The Right to Jealousy
My phone started ringing at half past seven in the morning, just as I was pouring coffee into the mugs. I heard that familiar ringtone coming from our bedroom, and I didnt even have to check who it wasI simply knew it was the start of something unpleasant.
James walked into the kitchen already on the phone. He was in an old t-shirt and his pyjama bottoms, his hair sticking up every which wayhe looked so wonderfully at home, so much like my James, that for a brief second, I felt this lovely gush of warmth. Just for a second, though.
Yeah, whats up? Again? He glanced at me, looking a bit guilty, and then looked away. I set the mug on the table and started buttering some toast, even though my appetite had already evaporated.
Alright, Ill be there. Give me a couple of hoursI cant do sooner. Yep, I understand.
He ended the call and sat down. He took a sip of coffee. The air between us was so thick that I could hear the hallway clock ticking.
That was Emma, he finally said, as though I hadnt already guessed.
I heard.
Shes got a leak. The plumber cant come until late, and its starting to flood her downstairs neighbour.
James, I put the knife down gentlyno drama, just placed it on the table. Its Saturday. We were supposed to go out to the farmers market, and then to Charlottes birthday do.
Ill still make it. Ill nip round, switch the water off for herit shouldnt take long.
You said that the last time. You were there for nearly four hours, remember? She also asked you to put up a shelf and we missed the train.
He went quiet, which said everything. He always made up his mind before there was ever a discussion.
Shes on her own, Lizzie, you know how it is.
I do know, I said, voice steady. Ive known for three years now, James.
Thats how Saturday mornings went in our house. James was forty-eight, I was forty-sixa Smith before I became a Turner. Seven years together, and the first four were pretty much cloudless. Then Emma, his ex-wife, moved back to town after years living way up north, and it was like something in our well-oiled little lives started to quietly come unbolted.
Our flats not fancy because of expensive furnitureit’s the sort of place where you walk in and just sense people love living there together. The windowsills were covered with ferns and succulents. The kitchen always smelled like coffee and cinnamon. The shelves above the sofa were jammed with books, family photos, and a little wooden horse from when James had a work trip up to York. I loved our home with every part of myself. I had put something into it that felt like it was almost my soul.
So every call from Emma felt like some unwelcome intruder creeping in through our locked door.
James left just before nine. I stayed behind, looking out at a drab April sky and thinking about how a happy marriage takes more than just love; it takes something I couldnt quite put into words.
I went to the market alone. Picked up some baby beetroot, a bunch of spring onions, and proper farmhouse cheese. The woman at the stall was chattymoaning about the rubbish weather, food prices, her son-in-law. I nodded, listening, thinking how much easier it always seems from outside, picking out the wrongs in other peoples stories. Its never that clear when its your own life.
At least we went to Charlottes birthday as a couple. James was back for lunch, a bit sheepish, spinning with the guilt, and clutching the cake Id asked him to buy yesterday, iced with buttercream roses. He triedreally, I saw it and valued it. Trying and understanding, of course, are two different things.
It was noisy and lively at my sisters. Charlotte turned eighteenher friends, all excited, laughing at whatever was on their phones, chatting in a way I couldnt always follow. James was with my brother-in-law, chatting about cars and some new drill for the garage. Ordinary. Comforting.
My sister, Alice, sat down next to me with a glass of juice.
Youre a bit quiet today, she pointed out.
Just tired.
Or Emma called again?
Alice is three years older, knows everything, and never hid that she thought James was a bit too much of a soft touch, even if hes lovely in all other ways.
Burst pipe, I said.
Of course its a burst pipe. Its always somethingleaks, hinges, bulbs burning out. Only when hes around, funny that.
Dont start, Alice.
I have to, Lizzie. Youve been waiting, asking, explaining for years. Is anything changing?
No answer. Because, honestly, nothing had.
That night, after James nodded off, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, listening to him breathe in the dark. I did love himthere was no question. He was kind, reliable, caringeven funny sometimes. I felt safe with him. But he couldnt say no. Or wouldnt. I still wasnt really sure which.
Emma hadnt come into our lives straight away. Those first years, she was far away, just a passing mention in Jamess stories, something from the past. No kids together, and the marriage ended quietly. Id never been jealous of their history. It wasnt in my natureI trusted him. Which was, I see now, both my strength and my weakness.
After Emma moved back, it started with little thingsa request for help moving house, then help with paperwork for her flat, then it all started piling on. Leaking taps, dodgy car, letting workmen in, always something. James had a million reasons. She hasnt got anyone else. Its not much trouble. You misunderstand, its not love, just kindness.
I tried explaining calmlyit wasnt jealousy, it was that I felt sidelined, our plans always second to his exs calls. James would nodand then inevitably, her phone would buzz again.
Once, I blurted it out: James, it feels like her requests matter more than mine.
He got offended then. Declared I was being unfair. As if he was supposed to turn his back on someone just because I didnt like the past. He said past like it was a full stop.
And in my head, something quietly snapped.
Not out of angermore this tired, calm resolve. I saw that words just bounced off. Explanations and requests washed up uselessly against this wall of his bafflement. He really didnt get how I feltmaybe he needed to experience it himself.
In May, an old childhood friend, Tom Jacobs, moved back to our area. Id known Tom since we were neighbours on Maple Close as kids; then life scattered us to different schools, then different cities. Hed lived in Manchester, then in Bristol, worked as a structural engineer, divorced, no kids. Wed messaged a few times over the years, usually just for Christmas or birthdays. Then in May, he said hed bought a flat just round the corner, suggested we meet up for a coffee and reminisce about the garden on Maple Close that council chopped down some twenty years ago.
I said yeswhy not.
We spent two hours in a café. Tom was good-natured, steady, with a dry wit. Hed put on a little weight, now wore glassesbut he smiled the same, his eyes still sparkling in that amused way. We chatted about mutual friends, how the city had changed, our jobs. I ran the local history section at the library, and he joked that it fit, me being the type to treasure things.
I got home in high spirits. James was reading, looked up. Howd it go? he asked.
Lovely. Just a catch-up with an old friend, I told him.
A week later, I rang Tom myself.
Tom, I need a favour, if you dont mind. Slightly unusual.
Go on
Would you pop around on Sunday? The balcony doors come off its track. James keeps saying hell sort it but never gets around to it, and you being an engineer, Im sure youll have it fixed in five minutes.
Was that wholly true? Not entirely. The door did stick a bit, but I had another motive.
Tom arrived around noon, toolkit and a bottle of proper apple juice in hand. I introduced him to James, who shook his hand and said all the right things. The two of them checked the balcony, then came back for coffee at the kitchen table.
Nothing much happened. Tom told stories about projects in Bristol, his annoyance when corners were cut on blueprints. Droll, normal, nothing at all extraordinary.
But I could see Jamess face change. At first just polite. Then a bit tense. Then his answers got shorter. After Tom left, thanking us for the coffee, James just sat there quietly.
Decent fellow, he eventually said, though there was a note to his voice that didnt sit right.
Very. I grew up with him, like I said.
You did, he replied.
Pause.
You see him often?
Not really. But he lives nearby now, so maybe I will.
James picked up his paper and pretended to read. I tidied up, thinking it was playing out exactly as Id hoped.
The next week Tom called, asking if I needed more help with the balcony. I said all was sorted, but invited him over anyway for tea. We chatted briefly, perfectly innocentlybut I made sure James could overhear the call.
That evening, James was strangely quiet. Dinner passed mostly in silence. Eventually he said, How long have you and Tom known each other?
Since I was six, maybe. Childhood neighbours. Went to school together until his mum moved away.
And youve kept in touch all these years?
Every now and again. Not loads. Why?
He shrugged.
Just asking.
It was more than just asking. I watched him toss and turn that night, struggling to sleep. I didnt gloat. No, it felt more like a bittersweet realisationthis was what it felt like. This was the taste of it.
A few days later, I invited Tom over for tea again. This time, the three of us spent the evening together. Tom was a born storyteller, full of funny tales, and even James laughed several times. But I caught him glancing at me, quiet moments where he looked a bit lost, like he was reading something I hadnt written down.
When Tom finally left, James said, You know, it feels odd. Him coming over so often. You two share all these memories, these jokesI dont always know what youre laughing about. Makes me feel a bit, well, left out.
I looked right at James. Toms just a childhood mate. Hes got nobody round here. Im only helping, being neighbourlyyou know what thats like. I matched his words from so many Emma conversations.
He nearly said something, stopped. I could almost see the penny drop.
You did it on purpose, he said. Didnt askjust knew.
Did what?
Lizzie
There it was: silent kitchen, the fridge humming now and then, rain softly tapping at the windowsill.
I didnt get it, he said, voice low. I genuinely didnt. But now I think I do.
Thats something, at least, I replied.
We didnt really talk about it that night. Both of us were left with our thoughts, a little unsettled but just maybe something shifting at last.
Then, at the end of May, Emma rang againFriday this time. We were packing for a weekend at my mums little cottage in Kent, the kind with apple trees and a creaky old porch. Itd become our summer ritual: Mum would be waiting with pies, gossip about the neighbours, always so happy to see us.
James was carrying the wellies in the hallway when his phone rang. His pause made everything clear.
Emma, he said as he answered, speaking softly but I heard enough. Whats happened? Were heading off No, sorry, not possible this time.
I finished packing. Jumper, book, waterproof in case it rained. My hands were steadyI almost admired myself for it.
She wants me to come tomorrow, talk to the property managersome neighbourly row about parking.
Right, I said.
I thought maybe I could pop over really early and still make it to your mums on time
James. I finally looked up. We are going to Mums. Together. In the morning.
He stared at me.
I know shes asking, I said quietly. But so am I. I want you to choose usnot out of jealousy, not because I dont care about Emma, but because this is how it needs to be. You are my husband. We are having our weekend together with my family.
He was silent for a long time. Then he rang Emma.
I cant help you out, Emma. Not just this once, I mean in general. This is your problem to sortget official help with the management, thats what theyre there for. I no, Emma. No, I cant.
He put the phone down, picked up his boots, brought them over to the bags.
I watched his back and felt complicated. Relief, tiredness, a wave of tenderness. Maybe even a pinch of sadness, because it had taken three years and a hard little game involving Tom to get us here, and I still wasnt proud of the method.
We set off early. The car ride was quiet at first, then James put the radio on, then turned it off. Outside, the May fields rolled by, green and bright, edged with daisies.
I want to say something, he said at last, eyes on the road. When Tom came round, I hated it. I felt so out of place in my own homeas if you two had this whole secret world and I was outside it.
I gazed out at the fields.
Thats exactly it, I murmured.
I get it now. I honestly do. Doesnt mean I like the way you went about it.
And I didnt like that three years of talking made no difference.
He noddeda fair, honest nod.
Youre right.
Mums place smelled of fresh soil and apple crumble. Mum herself was waiting out front in her spotty apron, secateurs in hand, calling out before wed even opened the gate.
There you are at last! Ive got pies hot from the oven. James, youre looking thin!
Hello, Mrs. Smith, said James, kissing her cheek and immediately taking the shopping bags shed, of course, hauled out herself.
And I thought: this is it, this is what all that was for. Not victory, not the point-scoring. Just this: Mum in the kitchen, the smell of pies, my husband beside me, the garden in blossom.
We ate outside, drinking tea and munching apple and cabbage pies. Mum chatted about the neighbours cat wrecking her parsley patch, the cherry tree doing well this year, and how Mrs. Newton from up the road had just got married at sixty-seven and is over the moon. James laughed along, fixed a dodgy garden chair leg. It was just good.
When evening fell, Mum dozed off in her armchair, and we sat out on the porch steps. The sky was a deep navy with the first stars. The scent of lilac drifted over, the soft thrum of distant voices from next door.
I want to talk, James said quietly.
Go on.
Im not going to run round to Emma at the drop of a hat any more. I thought I was just helping out, but it meant something to you. I know that now.
I stayed quiet, looking up at the stars.
I dont expect you to be heartless, I said at last. If she ever really needs help, of course you can but well talk about it as a couple. Not her call, your vanishing act.
Agreed, he said simply.
And about TomI wasnt playing some nasty trick. Hes a good bloke; I told him exactly what was happening. He understood. He thinks youre a good chap, by the way.
James smirked. Charmed, Im sure.
I just needed you to feel it. Words didnt work, but this seemed to.
He was silent for a while.
They did, he agreed. Lizzie, did you did you ever think about leaving?
He asked it quietly, suddenly vulnerable. I turned to him.
I did think about it, I admitted. Not often. But it hurt so much when someone you trust keeps doing the one thing that hurts you most. It makes you wonder if they even want to notice.
I did notice, James admitted. Didnt want to face up to it. I suppose thats cowardice.
Its a way you were raised. Always help, never say no. Its a force for good, unless your loved ones end up last in the queue.
He took my hand. Silently, warmly.
We sat together for ages as night crept in. I wrapped my mums shawl over my shouldersthe garden smelt of damp grass and that brief, early-summer promise that only lasts a few days each year.
I thought about how marriage happiness isnt a destination you reach and stay at. Its worksometimes painful, sometimes slow, sometimes saying what neither of you wants to hear. Thats what makes love real, not less.
Next morning, Mum made thick pancakes and served them up with clotted cream. Breakfast was filled with chatterMum strategising about the vegetable patch, James vowing to mend the fence, me arranging another jam-making weekend with her. Ordinary, everyday joysso precious in their ordinariness.
After lunch, James headed off with tools to the fence, Mum resting in her chair, and I sat amongst the apple trees with a book I didnt read. I just watched the apples growing, saw the old garden pergola where wed drunk wine last summer, watched Mum squint into the sunlight.
Life goes on, and that was, in itself, answer enough.
Back home on Sunday evening, the flat felt a bit stuffyI cracked a window, James sorted the bags. Routine, but something had shifted.
A few days later, Emma rang again. I was in the kitchen and overheard it all.
Emma, I hear you, James said. If its urgent, call emergency services. I wont come. Not because Im angryjust because my place, weekends, is here with my family. I wish you well, honestly.
He came into the kitchen and put his phone on the table.
Fancy a coffee? I said.
Yeah. Please.
Nothing else needed saying. That silence felt completely different to that thick, April awkwardness. This was the silence of two people at peace in each others presence.
Tom popped by now and then. It was actually James who invited him round for a barbecue in June, and they ended up talking about classic bikes and some old British film they both secretly loved. I watched them and wondered if things had been different, maybe they wouldve become friends.
The summer passed quietly. We went to Mums twice more. In July, Emma sent a message instead of callingfor once. She wanted legal advice. James told her to try the free Citizens Advice linethat was that.
Come August, for the first time in years, James and I took a seaside break just the two of us. Three days in a little guest house at the Kent coast. Warm, sandy beaches, decent food. We strolled by the water at sunset, talking about everything and nothing. Books, work, how we should finally get a dog. I needed to help Mum with her jam, James fancied changing jobs. The realisation dawnedsaving something precious sometimes means you fight for it, not against others, but yourself.
That, I thought, is love and trust. Not an absence of problems or flawless happiness, but surviving them together. Side by side.
I told nobody about any of this but Alice. She listened, pursed her lips, and eventually said, Well, thank heavens for that. About time, if you ask me.
About time, I agreed.
But dont go playing games next time. Just tell him plainly.
I will, I grinned. Now he actually hears me.
It wasnt the end of our story. Real marriages dont have neat endingslife keeps rolling on, new troubles come, maybe Emma will ring again, or something else entirely. Theres always another something.
But that September evening, as we sat having dinner, James telling a funny story about a workmate and me laughing, thinking about buying milk and ringing Mum tomorrow, a sudden wave of contentment washed over me. Yellow lamplight, the smell of soup, his voice, our home.
This is whats worth protecting. Why we talk, argue, make up, forgive, speak again. Its not a textbook answer or a therapists advicejust one story out of many. Every familys got its Emma and Tom, its crossroads. Its good when you choose right, even better when you both choose.
One October evening, I was sitting by the window with a cuppayellow and orange leaves swirling outside in the wind. James came home late, looking tired, hung up his jacket, washed his hands, and flopped down in the kitchen chair.
How are you? he asked, sitting across from me.
Im good, I told him. Shall I pour you some tea?
Yeah, go on then.
I got up, filled his cup, set it on the table.
James?
Yeah?
Im glad we live together. No reason. Just glad.
He looked at me, his face softening.
Me too, he said. Though I can be a bit of a fool sometimes.
Sometimes, I smirked. But not, you know always.We laughed, a quiet sound that seemed to settle in every corner of the kitchen, warm and real like the glimmer of the streetlamp outside. For the first time in a long time, I didnt feel tense or uncertain about tomorrow. The world, with all its leaks and late-night calls, its muddled feelings and complicated hearts, could circle on. We would handle what came, however it came.
James reached across the table and took my hand, fingers lacing with mine as though hed always planned to. His touch was solid, a promise made quietly, with no need for grand speeches. He squeezed, just once, and I squeezed back.
We sat together, hands entwined, watching the wind shake the leaves against the window, letting the silence grow comfortable and sweet.
Whatever else needed fixingwell, wed do it side by side. And that, I finally understood, was all the security Id ever asked for.
