When was the last time you actually looked at yourself in the mirror? my husband asked me, quite out of the blue. My response must have surprised him.
William was finishing his morning tea, casting sidelong glances at me as I bustled around the kitchen. My hair was pulled back with a rubber bandthe sort a child might use. It had cartoon cats on it, which must have looked rather silly on a grown woman.
Sarah, who lived in the flat next door, was always lively and well put-together. She had an unmistakable air of sophistication and you could always smell her expensive perfume lingering in the corridor after shed passed through.
You know, William set his newspaper aside, sometimes I think were more like neighbours than husband and wife.
I froze, dishcloth dangling in hand.
What are you getting at?
Nothing in particular. Justwhen did you last look in the mirror?
I turned and looked at him. Carefully. And that was when William realised his conversation had taken an unexpected turn.
And when was the last time you looked at me? I asked quietly.
A heavy, awkward silence.
Oh, Mary, dont make a meal of it. I just mean a woman ought to look her best, thats all. Its basic, isnt it? Look at Sarah. Shes your age.
Ah. I lingered on the name. Sarah.
There was something in my voice that made William shift uneasily, as though Id reached a sudden, significant realisation.
Bill, I said after a pause, perhaps Ill pop round to Mums for a few days. Reflect on what youve said.
Fine. Well spend some time apart. Think things over. Im not throwing you out!
You know, I placed the cloth neatly on its hook, maybe I do need to see myself in a mirror.
Then I turned and started packing my suitcase.
William remained at the table, thinking, Blast it this is what I wanted. Except instead of feeling satisfied, he just felt hollow.
For three days, William lived as if on holiday. Leisurely morning tea, long evenings doing whatever he fancied. No one switching on melodramatic television shows.
Freedom, you know? The long-cherished freedom of a bachelor.
On the third evening, William bumped into Sarah outside the building. She was carrying bags from Waitrose, in heels and a dress that fit like it was made just for her.
William! she greeted, smiling warmly. How are you? Havent seen Mary in ages.
Shes at her mothers for a break, he lied smoothly.
Ah. Sarah nodded knowingly. You know, sometimes women need a breather, from housekeeping and all its monotony.
She said this as if shed never cleaned a flat in her life. As if meals just appeared for her, and her home tidied itself with the wave of a hand.
Fancy a coffee sometime, Sarah? the words escaped him. Just as neighbours.
Why not, she smiled. Tomorrow evening?
That night, William mulled over his plans. Which shirt? Jeans or trousers? Not too much aftershave.
In the morning, the phone rang.
William? said an unfamiliar voice. Its Patricia Smith, Marys mother.
His heart jolted.
Yes, Im listening.
Mary asked me to let you know shell collect her things on Saturday, when youre out. Keys will be left with the porter.
Wait, what do you mean collect her things?
What did you expect? Patricias voice was steely. My daughter has no intention of sitting about waiting for you to decide if shes worth having.
Mrs Smith, I never said anything like that.
You said more than enough. Goodbye, William.
She hung up.
William sat at the kitchen table, staring at the phone. What on earth? He wasnt divorcing her! Hed just suggested a break. Time to think.
But theyd done the deciding, without him.
That night, coffee with Sarah didnt go as hed hoped. She was charming, funny about her job at the bank, laughed at his jokes. But when he tried to take her hand, she gently withdrew.
William, I cant. Youre a married man.
But were were living separately.
For now. But what about tomorrow? Sarah looked at him, steady and clear.
He saw her to the entrance and went up to his empty flat. It greeted him with silence and the stale scent of solitary living.
Saturday came. William left home deliberately he couldn’t face the drama, explanations, tears. Let her collect her things in peace.
But by three oclock his curiosity was eating at him. What would she take? Everything? Just the essentials? What did she look like now?
At four, he couldnt bear it any longer and drove home.
Out front was a car wearing London plates. A man, about forty, not unattractive, in a decent jacket, was helping load boxes.
William took a seat on the bench and waited.
After ten minutes, a woman emerged wearing a blue dress. Her dark hair was clipped neatly, not with cartoonish bands but a stylish barrette. Her makeup was light, highlighting her eyes.
William stared, hardly believing it. It was Mary. His Mary and yet, she seemed transformed.
She carried her last bag, and the man immediately helped her, handling her as gently as if she were made of glass.
That was when William snapped. He stood and walked over to the car.
Mary!
She turned. He saw her face for the first time in months calm, lovely, and lacking the ever-present exhaustion hed grown used to.
Hello, Bill.
Is that is that really you?
The man at the wheel tensed, but Mary placed a hand on his arm all is well.
Its me, she replied simply. You just havent looked at me in quite a long while.
Mary, wait. We could talk.
About what? Her voice wasnt angry, just curious. You said a woman should look stunning. So I listened.
Thats not what I meant! Williams heart battered his chest.
But what was it you wanted, Bill? For me to be lovely, only for you? Interesting, but only in the house? To love myself but not enough to leave a husband who barely notices?
He stood, listening. With each word, something inside him shifted.
You know, she went on gently, I admit, I stopped caring for myself. Not out of laziness, but because I got used to being invisible. In my own home, my own life.
Mary, I didnt mean
Oh, you did. She nodded. You wanted a wife who didnt get in the way. Who did everything, but never intruded. Who could be swapped out for a brighter version when she grew dull.
The man murmured something to her. Mary nodded.
We should go, she told William. Edwards waiting.
Edward? Williams mouth went dry. Whos that?
Someone who sees me, Mary replied. We met at the gym. Theres a fitness centre near Mums. Imagine that forty-two years old and Ive just started exercising for the first time.
Mary, please. Lets try again. Ive made a mess of things.
Bill, she regarded him with clear eyes, do you remember the last time you called me beautiful?
William said nothing. He couldnt remember.
Or the last time you asked how I was?
And then he understood hed lost. Not to Edward. Not to fate. But to himself.
Edward started the car.
Bill, Im not angry with you. Truly. You helped me understand if I dont see myself, no one else will.
The car rolled away.
William stood there, watching his life depart. Not just his wife his life. Fifteen years, which hed dismissed as drudgery. Actually they were happiness.
He never knew.
Half a year later, William bumped into Mary at a shopping centre. Quite by chance.
She was picking out coffee beans, scrutinising the labels. Next to her stood a young woman, about twenty.
Try this one, Mary suggested. My husband says Arabicas better than Robusta.
Mary? William approached.
Mary turned her smile was easy, unburdened.
Hello, Bill. This is Emma Edwards daughter. Emma, this is William, my ex-husband.
Emma nodded politely. Beautiful girl, a student I guessed. She looked at William with curious, frank eyes.
How are you? he asked.
Alls well. And you?
About the same.
Awkward silence. What does one say to a former wife whos changed so completely?
They stood between the shelves, and William took measure of her. Sun-kissed, wearing a light blouse, a new haircut happy. Genuinely happy.
And you? she asked. Met anyone?
Not really, he admitted.
Mary studied him thoughtfully.
You know, Bill, she said quietly, youre searching for a woman beautiful like Sarah, but as docile as I once was. Clever, but not so much that shell notice you admiring someone else.
Emmas eyes widened.
Such a woman doesnt exist, Mary concluded, calm and certain.
Mary, shall we go? Emma asked. Dads waiting in the car.
Of course. Mary took a packet of coffee. Good luck to you, Bill.
They left, and William remained in the aisle, reflecting that Mary was right. He really was searching for someone impossible.
That evening, William sat in his kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea. He thought of Mary, of how shed changed. How sometimes, losing something is the only way to realise what you once had.
Perhaps happiness isnt in looking for the perfect, convenient wife. Perhaps its in learning to truly see the woman beside you.
