“My dear, I need you to move out so my mate can move in,” Sam said, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of desperation and optimism.
“Move out? Just so your friend can have a place?” I wanted to pin him with a finger. “Sam, are you out of your mind?”
“Where would he sleep otherwise? The bed’s only one, and you’d feel awkward,” he flapped his arms dramatically in our tiny shared flat on a Manchester student residence. “I can’t turn Victor awayhe’s a lifelong buddy! We grew up together… you know the story! Just two weeks, Milly, two weeks!”
I was perched on the edge of the sofa wed bought on a threeyear hirepurchase plan, after spending two hours debating the upholstery colour, twirling a strand of hair between my fingersa habit Id had since I was a child.
Whenever I faced an important decision, Id fidget with my hair. Mum used to nag, Stop that or youll be bald by thirty. Im thirtytwo and still have a full head.
Looking at Sam now, I saw him as if for the first time: the little mole above his left eyebrow, the crease near his mouth that appeared last year when the factory let him go, his big, calloused hands with stubby fingershands that could fix a crane and assemble a wardrobe.
“Why don’t you pop over to Mum’s?” he suggested, dropping onto the sofa and reaching for my hand, which I tucked protectively behind my thigh. “Shell be thrilled. She hasnt seen you in ages, and her flat is much more spaciousno queuing for the shower.”
“Two months,” I blurted automatically.
“What?”
“Two months ago I was at Mums for her birthday in August.”
“Right, right” Sam panted. “Milly, why are you fighting this? Its only temporary! Victors looking for work in London, has nowhere to stay, and hotels are absurdly pricey. I owe him, honestly, I owe him.”
“Sam,” I said softly, and he flinchedonly in moments of genuine seriousness did I ever use his full name. “Tell me straight. Is this all really about Victor, or have you just found an excuse to get a break from me?”
He sprang from the sofa, pacing the cramped 18squaremetre room, three steps forward, three back, as if the walls might close in. I watched his nervous little dance, breath held, like a tennis ball in play.
“Come on, Milly! Of course its for Victor! You think Id No, Id neverMilly!”
It hit me then: he was lying.
Victor would indeed show up; that part I believed. But the real motive was something else, something Sam himself hadnt fully grasped. I knew it from the way he avoided my gaze, the flicker in his eyes, the tension in his neckclassic telltale signs of a fib.
I lunged for the wardrobe and grabbed my bag.
“Are you really leaving right now?” Sam halted midroom, his face a picture of surprised panic.
“Why drag it out? Victor arrives tomorrow, didnt you say?”
“Yes, but Milly, calm down! Its only two weeks!”
***
Mum arrived, wrapped in a bathrobe, hair tied in a towel. She saw me with my bag and understood without a word. Mothers are intuitive like that.
“Come in, love,” she said, ushering me in. “Make yourself at home.”
For the next two weeks I lived in my old girlroom, the walls still plastered with schoolday posters and photographs. It felt as if Id slipped back into fifteenyearold me, with the whole future ahead. Mum asked nothing, just served my favourite cheese scones in the morning and poured tea with jam in the evenings while we watched the telly.
Sam called constantlytwenty missed calls, then thirty, then fortyuntil the phone finally died and I didnt bother charging it.
On the fifth day I bumped into Lucy, a former classmate, at a café.
“Guess what? I saw you yesterday with some tall bloke in a leather jacket,” she said, stirring sugar into her cappuccino.
“That was Victor, my childhood friend,” I replied automatically. “Hes crashing here while Im staying with Mum temporarily.”
“Oh, right,” Lucy said, giving me a strange look. “A friend, then.”
I didnt press for clarification.
Exactly two weeks later, Sam rang Mums landlinemy mobile was still off. I had no desire to switch it back on.
“Milly, you can come back now,” he said, weary. “Victors gone.”
“Alright,” I answered calmly. “Ill be back tomorrow.”
“Really?” he asked, brightening. “You wont believe the messempty fridge, shirts all wrinkled, Ive been surviving on instant noodles for weeks”
“Ill be back tomorrow,” I repeated, hanging up.
Mum stood in the kitchen doorway, biting back a smile. “Really coming back?” she asked.
“Yeah, for my stuff. Ill file for divorce, thats it. Enough of this.”
She nodded and turned to finish dinner.
Sam met me at the door, looking haggardredcheeked, fiveday stubble, and the flat a true disaster zone: empty bottles, cigarette butts, pizza boxes, noodle packets, the smell of stale booze and something sour.
“Milly,” he lunged, trying to hug, but I stepped back. “Its over, isnt it? Lets just pretend this was a nightmare and forget it. I swear, Ill never bring anyone else into our home!”
I walked to the wardrobe and opened the doors.
“Need a hand?” he buzzed, hovering. “Your bag looks lightwhat, did you pack nothing?”
“Im filing for divorce,” I said, folding my dresses neatly. “In a month, everything will be settled.”
He plopped down on the floor, right where hed been standing, folding himself in half.
“Milly” he whispered. “Milly, is it really because of two weeks? Because of Victor?”
“Its not about him.”
“Then what is it?”
Sams eyes searched mine, full of bewilderment, a raw honesty that made me feel a flicker of pity.
“Explain, Milly! What did I do? We had good times.”
I zipped my bag, turned to face him. Sam was sitting in grimy jeans and a crumpled tee, looking as lost as a stray dog.
“Sam,” I said slowly, choosing each word. “You asked me to leave my own home for two weeks so your friend could stay. You didnt ask, you just declared it. And the scariest part? I actually leftlike a dog tossed out the door because I didnt know the right thing to do. For those two weeks I kept wondering what would happen next. Would another friend show up and youd evict me again? Or would you just want some peace and send me back to Mum?”
“You said youd never do it again…”
“Its not about that,” I interrupted. “Its about you thinking this was acceptabletelling your wife to move out so a mate can move in. If I dont walk away now, Ill spend the rest of my life stepping out whenever you ask, and coming back only when you allow it. Im not a dog, Sam. Im a person.”
His lips quivered like a child on the brink of tears.
“But I love you,” he whispered. “Milly, I love you”
“I loved you,” I replied, lifting my bag and heading for the door. “Sell the flat, give me half the proceeds, and thats it. I have nothing left to share with you.”
