James stood before the familiar door, unable to bring himself to ring the bell. He held a large bag filled with his things; the keys to the flat jangled in his jacket pocket, ones he dared not take out.
Three days earlier, he’d stormed out after a blazing row, slammed the door, and shouted that he wasn’t coming back. Margaret had chucked her slipper after him, screaming at him to clear off. Just a normal married spat, like countless others across their thirty years together. But this time felt different.
He finally pressed the bell. Footsteps sounded inside, then Margaret’s voice.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Maggie. Let me in.”
Silence. Heavy, uncomfortable silence.
“Maggie, can you hear me?” James repeated.
“I hear you,” came his wife’s icy reply. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean? I’m coming home.”
“This isn’t your home anymore.”
James was stunned. Even at the worst points in three decades, Margaret had never gone this far.
“Maggie, stop being daft. Open the door, let’s talk properly.”
“I won’t open it. I’ve nothing to say to you.”
“What’s got into you? What’s all this fuss about?”
“You know exactly why.”
James did know. Three days ago, Margaret had found a phone number in his jacket pocket, written in a woman’s hand. Simple story – a colleague gave her number for some meeting follow-up. Explaining this to his furious wife proved impossible.
“Margaret, I explained! That’s Linda from Accounts. It was work-related.”
“Work, I’m sure,” her voice cut through the door. “Work calls at ten in the evening?”
“What ten o’clock? I never even called her!”
“You liar. I saw the call on your phone.”
James felt his insides clench. He *had* called Linda, but for a completely different reason. Her daughter applied to uni where his mate taught; he’d promised a good word. Just a harmless favour.
“Maggie, let me in, I’ll explain calmly.”
“No. Explain from out there.”
James glanced around. Neighbours might appear on the landing; he hated airing dirty laundry in public.
“Alright, listen. I did call Linda, true. But not for the reasons you think. Her lass wants into medical school at Manchester; my friend works there. Said I’d have a word with him.”
“And you think I’ll believe that fairy tale?”
“It’s the truth!”
“Truth? Then why keep it from me? Why hide it?”
James hesitated. He hadn’t told Margaret about helping his colleague. Not out of wrongdoing, simply didn’t see it as significant work chatter.
“I wasn’t hiding it. Just didn’t think it mattered.”
“Didn’t matter? And what else didn’t matter? Care to tell me why you were at the pub with her after work?”
James’s heart lurched. How did Margaret know that?
“How did you—”
“Sarah from number 14 saw you two. Said you were cooing like doves, holding hands.”
“We weren’t holding hands!” James protested. “And it was barely half an hour. She bought me a pint to say thanks for helping her girl.”
“Course she did. Women are so grateful these days.”
The raw fury in Margaret’s voice told James he wouldn’t be let in easily.
“Maggie, darling, be reasonable. Why would I look elsewhere? I have you, our family.”
“*Had* a family. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean *had*? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m done living with a cheating scoundrel.”
“Cheater? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Nothing? What were you doing then? Carrying on?”
James leaned his forehead against the door. They were getting nowhere.
“Margaret, let’s meet tomorrow when you’ve calmed down. Talk like adults.”
“I won’t calm down. And I won’t meet you.”
“Maggie…”
“Go to your Linda. Maybe she’ll have you in.”
“Don’t talk rubbish! What Linda? I’m pushing sixty, a grandad! Why would I chase flings?”
“Then what were you doing meeting women at the pub?”
“I explained! Went once, out of politeness.”
“Once… or more than once?”
James knew he was trapped. Whatever he said, Margaret would find fault.
“Fine,” he sighed wearily. “I’ll go. But we *will* talk.”
“No, we won’t.”
James picked up his bag and went down. Outside, his son Simon waited in the car having picked him up from the station.
“So, Dad? She let you in?” Simon asked, seeing his father’s face.
“Wouldn’t open the door.”
“Seriously?” Simon was surprised. “Mum’s lost it completely?”
“Don’t know, son. Can’t fathom what’s got into her.”
They got in. Simon started the engine but stayed put.
“Dad, what really happened back there? Mum was saying things on the phone…”
“Like what?”
“Well… That you’ve got a mistress. That you’re cheating.”
James sighed heavily.
“Simon, I swear on anything – there’s no one. Never has been. Mum invented all this.”
“Then where did this Linda come from?”
“Linda works with me. Perfectly ordinary woman. Helped with her daughter; she bought me a drink. End of story.”
Simon studied his father.
“Dad, are you telling me the truth?”
“Every word, son.”
“Then I don’t get why Mum’s flipping out. She usually cools off quick.”
“I don’t get it either.”
The car moved off. Simon was taking him home for the night.
“Listen, Dad, maybe it’s not really about this Linda at all?”
“Then what on earth?”
“Dunno. Maybe something else is wrong with Mum? Some other problem?”
James thought. Margaret had been tense lately, more snappish. He put it down to her age – 58, menopause kicking in.
“Maybe you’re right. But why lock me? We could talk it through.”
“Mum’s always been stubborn. Remember the sulks when you rowed?”
James remembered. Margaret could give him the silent treatment for weeks. She always caved first though.
At Simon’s, James had a sleepless night. In the morning, he decided to try Margaret again.
“Simon, take me home.”
“Dad, maybe hold off? Give Mum time to cool down?”
“No, Son. Can’t just drop it. Thirty years married, can’t wreck it over something daft.”
Simon reluctantly agreed. They drove to the house James shared with Margaret.
“Want me to come up?” Simon offered.
“No, I’ll try alone.”
James walked up to the fourth floor and rang the bell.
“Maggie, it’s me.”
“Thought it was the plumber,” came the cold reply.
“Maggie, we need to talk. Sort this out.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you.”
“Nothing? We’re husband and wife!”
“*Were* husband and wife. Not now.”
James felt irritation rise.
“Margaret, cut the nonsense! Open this door!”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Don’t want to see you.”
“What for? What did I do?”
“You know what.”
They were going in circles. James tried a different tack.
“Alright, say I was in the wrong. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“Won’t? What won’t happen? Lying not happen, or cheating not happen?”
“I never cheated!”
“Lord above, enough! I went *once*, talk work!”
“What work? Explain what work has men meeting women at the pub?”
James knew reasoning was useless. Margaret wasn’t after answers, she wanted war.
“Look, Maggie,” he said, trying for calm, “I won’t stand here like an idiot. If you fancy talking, call. If not
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away towards the station, the chill London rain soaking into his coat, finally accepting that thirty years might just be over for good.
