Wed been married thirty years. I knew how he breathed in his sleep and exactly what he wanted for breakfast. And still, he threw it all away for feelings from university and left me for a woman with airbrushed perfection. That night, there were no tearsI just filled the freezer with ice and made a list. A list of how to win him back so hed be the one begging to stay. First on the listmeet his new flame.
They say first love is a bit like chickenpox: if youve had it when youre young, the scars stay with you, but you cant catch it again. Thats a lie, evidently. Or maybe its just a different sort of malady.
My story begins with my worldthirty years in the making, solid as a brick housedeveloping a crack. Not from the foundations, mind, but from the top, from the television aerial, which had started picking up signals from elsewhere.
Mum always raised me and my sister on her mantra: The most valuable thing you own isnt your house or your car, its your reputation. And then, your dignity. She was old-fashioned, steadfast. Thats probably why I married David, never having had so much as a single romance. He was my first man. My only one. It never bothered me that hed had others. Not until now.
That Sunday was lazy, with the late spring sun struggling over our quiet London suburb. David was drinking tea with mint, staring at nothing. Then, with a suddenness that split the quiet like an axe through kindling, he set down his mug, cracked his knuckles, and said:
Claire I think Im going to move out.
I carried on buttering my toast, the butter too hard, splintering the bread.
For work? I asked, but his face said otherwise.
Ive met Emily. Remember I told you? We were at university together. My first love. And, well, it never really went away, Claireit just waited. I cant lie to you. That would be cruel.
He spoke on and I stared out at the neighbours boy kicking a football against the garagethump-thump-thump. In time with his words. The kids had grown up, the flat was too big, grandkids almost due He said something about honesty, about not choosing your feelings. But I felt my throat had turned to sand. I wordlessly pointed to the water jug.
Are you alright? He jumped up, poured a glass, thrust it at me. Claire! Dont frighten me.
Im fine, I croaked, voice rough like an old crows. Happiness comes and goes, you know. But you still have to gut the fish when its fresh.
I drank. Felt it fill the cold emptiness inside. Then I got up and went to the bathroom, locking the door with a snap that shut him, his words, the whole world away. I turned the tap full-blast so he wouldnt hear me breathing. But he heard, always did.
Claire! Open up! He pounded the door. Ill break it down!
David, leave it! I just want to wash my face!
I was joking! Come on, come out he called, as if that could possibly pass for a joke.
I looked in the mirror. Staring back was an old ragdoll of a woman dropped in a puddledull hair, bags under her eyes, puffy nose. Lovely. I turned my head left and right. Good Lord, what did he ever see in me all these years? Rekindled feelings, my foothed just found a new cache of excitement.
I doused my face with icy water, brushed my hair, pressed my lips together and left, holding myself like a dethroned queen pretending she just fancied a stroll.
He stood in the hallwaypale, hands trembling. Pathetic, but his pity didnt help. I just needed air. Out of that flat, still smelling of his aftershave.
David, Im off to the park. Dont follow me.
Claire, your heart? Your blood pressure?
What about it? I grinned. My hearts on standby now until the end of days. Dont follow.
He wanted to protest, but I shrugged on a jacket and slipped out.
Greenwich Park was bathed in sun. Young mums with prams, an old man reading the Times, a woman tangling with a lively terrier. Life carried on. I sat on a bench, scanning every womans face. Which one was herEmily? Her, in the beret? Or maybe the one with the silver curls? Whered he dig her upFacebook, perhaps? Or bumped into her while buying sausages? The idea of him searching, messaging, arranging to meetI needed to know, to see her, to touch this reality, to work out what made her better.
Back home forty minutes later, David was still at the kitchen table, tea cold, staring at it.
Youre still here? I asked, chilly.
Where else would I be? he looked up. Claire, can we talk?
We already did, I said, hanging up my jacket. Youve said your piece, Ive heard it. No questions here.
Claire, stop it.
Whats wrong? I sat across from him. I just want to understand the logistics. Did she find you, or you her?
He sighed, realising I wouldnt let this go.
She messaged me. A couple of months ago. Saw my profile, she said.
Of course. All very accidental, the internetespecially when youre searching for old flames. And then? Did you have coffee?
We just met up a few times. Talked.
About first love, Im sure. Lost dreams. David, you sound like a schoolboy, honestly. I folded my arms. Go on, whats her name?
He squirmed on the chair.
Claire why do you need to know?
I want to hear it. The name of the woman for whom youd swap slippers for a suitcase. Or does she have some secret identity?
Emily Emily Adams.
Emily. Lovely. Popular, too. Unlike meplain, boring, reliable Claire.
Claire
Shut up. I got up. I wish you well. Truly. Go chasing your happiness. I might find someone for myself, maybe a bit more fiery. One of those fitness instructors. Or perhaps Chris from schoolI hear hes divorced lately.
Claire, why are you saying this? Youre not like that!
Oh? And what exactly am I? I tossed, heading to the bedroom: No, thanks, no coffee. Ive a headache. Im going to lie down.
I flopped on the bed, stared at the ceilinglied, really. It wasnt my head that hurt, it was my soul. A sharp, biting pain, as if a hot knitting needle had jabbed through. Five minutes passed, listening to Davids pacing in the kitchen, then I quietly took the laptop. Social networks hold all secrets these days.
Onto Davids page: plenty of friends, but no Emily Adams among them. Clever. Deleted? Or maybe she never added him? I searched through his followers, likes, comments. Nothing.
Then a womans profile caught my eyea photo of her on the beach, golden sand and turquoise water, straw hat, glass in hand. Name: Anna. Location: Marbella. Married an expat. Friends with David. I skimmed her photos. One, from university days, showed a circle drawn around a pretty girl with a plait. Caption: Em Adams, our star!
Thats her. I clicked the tag, but her page was private. But on another networkopen profile.
Her avatar: striking brunette, perfect makeup, oversized eyes, sable over her shoulders. Status: Living in the moment. Following groups about relationships, astrology, and baking. Delicious recipes for someone special. Her latest post: Fate brings people together so they can give each other a second chance. With a heart.
A wave of rage flooded me. Here she wasthe hunter. Cast her net, reeled him in like a gormless perch. First love rekindled feelings. Nonsense. Just a middle-aged woman, good at photoshop, hungry for adventure.
I was about to close the page when a familiar face appeared in her friendsa man in a smart coat, silver at his temples, standing beside a new Range Rover. Chris! Chris Parker, my schoolmate who once carried my bag and snuck me chocolate bars. We hadnt seen each other in two decades. Id heard hed moved to Manchester, went into construction, made a fortune, divorced.
My heart quickened. If anyone knew about Emily Adams, it was Christheyd been in parallel classes, must have crossed paths.
Found Chris on Facebook. Message sentfriendly but light: Chris, hi! Remember me? They used to call me Spindle at school. Bit random, I know, but could you spare half an hour for an old friend?
He replied an hour lateragreed to meet at The Old Crown in town.
I called in sick (told work I had the dentist). At home, I launched a full-blown makeover. Dug out a navy dress with the necklinebought for my mother-in-laws birthday three years ago, never worn. Hair curled, evening makeup (midday!), perfume, proper heels. The woman in the mirror wasnt the one whod sobbed in the bathroom that morning. She was ready for battle.
I got to the pub twenty minutes early, took a window seat to keep an eye out for him, ordered a glass of wine. My fingers shook, raising it to my lips.
Chris arrived precisely on timeconfident, successful, expensive coat, hair perfectly clipped, a smile ready. He scanned the pub, spotted me, and his surprise was genuinea touch of admiration, too.
Claire? He came over, kissed my hand old-school. Blimey! Expecting a schoolgirl in uniform and here you aresophisticated woman. You look smashing.
Oh, stop it, I blushed, but his warmth did cheer me up. Thanks for coming. I know youre busy.
For you? Always time. He sat opposite, signalled the waiter for us. Red wine, right? Very good. Fancy anything to eat?
Not sure, I admitted. Theres a lump in my throat.
Wine arrived, Chris poured, raised his glass.
To old friends.
We clinked. I took a sipthe wine burned pleasantly down.
Chris, I set my glass down. Ill come right outIm desperate. David is leaving me. My husband. For his first love. Emily Adams. Shes on your friend list.
He frowned, leaning back.
Adams? You mean Emma? Thats odd. Slight laughter in his voice.
In your friends, shes Emma. David said Emily. Perhaps she uses different names for different people.
Chris smirked, pulled out a cigarette, remembered he couldnt smoke, put it away.
Want the truth? Your husbands off playing Romeo, but it wont last. I only ever knew Emma to nod to. Couple of parties. Shes impressive in a dress if she keeps her mouth shut. But to live with…
What? I leaned forward. Chris, tell me!
He hesitated, then waved a hand.
Oh, its no secret. Shes a right slob. Cant cookjust microwaves ready meals. Two kids, different fathers, none living with herthey cant stand the nagging. She snores like a train, ClaireI once slept over at a mates with her in the next roomthe windows rattled. Your David probably likes his peace and a decent stew, right?
I felt something uncoil insidevindication? Hope? Relief?
Chris, I whispered, youve no idea how much this helps. But thats not all. I need…
But words stuckbecause suddenly a shrill voice cut the air.
There you are! Ive been calling and calling!
I turned. Standing by our table was David, white-faced, jaw tight. On his arma woman. I recognised her from photos. Emily Adams. Less photogenic in person: heavy jaw, fierce lipstick, guarded eyes.
Oh, Chris! she shrieked, instantly letting go of David and flinging herself at my companion. What are you doing here?
Hi, Emma. Chris stood, feigning courtesy.
David lunged to me, seized my elbow and dragged me from my seat.
What are you doing here? he spat. Why are you here with him? Did you two?
David, take your hand off, I said coolly, pulling free. You left me this morning. Im a free woman.
Free? So hes your new… comfort? Didnt waste time, did you?
Thats none of your business, I shot back.
Emily, meanwhile, simpered at Chris.
David, dont be silly. Chris is a good blokewe go way back. Chris, do you come here often? Give me your numberweve lost touch.
Chris glanced at me: See? Told you so.
Emma, I was busy actually, he said. Claire and I are old mates, talking business.
What business? David snapped. Claires a housewife, what business does she have?
I felt anger rising. Suddenly, Chris pulled me into a half-embrace and announced, loud enough for all to hear:
David, enough. Claire is a wonderful woman. If youre daft enough to leave her for this he eyed Emma, thats your problem. Claire and I might see more of each other. That bother you, Claire?
Slightly thrown, but quick to adapt, I smiled sweetly and rested my head on his shoulder.
Not at all, Chris.
It was pure theatre. But to David, it was a gut punch. He paled.
You you he spluttered.
David, come on, Emma tugged his arm, clearly flustered. Dont make a scene.
Yes, David, off you pop, Chris added. Dont cause trouble. Freedom, remember?
Davids eyes flicked from me to Chris to Emma. Lost, suddenly. It dawned on him that as soon as he declared his freedom, Id claimed mine, too. And now it was working against him.
Well talk later, he muttered, stormed off, Emma scurrying after.
I exhaled. Knees like jelly.
Thank you, Chris. I sat. You were brilliant.
No worries. He smiled, but his eyes were serious. Honestly, though, Claire, I wasnt just acting.
I looked up; there was something in his eyesa gentle old sadness.
When I saw you today, he said quietly, I thoughtwhat an idiot I was at school. Shouldve tried harder for you. But I got scared, ran off.
Chris I didnt know what to say. My head was spinning.
Never mind, he clapped his hands together. Just eat something, you look half-starved.
We ate. Chris chatted about work, business, his daughter. I barely listened, distracted, thinking of Davidhow hed left with Emma, only to find she snored and microwaved all her dinners. And how in mere hours Id awoken jealousy in him. And jealousy, they say, is proof theres still feeling left.
I got home late. Light on in the hallway. David sat on the stool in just a jumper, pale, eyes red.
Youre back? he croaked.
Clearly. I took off my shoes, hung up my coat. Why arent you with Emma? First love cant wait, can it?
Claire he stood, moved towards me. Forgive me, please.
You already apologisedthis morning, remember? For your wonderful joke.
I wasnt joking. I was an idiot. I went to her, I did. Spent an hour there. She put some burgers in the oven, switched on the telly, and groused about her ex, her kids, her bad back. I just looked at her and saw a strangerjust tired, old, cross. No love at all. Only bitterness, wanting a nurse. I remembered you, how you drank that water, your hands trembling, how you walked out of the bathroom with your head high. I realised what Id lost.”
You didnt lose me, David. You threw me away. Theres a difference.
He followed me into the lounge, stopping at the door.
I get it, I do. But Chris at the pub… do you like him?
Hes a school friend, I said wearily, and today he was the only person to say I looked beautiful and that Im a wonderful woman. You havent said that in ten years, at least.
David knelt in front of me, took my hands.
Claire, Im a fool. Old, thick fool. Give me a chance to make it right.
I dont know. I stared at his greying head. I really crashed today. So badly, its like I died. Maybe Im someone new now. Or you are. I dont know.
Ill wait, as long as it takes. Just dont send me away. There were tears in his eyesthe second time Id seen him weep in all our years, the first being his fathers funeral.
I said nothing. Chriss words, his look, shouldve tried harder rattled inside me. And Davidhis face, his hands, his scent. The scent of home.
Fine, I said quietly. Get up off your knees. Enough of this drama. Well talk tomorrow. Go to bed. On the sofa.
And you?
Ill sit here a bit longer.
He left. I stayed. No thoughts. Just emptiness and silence. I went to the window. Outside, rain had startedspring rain, noisy, washing the city clean. Or maybe washing me.
A week passed. We lived like strangers sharing a housepolite, quiet, tiptoeing. David triedwashed up, hoovered, brought in groceries. I watched from a distance. Emma rang a few timesheard him answer curtly, then blocked her altogether.
Chris called, too. Just for a chat. Invited me to the cinema. I always declinednot because I didnt want to, but because this new world scared me, a world where I could see a film with another man. But yesterday, he said, Claire, youre not in a nunnery. Youre allowed to liveand to live well, too.
Saturday now. David fussing round, trying to talk.
Claire, shall we walk to the park? The lilacs out.
Dont want to.
He sat down beside me. I know I hurt you. But you have to know, Ive made my choice. Its you. Ill pick you every day, from now on.
I looked at him. Hed lost weight, seemed diminished. And in his eyes, for the first time, real fearof losing me.
David, what about next year? When youre bored, remember there are other first loves?
Never, he shook his head. Youre my last loveI realise that now. Only when I nearly lost you.
Doorbell. We both jumped. He opened the door. A shrill female voice. Emma!
She burst in, wild from the rain, hair dripping, in a trench coat.
David! Why havent you answered me?! I KNOW WHAT THIS IS! she shrieked from the hallway. Its because of her stabbing a finger at me, that old bag?
Emma, leave, David said firmly. Youre not welcome.
Not welcome, am I? Who told me love conquered time? Who promised forever? she sobbed, but it was clearly an act. And shes off with Chris Parker, while you snore on the sofa!
How dyou know where I sleep? David blanched.
Chris told me! We met up! she snapped, then bit her lip, realising shed said too much.
Silence.
You met Chris? David repeated slowly.
Emma darted glances, cornered.
So what? We just had coffee. He calledbusiness, he said.
What business? I snorted. Whats Chris got to discuss with you, Emma?
She glared wickedly. Not your business! You steal him from under my nose, you cow!
Me? I stood up. Youre the one who stormed into my flat. David, show her out.
But he stood rooted, looking between ussuddenly enlightened.
You saw Chris while I… he shook his head. I thought he was interested in you.
He cared. Maybe genuinely. But he hasnt forgotten old habits either. I gazed at him. Well, seems the winds changed again.
Claire, Im sorry. For everything. For this hysteria, for the hurt, for being blind.
I went to the window. The rain was easing, sunshine breaking through, sparkling on wet paving.
You know what, David? She was right about one thing. I did see Chris. In a pubbusiness, yes. He called. But I didnt go to the cinema with him. Not because I was waiting for you. Because I finally understood something.
What? He held his breath.
I turned.
Ive spent thirty years with you. I know how you breathe at night, which foot you tuck in when youre cold, what you want for breakfast, what silence looks like for you. My roots in you are deep, like an old tree in its patch of ground. You can move a tree, of course, but it might not take. Chris is a hothouse. Youre my garden. Neglected, old, but still mine.”
David swallowed. He came closer, took my hand.
I’ll look after your garden. Promise. Ill dig out the weeds.
The weeds will be back, I sighed. Thats life.
That night at the pubChris, hugging you, I nearly went mad.
You were jealous?
Out of my mind. Realised then I could kill anyone who touched you. Except myselfthe fool.
I looked at him a long time. Then, finally, leaned my head on his chest. Heard his heart, unsteady, fast.
David.
Hmm?
I dont think I can live without you either.
He hugged me tight, crushingly.
Thank you.
For what?
For giving me one more chance.
We stood by the window. Sunlight pouring in. Outside, sparrows chattered; the scent of earth and lilac drifting in. Somewhere, in city centre, Emma Adams was likely setting her sights anew. Chris Parker probably driving his fancy car, pondering that not everythings for sale.
And we just stood apart from the resta pair the years had almost split, drawn back together. Because there are things stronger than first love. There is last love. Love that doesnt rust or fade. Love that simply isquiet, steady, real.
Lifting my head, I said:
Shall we have some tea? With mint.
With mint? he smiled. Why not. And Ive brought home cherry tartyour favourite.
How did you know Id be back?
I just knew. He kissed my temple. I just knew.
And we went to the kitchen. Outside, spring. Aheadlife. Ordinary, messy, arguments, reconciliations, joys, illnesses. Together. Maybe thats the real happinessnot something you chase on the internet, or find in someone elses arms. It was always here at home. Sometimes we just forget. But memory, like love, doesnt rust. It just waits its turn.
