This morning was off to a dreadful start. As soon as I stepped outside our block of flats in Manchester and patted my coat for my phone, I realisedof courseId left it on the kitchen counter. Reluctantly, I turned back, weaving past the bins and letting myself in again, grumbling at my own absent-mindedness.
When I pressed the button for the lift, I hardly expected more annoyance. But as the doors idled closed behind me, the thing juddered and then stopped dead on the eighth floor, trapping me inside. I dinged the alarm bell and called out, but no one seemed to hear me. So I sat and waited, feeling time crawl.
Thats when I heard voices in the corridor just outside. And not just any voicesmy husband, Gregory, chatting intimately with a woman. Not a neighbourly ‘How do you do’ either, but something far softer and more secretive.
My darling, Claire, he murmured, I can hardly wait until tonight when were together again.
Tonight it is, Claire replied, her tone coy. Pop round after ten, wont you?
And your husbands on night shift again?
He is, the whole week, she whispered, giggling. He leaves just after nine and isnt back until the morning. But hes due any minutelets not dally.
Gregory muttered, Why is this lift taking so long? Its never this slow.
They lingered just outside, their voices drifting through the lift shaft, before descending the stairs with anxious quick steps. Four minutes, perhaps, I sat frozen, listening.
At first, I didnt quite believe itthere are always people nattering in the hallway, arent there? But then Claire said Gregorys name, and then my own. There could be no mistaking it. My husband, sneaking around with Claire from number forty, the woman on the same floor. My face burned as the betrayal sank in.
So thats his little evening constitutional, I thought bitterly. Thats the fresh air before bed. Ill give him a fresh memory he wont forget as long as he lives.
Eventually, the lift engineer came, and got the doors open. I thanked him and headed upstairs, my mind awash with plans.
That night, around ten, Gregory fetched his coat. Val, he said, Im going out for a walk. Be back in an hour.
But Gregory, its pouring down, I protested, peering at the rivulets streaking the window.
I need the exercise, you know. Heart health and all that. The balconys no use to me.
At least take an umbrella then.
I will, no worries.
Still, Id rather you stayed in, honestly. I have a funny feeling
Dont start with the superstitions, Gregory scoffed. Ill be back soon.
But he was back sooner than expectedbarely thirty minutes later, and soaking wet without his usual mac or brogues.
Why did you come home so quickly? I asked, leaving the chain on the door.
Some blokes on the street corner stopped me, he muttered, clearly flustered. Can you believe it? Took everythingeven my shoes. Please let me in, Im freezing
I kept the door on the latch. Your things are by the rubbish chute. And next time you see Claire, say hi from me.
Claire? Whos Claire?
I think you know. From the eighth floor.
I closed the door and sat with a cuppa, catching my breath as the television flickered. Thank goodness the kids are grown and gone, I thought. Theyd never believe their fathers disgrace.
Gregory did as suggested, found his suitcase by the chute, changed, and in short time tried to sneak away and call a taxionly to realise hed left his phone at Claire’s flat. He turned back to ask me for help, only to find himself stuck in the same lift as earlierpower cut in the whole building, of course!
Once the lights came back and he managed to stumble out, he found himself on the eighth floor againand there was Claire, with her own suitcase, nervously waiting for the lift.
Did you take my phone? Gregory asked, barely meeting her eye.
Yes, she stammered. And your things too.
With nowhere left to go together, they rode down in silence and then took separate taxisheading for anywhere but home.
