**A Train to a New Life**
Emily woke and listened. The silence in the flat told her Nicholas wasn’t home. She stretched, then padded to the kitchen. A note lay on the table: *”Sorry, forgot to mention. Be back by lunch. At work.”*
She smirked, crumpled the paper, and tossed it into the bin. She’d long suspected Nicholas was seeing someone. He was never home. Their conversations—when they happened—were hollow. Their daughter had married an army officer and moved to the base where he was stationed. Just the illusion of a family now.
Her phone rang. *Margaret.*
“What are you up to?” asked her oldest friend, the one who’d known her since school.
“Nothing. Just got up.”
“Listen, it’s gorgeous out—spring sunshine! Fancy a bit of shopping? I need something pretty. Please say you’re free?”
“Completely. Nicholas is at work.”
“On a weekend?” Margaret scoffed. “Right, get dressed properly. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” The line died.
Emily put the kettle on and headed to the bathroom. She loved shopping with Margaret, who had an uncanny eye for fashion. While Emily floundered in indecision, Margaret would pluck the perfect dress from the racks like magic.
She’d taught Emily never to shop looking “frumpy”—sales assistants treated you differently if you carried yourself well. Funny, but it worked. They never left empty-handed.
Emily touched up her makeup, dressed, and gave herself an approving nod in the mirror. Retail therapy was just what she needed.
Ten minutes later, Margaret called—she was outside.
“Hi. Anything specific you’re after?” Emily asked, sliding into the passenger seat of Margaret’s Land Rover.
“Nope. Just heard they’ve marked down last season’s stock. Spring’s here—can’t you feel it?”
“Nicholas will kill me. We’re saving for holiday…”
“He won’t. Snip the tags, ditch the receipts, halve what you say you spent.”
“Easy for you. I’ll end up spending double.”
Margaret smirked. “I’ve got a foolproof trick for slipping things past husbands.”
“Oh?” Emily perked up.
“You’ll see.”
Margaret was *formidable*—not overweight, but statuesque, with curves that turned heads. Thick dark hair, full lips, piercing brown eyes. Men noticed her.
Emily was her opposite—petite, slender, with wavy blonde hair and green eyes. In jeans, she could pass for a girl half her age. Next to Margaret, she felt small. Unseen.
Sales assistants flocked to Margaret, offering their best. Emily? They barely glanced at her, leaving her flustered, refusing help, fleeing shops empty-handed.
Two hours in, laden with glossy bags, Emily groaned. “That’s enough. Nicholas will skin me alive.”
“Oh, come *on*.” Margaret tugged her toward lingerie.
“No! He won’t speak to me for a week if I splurge here.”
“Look at this lace! This burgundy set would suit you.” Margaret held up a breathtaking bra. “Maybe a negligee… No, too obvious.”
“Who’ll even see it under my clothes? And it’s so expensive. Not happening.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “Lingerie isn’t for *under* clothes. It’s for *no* clothes. Light a fire under that man. With your figure? *Take* it.” She marched to the till.
“My feet are killing me. Let’s sit somewhere. I’ve only had coffee today.” Emily hesitated. “Margaret… I think Nicholas is cheating.”
“Because he’s ‘working’ on a Saturday?”
“It’s not just that. I’ve had this feeling—”
“Pub’s here. Let’s talk inside.”
They took a window table. Waiting for their order, Emily scanned the room. Two tables over, a man sat with his back to her—same haircut, same cream jumper. *Her* Christmas gift to Nicholas. But why wear it to “work”? His office was clear across town.
She dismissed it—until he turned.
Her stomach lurched. *Nicholas.*
She froze like a kid caught misbehaving. But he hadn’t spotted her.
“You’ve seen a ghost?” Margaret murmured.
“*Shh.* That’s Nicholas. Let’s leave before he sees us.”
“And why should *you* hide? *He’s* the one lying. Dressed like he’s on a date. Probably waiting for—oh, look. He’s checking his watch. Still think you’re imagining things?”
Emily stood.
“Where are you—?”
“I’ll just say hello.”
She slid into the chair opposite him. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Nicholas blanched.
“Working hard?” Emily smiled coldly. “Or is *this* what you call work now?”
“*You’re* the one who—”
“We’ve been shopping. Needed a break. Margaret’s over there.” She waved.
Nicholas didn’t turn.
“Waiting for someone? You keep checking your watch. Should I leave?”
He rallied, attacking. “How much did you *spend*? We agreed—no shopping before holiday.”
“Relax. I was sensible. Need *something* to wear abroad, don’t I?” To her surprise, she felt calm. Knowing was better than suspicion.
His phone buzzed. He flipped it facedown.
“Why do you *do* that?” Emily demanded. “At home, the loo—always hiding your screen. What’s on there you can’t show me?”
“Habit.”
“New one, then.” She reached for the phone. He snatched it away.
Just then, a young woman passed—stopping near their table. She sat nearby. Nicholas’s glance at her was fleeting, but Emily caught it.
“Your date’s here.” A waitress appeared, grinning at Nicholas. “Ready to order?”
“*Already* ordered, darling?” Emily’s fingers itched to hurl the table’s vase at him. Her worst fears confirmed. “Five minutes?” she asked the waitress, who nodded and vanished.
“That her? The one you’re waiting for?” Emily nodded toward the girl. “Pretty. Twenty-five, max. Need someone young to feel good about yourself?”
“Stop. We’ll talk at home.”
“What about *lunch*? She must be hungry. *I* can’t spend, but you can play sugar daddy?”
She bit back a scream. Margaret was flailing for attention, but Emily ignored her.
“How long?” Her voice was steel. “Six months? That’s when you started hiding your phone. Admit it. We’ve been together *decades*—give me that much.”
“Christ, Em, you’re paranoid! I dropped off papers for a client and stopped for coffee—”
“Liar.” She stood, but the waitress returned, unloading plates. One had a silver cloche.
“Enjoy,” she chirped.
“Coffee, was it?”
Nicholas moved to remove the plate, but Emily lifted the cloche first.
A velvet ring box sat on the china.
“When were you planning to tell me you’re divorcing me?”
“*Later*—”
“You don’t *have* a home. Pack your things tomorrow. *Bon appétit.*” She walked out.
Margaret caught her on the pavement.
“Em, the car’s the *other way*! I’m not chasing you in heels—it’s icy!”
Emily wordlessly helped load bags into the Land Rover.
“If we hadn’t stopped there, I’d still be blind.” Her voice broke. “I *knew*. But I buried it. Scared to lose him. Lose *us*. But there *is* no ‘us.’”
“Em, slow down. She’s *young enough to be your daughter*. Maybe it’s just a fling. Men are—”
“He took her to *Edinburgh* three months ago. A stranger texted me a photo—them by his car. He swore she just wanted to make her boyfriend jealous. And I *believed* him. Now *this*.”
She trembled. “What do I *do*? How do I…?”
She yanked a bag from the car and dumped its contents onto the pavement.
“Bloody hell.” Margaret gathered the clothes and hugged her as Emily sobbed.
“Enough tears. Let’s go.”
At home, Margaret poured brandy—then another. Emily stopped crying and stormed to the wardrobe, flinging Nicholas’s clothes into suitcases. Overflow spilled into carrier bags. She tossed in his razor, toothbrush—
“Good riddance. Never liked him,” Margaret muttered, hefting bags to the hall.
“Right. Em, I’ve got to go. Get some sleep. I’ll call tomorrow.”
Oddly, after she left, Emily slept.
She woke to light from the kitchen. Nicholas sat slumped on the sofa.
“Take your things and *leave*,” she rasped.
“Em, let’Nicholas hesitated, but as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, he finally picked up his bags, stepped out the door, and left Emily to a silent house—and the quiet beginning of a life she never expected, but one she would learn to claim as her own.
