**The Train to a New Life**
Evelyn woke and listened. The silence in the flat told her Nigel wasn’t home. She stretched, rose from bed, and made her way to the kitchen. A note lay on the table: *”Sorry, forgot to mention last night. I’ll be at work till noon.”*
She smirked, crumpled the paper, and tossed it into the bin. She’d long suspected Nigel was seeing someone. He was never home anymore, they’d stopped talking properly, barely speaking at all. Their daughter, Clara, had married and moved away to her husband’s military posting. What remained was the hollow shell of a marriage.
Her phone rang in the other room. Margaret.
*”What are you up to?”* asked her oldest friend, the one who’d known her since school.
*”Nothing. Just got up.”*
*”Listen, it’s glorious outside—proper spring sunshine. Fancy a bit of shopping? I’m dying for something bright and lovely. You’re not busy, are you?”*
*”Not at all. Nigel’s at work.”*
*”On a weekend? Right, get yourself ready—properly, mind—and I’ll pick you up in an hour.”* Margaret hung up before Evelyn could reply.
She put the kettle on and headed to the bathroom. Shopping with Margaret was always a treat. Her eye for quality was unmatched. While Evelyn would dither over choices, overwhelmed, Margaret would pluck the perfect dress from the rack like magic—the right fit, the right shade, flawless.
Margaret had taught her: never shop looking frumpy. Dress the part, and shopkeepers would treat you like a lady of means. And oddly enough, it worked. They never left empty-handed.
Evelyn freshened up, dressed carefully, and admired herself in the mirror. Shopping was just the thing to lift her spirits—and she desperately needed lifting.
Ten minutes later, Margaret called to say she was outside.
*”Hello. Anything particular you’re after today?”* Evelyn asked, sliding into the passenger seat of Margaret’s Bentley.
*”Not really. They’re clearing last season’s stock—half-price, some of it. Spring’s here! Can’t you feel it?”* Margaret grinned.
*”Nigel will murder me. We’re supposed to be saving for holiday…”*
*”He won’t. Snip the tags, ditch the receipts, tell him you spent half what you did.”*
*”And spend twice what I should, you mean?”*
*”I’ve a foolproof way to keep a husband none the wiser.”*
*”Oh? Do share,”* Evelyn said, intrigued.
*”Later.”*
Margaret was a striking woman—not heavy, but statuesque, with full curves, a narrow waist, and a presence that turned heads. Dark eyes, full lips, hair tumbling past her shoulders.
Evelyn was her opposite—petite, delicate, with soft blonde curls and green eyes. In jeans, she could pass for a girl half her age. Around Margaret, she always felt small, uncertain.
Shop assistants flocked to Margaret, eager to please, offering their finest wares. She’d reward them with a regal smile. But Evelyn? They spoke down to her, made her feel foolish. She’d refuse help and scurry out empty-handed.
Two hours later, arms laden with designer bags, they stepped onto the pavement.
*”That’s enough. Nigel will kill me for this alone,”* Evelyn groaned.
*”Oh, come on.”* Margaret tugged her toward the lingerie section.
*”No, no! He won’t speak to me for a week if I buy more.”*
*”Look at this lace! The burgundy set—perfect with your hair.”* Margaret held up an exquisite bra. *”There’s a matching robe… No, too much.”*
*”Who’ll even see it under my clothes? And it’s dear. No. I shan’t be tempted.”*
*”Honestly, have you learnt nothing? This isn’t for under dresses—it’s for *showing off*. With your figure? A man would forget his own name. And Nigel’d forget his temper. We’re taking it.”* Margaret marched to the till.
*”My feet are killing me. Enough. Let’s sit somewhere. I’ve only had coffee all morning,”* Evelyn said. *”Margaret… I think Nigel’s cheating.”*
*”Because he’s working today?”* Margaret sounded doubtful as they neared a café.
*”I’ve suspected for ages—”*
*”Ah, here we are.”* Margaret cut her off, steering them inside.
They settled by the window. While waiting for the waiter, Evelyn glanced around. Two tables over sat a man who looked exactly like Nigel—same haircut, same ivory jumper. She’d given it to him at Christmas. But why wear it to work? And his office was clear across town.
She told herself she was mistaken, yet her gaze kept drifting back. Then, as if sensing her, he turned. His profile confirmed it—Nigel.
Her heart lurched, guilt flooding her like a child caught misbehaving. But he hadn’t seen her.
*”You look like you’ve seen a ghost,”* Margaret muttered.
*”Shh. That’s Nigel. Let’s go before he spots us.”*
*”So what? *He’s* the one who should worry. You said he was at work—miles from here. Dressed like he’s on a date, watching the clock. What were you saying about suspicions?”*
Evelyn stood.
*”Where are you going?”* Margaret caught her wrist.
*”I’ll just ask him. Sooner he sees us, the worse it’ll be.”*
She walked over and took the seat opposite him.
*”Hello.”*
Nigel started, staring at her in shock.
*”What are you doing here?”* Evelyn asked. *”You wrote you were at work. Or is *this* work now?”*
*”What about you?”*
*”Shopping with Margaret. We’re knackered, popped in for a bite. She’s right behind you. Margaret!”* Evelyn waved cheerily.
Nigel didn’t turn.
*”Waiting for someone? You keep checking the time. Am I interrupting?”*
He recovered quickly, shifting to offense.
*”How much did you spend? We agreed to save for holiday.”*
*”Relax. I spent sensibly. Can’t go on holiday naked, can I?”* Oddly, she felt calm. Better to know the truth than wonder.
Nigel’s phone buzzed with a message. He flipped it facedown without reading.
*”Why do you do that? At home too—flip it over when I’m near, take it to the loo. What are you hiding?”*
*”Nothing. Habit.”*
*”You never did before. Let me see—might be important.”* She reached for it, but he snatched it away.
Just then, a young woman passed, lingering near their table before seating herself nearby. Nigel glanced at her—too quickly for Evelyn to miss.
*”Your friend’s here. Shall I bring your order?”* A waitress approached, smirking at Nigel.
*”You’ve already ordered, darling?”* Evelyn wanted to hurl the table’s vase at him. Her worst fears took shape. *”Five minutes, please?”* she told the waitress, who nodded and slipped away.
*”Is that her? The girl you’re waiting for? Pretty.”* Evelyn nodded toward the nearby table. *”She can’t be older than twenty-five. So insecure you need someone that young?”*
*”Stop it. We’ll talk at home.”*
*”What about lunch? She must be hungry. *I* can’t spend, but *you* can play charity?”*
She bit back the urge to scream. Margaret was frantically signaling, but Evelyn pretended not to notice.
*”How long? Six months? That’s when you started hiding your phone. Just admit it. We’ve years between us—I’ll understand.”*
*”Evelyn, have you gone mad? What affair? I dropped papers for a client and stopped for coffee—”*
*”Let’s see.”* She stood to confront the girl, but the waitress returned with a tray. One dish had a cloche over it.
*”Enjoy,”* the waitress said, leaving.
*”So. Just coffee?”*
Nigel moved to take the dish, but Evelyn lifted the cloche first. Inside lay an open velvet ring box.
*”When were you going to tell me you want a divorce?”*
*”Let’s talk at home.”* He avoided her eyes.
*”You *have* no home. I’ll pack your things—collect them tomorrow. Bon appétit.”* She turned on her heel and strode out.
Margaret caught up on the pavement outside.
*”Evelyn! The car’s the other way! I can’t run in these heels—The man in uniform smiled warmly at her as he lifted her suitcase, and for the first time in months, Evelyn felt the faintest spark of hope for what lay ahead.
