The Scent of Another Woman
Are you sniffing his jacket again?
Laura was standing in the bedroom doorway, arms folded across her chest. She had that tonethe one you use with people who are doing something you think is shameful.
Im not sniffing. Im tidying up, I replied, not turning around.
Nina. You’re holding his jacket two inches from your nose and have been standing there for at least three minutes.
How do you know its been three minutes?
Because I came in, saw you, went to the kitchen, made myself a cup of tea, came back, and you were still there.
I slowly hung the jacket carefully on the hanger and put it in the wardrobe. My movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial, as though I was putting away something precious and fragile.
It smells of someone else, I said.
Nina.
Im not making it up. The scents there. A womans perfume.
Laura came further into the room, cradling her mug as she blew gently on her tea.
He was at a conference, Nina. There were plenty of people, hugs hello, crowded lifts.
Its not a lift smell.
What should a lift smell like then?
Laura, Ive been married a fair while now.
Precisely. Twenty-seven years, Nina. By now, shouldn’t you be able to trust him?
I didnt answer. I closed the wardrobe door and glanced at my reflection in the mirror: fifty-four, light hair that Id long since stopped colouring, upright back. Tired, but not beaten. Even I couldnt explain why, this particular morning, something inside me clicked abruptly, quietly falling into place.
The scent was there. I wasnt imagining it.
It wasnt my perfume. I always used the same one, “Fleur de Nuit,” a small French brand Id stumbled upon at Heathrow nearly ten years backvanilla, white musk, a touch of wood. Subtle, homey. What Id caught on Andrews jacket was different: louder, younger, a bright florality with something sharp and demanding beneath.
I wouldnt have noticed, except for one thing. Andrew got back from the conference Thursday night. I hung his jacket up on Friday morning, and by Sunday, when I took it out for the dry cleaners, the scent was still there. Three days. Clinging to the fabric, in a closed wardrobe next to my own clothes.
Only a generous amount of perfume or skin contact leaves a mark that long.
Dont obsess, called Laura from the corridor. Really. Youre a clever woman.
Clever women notice obvious things.
Clever women dont tear up twenty-seven years over the smell of a jacket.
I took the jacket, folded it carefully into the dry cleaning bagbut then hesitated, and simply set it back on the shelf, unsealed.
Let it rest a while.
Andrew Rivers was considered successful around Cheltenham. Hed started his own construction firm two decades ago, drove a smart car, knew all the right people, and could work a room so that everyone listened. Id always been at his side. Not in the shadowshated that phrasebut not out in front either. I ran our home, raised our son, kept tabs on everything Andrew didnt have time for: doctors, school, repairs, the endless treks to visit his mum in York, the birthday gifts for his colleagues. All the unseen work you arent supposed to mention.
Three years ago, our son Max moved to London, working in tech and calling every Sunday. The house got quieter. I took up watercolours, then gave them up. Signed up for Spanish lessonsthree classes, then quit. Started a patch of veg at our cottage, and that, at least, endured. The rows of carrots calmed me: there, you knew what to do, when to expect results.
Things were different with Andrew these past two years. He travelled more, came home later, always put his phone down face-first. Hed laugh into his mobile the way he hadnt in our kitchen for ages. Id notice, with the part of my mind you use for an uncomfortable armchair youve learned to ignore.
But that scent was different.
I began to find it twice a weekWednesdays and Fridays. Andrew got home late, sometimes called at eight to say, Got held up, dont wait for me. So I didnt. Id eat alone, wash up, read or watch telly. Hed show up after ten, sometimes later, kiss my forehead. He always smelled of the night air, sometimes coffee, sometimes pavement.
Then one Wednesday, I smelled the same perfume again. The sharp floral. As I stood by the coat rack, pretending to adjust my scarf, while Andrew busied himself in the kitchen reheating his dinner, I gently lifted his coat by the lapel and brought it close.
Yes.
Still there.
I went cold. Not from fear, but the icy clarity that arrives when you realise something youve tried not to believe.
Good day? I called from the hall.
Fine. Meeting ran over, he said, crockery clinking, the microwave humming in the background.
Who with?
A tiny pause. Just a second.
David. The site on North Road.
I hung up his coat and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water.
David was there today? I asked, peering out the window.
Yeah. Why?
You said last week he was in Manchester.
A longer pause this time.
Hes back now. Had business here.
Andrew stood with his back to me, stirring something in a pan. He had good posture, broad shoulders, a salt-and-pepper neatness. Fifty-eight, but looked younger. Always looked after himself.
Want some tea? he asked.
No, thanks.
I went to bed. Didnt sleep for hours.
And I couldnt quite grasp what I was actually feeling. It wasnt anger or even hurtat least, not right away. It was something darker, like getting lost on a long walk and only realising, as night falls, that youre nowhere near the path home.
Laura rang Friday afternoon.
How are you holding up?
Fine.
Nina. That is not your fine voice.
Laura, tell me this: If a perfume lingers in a wardrobe for three days, what does that mean?
Pause.
Means its a good perfume, she replied cautiously.
Or there was some serious contact.
Or someone just stood close.
Three days, Laura.
Nina, listen. Youre about to build an entire house of cards on this. Scent isnt evidence. Scent is just scent.
I know.
Just talk to him. Straight out.
And what would he say?
How should I know? Maybe hell tell the truth.
Laura. If hes cheating, he wont. And if he isnt, I sound mad.
Honestly, you sound a bit crazy already. Sorry, but I know you.
Despite myself, I laugheda short, humourless sound, but genuine enough.
Ill be alright, I said.
You never are, but somehow, you always manage.
Afterwards, I went into the garden. Late September: already brisk, but the soil still held some warmth. I weeded the last patch of marigolds, stubbornly flowering against the odds. My hands knew their work. My head started clearing.
I tried to be honest: maybe I was imagining things. Perhaps the scent was an accidenta crowded lift in some conference, a strange taxi, a woman brushing close. Maybe I was building threats where there were none. Twenty-seven years together is a long timelong enough to teach yourself to see trouble where there isnt any.
But I checked again, on Wednesday.
And it was still there. Exactly the same.
So I did something that later gave me a bittersweet sense of satisfaction. I dabbed a tiny drop of my own perfume onto the lining of his coat, right where Id found the other womans scent. Hung it back up as usual.
Next Wednesday, after Andrew was home, I checked the coat. My soft vanilla was still there, but next to it, still stubborn and bright, was that young, floral perfume.
I hung it up gently.
Fine. Not my imagination.
And my thinking began to shift. Not: Is he cheating? But: What will I do about it? It was a different question. I thought about therapysigned up, went once, talked in vague terms, left early. The therapist, a woman in her mid-thirties, said all the right things, but I knew she couldnt quite understand. Not her faultshe just hadnt lived through twenty-seven years that suddenly began to smell like a stranger had moved in.
Divorce? Just the word felt heavy, as though you had to heave it flat across the kitchen table. I thought about the house, the cottage, the way our lives were woven tightly together. About what Max would say. His mother, who I visited in the care home in York.
And how much of myself Id given to this man. These thoughts, once loosed, could fill up every inch of your mind, like water into a glass, rising right to the brim.
Nina, remember when you told me if you ever found out he cheated, youd leave straight away? Laura asked over tea at her place one afternoon. Shed been on her own for ten years and, since then, seemed more alive, as if whatever was pent up in her finally got to stretch out.
I remember.
And now?
Now I realise its easy to say, harder to do.
How do you feel?
I thought.
Its like… when a tooths been aching for ages, and then, suddenly, it stopsbut you arent really sure whats changed at first.
Thats a weird comparison, Nina.
I know. But it fits. I feel not pain, exactly. Justsomethings off. Like when somethings in the wrong place, and you stub your toe every time.
Do you love him?
The pause was longnot because I didnt know, but because I wanted to be honest.
Im used to him. Not the same as love, but its something.
Something, she echoed.
Something huge. Something thats been my life for twenty-seven years.
Laura poured more tea. Outside, drizzle slicked the windows. Shed put a cinnamon stick in the pot. It smelt like comfort.
Will you wait for him to say something himself?
No. Ill wait until I have enough.
Enough what?
Enough to be truly sure. Not for court, but for myself. So I wont doubt later.
Laura looked at me a long time, seriously.
Youre already sure, she said softly.
Yes. But I want to see her.
Why?
I didnt answer right away. I stared out at the wet October leaves on the window ledge.
I just do.
At the start of November, Andrew told me his company was having an anniversary dinner. Ten years, so a small do in the restaurant at the Royal Oakpartners, clients, even a couple of town councillors invited. He said I ought not to come, since Id be bored and wouldnt know anyone. He said this gently, attention on his phone.
Im going, I replied.
Andrew finally looked up.
Nina, youll hate it. All business talk, building projects
Andrew, Ive been here through it all, these ten years. Im going.
A small pause. He put his phone down.
Alright, he said, with forced calm. If you want.
That Friday, I dressed with care. Navy dress, the one that suits me best. Silver earrings Max bought for my birthday. My familiar perfumea warm, homey vanilla. I checked the mirror and thought, not youngbut good. The sort of good that matters more now.
Andrew was ready beforehand, in a dark suit, staring at his phone. He looked up as I walked out.
You look lovely, he said absently.
I know, I replied, picking up my bag.
The restaurant was bustling, awash with food, laughter and wine. Soft music played. I stuck near Andrew, greeting people, smiling, answering polite questions. Id learned well how to do this over twenty-seven years.
After about an hour, as we loitered by the canapés, I caught it.
That floral, sharp scentfresh, bright and demanding.
I stood still, only turning my head, slow and casual, scanning the room.
She was five metres away, if that. Mid-thirties, dark hair neatly swept back, a burgundy dress, trim figurea woman who looked after herself. Chatting to a man, laughing, holding her wineglass with both hands. Attractive. I studied her without anger, just curious. Like seeing a stranger in a city youve never been to.
She turned. Our eyes met. Nothing muchtwo strangers in a crowd. But something about her face altered just a touch. She turned back, carried on laughing at her companions joke.
I picked up a bit of cheese from my plate and chewed thoughtfully.
Whos that? I murmured to Andrew, nodding in her direction.
Who? He glanced over with a fraction-of-a-second delay. Thats Stephanie, in design.
Been with you long?
About a year. Shes good at her job.
Right.
I put a hand on his arm, smiled as if wed just shared a private joke. Andrew blinked at me with something close to surprise, then smiled too. We stayed another hour, chatting, laughing, acting exactly ourselves. No one saw a thing.
We drove home mostly in silence. He switched on Radio 4, low volume. I watched the dark October town lights flicker past, thoughts drifting. Tomorrow, Id call Max. Tomorrow, Id tidy up the marigolds. I felt a strange steadinessa calm that seemed not empty, but solid, like rich earth.
At home, I took off my shoes and put the kettle on. Andrew went to change out of his suit. I stood in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, not thinking what to do nextjust realising Id known for a long time. I only needed time to work out what knowing actually meant.
He came to the kitchen in jeans and a t-shirt, took a bottle from the fridge.
Tired? he asked.
A little.
Should have stayed home, like I said. Dull evening.
No. Im glad I went.
He looked at me. There must have been something different in my voice.
Nina, is something wrong?
I poured the tea, set a cup on the table and sat down.
Andrew, sit, please.
Whats this about?
Just sit.
He did. Watching me, puzzled, not yet scared.
Youre having an affair, I said. No questionjust fact.
Silence. A close, heavy silence that seemed to hold a thousand things.
Nina
Dont start with Nina. Dont say Im imagining things. Dont tell me it was business. Just tell me the truth.
He gazed at the table, then his own hands, then me.
How did you know?
It wasnt a questionjust words.
Her perfume. All these weeks. I recognised it on you tonight.
Andrew let out a long breath, rubbing his face.
Nina. Its
How long?
What?
How long has it been going on?
He hesitated.
Half a year, he said quietly, nearly whispering.
I nodded and sipped from my teatoo hot, almost scalding.
Do you love her? I asked, voice steady.
A pause.
I dont know.
Right.
Nina, wait, that doesnt mean I want to wreck everything. It was something else. Not about us.
Its exactly about us.
I didnt want to hurt you.
I know. You never want tojust manage to anyway.
He stood up, started pacing.
Lets not decide anything now. Not in the heat of the moment.
Im not emotional. Im very calm.
Nina, we need a proper talk.
Thats what were having.
I mean, with a clear head. Tomorrow. In a week. Think it all through.
What, exactly, should I think about?
He stopped, faced me.
You want to leave.
Yes.
Nina His voice sharpened. Think about what youre saying. The house, the cottageeverythings joined. Youve not had a proper job in yearsjust your garden and lessons. Where will you even go?
Is that a threat?
Its reality. Im telling you the facts.
I hear you. Im still leaving.
Are you mad? Over half a year?
Over twenty-seven years.
He fell silent. The kitchen was quiet. A car drifted by outside.
Nina, listen. I know Im at fault. But to break a family over this Things can be fixed. People come through this sort of thing.
They do. I choose not to.
Youre not thinking of Max.
Max is thirty. Hell cope.
Youre only thinking of yourself.
Yes. For possibly the first time in years.
Andrew sat again. Looked at me as if seeing something new.
Were you happy? he asked, suddenly and oddly.
At times.
I wasnt a bad husband.
No. You were alright. But that isnt enough.
I stood, poured the last of the tea away, set the cup in the sink.
Ill stay at Lauras tonight. Tomorrow well talk about the practical sidecalmly, just like you want.
Nina, dont go now. Its stupid.
Maybe.
Wherell you go at this hour?
Lauras waiting.
You called her already?
Yes.
So youd already decided.
I decided tonight at the restaurant, when I caught her scent.
He watched me. There was something in his facelostness, maybe, or something too familiar to name.
Nina. Are you sure?
Yes.
I picked up my bag, coat, keys. Paused at the door.
Do you know what surprises me most? I said. Not that you were unfaithful. Not even your lies. Its that you thought I wouldnt know. After twenty-seven years, you thought I wouldnt notice.
He didnt answer.
I left.
Outside, it was cold but dry, the sky sharp and bright with a scattering of stars. As I walked to the car I realised I wasnt afraid. Strange and important, bothI was not afraid. Unsure, yes. Unsure about the future. But not scared.
Lauras light was on. She opened the door before I could ring the bell, probably having watched for me.
Come in, Laura said.
Im here, I replied.
Tea?
And something to eat if youve got it. I barely touched anything at the dinner.
Theres some soup. And bread.
Perfect.
We sat in the kitchen. I ate my soup; Laura just sat with me in silence, not asking unnecessary questions, just present. It was exactly what I needed.
Did he admit it? Laura asked eventually.
Yes. Six months. Stephanie in his office.
She paused.
How are you?
Eating soup. Lovely soup.
Nina.
Laura, honestly, Im alright. Not alright as in happy, but alright as inI know what Im doing.
She nodded.
Stay as long as you want.
Thanks.
Beddings in the cupboard, you know where.
I do.
I finished my soup, washed the bowl. We sat a little while longer, almost silent, just together. Outside, the November night was still, smelling of wet tarmac and something faintly woody.
In the morning, I woke early, lying in Lauras dark lounge, listening to the quiet. It wasnt the house I was worried about, though I knew Id have to think about it soon. I was struck by something else: I hadnt woken with a thought about Andrew. Not about his breakfast, his clothes, his meetings. Instead, my first thought was about the marigoldsI needed to clear them before the frost came.
It was strange, and pleasantly so.
I got up, washed my face, made coffee, and stood at the window as dawn crept over the grey city.
I texted Max: Ring when you can. Need to talk. A moment later I added: Im fine. Nothing to worry about.
I put my phone on the table and poured coffee.
A couple of weeks later, I ran into Laura at the supermarket.
Actually, not just a couple of weeks. Laura lived close, so we saw each other often, but that particular morning stood out. I was at the tea aisle, where someone had left a tiny bottle of perfume on the shelf among the boxes of chamomile and mint. No boxalmost empty, dark green glass.
I picked it up, removed the lid, sniffed.
Not it. Nothing like her. This was fresh, cooling, green, slightly resinous. Almost woodland.
I liked it.
Whats that? Laura came up behind me.
Not a clue. Someone mustve left it.
Smells good.
It does.
I set it back, picked up my tea and headed for the checkout. Outside, the air smelled of a first, invisible snowclose but not quite here.
A month later, Andrew called. I was at the cottage, with a mug in hand, watching the garden covered white.
Nina. How are you?
Fine. And you?
Fine. Shes gone. Stephanie. Left the company and moved away.
I watched the solid line of snow outside.
Do you hear me? he said.
I do.
It doesnt change anything, I suppose?
A long pause. The snow kept falling, quietly, unhurried.
No, I replied.
I thought so. Just wanted you to know.
Why?
He paused.
I dont know. So youd hear it from me, I suppose.
I do. Thank you for the call.
Nina?
Yes?
Do you regret it?
I thought about itreally thought, not rushing.
What exactly?
All of it.
No, I answered. Then, after a moment: Or not yet. Im not sure what comes next.
Thats honest.
Im trying to be.
We sat in silence a while longer. Then he said bye. I said bye. That was it. I set down my phone. Outside, everything was white. The house smelt of fresh wood, resin, and a trace of dried herbs Id hung in the autumn.
It was my scent. Quiet. Nobody elses.
I cradled my cup, sipping, and listened to the silence.
