Lydia never comes home from work empty-handed. She enjoys popping into the corner shop to pick up a small bottle of wine for the evening, something to enjoy with her dinner. Tonight, as she enters her flat in Manchester, she is met with an unexpected scene: her common-law husband, Henry, is hurriedly packing his belongings.
Have you got a new job? Taking a night shift? she asks.
No, Im leaving.
Where are you going? Its ten oclock at night!
Are you deaf? I said Im going. Im leaving you, you idiot.
Lydias knees give way, and she collapses onto a chair, stunned.
Are you alright? he asks flatly.
They have two little children together. Lydia pleads, Henry, are you unwell? Ive given birth to your children. You were living rough at a car wash when I met you. I took you in, cleaned you up, fed you, helped you become a proper man. Youve stayed at home all these years while Ive worked and put food on the table
And this is how you thank me? she chokes out.
Im not abandoning the kids, but you yes. Ive had enough of you stumbling in every single evening with another bottle, always an excuse for your appetite. But Alice isnt like that. She doesnt smell of drink, she smells sweet and lovely.
So youre leaving to see Alice then? Do you even know who she is? She came to Manchester in a hurrywho knows what went on in her old town. Youre a fool if you get mixed up with her.
Henry ignores Lydias words, kicks the front door, and storms out. Lydia crumbles; she starts drinking even more. She turns up to her job as a seamstress with a hangover most mornings, shaking so much her fingers can hardly sew. Weeks drift by like this. Lydia drinks every single night; sometimes she forgets to cook, so the children only eat properly at nursery.
The flat becomes neglectedtheres a stench of stale smoke, pots growing mould, children running about dirty. Eventually, a social worker comes and takes the children away, warning Lydia this is her last chance. Shes still got her job, a flat, and one more opportunity to put things right.
She takes some time off from her boss. She spends several days barely able to drag herself up from bed. Still, she manages not to reach for another bottle. On the fifth day, when she feels a glimmer of appetite returning and the desire for wine begins to press in, she starts cleaning her home and prepares to go back to work. She acts with determination; after work, to occupy herself, she keeps busy scrubbing her flat from top to bottom.
Months pass by. The children are returned to her, but social workers keep checking in. Lydia stays strong. Booze is no longer on her mind, her kids come first. Even when she hears that Henry has proposed to Daisy, she doesnt fall apart. Its toughshes the mother of his children, they lived together for eight years, yet never made it official.
A few months later, Henry reappears, sporting a nasty black eye. Lydia, Im sorry turns out Alice was on the run from her husband. He found her, came looking for me, gave me a beating and dragged her back home.
Thank you for the children, Henry, and for the lesson you taught me, she says quietly. But I cant have you back. Please, just go.Henry stands uncertain in the doorway, the silence thick as wool. Lydia turns away, gently gathering her children in her arms. A shaft of dusk light falls across her tidy living room, now free of smoke and clutter, toys neatly tucked away, their laughter soft as doves wings.
She lifts her head and faces him, her eyes clear and steady for the first time in years. Were alright here, Henry. Were better now. The doors locked at nightyoull have to knock next time, and only if its for the children.
He fumbles for words, brow furrowed, but Lydias gaze is unyielding. With nothing left to say, he stumbles back down the stairs and out into the evening rain.
Lydia stands at her window, the citys lights glittering far beloweach one a quiet promise. The children curl against her, warm and living, and she wraps her arms around their small shoulders. She whispers a lullaby shed nearly forgotten under the haze of old habits.
Tomorrow, her alarm will sound before the sun. Shell make porridge, brush hair, tie shoelaces, and send her children off with lunches and brave smiles. Shell walk to the bus stop and pass the corner shop, the bell above the door ringing for other people now.
Every day, it grows easier.
In the hush of evening, Lydia traces a finger over a faded photo on the fridge. She smilesnot for what was lost, but for what was saved. Her childrens laughter rings in the hall, clear and bright, and Lydia finally feelstruly, deeply, and irreversiblyhome.
