Oliver snarled at the refrigerator door, his fingers twitching as if the cold snap might shatter the world inside; a magnet clanged to the floor, a tiny metal echo in the kitchens midnight hush.
Across from him, Ethel stood, pale as a sheet, fists clenched tight, her knuckles white.
Feeling lighter now? she asked, lifting her chin in a challenge that cut through the air.
Youve really gotten under my skin, Oliver rasped, trying to keep his voice even. Is this what life is? A drab grey stretch with no glimpse of colour.
So its my fault again? Ethel replied with a rueful smile. Of course, nothing ever goes the way you want.
Oliver gritted his teeth, ready to say something, then flailed his hand, cracking a bottle of mineral water, gulping it down in one harsh swallow before hurling the empty glass onto the table with a thud.
Oliver, stop pretending youre mute, Ethels voice trembled with a sharp edge of hurt. Tell me whats gnawing at you.
Whats there to explain? he snarled. Youll never understand. How long must I endure this hopelessness? Its all got to go!
They stared at each other, wordless, for a stretch of time. Ethel inhaled deep, drifted toward the bathroom, while Oliver sank heavily onto the couch. Behind the closed door a sudden splash of water rang outperhaps shed turned the tap on purpose to drown his sighs.
He didnt care.
The years that had lost their sparkle
Three years earlier they had wed and moved into a flat that Ethels parents had left her. Her parents, now retired, had moved to a village and put the city apartment in their daughters name. Though spacious, the flat still smelled of a bygone era: sagging furniture, peeling wallpaper, patches of scuffed linoleum.
At first Oliver brushed it offcentral location, a brilliant neighbourhood, the office a stones throw away. But the novelty faded quickly. Ethel felt at home in the family nest, while Oliver declared the place a frozen relic, suffocating him.
Ethel, admit it, he would prod, doesnt this dusty setting bother you? Time to swap the wallpaper, replace the linoleum, add a touch of modernity?
Of course I want that, Ethel answered calmly. But well have to wait for a bonus or save up a bit.
Wait again? Your whole strategy is to sit and wait!
Once Oliver boasted that hed unearthed a bud that would someday blossom and wow everyone. Now he was convinced that bud had long since withered, never to open.
Ethel lived for simple pleasures: a fresh cup of tea, bedtime reading, a new kitchen towel. To Oliver these were the dull drifts of a stagnant pond.
He never dared to leave herhe didnt want to return under his parents roof, a place with its own tangled history. And his mother, Margaret Thatcher, always backed Ethel.
Son, youre missing the point, she would chide. Ethels a wonderful, sensible woman. You live in her flatwhy are you never satisfied?
Mother, you and Ethel are two drops of water stuck in a stone age, Oliver snapped.
His father, George, would simply wave his hands and say, Let them sort it out themselves, Margaret.
Watching Ethel, Oliver sometimes thought, Shes like a shadow that still clings to this flat, pulling me down.
At last his patience snapped.
Ethel, I cant take this any longer, he whispered, standing by the window.
From what exactly? she asked quietly, tears glistening.
From this monotony! You spend your days with pots and cloths, and I wont waste my life like this!
Without a word, Ethel snatched a rubbish bag, slammed the door and walked out.
Oliver stayed, convinced shed soon turn back, beg him not to go. But when she returned, her face was oddly serene.
Maybe it truly is better for you to live apart, she said, distant. Then gather your things.
What, youll stay here alone while I leave? Oliver protested. This is my home too!
Youre mistaken, Oliver, Ethel replied with a cold smile. Its my parents house.
Weeks slipped by, and he finally moved back into his parents place.
Soon after they signed the papers to end their marriage.
Unexpected encounter
Three more years drifted by. Oliver, still lodged with his parents, kept telling himself that soon hed find his own flat and everything would fall into place. Yet work offered no breakthroughs, new friendships never turned into steady relationships, and his parents kept hinting that he was now an old uncle, not a lad any longer.
One spring evening, as he trudged home late, a small café with soft lighting and a gentle melody caught his eye. He hesitated at the door.
There, by the entrance, stood Ethel.
But this Ethel was no longer the weary woman he remembered; she was draped in a sleek coat, hair impeccably styled, keys to a car jingling in her hand, confidence radiating from her gaze.
Ethel? he blurted.
She turned, recognised him in an instant.
Hello, Oliver, she said evenly.
Hey you look stunning.
Thank you, she smiled. Im finally living the way I always wanted.
Still at the old job? he asked.
No, I opened my own flower shop, she replied, pride humming in her voice. I hesitated for ages, then someone finally believed in me.
Who? he demanded, though he didnt truly know why he asked.
From the café doorway a man emerged, wrapping an arm around Ethels shoulders.
My love, a table is free. Shall we go? he murmured.
Ethel turned back to Oliver.
Meet Vadim. And this is Oliver.
Delighted to see you again, Oliver, she added. I hope youre looking after yourself as well.
Oliver nodded silently. His lips twitched, ready to speak, but the words froze. He watched them: Ethel, smiling, taking Vadims arm, disappearing through the café doors. A bitter tide of envy rose inside him.
He had once whispered, I live with a bud that never blooms
Now the bud had finally blossomedjust not beside him.
