I dont get it, have you changed the locks? he began, indignant. I was standing there for half an hour and couldnt get in
Your things are with Samantha, Emily cut in. Go to her if you two are made for each other.
Maxwell went pale. A knot tightened at the base of his neck, his jaw trembled.
What nonsense is that? Whos Samantha?
Emma, youre off today, arent you? Emily raised an eyebrow at the hairdresser, her hair reddened by the cold.
Shaking snow from her bright auburn hair, Emma hurried to pull on her coat.
Oh, Emily, a client just called she needs a wedding hairstyle, urgent, an hour ago.
Im on my way, Emma said, nervous, fumbling with her sleeves. You dont mind, do you? Ive slotted it into my schedule.
Emily simply waved a hand. People work, thank God. She loved the cosy, familylike atmosphere of her little salon.
At the moment, Ren was carefully mixing a complex dye while chatting softly with a client; Lucy and Polly were on a break between manicures, sipping tea with a slice of fruit cake someone had brought in; Claire was by the window, wiping down her tools.
The backroom was warm, the air scented with coffee and styling products.
Emilys phone buzzed. A message from Maxwell:
Love, Ill be late today. Important meeting with the clients.
She smiled he always gave a headsup when hed be late. Thoughtful.
Just the other day hed bought her favourite scones for no reason other than to make her smile.
The front door swung open, letting a gust of frosty air in.
On the doorstep stood a tall young woman in a coat with a luxurious fur collar. She wore polished boots and leather gloves.
Good afternoon, she said coolly, scanning the room. I need to speak with you.
Emily returned her customary smile.
Im listening.
Just the two of us, the visitor replied, adjusting her perfectly coifed blonde hair.
Something in her tone set Emily on edge. She led the stranger into the tiny room labelled Directors Office.
My name is Samantha Reed, the woman said, sliding into a chair, crossing one leg over the other. Im here about Maxwell.
Emilys heart gave a quick thump, but she kept her composure. Years of dealing with capricious clients had taught her to keep a steady face.
Which Maxwell?
Your husband, Samantha leaned forward slightly. Listen whats your name?
Emily.
Emily, I know youre ill. Thats why Maxwell hasnt dared to file for divorce. Hes scared of hurting you, worries your mind wont cope. But it cant go on like this.
Weve loved each other a long time. We could be happy if we didnt behave like this.
Emily stared at her, feeling reality turn into a surreal dream.
Maxwell? The same Maxwell who kissed her on the way to work this morning? The one who spent an hour yesterday browsing holiday packages for MayWherever youd like, love?
Ive thought it over, Samantha continued, rehearsing the speech. It would be fair to leave you half the flat. You understand that blackmailing a husband is disgraceful, dont you?
Emily exhaled slowly. Her thoughts rang clear as a bell.
I need to think, she said evenly. Can we talk tomorrow?
Samantha seemed taken aback, blinking her long lashes in confusion.
Of course write down my number.
That evening Maxwell returned late, just as hed promised. He smelled of his familiar aftershave, mixed with a faint trace of Samanthas perfume that Emily now recognised instantly.
Fancy a dinner? she asked, watching him slip off his shoes with his usual gesture.
Wouldnt miss it, he grinned, giving her a cheeky kiss. Whats on?
Seafood pasta. Your favourite.
He ate heartily, recounting his hectic day, asking about the salon. Everything was as usual, only now Emily saw the performance behind each smile, each gesture.
Five years, she thought, five years of pretending.
That night she lay awake, listening to Maxwells steady breathing. She recalled how theyd met, how hed courted her, how hed proposed.
When had the lies begin? From the start, or later? And why?
She kept the house, paid the bills, bought presents for the whole family, even his elderly aunt. She organised holidays, looked after his health, remembered vitamins and vaccinations.
He, on the other hand, only paid the loan on his expensive car a status symbol, you might say.
By morning the decision had crystallised. When Maxwell, as usual, kissed her goodbye and left for work, Emily grabbed her phone and dialed the number from yesterday.
Hello, Samantha? Its Emily. Lets meet today. Ive made my choice.
Emily methodically folded Maxwells shirts, smoothing each crease.
A dark blue microcheck shirt his favourite for important meetings. A crisp white shirt with French cuffs a birthday gift.
Five years of shared life packed into two suitcases and a gym bag.
Samantha called back, triumph wobbling in her voice.
Im on my way, taxi downstairs. Are you sure youve thought this through?
Absolutely, Emily replied calmly. If were selling the flat, the first step is to clear it out.
Ill collect Maxwells things, you take them. Ill speak to him myself; hell be back this evening.
A pause lingered on the line.
You know, Samantha said unsurely, I expected you to be hysterical, to threaten. But youre reasonable.
Emilys lips twitched. A selfassured woman who thought the world should dance to her tune.
Life teaches restraint, she said dryly. The flat is £312,000.
Samantha entered the flat in a pink coat, a designer handbag on her shoulder, stilettoheeled boots despite the icy pavement.
Oh, thats his favourite sweater! she chirped, examining the clothing. And the cufflinks I gave him for New Years!
Emily froze. Those cufflinks were from her, yet Maxwell had claimed hed bought them on a business trip
Take everything, she said hoarsely. Even the bedding, its in a separate bag.
Samantha hauled the suitcases into a taxi, constantly fixing her hair.
I instantly understood Maxwell is miserable in this marriage. A man like that cant live beside she trailed off, eyeing Emily sharply. In any case, were made for each other. Youll see him flourish beside me.
Emily watched in silence as the stranger rummaged through her home. What story had Maxwell fed his lover?
When Samanthas door shut, Emily sank onto the couch. The empty flat echoed with silence.
Five years of life reduced to a handful of memories, all now false.
The phone buzzed again it was Maxwell.
Darling, want pizza tonight? Im starving 
Emily smiled. Even the emojis showed a caring, attentive husband, the kind she had once been proud of.
Friends would envy: Five years together and still like newlyweds!
At seven oclock a knock sounded. Maxwell stood on the doorstep, dishevelled and puzzled.
I dont get it, have you changed the locks? he started, frustrated. I stood there for half an hour and couldnt get in
Your things are with Samantha, Emily snapped. Go see her if you really are made for each other.
Maxwell turned ashen, his throat tightening, his jaw trembling.
What rubbish? Whos Samantha?
Enough, Emily said, weary. She was here yesterday, told me everything about your affair, my blackmail. By the way, why am I ill? What did you tell her?
Emily, listen
No, you listen. The flat is mine. The car will be split at divorce; its joint property. And Im perfectly healthy.
She shut the door on his pale face. Her hands shook, yet inside there was an odd calm.
The phone rang almost immediately Samantha.
What does my flat mean? she shouted. You promised!
I promised nothing, Emily cut in. You decided to split everything here. Look after your prince better.
Hed even bought his own car on credit his contribution to the family budget.
She pressed end call and tossed the handset onto the sofa. Then she walked slowly through the nowquiet rooms, getting used to the new stillness.
Empty shelves glowed in the wardrobe, the bathroom lacked his shaving kit, the kitchen missed his favourite mug with a goofy slogan.
Five years evaporated, leaving a hollow and a strange, bittersweet relief.
Emily moved to the window. Snow swirled outside, streetlights flickered in neighbouring houses. Life went on.
She dialled a number.
Agatha? Remember you mentioned a hendo this weekend? Ive changed my mind Ill join you.
