Warm it up yourself
Rachel Saunders put a pot of stew on the table and glanced at her husband. David Saunders was already seated, nose in his phone, not even looking up at the clatter.
Theres no spoon, he said, eyes fixed on the screen.
Theyre there in the holder, as usual.
I can see them. Pass me one.
Rachel took a spoon and placed it next to his bowl. He didnt say thank you. He never said thank you. After thirty-one years, she had almost stopped expecting to hear it, but today something inside her twisted differently. Not the old, dull ache. Sharper. Like a little shard of ice, melting in her heart.
The stews cold, David announced, finally putting down his phone.
Its straight off the hob.
I said its cold. Or dont you believe me?
Rachel didnt reply. She went to the window. Outside, the snow fell thick and slow, proper December snow, the last day of the year. It always seemed to Rachel that snow on New Years Eve came down differentlyslower, weightier, like the very air knew that something had to end tonight, so something else could begin.
Warm it up, came his voice behind her.
She turned. David was already scrolling on his phone again.
You can use the microwave yourself.
A pause. A long pause, and in it Rachel heard the clock ticking in the hall, a clatter from next door, the downstairs front door slamming.
What did you say?
I said you can warm it yourself. Press starttwo minutes. Youll manage.
David looked up, as if shed just said something completely preposterous. As though shed suggested he fly to the moon in his slippers.
Rachel.
Yes?
Are you alright?
Perfectly.
He stared, the way you check if something in the house is broken.
Just go and warm it, will you?
Rachel stood by the window for a second more, then turned back to the hob and switched on the flame under the pot. Because thirty-one years of habits were heavier than any morning jolt of pain. She understood that. But the little shard of ice inside her was still melting.
Theyd met when she was twenty-two. She worked in the admin team at a small factory, David was a workshop supervisor. Tall, self-assured, with a grin that always seemed to say, I know best. At the time, Rachel hadnt realisedhis confidence was less about his own abilities and more about his supposed right to control everyone else. She worked that out much later.
The first few years were ordinary enough. Then their son, Daniel, was born, and almost without noticing, David shifted everything onto Rachel: the baby, house, meals, laundry, parents, Christmases, colds, parents evenings. He was working. Work was the trump card in every disagreement. I slog all daynow you expect me to do the washing-up too? Rachel also worked. Apparently that didnt count.
Shed long stopped calling it a relationship. It was just life. The way it was. An endless chain of days where she cooked, cleaned, ironed, shopped, checked in on his mum, picked up her grandson from school when Daniels wife asked. Amidst all of this, she still managed to find little things just for herself: books, chats with her friend Lucy, phone calls in the evening when David retreated to the TV.
Lucy was a true friend. Theyd been close since Year 8. Lucy had married late, at thirty-eight, to a widower with two kids, and he turned out to be lovely. Rachel always felt a soft sort of envy. Not bitter, not jealousjust wishing shed managed what Lucy had.
Oh, Rach, honestly, Lucy would say down the line, thats the fifth time this month youve told me a story about stew. Different stews, same old story.
Its a new story every time.
No its not, love. Its the same story with a different pot. You see the difference?
Rachel did see. She just didnt know what to do about it. At fifty-three, after thirty years of what Lucy called toxic normality, switching gears wasnt simple. Where would she go? Who would she turn to? Daniel was married, had his own flat, his own life. The flat was jointly in her and Davids name. At least she had a jobRachel was an accounts manager at a small construction firm, and her boss, Paul Anderson, appreciated her. Hed often say, Rachel, the whole companys financial backbone is you. That was nice. That was something real.
But something had shifted today. She felt it, physically, like the change in air before a storm. That little shard of ice that began melting in the morning was gone by lunch, and in its place was a drop of warmth. A warmth she didnt quite recognise.
After lunch, Daniel called.
Mum, are you both coming to us for New Years?
I dont know yet, Danny.
What dyou mean? Its the thirty-first already. Katies made potato salad, piescome on over.
Ill talk to your dad.
Mum Daniel hesitated. Are you okay?
Im fine.
Are you sure?
Rachel looked out at the falling snow.
Im sure, she said, and hung up.
David was lying on the sofa, news burbling away on the telly. Rachel stood in the middle of the lounge.
Daniel invited us over tonight.
Its too far to go.
Its forty minutes on the tube.
Too late to get back.
We can stay the night.
Where? On the floor? Artems got a camp bed in the lounge.
Katie said theyve got a new sofabed.
Not going. My backs playing up.
Rachel nodded. Davids back only troubled him when there was a family gathering. He could manage a fishing trip every summer without a twinge.
Fine. Im going.
What?
I said, Ill go by myself if you wont. You stay here, since your backs bad.
That stare again. The one shed grown used to.
What do you mean, by yourself? Its New Years.
Exactly why I want to spend it with my son and grandson. Youre welcome to join us if you change your mind.
She pulled her overnight bag down from the top shelf, hands shakingnot from weakness, but from something new. Something that felt like resolve.
Rachel, are you completely mad?
He loomed in the doorway, arms folded.
No, she said calmly, back to him. Im perfectly sane.
Youre going outon New Years? Alone?
Im going to my sons place. Not quite the same as alone.
Rachel!
She turned and looked at him. For thirty-one years, shed looked for things in his face shed wanted to see: care where there was only routine, love where there was only control. Now, she just saw an older man, used to the world being arranged around him.
Ill be back tomorrow, she said. Or the day after. I havent decided.
She put on her coat, wrapped up her scarf, grabbed her bag. Davids voice followed her: selfish, age, shameful, always like this. Words shed long ago memorised, like a poem, having long since lost their meaning.
She stepped out onto the cold landing.
The snow met her straight awaybright, festive, tinged with cold and the scent of oranges someone was carrying somewhere nearby. Rachel stopped on the doorstep and lifted her face skywards. Snowflakes landed on her cheeks, her eyelashes, and melted instantly.
She couldnt remember the last time shed just stood like that, doing nothing for anyone.
Lucy picked up on the third ring.
Rach? You alright?
All fine. Im off to Daniels for New Years. Alone.
A long pause.
Alone?
Davids stayed. His back, you know.
Lucys voice held a careful sort of happiness. Rach, is this real?
It is.
Go you!
Youre making it sound like Ive done something amazing.
You have. Maybe you dont even know it, but you have.
The tube took nearly an hour, with a change. Everyone around her seemed dressed up, bustling with shopping bags, already anticipating midnight. Rachel watched them, thinking how shed never loved New Yearsnot because she hated the holiday, but because, for her, it was always the same: a table to set, endless salads, guests to host, a husband whod inevitably say something to kill the mood.
Last year, hed said to her friend Vera, So, Vera, still no luck with finding a man? Vera had smiled, but Rachel had noticed her shoulders stiffen. Shed asked David not to say things like that, and he replied, Its only a joke, cant you lighten up?
His jokes were never funny. They made people shrink inside.
Katie opened the door herself, young and bright-eyed, dusted in flour.
Rachel! Brilliant to see you! She peered behind. And David?
Not feeling up to it. Just me.
Katie looked at her for a moment, quickly, thoughtfully, then hugged herwarm and gentle.
Come in, come insorry, its a bit of a tip, but festive.
Artem, her little grandson, rocketed in from the lounge and latched onto her.
Gran! Grans here! Gran, I wrote Father Christmas a letter!
You did? What did you ask for?
A building kitthe one with a real motor! And also I said I wanted you to come. You came! See, it worked!
Rachel laughedproperly, without effort. She realised it had been a long time since shed truly laughed just from feeling happy, not because she was supposed to.
Daniel appeared from the kitchen, tea towel over his shoulder.
Mum! He hugged her tight, just like when he was small. Journey alright?
Fine. Havent been on the tube on New Years in years. Everyone looks so smart.
Come on, Ill make you a coffee. Or tea? Katie, mumtea or coffee?
Coffee, if I may. Strong, please, Rachel said.
They sat in the kitchen, Katie busy at the stove, Artem zipping around with a car. Daniel kept watching his mum, not as usualabsent-eyedbut really seeing her.
Mum, honestly. Are you okay?
Artem, dont runor youll bump.
Mum.
Dont look at me like that, Daniel.
Like what?
Like youre about to give me a lecture.
Daniel toyed with his mug.
I just want you to be happy.
I know.
Are you?
Rachel looked out at the window. The snow showed no sign of stopping.
Im thinking about it, she answered, at last. Which is a start.
They had a proper eveningalive, natural. Katie was a wonderful hostess, her pies so good Rachel even had to ask for the recipe. Artem nodded off before midnight, hugging his brand new building kit. At the stroke of twelve, they raised glasses of sparkling Fizz and Rachel made a wish. She didnt say what it was, but it was the first wish in years just for herself.
She returned home on the second of January. Daniel wanted her to stay longer, Katie agreed, Artem had a full-on strop at the idea of her leaving. But Rachel came back. Running away wasnt the pointshe understood that now. You can’t run from your own life. You can only change it.
David met her at the door, trying to look offended, but at the same time betraying a touch of loneliness.
Back then, are you?
Back. How are you?
How dyou think? Spent New Years on my own.
I did say you could come.
But my back
I remember.
She unpacked in silence; David hovered in the doorway.
Youre not even going to apologise?
Rachel finished hanging up her coat, took off her boots, drew a breath, then turned.
And what would I be apologising for?
For leaving your husband alone on New Years.
David, you couldve come. You chose not to. Thats your call. Not mine.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
Whats gotten into you?
Me? Rachel smiled, surprised at herself. Me? Its just New Year. Running late.
She thought a lot in early January. She was the sort to let ideas settle quietly, not the type for shouting or lists. She just turned things over in her mind, like a pebble you’ve carried in your pocket for years and finally stop to examine.
Her realisation: shed spent thirty-one years alongside a man who didnt respect her. Not because he was evilhe just never saw respect as necessary. Feeding, clothing, a roofjob done. The rest was fluff. But had she asked for respect? Did she ever say she needed it? No. She kept quiet, bottled things up. It seemed wrong to argue, impossible to leave, so bearing it was being a good wife.
Who told her that? No one reallyit was in the air. Her mum used to say, Family comes first, love. Her mother-in-law told her, Look after your husband. The neighbour used to mutter, Dont air your dirty laundry. And Rachel built walls inside, behind which she stored everything she didnt say.
Now, she could sense those walls cracking. Not loudly, but steadily, like river ice come March.
On the eighth of January, Lucy rang.
Rach, Ive got something to tell you. Just hear me out.
Alright.
Remember Jane Hopkins? We lived on the same street growing up.
I dothe tall one, red hair, always smiled.
Thats her. Well, three years ago, she left her bloke. She was fifty-six at the time. Rented a flat, started working at a florists, now she runs her own little outfit doing wedding flowers. She told me the other day, Lucy, I dont know why I didnt do it sooner. I thought everything would collapse, but only the bad bits did.
Rachel listened.
You hear me, Rach?
I hear you.
Im not telling you what to dojust thought you should know about Jane.
I get it.
You deserve better, Racheldo you know that?
I know. But knowing is different to feeling.
Well, time to feel it.
Easier said than done. But something, Rachel noticed, was shifting. Tiny things. When David said something unkind, before she would have melted into the kitchen for a quiet sulk. Now, she stayed put. Looked at him. Didnt start anything, but didnt leave. And there was something in her stare now that occasionally stopped David mid-grumble.
One evening, he grumbled at supper:
Youve got odd lately.
Odd?
Dont know. You look at me differently.
How so?
I said, dont know. Its justodd.
David, Rachel said, maybe youre just not used to me looking at you, properly.
He stood and took his plate away. She heard him clattering about in the kitchen, then nothing, then just the TV.
Mid-January, something unexpected happened at work. Paul Anderson called her in.
Rachel, were expandingopening a second office across town. I need a head accountant there: better pay, more autonomy. Id love you to take it. Youre the absolute backbone heretruthfully.
Sitting across from him, Rachel felt something inside her straighten: not physically, but like she’d looked up for the first time in years.
When dyou need an answer?
Next week, but Im hoping its a yes.
She didnt say anything to David at first. She thought about it. The office was forty minutes away by bus. Pay up by a third. A different world.
She rang Lucy after a couple of days.
Lucy, I’ve been offered a promotion.
Rach! Excitement radiated down the phone. Thats amazing!
Im thinking about it.
Whats to think about?
Davidll moannew office, new hours.
And? Do you need his permission?
Long pause.
No, Rachel said, slowly. No, I dont.
Exactly. Youve worked there eight years. You hold it together. Dont back out just because your husbandll grumble.
Next day, Rachel texted Paul: I accept. Thank you for your trust. Then she tucked away her phone and began making a fruit compote for Artems visit the next day.
She told David over supper.
Ive got news. Im taking a promotion, running accounts at the new office.
How far?
Forty minutes.
What for?
More responsibility, more money, more challenge.
Youre doing alright already.
Ill be doing even better.
He looked up.
Whos going to do your lunches?
Rachel considered, not for lack of an answer but to choose her words.
David, youre fifty-eight. Perfectly capable of making lunch for yourself.
I cant cook.
Its not a gift. You just havent learned. But you can.
Rachel!
Im taking the job, she said quietly. Decision made.
He stormed off. The TV blared. Rachel cleaned the kitchen, cooked fruit stew for Artem, put towels out. Later, she stood out on the balcony. The frost was sharp and the night air crisp.
She thought of Jane with the red hair, now making wedding bouquets. Of Lucys husband, whod once turned up to her birthday with armfuls of flowers and said, Lucys always saying how wonderful you are, Im glad to finally meet you. Rachel had cried all the way home that night. David had asked what was wrong. Just tired, shed replied. Hed just nodded.
In February Rachel stumbled on something she never expected. She was rummaging through a bottom drawer for a file and found an old envelope, yellowed, no stamp, with a folded letter inside. In Davids handwriting, datedyears ago, when Daniel was about seven.
She didnt want to read it. Put the envelope back, took it out again. Some part of her already knew it was important.
The letter wasnt for her. It was to a woman called Laura. Just a handful of lines, but each one clear, personal. David described thinking about Laura, feeling at ease with her, not sure what to do next, that things at home are complicated.
Rachel sat on the floor, letter in hand. She didnt cry. She thought. First: So, it was back then. Second: How much time Ive lost. Third: But maybe it wasnt lostthere was Daniel, life, things Ive built for myself.
She slid the letter back. Washed her face with cold water. Looked at her eyes in the mirrorgrey, calm, somehow newer than theyd seemed for years.
That evening, Lucy rang.
You alright?
I found something. A letter. Not for me.
Pause.
Oh, Rach
Dont. Its alright. One thing, thoughIve realised you dont need to have a dramatic reason to claim your own life. Youre allowed it. You dont need proof.
So? Have you decided?
Im thinking. But Im looking the other way now.
Lucy waited. She said gently, Im here, whatever you do.
In March, Rachel started at the new office. The team was small and easy to settle in with. She particularly liked Sarah Vernon from HRa gentle woman, always first to say hello. On Rachels first day, Sarah brought her a mug of tea and offered to show her around. It was such a little thing, but it meant everything.
The job was tougher, but energising. Paperwork, accounts, new software, new problems to solve. Rachel found herself coming home tired but alivedifferent from before.
David never quite accepted her new routine. Hed say your job in that tone that implied it wasnt real work. Rachel had to learn to separate it outthis was her space, her thing; home and him were over there.
In April, Daniels birthday brought them all togetherKatie, Artem, Rachel, a few friends. David came too, but sat on the edge, uncomfortable, left early, said he was tired.
One of Daniels friends, Ben, started chatting with Rachel, talking about his job renovating old houses. You look at a façade, all cracks and flaking paint, you think its finished. But sometimes, inside, the beams are still sturdy. Thats the kind of place I likea little battered outside, but strong at its heart.
Rachel thoughtit could be about people, too.
Later, when Daniel was seeing her out, he asked,
Good evening, Mum?
Yes, it was really lovely.
Im glad. He hugged her. Mum, you know, if you ever well, if you ever need anything, any kind of helpjust ask.
She looked at himthirty-three years old, gentle face, eyes the same shade of steadiness as her own. She wanted to say something grand. But just nodded.
I will, she promised.
May brought a surprising call from Sarah.
Sorry to ring out of the blue, Rachel. But can I ask youhave you ever thought about, I dont know, living apart?
Rachel almost dropped the phone.
Why?
Ive been through it myself. Years back. Rented a flat near work after I left my husband. It was hard at first. Got easier. Eventually, Id say, it felt right.
Im not saying you should copy me. Its justthe first bits the scariest. Freedom feels odd, but you get used to it, too.
Rachel sat in the armchair for a long time after. Outside, the May sky was nearly summer blue, coffee scented the kitchen. David was out with a mate.
She opened her laptop and idly checked flat listings. Just to see, she told herself.
Living on her own was doable. Her salary covered it. She realised that quickly, surprised at how obvious it was.
She started a list, just for herself, two columnswhat keeps me, what lets me go. On the keeps side were three items. On the lets go side: only one wordFear.
For three weeks, she lived with that word. It was everywhere. Fear of what? Being judged? By whom? Neighbours? Her mother-in-law, who lived in another city? Friends? Fear of loneliness? But she was already lonely, thirty-one years sharing a flat with someone who barely noticed her. Fear of a mistake? But who said staying put is right, and leaving is wrong?
In the end, her fear was just habit. Used to believing she didnt have the right. That this is just what people do.
But not everyone. Jane didnt. Sarah didnt. Lucy didnt.
On 16th June, Rachel rang about a flata one-bed, third floor, bright and tidy, near work. The landlady, a woman in her sixties named Anne Middleton, was friendly and matter-of-fact. They met, chatted, viewed the place.
You work, do you?
Head accountant.
Good. Any pets?
No.
Quiet?
Id say sopractically invisible, Rachel said, grinning.
Want it?
I do.
Rachel sat on the bus home, key in hand, watching the summer city roll past, feeling she was holding something heavier and oldera symbol, not just a key.
She told David that evening. No preamble, just straight.
David, I need to talk. Ive rented a flat. Im going to live on my own.
Silence. Proper silence. The TV kept going, but might as well have been in the next room.
What?
Ive rented a flat. Im moving out. I cant live like thisno respect, no warmth, no conversation. I want something else.
So youve found someone? That was, predictably, his first question.
No. Ive found me. Its not the same.
Its mad.
It may be. But its my madness.
Youre fifty-three, Rachel.
I know my own age, David.
He stood, sat again. Whatll people say?
I wondered that. I dont care anymore.
He stared for a long time, then, very quietly,
Its about the letter, isnt it.
Rachel looked up.
You know about the letter?
I saw the envelope had moved.
No. Its not because of the letter. The letter just confirmed what I already knew. This isnt about you. This is about me.
She went to bed, heard him making tea in the kitchen, muttering, then switching on the TV. Eventually, silence.
The move took a few days. Daniel helped. Katie came with Artem, who conducted an all-important inspection.
Gran, theres a balcony! Can we grow flowers?
Of course!
Ill buy you a plant, Gran. Tiny one, just for you.
Itll be perfect.
Sarah came round that first evening with a homemade strawberry cake. She grinned at the threshold: Welcome to your new life, Rachel.
It wasnt some grand declaration, just gentle words, delivered with warmth, but they caught in Rachels throat all the same.
Thank you. Come in.
They sat late, drinking tea, talking of work, the city, their families. Just two women at a small table with cake and good tea. Not a big event. Just life.
When Sarah left, Rachel curled up on the new sofa under a throw, basking in the quiet. Not the tense old silence, but real, soft quiet that was all hers.
She slept soundly.
August was busy and warmRachel knew every cupboard and routine in her new place, her way to the green across the road, to the cornershop. Sometimes, in the evenings, shed wander over and sit on a bench, not thinking about anything in particular. That, too, was new.
In late August, David rang.
Daniel says youre settled?
Yes.
Pay alright?
Fine.
Maybe you should come round. Talk. About us.
Rachel looked out at the wind in the trees.
David, theres no us in the old sense. Surely you see?
I do. Still, maybe
No, David. No maybe. I wont be coming back.
Why?
Because back there, I wasnt happy.
And here?
Here, Im learning. Its different.
A pause. Then, Youve changed.
Yes.
A lot.
I hope so.
Another call, then another. They happened less and less. Rachel picked up when she wantednot out of malice, simply because it was her choice. Having a choice was, in itself, something new.
In the autumn, Jane called. Lucy had given her Rachels number.
Rachel Saunders? Its JaneLucys friend. She thought we might Well, talk?
Talk? Yes, Id like that.
They met at a coffee shop. Jane had a bright blue coat and looked content. Not jubilant, just quietly sure of herself. She talked about the florists, about how odd the first months alone had felt, about the day she realised she was humming on the bus. I hadnt sung to myself in twenty years. And suddenly, there I was, at the window, humming.
Do you regret it? Rachel asked. Ever?
I regret not doing it sooner.
Were you scared?
Terrified. Heres what I discoveredits frightening up until the moment you do it. Then, it stops. Because theres nothing left to be scared of. Its happened. And nothing really falls down.
Rachel thought about this, long into the evening. Nothing had fallen down. Her son was near. Her grandson called her himself now, babbling, Gran, I miss you! The job was good. Sarah was a true friend. Lucy, as always, was by her side.
And something harder to namea sense she was, finally, in her rightful place. Not a visitor, not a servant, not a sidekick to someone elses life. Herself. Rachel Saunders. Fifty-three. Head accountant. Mother. Gran. Person.
She celebrated New Years twice. Once at Daniels again, with the potato salad and pies, with Artem instructing her on his building kit. And once at her own place. Lucy and her husband came, Sarah, Jane in another bright coat. There was food, soft music, gentle laughter. No judging, no awkward questions, no Do you remember in a bad way. Just people whod chosen to be there.
At midnight, Rachel raised her glass. Made a wish. Again, she didnt say it out loud, but this year, it was different. Not a plea or a hopejust a quiet, strong, carry on.
Mid-January in the new year, the phone rang. Davids motherno, not her mother-in-law anymore. Pauline Saunders, living with a distant cousin up north. Theyd never been close, but things were always polite.
Rachel, its Pauline. Davids told me everything.
Go on.
I want to tell you something.
Im listening.
You did the right thing.
Rachel waited.
I shouldve told you years ago. I saw how he was. I kept quietmothers do, about sons. Its not right, but its what happens. Im sorry for that.
Pauline
No, let me finish. Youre a good woman. Always have been. You deserve a good life. Age doesnt matter. Im ninety and I still get up each day looking for something to be glad about. Dont bury yourself before your time, alright?
Alright, Rachel said. The lump in her throat returned.
Good. Give us a ring sometimes, just for a chat.
I will.
Promise?
Promise.
She sat for a long time after, staring at the wall, then laughingsoft, surprised. Whod have guessed? Pauline. Now, of all times.
Turns out, the world drops surprises in the oddest wrapping.
End of February, Daniel turned up on his own with shopping, just to see her. They drank tea, talked about work, about Katie, about Artem starting school in the autumn.
Mum, Daniel said, getting his coat, You look good. Like a switchs gone on in you.
It had been off for a while.
I get it. He paused. Mum, Im sorry.
For what, love?
For not seeing it soonernot asking. I just thought it was normal. I never asked how you were feeling.
Daniel, she said gently, people only see what they can. You didnt have to see what I was hiding. Youve always been a good son. Thats enough for me.
He hugged her tightly and left.
Rachel stood by the door a minute longer, then returned to the kitchen, poured more tea. Outside, snow still fellsoft, patient, December snow.
She thought back to that window a year before, a different flat, the same snow. Something had started to shift then. Something as tiny and quiet as that melting shard of ice.
Now it had melted completely, become water. Water for washing, for drinking, for flowing onward.
About a week later, David called. She answered.
Rachel.
Yes?
I was at the doctornothing major, just my blood pressure. She said I need to watch my diet.
Good to get it checked.
Used to be you who reminded me.
David, you have to remind yourself now. Thats how it should be.
Pause.
You really arent coming back?
No.
And youre alright with that?
Rachel looked out at the snowy world.
I am, she said. Honestly. Dont worry.
Im not worrying. Just asking.
I know.
Another pause, then, almost too quiet, I know its my fault.
Rachel waited. She wanted to speak gently, just to tell the truth.
David, I dont hate you. We shared a long life. Not all of it thrown away. But it wasnt the life I wanted. I dont know if it was the life you wanted, either. Only you can answer that.
I think about that, he said.
Good, Rachel replied. Its worth thinking on.
She hung up. Put the kettle on. Reached for her mug. Glanced at the key that now always sat by the doorjust an ordinary key, yet meaning everything.
