Button
Thats it, Emily. Really, thats enough Victor was turning away as Emily clung to him, grabbing at his neck, at the jacket hed only just ironed, at those hands she used to love so much. Just stop touching me! Why are you acting like a leech?!
Vic But youre not leaving for good, right? Emily asked, clinging to a childish hope, as if you could leave for a while, as if Victor had invented some little game, a jolt to make their feelings spark again. Ill cook something nice for dinner, shall I? Do you want something special? Or perhaps well order in? Sushi? I can get sushi, or shall I roast a duck? No? How about fresh trout, Ill buy some and
Her huge, loyal, sad, grey-green eyes stared at him, doglike. God, he used to love those eyesEmily, his jewel, his medal, his reward. He was truly blessed to have her, he used to think Now her eyes only irked him. Staring at him so desperatelyhow vulgar, how cheap! No pride left in her. Shed crawl at his feet if he told her to, just so hed stay. He was tired of her, bored stiff; her name was sand in his teeth. Hed gone cold towards her long ago; he only let her love him and invented whims which she, poor thing, dutifully fulfilled. Honestly, women in love turn into meek, docile cows.
Have you lost your mind? He pushed her off. The pitiful ones disgusted him most. And right now, Emily was pathetic, ridiculousshe hadnt even brushed her hair to see him off properly! Im leaving for good. Get off!
He slapped her handsshe flinched, something snapped.
Oh Sorry! Victor stared at the button in Emilys hand from his jacket. Vic, let me mend it! Ill be quick, I promise! Come on, take your jacket off, I wont be a minuteplease, forgive me
Emily dashed to the cupboard, rummaged out her sewing kit, fumbled for a needle and thread, stretched out her hand to take his jacket. She caught empty air. The door slammed in the hall, the lift grated, swallowed Victor up as it carried him down into freedom. Emily just stood there, thread and needle in hand, glazed, and then, it seemed, she wandered into the kitchen and sat.
Its hard to say how long she sat, statue-like, frozen, her suffering hollow and endless, but with her eyes wide open, staring.
Something boomed outside, snapping her back. It was noon: Big Ben had chimed. Oh, why not have the cannon fire at her directly, point the gun at her heart and finish it off! She would not so much as flinch. But no, life didnt grant her thatshed just have to drag herself along, keep breathing in and out, empty and aching without Victor.
Vic! He left his breakfast behind!
Every morning, Emily packed him a little lunchbox, just as if he were a schoolboy: two toasted slices of bread, a hard-boiled egg, home-made sausagestwo every time. She made them by hand: minced the meat, mixed in herbs, wrapped and boiled them, the fresh juicy results packed into their compartment so Vic could snack at work. Sliced cucumber and tomato, some dried fruitVic looked after himself, loved his home cooking. And to Emily, it was never a burden! Shed leap up at six, shower, meticulously wiped away all traces of damp from the tiles and mirrors (Vic loathed water marks in the bathroom), then dash to do her makeup. Vic liked to see her glowing and immaculate; it made his eyes light up and, as he said, his heart race.
All makeup in place, shed perch on the beds edge, gently stroke her husbands big hairy foot sticking from beneath the duvetalways with warm hands, for fear Vic would kick if they were cold. You could warm hands on the radiator, or run them under the tap, but you must always wipe away the water spots from the sink after. Vic couldnt abide water marks.
Warm hands on his size eleven foot, toes flexing. Emilyd smile softly, whisper:
Time to wake up, dear. Up, my love! Its time. Wake up, sunshine! Viiiic, Vicky!
Hed groan and hide that massive foot, mutter:
Come here!
Emily giggled, crawling on her knees to him, and kissed his ear. Vics ears were shaped like little pasties, almost comic.
Good morning, Vicky, Emily would whisper, smoothing his hair and neck as he grumbled that it was far too early and he wanted coffee.
Coffee! Always before breakfast, steamy and aromatic, just as he emerged from the steamy bathroom. Emily would give him a cup, always with a napkin and sugar cube, like a treat for a racehorse. Then shed scuttle back to the bathroom to catch every last drop on the glasshorrors if Vic found any streaks.
There was so much Vic didnt like: not a single ring on his cup, no dullness on the flats windows, always a pressed shirt ready on a chair if he was late for a meeting at the bankhis demanding job expected him to look sharp. He bristled if the coffee boiled too long, if she burned the toast, if the butter was hard, if the steak was the wrong degree of doneness or the cucumber cut into five slices instead of six (she couldnt resist popping one herself).
Em, this tastes odd! Honestly, is it so hard to make a decent coffee? I dont want a machineall it takes is a bit of care! hed bark, slamming his cup in the sink. Right, lets have breakfast!
Emily apologized, quickly pulled the steak pie from the oven (he always had a savoury pie in the morning). The filling variedbeef, broccoli, egg and rice, cabbage, cheese and potatobut it had to be fresh. Yesterdays leftovers were for Emily to eat on her way to the Tube. She never had time to eat at home. While Vic ate, shed make the bed without a crease, dust the bedsides, and finally, pack his lunch.
Cant he eat in a cafe like everyone else? Is he royalty? asked Janet, her friend, once. She couldnt stand Victor, refused to visit if he was there.
Why bother with cafes when I can cook? Its good for him, Emily insisted, afraid to admit she simply couldnt lose him.
Em, pigs guzzlepeople eat. Though, your Vics a right swine, so I suppose Janet pulled a face.
Janet! Dont say that! Dont dare talk about him like that! Emily bristled.
Oh, come off it! Hes hardly dead, is he?
Janet!
Fine, zipped. But your Vics Janet never finished, just tilted her nose even higher.
Well, let her! Jealous, always, thought Emilyat least she had her almost husband, proud and proper, a real man about the house
After her tasks, Emily washed up while Vic dressed, then saw him out. Sometimes hed kiss her passionately, so her lips tingled all day. She loved those goodbyes. Victor in his suit, shirt blinding whitea man shed give anything for, really. Janet laughed, called Emilys love obsession, said it was dangerous, but Emily didnt care.
The Big Ben missed hernot even a scratch on Emilys heart, only a searing ache leaking invisible tears.
She glanced, startled, at the clock. Noon! Oh heavens, she was late for workand what for, anyway? What was the point of anything nowexcept this button hed left behind, a memento, a trophy
Emily stood, got ready. Sadness was sadness, but lessons at the school wouldnt teach themselves, though most of hers today were already a write-off. Five missed calls on her mobile; that would be the administrator, Pauline, wanting reassurance Emily wasnt dead in a ditch or worse.
Miss Robinson! Im on my way! Emily managed into the phone, voice trembling. Half an hourpromise. I know, I know
Now her tears rolled freely, whimpers slipping out after every gasp.
Oh come on, Robinson, dry your eyes and tell me whats happened. Do it quickthe bell will go any secondI wont hear a thing! Pauline cut her short. And what a daft surname youve gone and chosen, Robinson! Like something out of a comic All right! Speak UP, like youre on the West End stage. Talk!
Pauline loved her theatrical phrasescurtain up, the play begins, calling holidays an interval, staff meetings an artistic committee. It was all so novel and the staff adored her for it.
Emily steeled herself. As if on stage, she began her confession.
Pauline listened in silence.
Is that it? Only a button left? she finally asked, as if suppressing a laugh.
Miss Robinson, Emily sniffed, voice bruised its all so dreadful, so horrid
Understood. Your lessons were covered by Olivia, youll square up later. See you soon, darling, dont forget that button.
Pauline rambled on, but the bell went, and the line faded into static
Somehow, Emily got herself ready, fixed her makeup, stuffed a stray pile of books into an old bag, grabbed her things and, shutting the door, walked to the lift.
In that dreamlike way, in the lift she found herself nodding good morning to the residents: a white-haired gent from the twelfth, usually out walking his pug, Timothy; a frail old lady cradling dry bouquets; and a young manprobably from the twenty-second floor, but Emily never paid neighbours much mind before. Shed always rushed to Victor, never noticed those around her.
The old lady gasped, the gent muffled Timothys bark, the young man winked at Emily.
She bit her lip, turning away. What did any of them matteronly this button left from Victor!
Emerging, Emily greeted Mrs. Baker, the porter. She stared at Emily as if she were a scarecrow.
I must look dreadfulIve been crying, Emily thought, pausing at the door. Maybe Ill throw myself in the Thames Not much to it. Just dive in and dont move, keeping tight hold of the button. Itll rest with me forever at the bottom
But Emily could swim too well. If she didnt show up at work again, Olivia Pratt would cover her lessons, get the pay, and Emily would be left with a pile of unmarked books. Would she drag them to the bottom with her? Inside those booksexams, essays No, shed go to work.
Breathless, she ran to the bus, fanned herself with a badly graded essay from one of her worst students, and only then realisedshed forgotten her blouse. The jacket she wore, skirt thank God, but no blouse
Emily remembered how her mum once dropped her off at nursery without noticing shed forgotten to put on her own skirt in her rusheveryone saw the thick wool tights over her mothers legs. Her mum had blushed, tried to cover up with Emily, who didnt even understand the fuss. Whats the harm? I wear woolly tights, too!
Now Emily was in that same pickle. That must have shocked the old lady in the liftand that young mans wink She clung to her bag, grateful at least that her jacket buttoned high.
Bright red, Emily darted into school, signed in at reception, and sped to her cupboard to fetch the lab coat she used for science experiments. If she popped that over her jacket, no one would see a thing.
Robinson! So Ive caught you! thundered the head, Mrs. Valentine. Step into my office.
I cant! Emily called from down the corridor. Ill be right back, just have to
Emily Robinson, in my office. Now. Mrs. Valentine was firm.
Not risking it, Emily trudged after her boss. Clutching her bag, she no longer cared to cover up.
In a rush, were we? Mrs. Valentine asked briskly. Well, I suppose that means you care for your job, do you?
Yes, Mrs. Valentine. But you see Victor he
Here, Mrs. Valentine cut her off, passing her a blouse with a droopy bow at the neck. It wont fit, youre far too narrow, but tuck it in, make do. Ill look away while you change.
Emilys cheeks blazed, but she shrugged herself into the top quickly.
Well Orchid has nothing on you Mrs. Valentine snorted, catching Emilys reflection.
Oh, no, its from Vanilla Dreams, Emily muttered, blushing about her lacy underwear. Because well Victor likes
Because Victor likes it. I know. The whole staff knows he does. May he get what he deserves the last bit she almost whispered, but Emily heard.
Sorry?
I said, may he be well.
Hes not so bad as you think! Victors good! Its just a misunderstanding! Youll see, hell ring soon and
Ask for his button back. Dont you dare, you hear me? Mrs. Valentine slammed her palm on the desk.
Why? Emily almost sobbed, fiddling with the bow nervously.
Because that button will be a nuisance for him to replace, and the suit was expensive, wasnt it? Spare buttons with you? Toss it. Let him struggle no button on his precious jacket! Mrs. Valentine fell silent, gave Emily a long look, then both burst into laughter. Valentines quiet, lips tight; Emilys rolling, heart-made laughter. The kind of laughter that floats up after great troublewhen you realize all is well, that the storm has slipped by. The laughter of a child whos found the ruined coat forgiven and the world not so harsh as shed feared.
So Emily laughed, remembering her school days, hers and her mothers careless giggles over torn dresses, even though the coat had been new and dear. That night, her father called them both silly old hens
Now Emily pictured Victor: proper as a City gent in his jacket, begging for a spare button in an indifferent world. He always said people were cold, unfeeling
Youre not married, are you? Mrs. Valentine suddenly asked.
No, Victor always said we should test living together first, see if it suits us I tried so hard Emily clutched her bag tight again.
Good job. He wasnt suitable for us. For you. If he comes begging, tell him Mrs. V. says no. Now, go teach your classesthree left, then youve got after-school.
Yes
Emily gazed vacantly from the high window as her sixth form scribbled furiously at their chemistry papers.
Chemistry really is marvellous, Emily thought. Molecules bounce about, flinging and colliding, thensuddenlythey cling, family-like. Processes spark up between them, they cant live without each other. Or maybe they can? What do stray molecules feel, alone…?
Like a bitten apple, then it heals over, someone piped up, reading her mind. Shed said her musings aloud.
Emily nodded, blushing.
Thank you, Freddie. Please carry on with your work.
Freddie dropped his gaze. He was hopeless at chemistry, but loved philosophising. And he adored his pretty teacher.
The PE teacher, Julia Peters, popped her head inside the door.
Em! Eeeeem she mouthed.
Write, Norwood! The page can cope! Julia added aloud, and Emily slipped out. Julia snatched Emilys hand and squeezed congratulations.
What for, Julia?
For you and Victor splitting! Im so glad, I was quiet but honestly, I couldnt stand him. Youd lost yourself, stopped living! Now youre free! Youll see in time youre better off. Come play volleyball tonight!
No, thanks, Emily coldly pulled her hand away. Sorry, lesson.
Fine! Great blouse! Julia smiled and vanished.
Across the room, Freddie stared thoughtfully at Miss Robinson, sighing. Oh, if only he were ten years older, hed
In the staffroom, her arrival stilled the chatter. Spoons clinked in mugs; someone crunched a sugar cube. The biology teacher, Lena, was murmuring to her husband on the phone.
Hi. Yes, Ive eaten. Love you, darling. No, Im fine. Are you tired?
Everyone shushed her, flocked to Emily bearing sympathyone offered a biscuit she hated, another patted her shoulder.
Dont fret, youll find someone better Everythings ahead of you! voices murmured all around.
Theyd only met Victor once, at the Christmas party. Good-looking, sure, but a peacock with a permanent squint of contempt. Emily had circled about him, desperate to please: Water? Cake? Tired, Vic? Hungry, Vic? Oh, a new plate, that ones chipped! No, Ill fetch my own things, you sit! Vic this, Vic that
Shed fussed like he was a prize bull at a county fair, mollycoddled constantlywhile he rolled his eyes and brushed crumbs from the table.
Shed given up a good job in a grammar school for him; a school with top-tier science courses. Victor told her if she transferred, hed never see her, the flat would be a shambles, no more pies. He wasnt ready for that.
Her colleagues muttered and pitied her, thinking shed shackled herself to a bad lotnow she was free and only Emily mourned.
Thats enough! Emilys voice, loud as a cannon at the Tower, cut through the room. I dont want someone better! Why do you all meddle and think you know best? You know nothing! Making breakfast, pressing shirts, loving someone isnt nothing. My souls split apart, but all you can do is hand me dry biscuits! By the way, people eat, not have a nibble!
She stormed out, slamming the door.
Rude, yes. But let them devalue all her years with Victor! She retreated into the lab, phoned Viclet it ring and ring, before hanging up. Hed gone home, she knew where he lived, could go there but had no strength. Just finish the day somehow.
Emily dawdled along the streets after work, pausing at every shop window, letting buses go by. But eventually, all journeys end. Home, stumbling into the lobby, pawing for her keys
Silly girl! she stamped her foot. I left the blasted keys on the dresser
Butan excuse! To visit Victor, hed have a spare set, and maybe she could talk him into coming back! Remind him she was the best thing in his life.
Victor lived in a block off Mayfield Lane. Emily had been there a few times, more often they met at hers.
Which flat? Seven-six, wasnt it? she remembered, jabbing at the intercom.
She didnt even ring; an elderly couple emerged laughing from the building. She recognised Victors parents and ducked quickly past, avoiding explanations.
She slipped inside, took the lift and panicked. What would she say? Beg, plead? Or just offer dinner? Surely, it could be sorted somehow?
She pictured molecules not meant for each other, straining to connect, making an effortand what did that create?
Nonsense! piped up Freddie Pashworths inner voice.
Never mind, Emily gave him an imaginary failing mark for attitude, and pressed the doorbell.
A pause. Then behind the door shuffling, the lock clicked.
Vic? Im not a concierge, you know! Your folks have only just gone a voice purredand then Janets head and, after a moment, the rest of her, barely dressed.
Janet?
Emily?
Emilys throat closed; she wanted to run, but her feet rooted her to the spot. Tears blurred everything again.
Oh Awkward, isnt it? Dont take it to heart, Em! These things happen. Were friends! You werent quite you know Janet fluttered her lashes.
Not quite stupid enough to ruin my life over coffee in bed, dried drops on the shower door, homemade sausage and vacuuming the rug every Sunday! Emily cut in, suddenly fierce. Well, take him then. Victors yours. Your own show pony, needs his own special feed and rub-down. But watch out, Janetone slip and youll be thrown overboard, no strength to swim, no breath left. But youll survive. Oh, and Victor needs to return my flat keys. She flourished her jacket dramatically, then remembered she was in the heads borrowed blouse and buttoned hastily up.
Janet bobbed off for the keys, always hating scenes, afraid of neighbours, but Emily wasnt even shoutinghow convenient!
Oh, cheers. And by the way, Janet, Victor likes it when you say at bedtime, Hush, hush, little mouse, dont you let the goblin in your house, then stroke his back and tuck him up.
Victor hated it, but Janet didnt know thata harmless little sting, Emily couldnt resist.
Janet nodded, mouthing the words to herself, then shut the door.
Emily walked out onto the street, set off on foot. A lone gull shrieked overhead; a launch sped by on the Thames, scattering spray in sunlit fans. On a tourist ferry, people laughed, a woman narrating into her mic. The bakery on the corner sent out a waft of cinnamon and vanilla. For the first time all day Emily realised she was hungrytime to get home.
Resolutely, she strode down to Mill Lane. Pausing on the bridge, she fished the button from her pocket, turned it in her hand, then tossed it into the river.
Better for a fish to swallow you than me, she whispered, managed a smile and walked on.
At home, she made a stack of pancakes, settled at the kitchen table with little jars of jam, and put on her favourite comedy. Shed forgotten what it felt like to eat in peace, not having to leap up because Victor wanted cheese, sauce, spice, ketchup
Now, Emily was her own Victor: she could fetch what she wanted, when she wanted.
And in the steamy mirror of the bathroom, she drew a silly little face and left it there. Just because she wanted to.
