwater boiling, knives chopping, a pot clattering. She was making her soup, regardless.
I picked up my book and tried to read, but the words blurred. I shut the book, rang Emily.
Shes cooking her soup in my kitchen.
In your kitchen?!
Exactly.
Ellie, you HAVE to talk to Graham today. Not tomorrow, not sometimetoday, when he gets home.
Ive tried.
Youve hinted. Its not the same. Have the conversation.
Emily was right; shed known me twenty years. Shed told me three years ago: Dont hint. Say it out loud. But out loud always felt terrifying. Not because I was scared of Graham. He was a gentle man, fond of his routines, loved his mum dearly, hated conflictso much so that hed do anything to avoid it.
Emily called it childishness. I hadnt wanted to, for ages; it felt too harsh. Then I got used to the idea.
Ill do it, I said.
Promise?
Promise.
I tucked the phone away, lay back. From the kitchen wafted the smell of soupbeetroot, cabbage, something else. On any other day, it would have comforted me.
I lay in the growing dark, thinking: Im forty-eight, working as a bookkeeper for a small accountancy firm, looking after all our meals, running our life. I never asked for soup I didnt choose, or someone else deciding where the spice jars should go.
There was a hairline crack in the ceiling, up by the coving. I had memorised every inch.
About two hours later, I went and showered, stared at my face in the misty mirror. Ordinary, if tired. I wasnt pale; not like Rosemary said. Just normal.
Rosemary had set the tablethree bowls, three spoons, the pasties stacked up.
Have some, she said. Soups ready.
Thanks. Ill eat later.
Itll be cold.
Ill heat it up.
She looked at me, her feelings barely hidden.
Elaine, whats wrong?
Nothing.
Yes there is. Youve been shut in the lounge all day, wont look me in the eye. What have I actually done wrong?
I went to the fridge for some water. Took a deep breath.
Rosemary, can we talk frankly?
Go on.
You come round without warning. Every time. You come whenever you like because you have keys. I feel it, every time I come home: maybe youre already here, or have been.
But Im family.
Youre Grahams family. To me, youre his mother-in-law. Thats not quite the same.
Her back straightened.
Not the same? Its a family home.
Families communicate. They warn each other, ask if its convenient to visit.
You expect me to ask permission from my own daughter-in-law?
There it was againpermission. As if asking for my boundaries to be respected was demeaning.
A simple callElaine, Id like to come by Saturday, is that alright?is polite, not humiliating.
Im here for my son!
Who isnt home.
But you are.
Yes. And Id like to know if someone is coming to my home in advance.
Rosemary stood up, quietly tidied away her bowl, packed her bag, slipped on her coather hands were a little shaky, not with age, but with wounded pride.
Fine, she said. Fine.
Rosemary, I dont want to argue.
I heard you.
I really want us to get on, thats all.
Getting on, in your world, means ringing up first.
Giving warning, yes.
She fastened her coat, clutched the pasty bag. Theres soup left on the hob, she said at the door. The rest you can throw out.
She closed the door softlynot a slam. Somehow, that made it worse.
I was alone with the enormous pot of soup shed found in the cupboard under the pansone I barely used myself.
I ladled some into a bowl, ate in silence, watching dusk settle outside the window. The soup was honestly good. No denying it.
I washed up, slid the pot onto another ring, covered the pasties for later. I texted Emily: Ive said my bit.
And?
She left, offended.
Thats her choice. You did right.
Evening stretched ahead. Graham would be back, find soup and pasties, and Id have to explain. I could already hear him: Whyd you do this? Id say: It was necessary. Hed say: She was only helping. Id say: I know. Hed say: So, whats wrong?
I sat back down, book in hand. This time, the silence let me read.
Graham got home at seven. I heard him fumble with keys, likely his tackle box, then clatter into the kitchen.
Oh, soup! Mums been here?
I appeared in the doorway.
She was, yes. Sit down, Ill heat it up.
He shrugged off his jacket, hung it, eager glance at the stoveGraham was a big, slightly stocky bloke, the kind who celebrated good times with easy laughter and folded in on himself when things went off. Seven years, and I knew the precise timbre of his moods.
I heated the soup, doling it out. He beamed at the sight of the pasties. Ohcabbage! Did you try one?
I did.
Nice?
Theyre good.
He ate; I sipped my tea. He chattered about fishingColins massive bream, his own lack of luck, the glory of the autumn air. I nodded, waited.
Mum seemed upset? he asked, halfway through his bowl.
A touch.
You spoke to her?
I did. Graham, I think we need to talk.
He set his spoon down, face instantly guarded.
About what?
Keys.
He hesitated.
Elaine
Graham. Im asking you to take her keys back.
Shes my mum.
I know. Which is why she should phone first. Thats normal. Thats respectful to us.
She comes to see us.
She turns up any old time, even when youre out, goes into the bedroom, rearranges things, cooks without asking.
But shes just making dinner. Whats bad about that?
Graham, just listen for once. Not to her. To me. I never feel completely at home. I always expect her to turn up. I walk into the kitchen and check what shes moved. That isnt right.
He leaned back, arms folded. Youre making a mountain out of a molehill.
I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them.
You always say that.
Because you always Mum does one thing and you
What? I do what?
Make it into this big deal.
Graham. She lets herself in, with keys, to our home. Touches my things. Cooks in my kitchen with no word to me. Its not just a big deal, its a pattern.
A pattern, is it? he said, in that half-worn, half-cross tone. What am I expected to do? Ban her from coming over?
Just ask her to ring first.
Shes old, Elaine. Shes used to her ways.
Shes seventy-three, not ancient. She can use a phone.
You want her keys.
Please, yes. Im asking.
He got up, poured some water, stared out the window.
Elaine, he said eventually, still looking out, you know shes on her own. Dad died eight years ago. Im all she has.
I know.
But giving her a key its like a comfort. Helps her feel less lonely.
There are other ways not to be lonely, Graham. Call. Visit when invited. A key to someone elses home is not an antidote to lonelinessits control.
Someone elses? he swung around. So its not her home anymore?
I mean its our home. Not hers.
MY home, he snapped.
There it was. The trump card. The reminder of my status.
Yes, I said quietly. Yours.
We sat in silence.
Im not taking her keys back, he said.
Alright.
Alright? He was surprised.
Means I know where I stand now.
Elaine. Dont be like this.
Like what?
Cold.
Im just clear, finally.
On what?
I picked up my mug.
That youve made your choice.
I havent chosen. I just dont want to hurt my mum.
I know. And its fine to care about your mum. But somehow, its always OK to upset me.
No one is upsetting you.
Graham, do you ever ask yourself what its like, knowing anyone can walk in any time with a spare key? You dont ask because you know, and you dont want to actually hear the answer.
I stood and left for the other room. He didnt follow.
I sat, listening as he moved around the kitchen, quietly dialled the phone. Muffled, but I could still make out, Mum, dont get upset Elaines just like that… You know youre always welcome Come whenever you want…
Come whenever you want.
I sat, listening. Somewhere deep down, all was still. Not pain. Just quiet. Like a room when the lights go out.
He came in eventually.
Elaine.
Yes?
We dont have to do this
Do what?
Sit in total silence.
He sat beside me. I didnt move away. Watched my own hands.
Did you call her? I asked.
I did. Put her right.
Is she upset?
A bit.
Right.
Elaine, he said, catching my hand, I do get its awkward for you. But cant you just give a bit?
Be gentle, you mean?
Shes elderly. She worries.
Graham, Ive been accommodating for six years. I was always gentle, always understanding and patientalways saying, Never mind, she means well, Ill put up with it. But nothing ever changed. She still comes unannounced, still rules my kitchen, still tells you things are tense at home. And you still say: come whenever you like, Mum.
He let go of my hand.
Youre not willing to compromise.
Im tired of being the only one who does.
So what? You want a divorce?
He said the word easily, almost carelessly. Like he expected me to flinch. Or back down. Or say: No, heavens, not that.
I said nothing.
Elaine. Im asking.
I heard you.
Well?
Im not going to answer a question youre using as a threat.
Im not threatening you.
Youre just using it to end the conversation, so everything stays as it is.
He stood and paced to the window.
You always make this so complicated.
Maybe.
All over a set of keys.
Not over the keys. Over what the keys stand for. But you dont want to talk about that.
I am talking.
You say, Shes old, alone, youre exaggerating. Thats not talking. Thats telling me to put up and shut up.
He fell silent.
I dont know what you want from me.
Seven years. He was saying it again, after seven years.
I stood, grabbed my purse, my keys, threw on a jacket.
Where are you going? he asked.
For a walk.
Elaine
I need some air.
I left. On the stairs, it was quiet and smelt of cooking from upstairs. I went down, out into the damp night.
It was properly dark, lamplight glinting on the pavement, leaves shining slick and black. I wandered towards the parkbenches, paths, quiet and still.
I wandered, not thinking about Graham or Rosemary. Only myself. I was out there, in mid-October, not wanting to go home. That was new. Id dreaded arguments before, awkward talks, his shut-off face. But Id always wanted to go home. Because home is home.
Tonight, I didnt want to go back.
I stopped by a bench but didnt sitthe wood was too wet. I watched the trees. They stood, dark and silent and utterly indifferent.
I took out my phone and texted Emily: He told her she can come whenever she wants.
Emily rang half a minute later.
Tell me everything, she said.
So I dida short version. She listened quietly.
Elaine, she said after a pause, can I be blunt? Youll hate me for this butlook, you still rent, essentially. Its his flat. Unless its both of yours, youll always be the lodger. A long-term one, nice and polite, but still a lodger.
I know.
No, you dont. If you did, youd have sorted this ages ago. Elaine, hell never take her keys. Because it isnt about Rosemary. Its about the flat being hisa safety net for him, not for you. If push comes to shove, he has somewhere to go back to. You, on the other hand, dont.
I was silent.
Ellie?
Im listening.
What will you do?
I dont know yet. Not sure.
Good. Dont rush; just THINK.
I wandered for a while before heading back. Not straight homeI took a detour through the next estate, down past the row of shops. A hardware store was still open. I walked in.
That hardware smellrubber and paint and metal. Shelves of tools, odds and ends. I wasnt even sure why I went in, but then I saw it.
Door locks. Cylinders, mounting plates. I stoppeda three-key Yale lock, solid build. Checked the price£31.50.
I stood there for a good while. The man behind the counter flicked through his phone, not bothered.
Finally, I picked up the lock and paid.
At home, Graham lounged in front of the telly. Whereve you been?
Walking.
For ages.
Hmm.
I took the bag into the kitchen, put it on a chair. Poured some water, drank it, hid the lock under the sink.
Graham appeared. Whatd you buy?
Just things we needed.
He nodded, poured himself tea, gazed out the window.
Elaine, he said. Ive thought while youve been out.
And?
I appreciate youre uncomfortable, butMums not going to change. She is who she is. Can we just accept that?
Accept it.
Yes. She turns up, so what? At least theres soup and pasties. He tried a little smile.
Graham. Im not accepting it.
The smile faded.
Then I dont know what else I can say.
You dont need to SAY anything, Graham. You need to DO something. Talk to your mum. For real. Not soothe her, talk. Set rules. Dont just let her rule the place.
Shell be so upset.
Shes old.
You hear yourself? Why does being old mean do what you want?
Thats not
What then?
He set his mug down. Stared at me.
If youre so unhappy here, maybe Maybe you should think whether its right for you to be here at all.
Are you saying I should leave?
Im saying, just think about it.
Inside, something frozenot broke, not fell, just froze, like a puddle turning to ice overnight.
You think I should leave, then?
Im saying, consider what you really want.
Alright. Ill think.
I took my mug off to the bedroom. Lay in the dark. Listened as he watched telly, then pottered about and came to bed. He asked if I was sleeping. No, I said.
Dont sulk, Elaine.
Im not sulking. Im thinking.
About?
What you said.
He rolled over and, as usual, was asleep in seconds.
In the morning, Graham left early, off to the allotment with Colin. See you tonight, he said. I nodded.
I drank my coffee in silence, then fetched the bag from under the sink, set it on the table and looked at it for a long while.
Then I texted our neighbour downstairs, Victor. He was a retired builder, used to help out with odds and ends in the building.
Hi Victor, could you spare half an hour today? I need a new lock on my front door.
Ten minutes later: I can pop round after eleven. Got a lock or shall I bring one?
Got one. See you then.
I finished my coffee, washed up. A pigeon was back on the ledgemaybe the same one, maybe not.
Victor turned up at noon, toolbox in hand.
Morning, Elaine. Show us the lock.
I handed it over. Good choicesolid, reliable. Not proper British, mind, but reliable. Give us half an hour or so.
He worked away by the door, muttering to himself, singing occasionally as he fitted the new lock, old one out, new one in.
I made tea and thought: Im changing a lock in a flat that isnt truly mine. Ill have three new keys. No more spare Im obliged to hand out.
Done! he called from the hall.
I came out.
Three keystry them.
I did; the lock turned smooth as butter.
Perfect.
Quality, that, he said, tucking the old bits away. Want the old one?
No, thanks.
I paid him, thanked him, saw him out. Shut the new door, hard. For a second, I leant against it.
I called Emily.
Ive changed the lock.
She paused.
Does Graham know?
Not yet. Hell be back tonight.
Elaine, are you sure? This isnt just about keys now.
I know.
Are you ready?
I want my home to be MY home.
Its his, technically.
I know. Thats why Im thinking about the next step.
Another pause.
Youre thinking divorce.
Yes.
A long sigh.
Right. Youll want a solicitor. Ive got someone for you.
I wrote down the number.
Emily Funny thing, Im not frightened. Should I be? But Im not.
Thats not strange. It means you made the decision a long time ago, deep down.
Maybe that was true. I didnt know. But I stood there, in the hall of ourhis, mine, not-quite-ours flat, holding three new keys, staring at the new lock.
Graham came home just after six. I heard him on the stairs, heard his key scrape, then jar in the lock, stop.
Again. No luck. And again.
He rang the bell.
I stood just inside, waited a moment before unlocking.
Elaine, the locks stuck.
I changed it, I said.
Silence.
What?
I changed the lock, Graham.
Let me in.
I opened up. He came in, still clutching his fishing kit, baffled. You changed the lock. In MY flat.’
Yes.
Why?
I stepped aside, let him in. He took off his coat, moved slowly and deliberately, as if thinking about something far away.
Elaine. Explain yourself.
I went into the kitchen. He followed.
I changed the lock because I cant live with people coming and going, uninvited, anymore.’
‘This is my flat.’
‘You made that pretty clear yesterday.’
‘Elaine!’ His tonea mix of confusion and something close to fearI hadnt heard in years. ‘I could throw legal rights at you…’
‘Go for it.’
‘So, Rosemarys keys dont fit now.’
‘No.’
‘Did you think Id be okay with this?’
‘I knew you wouldnt. But I did it anyway.’
He sat down heavily, as if his legs had given way.
‘Youre serious, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want a divorce.’
Not a question, this time.
‘Yes.’
‘All over keys.’
‘Not the keys. Seven years of conversations where you always picked your mother. When you told me to just accept it. When you said maybe I didnt belong here. Ive thought about it, and you were right. Not in the way you meantbut right.’
He stared at me for a long time.
‘You’re not joking.’
‘No.’
‘Elaine. Can’t we have a proper talk about this?’
‘We’ve been talking for seven years. I’m tired of talking.’
‘But you can’t just’
‘I didn’t “just” do anything. It took years. You just never wanted to see it.’
He ran his hands over his face, stood, paced the tiny kitchen.
‘So what now?’
‘We sort things out formally. Its your flat. I want nothing from you. Ill take only whats mine. Ill need time to find somewhere.’
‘You’ve already begun all this.’
‘Probably.’
He sat. Looked at the table.
‘My mum’
‘Call her. Thats your right.’
I left him in the kitchen. In the lounge, dusk was settling; the streetlight outside flickered on. I put my book in my handbag, began quietly gathering up a few of my things.
Through the wall, his voice, low and urgent. He was telling her.
The city outside carried oncars, someones child shouting in the yard, doors slamming.
Three new keys lay on the hall shelf. His old key beside them, useless now.
He came to the doorway.
Elaine. Are you sure?
I looked at him, with his tired, open face, his slumped shoulders, his hands deep in his pockets. After seven years, I knew everythinghis habits, fears, and his mother-love, vast enough to shut out everything else.
Im sure.
He nodded, slow and defeated. Alright then. If youre sure.
And the word, alright, hung there between us, amid the new lock and three new keys and my bag on the hook. I didnt know what it meantacceptance, or exhaustion, or something else I had yet to name.
I picked up my bag.
Ill stay at Emilys tonight.
Okay.
I shut the door behind me. The new lock clicked into place, quiet as a whisper. Good qualityjust as Victor said.
Elaine, he called behind me.
I turned.
Will you call?
I looked at him for a long moment.
I will, I said. Ill call.
And I started down the stairs toward the autumn night.
