The Train to a New Life
Emily woke and listened. The silence in the flat told her Richard wasn’t home. She stretched, then wandered to the kitchen. A note lay on the table: *Sorry, forgot to mention last night. Working till lunch.*
She snorted, crumpled the paper, and tossed it into the bin. She’d long suspected Richard was seeing someone—always out, conversations reduced to mumbled necessities. Their daughter had married and moved away with her husband to his army posting. What was left of their family? Just the shell of one.
Her phone rang. Margaret.
“What are you up to?” asked the only true friend she’d had since school.
“Nothing. Just got up.”
“Listen, it’s glorious outside—proper spring sunshine. Fancy a shopping trip? I’m itching for something colourful. Please tell me you’ve no plans?”
“None. Richard’s at work.”
“On a weekend? Right, get dressed properly. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” Margaret hung up.
Emily filled the kettle and headed to the bathroom. She loved shopping with Margaret, who had an uncanny eye for quality. While Emily hesitated over endless racks, Margaret plucked the perfect dress like a magician conjuring doves.
She’d taught Emily never to shop in scruffs—dress like a wealthy woman, and sales assistants treated you like one. Oddly, it worked. They never left empty-handed.
After touching up her makeup, Emily checked the mirror. Happy enough. Retail therapy was just what she needed.
Ten minutes later, Margaret called from outside.
“Hello. Anything in particular you’re after?” Emily asked, sliding into the passenger seat of her friend’s Mini Cooper.
“Nope. New stock’s coming in, last season’s stuff is on sale. Spring, Em! Can’t you feel it?”
“Richard will kill me. We’re saving for the holiday—”
“He won’t. Cut the tags, ditch the receipts, halve the price when you tell him.”
“Right, so spend double. Clever.”
“I’ve got foolproof ways to distract a husband.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“You’ll see.”
Margaret was statuesque—not plump, but broad-shouldered, full-chested, with a waist that dipped dramatically. Dark, expressive eyes, pillowy lips, thick chestnut hair. Heads turned when she walked.
Emily was the opposite—petite, slender, with wavy blonde hair and green eyes. In jeans, she could pass for a girl half her age. Beside Margaret, she felt like a nervous child.
Shop assistants fawned over Margaret, offering their best stock, which she accepted with regal amusement. Emily? They spoke down to her, and she’d panic, refuse help, then flee.
Two hours later, laden with branded bags, they left another boutique.
“Enough—Richard’ll murder me for just this,” Emily groaned.
“Come on.” Margaret tugged her toward lingerie.
“No! He won’t speak to me for a week.”
“Look at this lace! Raspberry would suit your hair.” Margaret held up an exquisite bra. “A matching robe… No, too much.”
“Who’ll see it under clothes? And it’s expensive. Not happening.”
“After all my lessons—lingerie isn’t for under dresses! It’s for *evenings*. Make him notice what he’s got. With your figure? It’s criminal not to. Take it.” Margaret marched to the till.
“I’m knackered. Let’s sit somewhere. Only had coffee this morning,” Emily said. “I think Richard’s cheating.”
“Because he’s working weekends?” Margaret sounded sceptical as they neared a café.
“I’ve suspected for ages—”
“Here we are.” Margaret cut her off.
They took a window table. While waiting, Emily scanned the room. Two tables over, a man sat with his back to them—same haircut as Richard, same white jumper. She’d gifted it to him at Christmas. Why would he wear it to work? And how was he here? His office was across town.
She dismissed it—until he turned his head.
No mistake. It was Richard.
Fear prickled her skin, childish and sharp, but he hadn’t seen her.
“You’ve seen a ghost?” Margaret murmured.
“Shh. That’s Richard. Let’s go before he spots us.”
“So what? *He* should be sweating. You said he’s working—across town, yeah? Dressed for a date, checking his watch. Still think it’s nothing?”
Emily stood.
“Where are you going?” Margaret grabbed her wrist.
“I’ll talk to him. If he sees us first, it’ll be worse.”
She approached his table and sat.
“Hello.”
Richard startled. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping with Margaret. Needed a break.” She waved at her friend. Richard didn’t turn.
“Waiting for someone? You keep checking the time. Mind if I join you?”
He recovered, launching his usual defence. “How much did you spend? We agreed—”
“Relax. I was reasonable. Can’t go on holiday naked.” Oddly calm. They said the truth hurt less than doubt.
Richard’s phone buzzed. He flipped it facedown.
“Why do you do that? At home, in the bathroom—hiding something?”
“Habit.”
“New habit. Let me see.” She reached for it. He snatched it away.
A young woman passed, lingering near their table before sitting nearby. Richard glanced at her—too quick, but not quick enough.
“Your date’s here.” Emily nodded toward her. “Ready to order?” A waitress appeared, winking at Richard.
“Already ordered, *darling*?” Emily fought the urge to hurl the vase of fake flowers at him. Her worst fear, confirmed. “Five minutes, please?”
The waitress vanished.
“That her? The one you’re waiting for? Pretty.” Emily motioned to the neighbouring table. “Twenty-five, max. Losing confidence, are we?”
“Stop. We’ll talk at home.”
“What about lunch? She must be hungry. I can’t spend, but you can play charity?”
Her voice stayed steady. Margaret waved frantically, ignored.
“How long? Six months? That’s when you started hiding your phone. Admit it. After all these years—just be honest.”
“Em, you’re mad. What affair? I dropped papers for a client and stopped for coffee—”
“Let’s ask her.” She stood, but the waitress returned with a tray. One plate had a silver cloche.
Richard moved to remove it. Emily lifted the lid.
Inside: a velvet ring box.
“When were you going to tell me you’re leaving?”
“Not here.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You’ve got no home left. Pack your things tomorrow. Enjoy your meal.” She walked out.
Margaret caught her on the pavement.
“Emily! The car’s that way. I can’t run in heels—it’s icy!”
They loaded the bags.
“If we hadn’t stopped, I’d never have known. I *knew*, but I buried it. Didn’t want to lose him, lose *us*. But he’s already gone.” She sobbed in the car.
“Em, slow down—she’s young enough to be his daughter! Maybe it’s just a fling. Men are—”
“Remember his trip to Edinburgh three months ago? He took *her*. A photo came—some random number. He said she wanted a picture to make her boyfriend jealous. I *believed* him. And now—that ring…”
Her hands shook. “What do I do? How do I—?” She flung a bag open, scattering clothes onto the kerb.
“You daft cow.” Margaret gathered them, then held her as she wept.
“Enough tears. Let’s go home.”
At the flat, Margaret poured brandy—then more. Emily stopped crying, yanked Richard’s clothes from the wardrobe. A suitcase wasn’t enough; she stuffed them into bags, tossing in his razor, toothbrush.
“Good riddance. Never liked him.” Margaret helped stack them by the door.
“Done. I’ve got to go—mine’ll wonder where I am. Sleep. I’ll call tomorrow.”
Strangely, Emily did sleep. She woke to light spilling from the kitchen. Richard sat slumped on the sofa.
“Take your things and *leave*.” Her voice was raw.
“Em, please. I got carried away. Thought it’d fizzle out. But she’s pregnant. I can’t walk away.”
“*Carried away*? Get *out*!” She hurled a cushion, then collapsed, weeping.
She didn’t hear him go.
Days blurred. The ache didn’t fade. Emily drifted through the empty flat, lost. She almost called him—stopped herself. Margaret learned he’d rented a place—the girl wasn’t local.
She remembered painting these walls with RichardAs the train pulled away, Emily watched the city dissolve into fields, feeling lighter with every mile, as if the tracks were stitching her broken heart back together.
