31st December
The gentle hum of the kettle and the clink of cutlery were all that kept me company as I finished slicing lemons into delicate crescents. Id asked Arthur ages ago to fetch those napkins with the silver trimthey matched the new tablecloth perfectlybut of course, Id ended up sorting it myself, as ever.
He was always glued to the telly by this time, waiting for the New Year’s concert to start, but tonight he wasn’t even home. Hed promised he was nipping back to the office to collect a forgotten present for me. ‘Special one this year,’ hed said, knowing our silver wedding anniversary was just around the corner. I smiled at the memorysurely he was planning something lovely. Twenty-five years together, and this New Year’s Eve we’d decided it would be just us, a quiet evening, romance and nostalgia, no wild crowds or grown-up children flitting in and out.
The duck was roasting gently in the oven, stuffed with Coxs apples. It’s a recipe thats been in my family for generations. Id polished every nook and cranny; the fairy lights twinkled on the tree, and I felt that old tingle of anticipationan almost childish excitement that somehow never fades, not even at fifty.
I glanced at the clock. Three hours left until midnight. Still no Arthur.
The lock finally clicked, pulling me from my thoughts. I straightened my hair, shrugged off my apron, smoothing down my velvet dress. I hurried to the hallway, heart fluttering with expectation.
But Arthur didnt come in alone. He was shadowed by a younger womana vision in a luxurious mink coat, flaming red hair tumbling over her shoulders, lips painted the sort of scarlet that screamed for attention. She clutched a carrier full of satsumas; Arthur held a bottle of champagne, smiling far too brightly, as if nothing were amiss.
“Sarah, love, weve company! he announced, far too heartily for our little hallway. This is Natalie. Natalie Evans, our new chief accountant.
For a split second, I couldnt speak. I stared, first at him, then at her.
Good evening, I managed at last, my voice oddly stiff. Were we expecting someone?
Natalie, unfazed, waltzed forward with an outstretched gloved hand. Oh, Sarah, what a situation! Like something out of a soap! ArthurMr Davieswas my hero tonight. He rescued me. Im ever so grateful.
Arthur quickly started struggling out of his shoes, avoiding my eyes.
Well, it was like this, love, he stammered, voice low. Popped into the office, and there was Natalie, sat there in tears, proper upset. Burst pipes, flat flooded, electricitys gonehopeless till the second. No family nearby, nowhere to go for New Years. Couldnt leave her in some hotel. So I said, Come with me, Sarah will have the table piled high, shed never turn you away.
Standing there, I felt my whole carefully arranged world tilt. Twenty-five years. This was to be our night. Just us, candles flickering, anticipation skipping between us. Now suddenly, a stranger in a fur coat, all perfume and drama.
Come in, I said at last, the words wooden and distant. Since you’re here.
Natalie breezed in, flooding the room with an overpowering scent that blotted out the spicy warmth of duck and pine needles.
Oh how lovely! she trilled, peering around with theatrical interest. Gosh, looks like something from Antiques Roadshow! My gran had a cabinet just like that. So charminglike stepping into a time capsule from the 70s.
I clenched my jaw. That cabinet was Italian oak, only five years old, and cost a small fortune, but I wasnt about to explain myself to a woman who could be my daughter.
Arthur, help your guest with her coat, I said tersely, escaping to the kitchen while my hands trembled.
Arthur followed minutes later, sheepish but stubborn.
“Look, Sarah, dont start, please, he whispered, hovering by the door. Shes really no one to turn to. Its New Years. Shell have a meal, a drink, Ill ring her a taxi after, orshe can crash on the sofa in the lounge…
On the sofa? I hissed, white-knuckled clutching the serving spoon. In our house, the night we planned for ourselves? You bring home a stranger who insults me, my home, before shes even sat downcalling it a museum?
She doesnt mean anything by it. Shes just young, you know, no filter. Please, Sarahdont make a scene, not in front of someone from work. Shell mouth about me at the office otherwise, and then where will I be?
The man before me was barely recognisable. The loving husband Id built a life with, now reduced to fawning over some pretty office junior, desperate to impress.
Fine, I said quietly. Let her stay. But if she makes another comment about my home
She wont! Ill keep an eye, he said, instantly buoyed, aiming for a peck, but I turned away.
Go on, entertain your guest. Ive a third place to lay, I muttered.
Supper began stiffly. Natalie, now without her coat, was poured into a clingy dress that belonged on a catwalk, not at my dinner table. She perched, legs crossed, twirling her wine glass.
Arthur, darling, will you open the champagne now? Lets see off the old year, she asked, staring at him with wide, suggestive eyes. I could murder a drink.
Arthur, darling. I nearly dropped the salad bowl as I set it down rather pointedly.
We usually open it at midnight, when Big Ben strikes, I told her crisply. For now, theres homemade cranberry cordial if youd like.
She wrinkled her perfect nose. Cordial? How sweet. I don’t do sugar, always watching the waistline. Got any Brut? I heard only novices drink demi-sec.
Arthur rushed to her side. Ive got a nice cognac in the drinks cabinet, Natalie. Fancy a drop?
Oh, just a splash. Its a bit nippy in here, isnt it? Are you on economy heating?
I took my place opposite them, feeling more like an onlooker than the hostess. Arthur poured her drinks, served her caviar, regaled her with tired jokes she forced laughter for, head tipped back, laughter echoing around the room.
So, Sarah, do you work, or? Natalie piped up suddenly.
I do, I replied coolly. Im the senior chocolatier at the confectionery factory.
Oh, really? Her drawn-on eyebrows rose, surprised. You seem so homemaker-y. Like the sort who spends all day doing pies and waiting for her husband. Arthur told me you have magic hands in the kitchen. Mind you, he did say conversations sometimes a bit flatroutine and allbut your baking is second to none.
A painful silence settled. Only the clocks ticking and the low murmur from the TV filled the gap. Arthur choked on his cognac, spluttering and blushing.
I never said that! he croaked, beating his chest. Natalie, you mustve got the wrong end.
I laid my fork down, breath catching. That last strand of patience snapped. Not much to talk about, is that so? I asked, voice icy. Routines worn us thin, then?
Natalie, realising her gaffe, backtracked frantically. Oh, dont be offended! Men always want excitement, dont they? Arthur was the life of the party at our dogot everyone up for a lambada. He said, Homes different, wifes always tired, legs hurt.
I gazed at my legs under the table. They only ached like this after three days on my feet, preparing a feast for a man I thought I loved.
Arthur sat frozen. He could see a storm brewing, but didnt know how to take cover.
Lets toast! he tried, clutching at straws. To peace on earth!
One moment, I said, eyes locked on Natalie. What exactly happened with your pipes?
The pipes? she faltered. Oh, yesburst water main. Scalding water everywhere. So scary, I rang ArthurMr Daviesbecause hes such a dependable chap, not like my dreadful ex.
I arched a brow. Funny, its minus six outside tonight. If youd really been flooded with boiling water, no power, youd hardly be here with pristine hair and nails. Youd smell of damp and disaster. But all I smell is salon perfume, and the hunger to poach another womans husband.
Natalie flushed.
How dare you! Im a guest! Arthur, say something!
He shrank back into his seat. Maybe she changed before
Save it, I interrupted. Steeling myself, I rose from the table. Ive put up with your little indiscretions for twenty-five years, Arthur. Your wandering eye, your late nights. I thought you valued family, thought we were close. But to you, Im just a housewife with nothing to say.
Pulling the curtain aside, I watched fireworks crackle in the cold dark.
This is finished, I declared, turning back. Ms Evans, please gather your things and leave.
Natalies protest died as she saw my expression. I was done pleading.
Arthur! Youre going to let her throw me out at night? she squealed, desperate.
Arthur, fuelled by the cognacbraver or just foolishbanged his fist. Sarah! Thats enough! This is my home as well! I brought a guest. Natalie stays. Well see in the New Year properly, not like
Like what? I prompted. Come on, spit it out.
Like harpies! he snapped.
I nodded, not a tear left. I strode to the sideboard, retrieved the large holdall Id packed for sending Christmas gifts to the kids, and dumped the contents on the carpet.
Your house, is it? I lobbed the bag onto his lap. Right then. Im going, but just so you knowthe flats still in my name, from Mum and Dad. Tomorrow Ill file for divorce and have you removed. But as for tonight, youre both leaving.
He gaped, sobered instantly. Sarah, you dont mean itwherell we go?
To wherever the fun is. To Natalies flat, help her mop up, play the knight. Theres no joy here, just your dreary old ‘museum.’
Wait, Sarah! Im a fool, Im sorry! She means nothingIll send her home, well stay
I eyed him. A minute ago, hed have defended his beloved to the hiltnow, when his comfort was threatened, hed drop her in a heartbeat.
No, Arthur. The salads souredlike our marriage. Your times up.
Natalie stood abruptly, all bravado gone. Mad, the lot of you, she snapped as she pulled on her fur. Ill get a cab, Arthur, you can walk. Dont fancy a reliable man with all this baggage.
The door slammed, her perfume lingering like regret.
Arthur hovered, suitcase in hand. Sarah shes gone. Lets just forget it? Look, the ducks going cold.
I faced him. Forget? You brought your fancy piece to our home on the eve of our silver anniversary, bad-mouthed me behind my back, let her belittle me in my own kitchen.
He watched in horror as I picked up the piping-hot duck, hefting the serving dish.
If you dont leave, Ill call the police, Arthur. They’ll believe I feel threatened. Now go.
A shock of fear flickered as he saw I meant it. He shuffled off, slamming drawers, cramming shirts into the bag. He bustled out, coat askew, a sleeve poking from the holdall.
Youll regret this! Youll end up alone at fifty! he called, trying, and failing, to sound dignified.
With pleasure, I replied, double-locking the door behind him.
At last, silence. Not sadnessjust fresh air, as if a hideous, old wardrobe had finally been hauled out to the tip, leaving room to breathe.
I cleared the table, ignoring Arthurs and Natalies plates. Herslipstick-smeared, with half a sandwichwent crashing into the bin. The clatter of breaking china was music to my ears. Arthurs followed.
I packed away all but my own place: my favourite gold-rimmed plate, a brimming flute of sparkling wine.
On the telly, the Prime Minister began his New Years speech; Big Bens chimes would ring in the minutes. The year had stripped away illusions, but given back my dignity.
“Happy New Year, Sarah,” I whispered to my reflection in the pitch-black glass.
I sliced off the crispest piece of duck, helped myself to a glorious spoonful of salad. The phone buzzed: a message from my daughter, Jane”Happy New Year, Mum! Love you and Dadsee you with the grandkids next week!”
I smiled. Lifereal lifehadnt deserted me. Children, grandchildren, satisfying work, a home I loved. Whatever (or whoever) had dropped away was only dead weight.
I sipped champagne, warmth tingling to my toes. For the first time in years, I didnt fuss, jump up, cater for everyone. I simply lived in the moment.
The neighbours cheered next door, let off fireworks. The world was celebrating. So, finally, was I.
Later, I packed food I couldnt eat alone into boxestomorrow Mrs Harris, the buildings caretaker, and Stan the handyman would get a New Years treat.
That duck? Id eat the rest myself. Id earned it.
Before bed, I wiped off my makeup and caught my own eye in the mirror: a dignified, elegant woman, a little bruised but far from broken. No old housewife in curlers here.
Not enough spark, eh? I smirked. Well, Arthur, youve got yourself a whole bonfire now. Good luck with the lawyers. Good luck explaining to the kids.
I sprawled across the double bed that used to be half his, stretching right out. The sheets smelled of clean linen and lavender.
Morning woke me with sunlight. My first thought was not about making breakfast for Arthur, but: I fancy a coffee and cake from that new café down the street. And for the first time in years, I knew I could.
Who knows whats next? Divorce, arguments, solicitors But thats all for later. For now? I have peace, good food, and a home thats mine alone. And no onenever againwill call it a museum. Or my life, dull.
If you enjoyed reading, do let me know what youd have done in my shoesId love to hear your thoughts.
