The phone went silent. Emily stood in the middle of the kitchen, pressing it to her chest with both hands. Auntie Gail had spoken for exactly four minutes — her voice dry, businesslike, without a single tear.
Daniel sat on the sofa. The television murmured something in the background. He didn’t even turn round when Emily appeared in the doorway.
‘Daniel. Auntie Gail just called. My mother died an hour ago.’
He nodded. Ran his finger across his phone screen — scrolling through something, it didn’t matter what.
‘Right. Sorry.’
‘I need to go. Right now. Two hours’ drive. Give me the car keys.’
Daniel put his phone down. Not because he felt anything — because he’d heard the word ‘car’. He looked up at her with mild irritation, as if she’d asked him to move a wardrobe.
‘No. I need the car. Mum asked me to drive her to Auntie Zoe’s. I promised her last week.’
Emily didn’t move. The light from the kitchen fell on her back, leaving her face in shadow.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘I heard. But she’s already dead. What’s the rush? Take the bus tomorrow, you’ll get there. Mum’s alive. She’s waiting. I gave my word.’
One second. Two. Three.
‘Are you serious right now?’
‘Completely. I’m not letting Mum down.’
Emily walked into the room. Stood right in front of the television — so Daniel couldn’t avoid her gaze. He had to look up.
‘I’m going to ask you once. Just once. Think about what you just said. Then answer again.’
‘Emily, don’t make a scene. I explained. Mum’s waiting, I promised. Your funeral won’t go anywhere overnight.’
‘My funeral,’ she repeated slowly.
‘Well, the funeral. You know what I mean. Go tomorrow. They’ll sort everything without you — there’s your aunt, the neighbours.’
Emily leaned in a little closer.
‘Do you understand this is the last time I’ll ask you for anything? Not the second. Not the third. The last.’
‘Oh God, Emily. You always make a mountain out of a molehill. One day! You can wait one day. Nothing will fall apart. Mum asked — I’m going. End of story.’
‘My mother is dead, Daniel. Yours is going for tea and cake.’
‘Don’t twist it. She’s been planning this for ages, Zoe’s expecting her. I promised. You want me to break my word?’
‘I want you to remember who you live with. And what this day means to me.’
‘I remember. But order is order. The living come first.’
Emily straightened up. She looked at him as if memorising his face. Not with hatred. With something final.
‘Fine,’ she said.
That ‘fine’ came out flat. No hurt. No drama. No tremor. Daniel didn’t notice — he was already reaching for the remote.
*
Emily went into the hallway. Opened the top drawer of the chest — the one Daniel hadn’t opened once in seven years. Took out a thick folder with a clasp: her passport, the flat ownership certificate, the car registration, bank documents. Everything in her name. She packed it into her bag.
She took both sets of car keys from the hook. Put on her jacket. Laced her shoes.
‘Where are you going?’ Daniel called from the living room.
‘To say goodbye to my mother.’
‘In what? I told you — I need the car!’
Emily opened the front door. Daniel was already in the hallway — barefoot, remote control in hand, with the ridiculous expression of an offended owner.
‘The car is in my name. It always has been. The flat too. When I come back, the lock will be changed. I’ll leave your things by the door. Collect them yourself, or I’ll throw them out.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘I’m not on about anything. I’m telling you. Clearly, and once.’
‘Emily, stop. Stop! You can’t just —’
‘Daniel. My mother died. And you told me you needed the car more — to drive yours to her sister’s for tea. That’s all I needed to hear. There’s nothing left between us. Pack your things.’
The door closed. The lock clicked. Downstairs, the main entrance door slammed. A minute later he saw from the window her getting behind the wheel — calm, unhurried, without a backward glance. She started the engine. Drove out of the courtyard. She didn’t even look up.
Daniel stood in the middle of the hallway. He dialled her number — long rings, no answer. Sent a message: ‘Bring the car back. Have you lost your mind?’ Read. Silence. Another: ‘Stop being ridiculous. Mum’s waiting, I need to go.’ Read. Silence.
Twenty minutes later his mother called.
‘Daniel, when are you picking me up? Zoe’s already laid the table.’
‘There’s a situation, Mum. Emily took the car.’
‘Took it? It’s your car!’
‘Technically… it’s in her name.’
‘So what? You’re her husband! Tell her to bring it back!’
‘She’s not answering. I’ll call you back.’
He sat on the sofa. Walked around the flat. Everything looked the same — the furniture, the curtains, the shelves. But Emily had taken out of this house the documents, the keys, and herself. Three things everything depended on.
His phone rang. Emily. He grabbed it.
‘Emily! Finally. Listen, let’s —’
‘Shut up,’ she said. Quiet and short, like a click. ‘I’ll say this once. The flat belongs to me. My grandmother left it to me, the documents are in my name, and you know it perfectly well. I bought the car before we got married. The money in the bank is mine — you didn’t save a single pound in seven years. In the pocket of your jacket there’s forty pounds — enough for a taxi for your mother. Tight, but enough.’
‘Emily, wait —’
‘I’m changing the lock today. I’ll ask the neighbour Ina to let the locksmith in. Your things will be packed and left by the door. Two days. After that, I’ll take them to the tip.’
‘You can’t —’
‘I can. Every paper. Every signature. It’s all mine. In seven years you didn’t even bother to put a kettle in your own name.’
‘That’s low!’
‘Low is telling your wife she doesn’t need to go bury her mother. Because you need the car to take yours for tea. That’s low. I’m just taking what’s mine.’
The silence on the line lasted four seconds.
‘Emily, I went too far. I’m an idiot, I blurted it out. Let’s talk properly when you get back.’
‘I’m not coming back to you. We’re done. Don’t call again.’
Dial tone.
Daniel sat with the phone in his hand. He tried again — subscriber unavailable. Again — same. She’d blocked his number.
He reached into his jacket pocket. Two crumpled twenty-pound notes. Forty pounds. She’d calculated that too — exactly enough for a taxi to Auntie Zoe’s and back. Not a penny more.
His card was empty — he checked. Other accounts — zero. He’d never bothered. He’d lived off what Emily provided. The flat — hers. The car — hers. The money — hers. He’d lived in someone else’s home for seven years and never once thought about it.
His mother was waiting at the entrance. A small figure in a green coat, holding a bag of treats for her sister. The taxi pulled up, she got in, glanced around the cab.
‘A taxi? Seriously? Where’s the car?’
‘Emily took it.’
‘So go get it!’
‘She’s gone. For good.’
His mother paused. Stared at the back of the front seat.
‘What do you mean, for good?’
‘Just that. She left. Said I have two days to collect my things. She’s changing the lock today.’
‘Over what?’
‘Over me telling her not to go to the funeral. Told her I needed the car more.’
His mother turned to him. In her eyes — not remorse. Confusion. She couldn’t understand how asking for a lift to her sister’s had turned into a catastrophe.
‘Well, you really said it, Daniel.’
‘I didn’t think she’d just —’
‘You should have thought! A woman’s mother dies, and you tell her to wait? Were you out of your mind?’
‘You asked me to drive you!’
‘I asked you to drive me. I didn’t ask you to stop your wife going to a funeral! You came up with that yourself!’
The taxi rolled through the city. The meter ticked. Daniel watched the numbers climb — each pound gnawing at his last money. When the cab stopped outside Auntie Zoe’s, the meter read sixteen pounds. The return trip would be the same. The change would buy him food. Maybe. For a day.
His mother got out. Turned back. The bag of treats crumpled in her hands.
‘And where will you go now?’
‘To yours. If you’ll have me.’
‘I’ve got one room and a kitchen, Daniel. A camp bed in the cupboard.’
‘Then the camp bed will do.’
She shook her head. Walked to the entrance. The door closed behind her.
Daniel stood on the pavement. In his pocket — eight pounds in coins and rumpled notes. On his card — nothing. Behind him — a city where he no longer had a single square metre.
He took out his phone. Dialled Emily’s number. Long rings. Then a recorded voice: ‘The person you are calling is not available.’
He put the phone away. Looked at his hands — empty. Like everything else.
Meanwhile Emily stood in the middle of her mother’s living room. Auntie Gail on her right, neighbours behind her. She was doing what she had to do. Saying goodbye. Because for her, the dead deserved no less respect than the living. And certainly more than a husband who, in seven years, had never understood who he was living with.
