We were sharing a flat after the divorce, until…
The morning began as usual, weighed down by a heavy silence and a muted irritation, hanging in the air like the lingering smell of burnt toast.
Richard reached for his mug on the shelfthe familiar blue one hed been using for twenty years. In its place sat Marys white cup.
Would you stop moving my things? he said, trying to keep his voice even, but failing.
Your things? Mary turned from the cooker, her eyes flashing. This is a shared kitchen. Or it was. Now its just hell.
You made it hell, he muttered, finding his cup behind a box of oats.
What was that?
Nothing. Forget it.
Mary switched off the hob abruptly and swept out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. Richard stayed where he was, staring at his now-lukewarm coffee. Every morning was the same. Every single day. Four months running.
Four months since their divorce had been finalised. Thirty-five years of marriage ended with silent signatures at the solicitors on the High Street, both avoiding each others gaze, and then they trudged back to the same three-bedroom flat in Reading because, as it turned out, selling it wasnt as simple as theyd foolishly thought. Thats when the real war began: a cold, grinding conflict, with no respite.
The children had long moved out. Julia was settled in Manchester with her family, Tom rented on the other side of town. Both repeated the same refrain: Mum, Dadjust hang on, the flatll sell, youll move on. Easy to say, when youre not waking up in this nightmare every day.
Living together after the split turned out far worse than the divorce itself. When married, at least thered been a flimsy shred of hope that things might mend. Now there was nothing left to hope for. It was all over, and yet they stumbled into each other every morning, bickering about mugs.
The doorbell dragged Richard from his thoughts. He glanced at the clockten oclock. Ah, yesMrs. Miller was due to arrive with prospective buyers.
Mary! he called toward the bedroom. The estate agents here!
The door creaked open, and Mary appeared, lipstick on and hair neatly brushed.
I know, she replied icily. I hear everything in this shoebox.
They opened the door together, and Richard watched as Marys face instantly transformed. A warm, welcoming smile replaced the coldness. He managed something resembling friendliness himself.
Good morning, good morning! chirped Mrs. Miller, a brisk, well-dressed woman in her fifties. This is Mr. and Mrs. Chapman, very keen on the flat.
A couple in their thirties offered nervous smiles. Mary held the door wider.
Do come in! The hallways nice and roomy, built-in cupboardseverything stays with the place.
Richard chimed in, We replaced the windows three years agoGerman double glazing. Its warm in the winter, cool in the summer.
They led the couple through the rooms and, from the outside, youd have thought them any other married couple, reluctantly leaving a beloved home. Mary showed off the kitchen, remarking on the new oven. Richard flaunted the balconypraising the view of the park. There were even a couple of small jokes, and the buyers began to relax, asking about the neighbours and the management.
Why are you selling such a lovely flat? Mrs. Chapman enquired, surveying the lounge with interest.
A moments awkward silence. Mary and Richard exchanged glancesan entire history conveyed in one look: pain, fatigue, anger, desperation. But the buyers saw none of it.
Were moving on, Richard said curtly. Life changes.
We just need a fresh start, Mary added, her voice laden with such melancholy that Mrs. Miller hastily guided the conversation back to the balcony.
Once the visitors had gone, promising to be in touch tomorrow, Mary closed the door and leaned against it, the smile slipping away like snow off a roof.
I cant take this anymore, she whispered into the empty hallway.
Richard stood by the stairs, studying his shoes. Nor can I.
They withdrew to their separate rooms. Heto what had once been his study, now home to a camp bed and suitcases, as though he was merely a guest. Sheto the master bedroom, once theirs, now indisputably hers.
That evening, as Richard microwaved some sausage rolls, Mary entered the kitchen. She opened the fridge without a word and snatched a tub of yoghurt and an apple from her right-hand shelf. The fridge had been divided during the first week post-divorce: left for him, right for her. Heaven help anyone who crossed the invisible boundaryanother argument would flare up.
Youve left your ham on my shelf again, Mary commented, rooting around in a carrier bag.
There wasnt any space.
Well, buy less then, if theres no room.
Or you could move those jars of chutney that you never eat.
Theyre my chutneys and Ill do as I like with them!
Her voice rose, and Richard felt another row brewing. Theyd driven each other round the bend these past monthshe was exhausted, too tired to spar.
All right, he said quietly. Sorry. I wont do it again.
Mary froze in surprise, yoghurt in hand, waiting for the argument, but none came. Flustered, she turned and left without another word.
Richard ate alone. He switched the telly up a notch, out of spite, childishly. Thats how divorced couples under the same roof behaved: petty irritations, silent resentments, small cruelties. How were they meant to sell the flat when every day was draining the last shreds of sense?
Next morning, he found a note on the table: Using the bathroom from 7 to 8am. Then its your turn. M. They had a schedule: her, seven to eight; him, eight to nine. It sounded reasonable until, inevitably, everyday life got in the way. Only yesterday, shed needed to pop in at nine while he was in the shower. Shed hammered on the door, shrieking how urgent it was, and hed ignored her, just to be contrary. Shed called him selfish. He said nothing, but sulked all day.
The division of assets had been all very official and equitable. The flathalf each. The furniture, crockeryall split. Yet in reality, every teaspoon, every mug, became territory for skirmishes. She seized the kitchen. He entrenched himself in the study. The sitting room became neutral groundvisited only out of necessity, and in complete silence.
That evening, Julia phoned.
Hows it going, Mum? Did anyone view the flat?
Mary sat on her bed, staring at the black window. They did. Dont know if theyll go for it. Young couplereally they want some shiny new build in a swanky development, not our old dump.
Mum, dont be silly. Its a perfectly decent flat. Good neighbourhood, solid building.
Dont patronise me, Mary replied wearily. I know whats what. Who wants a flat where two grumpy old people have been living as enemies for months?
Mum, stop. Youre not enemies.
Worse, really, Mary murmured. Enemies at least feel something. Were just surviving. Day by day. Being with your ex is like living on the edge of a volcanonever knowing when itll erupt.
Maybe you should see someone? Julia ventured. Its normal to need help, Mum. Loads of people do after a divorce.
Oh, I dont need a therapist, Mary sighed. I just need to get out of here. I want a place of my own, somewhere I dont have to see him every morning.
I understand, Mum. Just hang in there a little longer.
When Julia hung up, Mary sat for a long spell in the darkness. At length, she stood and began rummaging in her wardrobe for her dressing gown. Her hand touched something soft, tucked up on a high shelf. She pulled out an old jumper. Navy, with cable knit. Richards.
Shed knitted it thirty years before. She remembered carefully choosing the wool from a shop in towna place long since gone. Shed made it slowly, in the evenings after the kids were asleep. Richard had worked at the factory then, coming in worn out, settling in front of the television as she worked. Hed always say, Whats the point, Mary? Ill just buy one, and shed respond, Minell be warmer.
Mary pressed the jumper to her face. It smelt faintly of mothballs and dust. And inevitably, the past. A time when theyd been happy, or thought themselves happy. Who could say now?
Best to throw it away. Why keep these reminders, so hot and painful to touch?
But she couldnt do it. She folded it carefully and tucked it back on the shelf, out of sight.
Next door, Richard was sifting through paperwork when he came upon a photograph: the two of them, young, by the seaside. She was twenty-three, he twenty-five. Mary was laughing, her head thrown back, wearing a floral fluttering dress. His arm was around her shoulders, staring off at the horizon, sober as ever. Their first holiday together, down in Devon, before they were married.
Richard gazed at the picture for a long time, then turned it over and shoved it into the back of a drawer. Why stir up whats already gone?
Life after divorce, in your autumn years, wasnt at all what hed pictured. Hed imagined liberation, escape from her constant pickiness and complaints. But in truth, it was worse. Now she was near, but no longer hisan ache sharper than hed imagined.
Another week slipped by. The young couple never called back. Mrs. Miller brought round new viewers: an older woman hoping to help her daughter onto the property ladder. Once again, Mary and Richard performed their actplaying the friendly family. The woman poked at the walls, glanced into the corners. Then she said shed need to think about it and left.
They all say theyll think about it, Mary spat as the door shut. And none of them buy!
Maybe you could try smiling a bit more? Richard retorted. You glare at them like were selling snake oil.
I beg your pardon? My smiles just fine! Youre the one scaring them off with that sour look.
Enough, he snapped, temper fraying. Enough of this!
He grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door so hard even the wallpaper shuddered. Mary was left in the hallway, heart racing, tears stinging.
No, she wouldnt cry. Not because of him. Not now, not when it was all over.
And yet, the tears came anywayhot, stinging, unstoppable. She sank to the floor in the hallway and wept as she hadnt for months. Her soul had no rest, bruised and worn raw. When a divorce drags on, life becomes a torment. Forced cohabitation with an ex is slow agony, wringing away every drop of strength.
Richard didnt return until late. Hed stayed the night at Tomshis son laid out the sofa bed without questions, understanding everything with a silent glance.
The following morning Richard entered quietly, hoping Mary was still asleep. She was already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea as she gazed out at the grey sky. Her face was puffy, eyes red.
He walked past silently. She too said nothing.
Another day passed. And another. Time crawled, thick and heavy. How do you survive a divorce when youre still bound to the person who was once your world, now a stranger under the same roof?
Saturday, Julia came to visit, bringing along Jack, their three-year-old grandsona lively, tousle-haired boy. For a few hours, the flat pulsed with laughter and the patter of little feet. Mary made pancakes in the kitchen, Richard played cars in the lounge. Julia watched, thinking, If only it were always like this.
After Jack had fallen asleep on the sofa, Julia called her parents into the kitchen.
Mum, Dad, she began carefully. Its awful seeing you like this. Youre torturing each other.
Were not, Richard said, sullen. Were just waiting for the flat to sell.
Mum, Julia turned to Mary. You look exhausted. Are you eating? Sleeping?
Thats not your concern, Mary replied curtly.
It is! Youre my parents! It hurts to see you both suffering!
We divorced after thirty-five years, Julia, Mary said softly. It doesnt just go away after one day.
But you spent your whole lives together! Cant you forgive? Cant you at least try again?
Richard stood abruptly.
Julia, dont interfere. You dont know whats gone on between us. What your mother He cut himself off, glancing at Mary.
What? Say it! she flared. Tell her what a dreadful mother shes got!
I didnt mean
No, go ahead! You always thought it was all my fault! That I nagged, that I smothered you!
Didnt you? Thirty-five years of picking at me! Thirty-five years I couldnt take a step without being directed!
Because without me, youd have ended up in the gutter! Who dragged you back when you were drinking after the factory? Who raised the kids while you vanished on fishing trips?
Thats enough! Julia shouted, covering her ears. Stop it! I dont want to hear this!
Jack woke to the shouting and began to cry. Julia rushed to comfort him, then packed up their things and left promptly, barely saying goodbye.
Mary and Richard were left behind in deafening silence.
Well, thats it, Mary said hollowly. Now our daughter will never forgive us.
Richard had no reply, retreating to his room and closing the door firmly behind him.
The next day, Mrs. Miller phoned with good news: a serious buyer, a family with two children desperate for a three-bed, offering to put down a deposit. Theyd be coming round tomorrow.
Mary hung up, feeling a strange sensation: not joy, but dread. Soon, these people would buy the flat and that would be it. Shed have to move. Where? Rent with her share? Move in with Julia? No, impossibleJulia had her own troubles.
That evening, Richard came to the kitchen for a glass of water to find Mary sitting at the table, lost in thought.
The estate agent rang, she said dully. Serious buyers coming tomorrow.
Good, he answered. About time.
Right.
Silence.
Richard, she said suddenly, quietly. He started. She hadnt called him by name in agesusually it was only you, or nothing at all. Where will you go?
I dont know. Ill find somewhere.
Tom said you can stay with him?
He offered. But I dont want to impose.
No. Nor do I.
He filled his glass, sipped.
And you? he asked, without looking.
I dont know. Julia offered, but after yesterday I doubt shes keen.
We frightened her.
We frighten everyone. Especially ourselves.
They said nothing for a while, then drifted away to their rooms.
The buyers arrived on time: a young couple, their two childrena boy of about seven, a little girl of fivedashing excitedly through the flat as their parents examined rooms and debated layouts.
Mary watched them and saw herself and Richard, thirty years earlier. Just the same: young, full of hope, a future stretching before them. The children small, life ahead wide open. Eternity, it seemed.
We really like it, the wife said, smiling. Isnt that right, love?
The husband nodded. Perfect for us. Lets talk terms.
Mrs. Miller beamed with satisfaction. Richard nodded mutely, while Mary felt something tighten inside, as though she were being suffocated.
Wait, she blurted. Pleasejust wait.
Everyone turned.
Is there a problem? Mrs. Miller asked, wary.
I Mary drew a ragged breath. I need to think.
Mary! Richard gaped at her in disbelief. What is there to think about?
I need time, she insisted stubbornly.
The buyers looked at each other. The wife frowned.
Im sorry, but we’ve been looking for months. We need a decision. Were ready to buy, but if youre unsure
No, no, of course they are! Mrs. Miller protested, shooting daggers at Mary. Isnt that right, Mary?
No, Mary replied, firm and clear. Im not sure. Sorry.
The buyers left, irritated and bewildered. Mrs. Miller followed, warning there would be a serious chat tomorrow.
Once the door clicked shut, Richard rounded on Mary.
What was that?! What the devil was that about?!
I dont want to sell! she shouted back.
You dont want to?! Youve spent months saying you cant stand living here with me! Youve been desperate to sell!
I changed my mind!
Why?!
Because! Mary covered her face with her hands. Because I dont know where to go! I dont know how to start again! This flat is all I have left! Do you understand? All!
You’ve got the children, your grandson
No, I havent! she screamed. I have nothing! My whole life was here! In these rooms! I built this home, raised the children here, I her voice caught, I loved you here, you idiot! Do you get it? I loved you!
Richard stared at her, thunderstruck. Mary sobbed, hunched over.
I ruined everything, she wept. You were right, I did nag, I drove you mad. I didnt know how else to be. I was frightened youd leave, that everything would shatter. So I clung on and controlled. And in the end, I lost it all. And now you want me to give up this wretched flat too?
He said nothing. There were no words.
Mary, he managed, at last. We cant go on like this.
I know, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. I know. Just not yet. I cant. Not now.
When, then?
I dont know.
He left the room, closing the door behind him. Mary slumped slowly to the floor in the hallway.
That night, neither ate dinner. They lay apart, each staring blankly at the ceiling. The night dragged, endless.
Next morning, disaster struck.
Mary woke to a strange gurgling, hissing sound. She leapt out of bed and frozewater was pouring across the lounge floor, rapidly forming a wide, shallow lake.
Richard! she yelled. Richard! Water!
He dashed out, sleepy-eyed, in his vest.
What?! he bellowed.
Water! Theres a leak! Somewhere!
They rushed to the sitting room. Water spurted from under the radiator, flooding the wooden floor, the rug, the furniturea calamity.
Turn off the stopcock! she shouted. Hurry!
Richard made for the kitchen and twisted the valve under the sink. No use.
Its not working!
In the bathroom! The main one!
He dashed to the bathroom, fiddled with every tap and stopcock he could find. At last, the flow slowed, but by that time, a small pond covered the floor.
The floorboards! Mary moaned. Our floor!
She ran for cloths, gathering every rag she could seize, and urgently began sponging up the water. Richard snatched a mop and a bucket. They worked furiously, wordlesslyas a team again. He dragged back the sodden rug, she wrung out wet cloths. He hauled buckets to the bathroom. She soldiered on mopping up the mess.
The sofa! Mary barked. Get the sofa up!
Together, they hauled the sofa to safety. Richard slipped, barking his knee, cursed. Mary offered her hand to help; Richard stared, surprised, but shed already turned away, intent on the next task.
An hour later, the worst was over. Water off, most of the floor passable, furniture shifted. They stood in the wreck of the lounge, wet, filthy and spent.
Warped floorboards in places. The wallpaper bubbled and peeled. The rug, a write-off.
Mary collapsed onto the sofa, not caring that it was damp. Richard sat beside her. They were silent for a while, looking at the devastation.
Remember how we picked the flooring out? she murmured, eyes on the ruined boards.
Richard stared ahead.
I remember. That warehouse in Sloughyou spent ages dithering between oak and ash.
You said there was no difference.
To me, there wasnt. You cared, though.
Yes. I did.
A lull. Long, heavy.
And the sofa? she added. Remember the sofa?
I do. Julia was little thenjumped on every display. The saleswoman looked murderous.
Mary almost laughed through her fatigue. You said, Let her, itll test the quality.
Right.
Silence again. But now, not full of old grievances. Just weariness and the weight of memories, heavier than all the water theyd just mopped from the flat.
We have to sell, Mary, said Richard gently. We have to end this. Were just tormenting ourselves.
I know, she whispered. It just hurts. All of it.
It hurts me too, he admitted, something cracked open in his voice; something true. This flat. The years. What was.
Mary looked across at him. Her eyes were red, her face tired, but not hostile anymorejust hurt, and understanding.
We werent always like this, were we? she asked. We did love each other, once?
We did, he nodded. Of course we did.
When did it fall apart? Can you remember?
Richard pondered. No. It was gradual, I think. Drip by drip. You started on at me, I got sullen, then silent. Then I stopped listening altogether. So you nagged more, because I didnt listen.
A vicious circle, she said softly.
Exactly.
They lapsed into quiet once more, rain now pattering against the window as though echoing the flood indoors.
I never wanted to lose you, Mary said suddenly. I was scared. You were always so free. I clung on. I thought if I didn’t, youd go. And in the end, you did.
I never went anywhere, he quibbled. I was always here.
No, she shook her head. You left years ago. You just lived here physically. But youd gone.
He didnt dispute it. She was right.
And you, he said, searching for the words. You left tooin your resentments, your scorn. I stopped being a person; I was just a list of failings to correct.
Im sorry, she whispered.
He joltedshed never once apologised. Not in all these months, nor in those final years together.
Im sorry too, he said quietly. I got things wrong. Shouldve tried harder, shouldve spoken up. Shouldnt have escaped to the pub or the river every time things got tense.
Mary gulped, tears spilling over.
How did we let it come to this? she said through her sobs. How did we ruin everything?
Its life, he told her gently. That’s how it is sometimes.
So they sat, side by side on that battered old sofa, among the ruins of their home and marriage, and for the first time in months, the wall between them was gone. Just two worn people, whod once built a life together.
Well ring Mrs. Miller, Mary said at length. Tell her were ready to sell. Those buyers from yesterday.
Are you sure?
No, she replied honestly. But youre right. Its time.
Theyll knock down the price, seeing the floor.
Well show them. So be it.
Richard nodded.
They got up. Mary went to change. Richard headed for his room. She paused in the doorway.
Richard?
Yes?
Thank you. For helping today.
Its our home, he shrugged. Still, for now.
Yes. For now.
A week later, the sale was nearly through. The buyers agreed a lower price for the floor. Mrs. Miller was satisfiedher trickiest clients nearly sorted. Mary and Richard signed the contracts, nothing left but the details.
They began packing: slowly, without comment. Richard found a small studio near Toms. Mary arranged to rent a two-bed in Wokingham, to be closer to Julia, help with Jack.
That evening brought a faint echo of normality. They both ended up in the kitchen. Richard poured tea. Mary sliced bread.
Move your cup, she said automatically.
Its my mug, he began, then caught himself and grinned. All right, moving it.
Thank you, Mary said, almost surprised at the civility.
They sat opposite each other.
You know, Richard said, stirring his tea, I reckon we should have seen a counsellor. Starting again after a late-life divorce isnt easy. Perhaps theyd have helped.
Maybe, Mary agreed. But we never did.
No.
We were stubborn. Proud.
And tired.
Yesvery tired.
They finished their tea. Mary did the washing up; Richard wiped the table.
When do you move? Mary asked.
Saturday. You?
Same. Julia and Tom will help with the boxes.
Good.
She looked over at him.
Richard, I just want to say She faltered, picking her words. Thank you. For everything. For the thirty-five years. I know the end was rough, but there were good times. Werent there?
Yes, he said. There really were.
Thats what I want to keep. The good memories. Not these last few months.
Me too.
They lingered in the kitchena room filled with memories, arguments and laughter, stews and tea, childish jokes and quiet tears. Their whole lives had played out here.
Well stay in touch? Mary asked. For birthdays, family dos, Jack
Of course, said Richard. Were still parents. Gran and granddad.
Yes. Family, in a way.
In a way.
Mary dried her hands.
Well, Ill finish my programme, she said.
Ill read for a bit.
Goodnight, Richard.
Goodnight, Mary.
She left. He remained for a moment, staring at the empty mug, then turned out the light.
The next morning was ordinary. The last morning in that flat, but nonetheless, typical. Richard woke early and made coffee. Mary shuffled in, sleepy, dressing gown askew.
Morning, he said.
Morning, she replied.
They drank their coffee in silence, each thinking about what lay aheadnew flats, new routines, the uncertainty of starting over. But it had to be done. The past had to be let go, however much it hurt.
Move your cup, Mary said at last, rummaging for bread.
Richard eyed his blue mug, sitting in its usual place. He smiled.
Do it yourself, he replied, but without malice. Almost affectionately.
All right, she agreed, reaching past to move the cup.
Their hands brushed for an instant. Mary froze. Richard did too.
They caught one anothers gazeand there was everything: the sorrow, the regret, the exhaustion. And something else. Maybe forgiveness. Maybe gratitude for what once was, for their children, their grandson, and even for this cursed flat, witness to their happiness and their ruin.
Goodbye, Richard, Mary said softly.
Goodbye, Mary, he replied, just as quietly.
They let go. The cup stayed put. And truly, it no longer mattered.
