My dear Emily, I think weve grown apart, Andrew declared, as casually as if he were offering a different loaf of bread with supper. He didnt even look up from his bowl of stew, where a chunk of bread was soaking up the broth. I stood there, ladle in hand, feeling a blaze of hot soup trickle down my wrist, yet didnt register the sting. My ears rang as if someone had started a hoover at full blast right beside me.
What do you meanapart? I managed, willing my voice to stay steady. I placed the ladle back in the pot, worried it might just slip from my numb fingers. Youre not going on a business trip, are you?
No, nothing like that, Andrew replied, finally looking in my direction, eyes tired and a bit impatient, the look a teacher gives when explaining something obvious. Im talking about a break. A test of our feelings. You see, the sparks gone. Every day is the same: work, dinner, telly, sleep. I want to know if Im drawn to you, or if its just routine.
I slowly sat down at the table opposite. Twenty years married. Two children, both at uni in different cities. The mortgage paid off three years ago. Wed redecorated ourselves, stripping wallpaper most Sunday afternoons. And nowstifling?
And where would you live while youre, erm, testing it out? I asked quietly.
Ive rented a studio, just for a couple of months. Near the office, so I can avoid the traffic, he answered too quickly, words rehearsed. My things are mostly packed already, in the bedroom.
So, it was all decided. While Id been planning which shrubs to plant in the garden come spring, picking out a new jumper for him in the sales, hed been finding a flat, paying a deposit, keeping silent.
Does my opinion not matter? I tried to find in his expression the young man I once married. But there was only a stranger, slightly paunchy, with shifty eyes.
Dont start making this a drama, Emily, Andrew put down his spoon, his appetite clearly gone. Im not asking for a divorce. Not yet. Just a time-out. Its normal, loads of couples do it. Even psychologists recommend it. Maybe well realise we cant manage without each other, and have a second honeymoon. Or well, at least well be honest about things.
He stood up, tossed his napkin on the table, and headed for the bedroom. I heard wardrobes opening, bags rustling. I just sat, staring at the now-lukewarm stew his favourite, with beans, just as hed asked and felt a wide, cold emptiness spreading inside.
The evening played out like a fog. Andrew bustled around, moving suitcases to the hallway. He took his laptop, the fancy coffee machine (technically a present from my colleagues, but he used it most), warm jumpers.
Well, Im off, he announced at the door in his coat, managing an air of solemnity and slight guilt. Dont ring me for a bit. Lets agree: a months silence. To keep things fair.
And if the boiler bursts? I said dully.
Call a plumber. Youre a grown woman, youll cope. Ill keep my keys, just in case theres something urgent I need. See you later. Dont pine for me.
The door banged shut. The lock clicked. I was left alone in a flat that suddenly felt too big and hauntingly quiet.
For three days I barely got up, moving only to fill a glass of water or shuffle to the loo. It felt as if life had ground to a halt. My mind replayed the last months over and over. Was I too fussy about the socks he left around? Had I let myself go? Was I boring?
On the fourth day, my sister Hannah arrived. She stormed into the flat, arms full of groceries and a bottle of wine. When she saw me puffy-eyed, in my dressing gown, hair unwashed she just shook her head.
Right, love, this wont do. Up you get, into the shower. Ill chop some cheese.
An hour later, perched at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, I recounted the conversation with Andrew. Hannah listened with narrowed eyes.
A test of feelings, is it? He feels stifled? Emily, you do numbers for a living, youre sharp as a tack. How are you missing the obvious? Hes got another woman.
Oh, dont be daft, I said, waving her off. Hes fifty-two, his backs always acting up, and his digestions never been the same. Whod want him?
Oh, please. Love doesnt care about a dodgy tummy or creaky bones. Got a studio, dont call for a month its textbook. He wants to try things with her, but wants you as a backup, just in case she cant boil an egg or expects him to wash his own socks. If it doesnt work there, hell turn up here with flowers and say hes realised youre The One. If it does, hell file for divorce.
Her words landed like heavy stones. I wanted to argue, to stick up for Andrew, but deep down, I knew she was right. The new phone password a month back. All those late nights at work. That shirt he bought on his own, even though he loathes shopping.
What am I supposed to do? I asked, as anger began to crowd out the misery.
What do you do? Live! Hannah thumped the table. Live well. Get your hair done. Buy yourself something nice. And for heavens sake, stop waiting for him to call. Whose name is actually on the flat?
Mine. Got it from Mum. Hes still registered at his mums place, we never got around to changing the paperwork.
Perfect. Means youre in charge legally. Listen to me, dont sit around snivelling. He thinks youre here weeping into a pillow and waiting on him. Surprise him.
After she left, I wandered through the flat switching every light on. In the bathroom I spotted his shaving cream on the shelf. I picked up the tube and hurled it in the bin, the thud echoing like the first shot in a war.
The next fortnight was strange. I forced myself back to work. People noticed Id lost weight and looked a bit pale, but blamed it on spring blues. And slowly, I began to notice small changes at home.
The flat was tidier without Andrew. No one left crumbs on the table, no dirty jeans tossed on the chair. Groceries lasted much longer, and it turned out I didnt need to cook every night a salad was plenty. My evenings belonged to me. I remembered how I used to love knitting. I found my needles and wool, and started on a scarf while watching a drama.
The silence lost its menace. It became soothing. No one muttered about the news, or changed the channel when I wanted to watch something gentle.
But the worm of doubt still gnawed. Maybe Hannah was wrong. Maybe he really was alone, thinking about me.
It was all cleared up one Friday evening. Id popped into the shopping centre for more yarn. Riding up the escalator, I caught sight of them.
Andrew, in front of a jewellers window, with a woman hanging off his arm younger than me by a good two decades, in a bright coat. Andrew was smiling at her with the same grin hed given me all those years ago. He pointed something out on a bracelet; she threw her head back and laughed. They looked utterly pleased with themselves.
I stepped behind a tall bloke, heart pounding in my head. I watched as my supposedly sparkless husband wrapped an arm around another womans waist and led her away.
Something in me shrivelled up and died. At the same time, something new took its place cool, unshakable, and resolute.
I didnt cause a scene. I didnt stalk them. I simply walked out to the car park, slid into my car, and drove home.
At home, I took out the flats deeds. My name. The gift from Mum. The residency stamp in my passport, only me and the children. Andrew was registered at his mums. Hed always brushed off paperwork: Whats the point in all that? Im down as living with Mum, never mind, were together anyway.
I searched online and found a locksmith.
Hello, I need my locks changed. Front door, metal. I have the paperwork. An hour? Brilliant.
The locksmith stocky, in blue overalls arrived fast, only asking what type of lock.
The best youve got, I told him. One he cant open even if he has the old key.
Understood, miss. Well fit you a dead-good British Standard one. Any burglar worth their salt would struggle never mind a bloke with an old key.
The whirr of the drill was music to my ears. Metal shavings fell to the mat, the old lock fell out with a dull thud. Out with old pain, old dependence, the old habit of being convenient.
When he handed me the new, shiny keys, I locked the door tight. One, two, three, four turns. Four walls, my stronghold.
I gathered up the rest of Andrews things. Coats, boots, fishing rods, tools. Packed the lot in big black bin liners. Five hefty bags in all. I left them in the shared hall outside my door.
A week went by. Nothing from Andrew. Guess the test with his young muse was going well. I felt oddly calm. I filed for divorce online. Dead simple, as it turned out.
Saturday morning, the bell rang, insistent and bossy.
I looked through the spyhole. Andrew was on the landing. He looked a bit rough around the edges, but smug. He held a bag of groceries and a bunch of carnations.
I didnt open. I pressed my forehead to the cool door.
He rattled his key in the lock. A scraping noise it wouldnt turn. He tried again, with force. Then again. Pulled out his key, frowned at it, blew on it, tried once more.
Emily! he shouted. Emily, you in? Whats up with the lock?
I said nothing.
Emily, open up! I know youre there! Your cars outside!
He started banging on the door.
Come on, love! Ive got flowers! We agreed a month, but I couldnt wait! I missed you!
I drew a deep breath and spoke clearly through the door.
Your things are in the black bags to the left. Take them and go.
Silence. Then rustling hed spotted the bags.
Are you mad? His voice rose an octave. What are these bags? Open up! Im your husband! Ive a right to come in!
This isnt your flat, Andrew, I replied calmly. Its mine. Youre not even registered here. You wanted your break, now youve got it. Live separate from me forever.
Youve changed the locks, havent you? He finally twigged. How dare you? Ill call the police! Or the fire brigade! Theyll cut the door down!
Go ahead, I said. Show them your residency papers. And tell them about leaving your wife for a test run with your girlfriend. I bet the copper will have a good laugh.
What girlfriend? Youre raving! I lived alone!
I saw you at the shopping centre, Andrew. Jewellers. Red coat. Stop lying. Test over. You failed.
Swearing burst out behind the door. He kicked it.
Youll regret this! Youll end up alone, some dried-up old crone! Whos going to want you at forty-five? I came back for you out of pity, and you! Ill sue for half the lot! The car, the cottage!
The car and the cottage, well sort out in court, I told him. But the flat isnt yours. Go away. Or Ill call the police and say theres an angry man trying to break in.
He raged for another minute, threatened, kicked some bags, flung the flowers down on the floor, then started hauling the bags away, muttering under his breath.
Cow! he screeched for good measure. Stone-hearted cow!
I heard the lift going, the bags clattering, then silence.
I slid to the floor, legs trembling. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but they werent tears of sorrow. They were just the stress draining away.
After ten minutes, I washed my face in cold water and checked my reflection. A tired woman looked back, but her chin was up.
My phone pinged. A message from Hannah: Hows Casanova? Saw his car out front.
I typed back: Gone. Took his stuff. Locks are perfect.
Atta girl! Im proud. Ill come round tonight with cake. Well toast your new life.
I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Through the spyhole, I could see the carnations lying on the mat. Good thing I hadnt opened up. Carnations he never remembered I hated them, even after twenty years. I only ever liked tulips.
A month later, the divorce came through. It was quick, as our children were adults. We sold the cottage and split the cash, Andrew got the car and paid me out I used the money for a holiday.
Turned out his young muse dumped him as soon as he was no longer lord of a comfy flat and his finances became patchy. He couldnt afford the rented studio and had to move back in with his mum, in the poky council flat hed never left on paper.
I heard it all from mutual friends, but didnt care. Id just come back from Turkey, my first solo holiday in years. I was tanned, splurged on a bright new dress, and might have even had a little flirtation with a charming German gent. Nothing lasting, just a reminder that I wasnt invisible.
One evening, coming home from work, I heard someone call my name outside the flats.
Emily?
Andrew, thinner now, in a rumpled windbreaker, looking battered.
Evening, I said, not stopping, just slowing.
Emily, can we talk? he took a step closer. I was a fool. Made a mistake. Mums driving me mad. I miss our home. Your stew. Cant we try again? You dont just throw away twenty years
I looked at him, surprised to feel nothing. No anger, nor pity, nor hurt. Just emptiness as for a stranger asking for change.
You dont just throw away twenty years, I agreed. But the past belongs in the past. I have a new life now, Andrew. Theres no room in it for old mistakes, or for you.
But Ive changed! I get it all now
So have I, I smiled. And Ive realised I dont feel stifled on my own. I feel free.
I took out my new, shining keys and strode to the door. The intercom beeped, granting me entry. The door swung shut, locking Andrew and his regretful words outside.
As the lift carried me up, I found myself thinking it was time to redo the hall wallpaper. Maybe something in a bright peach. I should buy a new cosy armchair too, perfect for evenings spent knitting. Life was only just beginning and the keys to that new life were right here, jingling in my hand.
