Margaret dialled her husbands number, knuckles white against the damp, splintered bench outside the GPs reception. October rain streaked the window of the surgery, blurring the world into grey. After nearly an hour waiting for her cardiology check-up, her back ached and the edge of loneliness pressed sharp at her ribs.
Colin, are you able to pick me up? Im just leaving now, she asked, voice soft yet expectant, cradling the phone to her ear.
There was a pausetoo long for such a simple question.
Mags I cant, not just now. The carsomething went wrong, its in the garage, the chap at FixRite said I shouldnt drive itengine trouble, believe it?
How? Yesterday it was fine.
I dunno, love. Dodgy spark plugs, he said. Get yourself a cab home, Ill transfer you the money on your card.
Thats when Margaret heard it: laughteryoung, female, clear, breezy. Not laughter shed heard in her own house in decades. It sent ice through her veins.
Colin, she breathed, cold suspicion rising, whose laugh was that?
What? Didnt hear anythingmustve been a bad signal. Ill ring you later!
He hung up so fast it was as if the phone burned his hand.
Margaret sat stock-still, staring at the dull screen, feeling the cold reach into her chest. Something was wrong. Something had been off for weeks, but shame willed her suspicions awayforty-six years married, she should know this man better than anyone.
She rode the bus home, a paper bag of tablets perched on her knees. Forty-six yearscup after cup of tea, school shirts ironed, children soothed through colds, the lean years in the eighties survived together, parents mourned, family built brick by brick. How could you stop understanding someone youd shared a bed with for a lifetime?
Colin returned late that evening, smelling unmistakably of someone elses perfumea sugary, cloying note. He stooped to kiss her foreheadhabit, nothing more.
So, did they fix the car? she probed, laying his dinner on the table.
Yeah, all sortedjust some daft little thing, he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
She watched him eat: the tilt of his chin, the old grimace when his dodgy crown caught a nerve. Seventy this March; theyd marked it modestly, just close family. The children had bought them their dream: a wheat-coloured Jaguar, after saving for years. Theyd never made it to that spa hotelhed always found an excuse.
How much did they charge? she asked, as if offhand.
Not much. Pennies, really Lets not talk about the car, Mags. Tired.
She watched him slump in front of the telly, as if nothing had happened. But her hands shook as she washed the plates. Hes lying, she realised, with every fibre of her.
That night, Margaret lay in darkness, listening to his rasping snore. Lately, hed seemed distant. Secretive with his phone, off for hours on catch-ups with old mates hed never mentioned before. Hed recently bought himself a new jacketfar too youthful. Shed thought it a blush of vanity, maybe a late-life crisisthings magazines hinted might strike after fifty. But now? Now it was less innocent.
The next morning, after Colin left, Margaret went to the garage. Their Jaguar, a gentle golden shade, gleamed in its placea cherished family gift for their ruby anniversary. She stroked the dashboard and frowned at the odometer. The last time she and Colin had gone out together123,000 miles. Now it read 128,000. Five thousand miles in two weeks? Theyd barely left the neighbourhood.
She tugged open the glove box and found a gum wrappershe didnt touch the stuff, and neither did Colin. On the back seat: long, pale hairs and dog furred-blond. Theyd never owned a dog.
Panic fluttered in her chest. She gulped water at the kitchen sink. No, she wasnt going mad. Something was very, very wrong.
At dinner, she tried. Colin, how come the cars done so many miles? Weve hardly used it.
He didnt look up from his phone. Youre making stuff up. Always fussing.
Im not making it up! Theres hair, gum, red furnone of its ours
Margaret, have you lost the plot? he snapped. We went to Alices last week, didnt we? Shes got that spaniel. Mustve got left there.
Silenced, she nodded. But Alices spaniel was black, and this fur was golden. Colins glare didnt allow further questions. Margaret blinked back frustration and stared at the kitchen tiles. Shed never seen him look at her with rage before.
Next morning, once hed gone, she rang FixRite.
Hello, my husband brought in a Jaguargold, plates
Hold up, the man said. Let me check When was it meant to be in?
The day before yesterday.
Er nothing in here for that plate or colour, love. Sure youve got the right garage?
She hung up, the phone trembling in her palm. Hed liedeven about the repair.
Hes spending money on another woman, Margaret realised, and the thought shuddered right through her. Noit couldnt be. He was seventy, for Gods sake. What sort of man took up with someone else at seventy?
But the laughter, the perfume, the liesthey were pieces of a puzzle she didnt want to complete.
That evening, she rang her oldest friend, Dorothy. School together, babies together, now retirement together.
Dot, I think Colins cheating on me, Margaret whispered. The words, once spoken, broke her, tears rolling unchecked.
What? Dont be daft, Mags! Why would you think that?
Margaret told her everything: the miles, the hairs, the laughter in the call, the lies.
Hang onhave you thought maybe hes been hiring out the car? Loads of folk do these days for extra cash.
Margaret froze.
Without telling me?
Maybe he was worried youd say no. Menbig kids. Bit of spare money for something.
Something. For a new girlfriend, she thought, the phrase from an online article echoing in her ears: late-life betrayal. Shed scoffed at the idea then. Now, every word pulsed through her head like a drum.
Dot, will you help me find out?
Of course I will, love.
The next day, she called in her grandson, Danielsixteen, a whizz with gadgets.
Danielwould you show me how to put a tracker on the car? Something so I know where its been?
He eyed her curiously. What for, Gran?
Oh, just peace of mind. You never know.
He shrugged. Easy. Theres an app for your phone. Dont even need a gadget.
Half an hour later, Margaret watched her phone screen, a dot marking their Jaguars location. Daniel explained gently, All your routes show here, see? That was yesterday. Looks like taxi routes.
Taxi routes. Shopping centres, the station, the universityall over the city. The dot danced through town, hours shed spent at home alone.
Thank you, love, she whispered, cold seeping into her bones.
When Daniel left, Margaret slumped by the window, weeping into her hands. Colin had turned their dream car and anniversary gift into a cab. Their childrens gesture, so full of family, reduced to another secret.
Where had the money gone? Not into groceries or heating. Last week, Colin had moaned about their pensions running dry.
She retreated to the bedroom and pulled out a battered old photo album: her and Colin as students, young, laughing outside a squat brick hall; their weddinga modest affair on a shoestring; a bedsit crowded with babies and dreams. She lingered over the image of Colin giving her wildflowers, gleaned from the roadside on his bikeride after a shift. And nowlies, deceit, secrets. Who was this old man in her house?
That evening, the tracker showed the Jaguar parked miles away at a chain restaurant near the edge of town. Margaret rang Dorothy.
The cars at Lemons & Limes. Can we drive over and see?
They set off, parking discreetly two roads away. Their Jaguar was there, unmistakable. Dorothy gripped her arm.
Wait? Dorothy suggested.
They waited in tense silence. After twenty minutes, a young woman in a short skirt and leather jacket strolled from the restaurant. Tall, blonde, caked in make-up. She headed for their car, rifling in her handbag for keys.
Oh my God, Dorothy whispered.
Margaret said nothing as she watched the girl unlock her anniversary Jaguar and slide into the drivers seat. A moment later, Colin emerged, red roses in one hand, chocolates in the other.
Margaret watched through rain-blurred eyes as her husband bent to the window, offering flowers and money, then kissed the girls cheek. Laughteryoung, careless. The same laughter shed heard down the phone.
Lets go, Dorothy muttered, but Margaret stumbled from the car. Legs weak, chest pounding, she marched across the parking lot.
Colin turned. Shock widened his face as he saw her.
The girl glanced in bemusement at the tableau as Margaret approached, then revved the engine and sped away. Just the two of them remained, as traffic hissed past and neon signage flickered above.
Margaret Colin started.
Lets go home, she saidno strength left for anything else.
Back home, they sat in stony silence. Dorothy quietly let herself out. Margaret poured herself a gin, hands shaking; Colin hunched, hollow-eyed, on the sofa.
So youre hiring out the car? she said eventually, voice flat, almost calm. How long?
Three months, he mumbled.
And the money, Colin?
He looked away.
The sum totalthe roses, the chocolates, perfume? All small change, is that it?
You dont understand
No, Colin, you dont understand! Youve been hiring out my carthe one the children gave us, behind my back! And spending the money on that girl!
Shes not a girl. Her names Kimberley. Shes twenty-two, a student. She listens to me!
Margaret stilled. The silence was suffocating.
Listens, she repeated. After forty-six years, you think I dont listen.
You dont! Im seventy, Mags! Seventy! Ill be gone soon, and what have I got? Nothing. Work, home, kidswhat did I get for myself?
He broke down, tears crawling from under iron-grey brows.
This Kimberleyshe makes you feel young? Margaret asked. Are you sleeping with her?
A pause; then, a nod.
Margaret buried her face in her hands, fingers clenched white. She wanted to rage, to smash dishes. Instead, she satsilent, hollow.
Im scared of getting old, Colin whispered. Scared youll end up nursing me, that Ill be useless. Then I met her. She made me laughI felt alive! I wanted to keep that feeling. I started hiring out the car, so I could buy her presents, take her out. Young girls want things.
I understand, Margaret said. I understand youre pitiful. I gave you my lifeI cooked, washed, scrimped, supported you, Colin. Supported us both. And you you hawked out our family car, while I went withoutspending the money on a girl my granddaughters age. Money for her, not our medicine, not our grandchildren. You betrayed me. You betrayed our entire family.
She stared from the window. Rain beaded the panes; streetlamps threw streaks across the glass.
I never thought betrayal could happen at our age, she said quietly. I thought that was for the young. I thought our marriageforty-six yearsmeant wed survived all that. Divorce in your sixties, financial secrets, infidelitythose were tabloid stuff. But now, its us.
Please he whispered, I didnt mean I never wanted to
She turned, seeing only fear in his eyes.
How do you survive betrayal? she mused aloud. Ive been thinking about that. The answer is: you cant. The person you lovedhes gone. In his place, just a scared old man running from death, clutching at anything young.
Colin wept openly, head in hands.
I cant lose you, he stuttered. Mags, stay. Ill end it with her. I swear.
Dont swear, she said tiredly. I dont believe you. Not any longer.
She gathered her pillow and blanket, and left for the spare room. Well talk to the children in the morning, she said.
About what? he croaked, terrified.
Our future. We might need to split the house, or Ill move in with Alice for a bitI dont know.
Night pulled at her, heavy as tar. She lay stiff and sleepless, clock ticking like a death knell above the dresser. Old age was supposed to be tea, grandchildren, warm firesnot crying into the dark, betrayed by the only man you ever trusted.
She rose before Colin, fixed her hair, wiped her face. In the mirror, wrinkles webbed outwards. She was older now. But not finished. She wasnt dying of heartbreak.
When Colin shuffled into the kitchen, she sat with a mug of tea.
Morning, he ventured.
She nodded. Ive asked Alice to come round later.
Mags
Colin, dont.
The day crawled. They ate separately. When Alice arrivedprim, forthright, just like her fathershe went straight to the point. Mum, whats going on?
Margaret told her all of itthe car, Kimberley, the money, the secrecy. Alice listened with growing ice in her eyes.
Dad, how could you? Youve robbed Mum. That car was for both of you, not just you. And you spent the money on some tart.
Dont call her that! Colin flared.
Ill call her what I like! Youre seventy, Dad. Grow up.
Thats enough, Margaret cut in. Were not here for sideshows. I want to know what to do.
Get a divorce, Mum, Alice said. You and David will help. Come stay with meyoull be fine. Let him stew in his guilt.
Margaret just shook her head. Divorce, at nearly seventy, after forty-six years? It seemed absurd.
I need time, she murmured.
Alice left late, the air thick with unspoken questions. Margaret gazed into the darkness. Colin hovered at the edge of the room, wishing for forgiveness.
That week, they passed like ghosts in the same house: Margaret on the settee, Colin in their room. Separate plates, separate silences.
The car, their lovely gift, sat untouched in the garage. Neither could bear the sight of it.
A phone call came from their son, David, who lived down south.
Mum, Alice rangtold me everything. Are you alright?
Im getting by.
If you want, come here. Sarah and Ill sort a room. Seriously, Mum.
Ill think about it.
She spent most days thinkingwhere to go, what to do. Dorothy phoned every day, urging her to leave. But forty-six years cant be ended like a bad book. It was cutting out her own heart.
Margaret found a pharmacy receipther scrimping so Colin could have the pricier heart tablets. Shed spent extra for him, gone without herself. And all the while, hed been squandering it on a younger woman.
Rage hit her like a wave. She marched to the lounge, brandishing the script-line like a weapon.
Do you realise your tablets cost £70? I bought them for you. Saved on groceries. And youyou were spending our money on her. Flowers, cafés, chocolates.
Colin gazed up in misery. I sold the car, he croaked.
What?
I sold the Jaguar. Today. Hes coming to pick it up tomorrow. You can have the money. Every last penny.
You sold our car? Without telling me?
Im a joint owner. I couldnt bear it sitting there, making you suffer. Better its gone.
Margaret sagged onto a chair. Hed sold the last token of their happinessthe family car, the anniversary gesture. It was all ashes now.
Youre impossible, she whispered. First you lie about hiring it out, now you sell it. Do I count for anything at all?
I was only trying to
Dont, she said. Just dont.
She wept quietly, alone, the truth settling like a stone in her chest.
The next morning, a polite young man came for the car. Contracts were signed. Margaret didnt leave her room. That evening, Colin put the money on the table.
Its all here. From the car sale.
She looked right through him. I dont want it. Its tainted. Like everything youve done.
Margaret
Buy Kimberley another bouquet, she said, turning to the windowthe world outside cold, dark, inconsolable.
He joined her on the balcony, lines cut deep in his face.
I broke it off, he said quietly. A week ago. I rang her, told her it was finished. She just laughed and hung up. I realised I was only ever her bit of fun, her wallet. She never cared. And I lost everything for her. And Im still terrified of dying. Thought shed help me forgetits worse now, because Im all alone.
You chose it, Colin, she replied, staring at the chilly city beyond.
I know. I dont expect forgiveness. But I get it nowwhat I lost.
She turned; he looked so much older, defeated. Broken.
I dont know if I can forgive you, she said eventually. Youve smashed something in me. Im not sure it can be mended.
He nodded. I understand.
And Im frightened, too, she admitted. Frightened to stay alone, frightened to start over. But maybe I have to.
They stood, two strangers shaped by shared years and sudden absence, clutching memories for warmth against the cold future.
Perhaps we should try, Colin murmured. Start afresh.
Dont promise, she said. Just do.
Day by day, something shifted. Colin became careful. He bought her a blanket, made her tea without being asked, mended a broken kitchen door. Small things, but she noticed. One evening, he handed her an old shoebox from the lofthis courtship letters, yellowed with time. I meant every word, he said. And she read: Maggie, you are my world. When I get back, well be married and nothing will ever come between us
That man doesnt exist anymore, she told him. He was young, honest, loving. Youve changed.
Do you think its too late to go back? he asked.
I dont know. The past doesnt return.
New Years came. The kids invited them, but Margaret refused. She couldnt pretend, not yet. They ate together in silencelettuce wilting, champagne flat.
Happy New Year, he ventured.
She echoed him, eyes fixed on her plate.
They sat long into the night. I sold the car to erase my cowardice, he confessed. I couldnt bear seeing itproof of what Id done. I was too ashamed.
Margaret shrugged. Not as ashamed as you should have beenlying to my face. Thats what I cant forgive.
Ill never lie again, he vowed.
She held up a hand. Dont say it. Prove it.
Spring found them in cautious truce. Some days Margaret missed the old Colintheir laughter, the lazy Sunday mornings. But she knew: that man was gone, along with their old marriage, their trust.
One evening, Colin sat her down: Im seeing a therapist. About my fears, about growing old, about what Ive done. I want to change.
Good, she nodded. I hope you do.
Weeks passed, slow as thawing ground. One grey evening, he said quietly: I dont ask for forgiveness, only that you knowI broke everything, through fear and stupidity. Ill live with that now. If ever you want to give me another chance, Ill be here. If not
Margaret looked at himold, real, remorseful.
I dont know, Colin. I just dont. I thought love and family would be enough. Turns out, things break anyway. And I dont know how to go on.
Together or apart? he asked.
I dont know, she repeated.
And in that, every pain and doubt and uncertainty, every trembling fear of the future, found its own shelter.
They sat facing each other, dusk swallowing the room, the silence broken only by the citys murmur outside. Two souls, redrawn in the hard twilight of old age, torn between memory and loss, not sure if the space between could ever be crossed again. And still, dusk drifted to darkness, and neither reached for the light.
