Margaret dialled her husbands number, perched stiffly on a hard wooden bench by the hospital reception. Outside, an October drizzle drummed on the glass, and her back throbbed from waiting too long for the cardiologist.
David, are you picking me up? Im about to leave, she asked, clutching the mobile to her ear.
There was a pause, far too long for such a simple question.
Mags I cant right now. The cars at the garage. Broke down out of nowherecan you believe it? Had to take it to AutoCare urgently.
How did it break down? Margaret frowned. Everything was fine yesterday.
I dont know, something with the engine. Look just take a taxi, Ill transfer you the money.
And then Margaret heard ita youthful womans laugh in the background. Light, carefree, the laughter of someone who couldnt be past thirty.
David, she said slowly, whos laughing over there?
What? Didnt hear anythingbad connection. Ill ring you later, yeah?
He hung up so abruptly it was almost as if the phone had stung him.
Margaret sat, staring at the black screen, feeling coldness clutch her heart. Something was wrong. Shed felt it growing inside her these past weeks, though shed been ashamed of her own suspicion.
She took the bus home, her bag of prescriptions heavy in her lap. Forty-six years married. For forty-six years, shed woken next to this man, made his morning tea, ironed his shirts, raised their children, survived hardship and loss, the long lean years when there was hardly enough for bread. How could she suddenly lose all understanding of the person shed shared almost half a century with?
David came back late that evening, smelling unmistakably of someone elses perfume. Margaret caught the sickly-sweet cloud as he bent to peck her foreheada gesture he performed without thought, pure habit.
Cars sorted, then? she asked as she set dinner on the table.
Yeah, all finejust a silly fault, he muttered, not meeting her eye.
She placed the plate of shepherds pie before him and sat opposite, watching him eat, the familiar purse of his lips as he chewedhe still grimaced at old dental work. Hed turned seventy in March. They had marked it quietly, just the family. The children had given them a spa trip theyd never used, David always finding some excuse.
How much did the garage charge? she asked, casually.
Hardly anythingpeanuts, he replied, then hurried, Lets not talk cars tonight, Mags. Im worn out.
He disappeared into the lounge and flicked on the telly. Margaret cleared the table in silence, her hands automatic while one thought rang clearhes lying. David was lying, and every nerve told her it was true.
She couldnt sleep that night. For weeks, hed grown distant, tetchy. At times he hid his phone like a naughty schoolboy, or vanished for hours claiming to see mates. Hed bought a new jacket recently, something trendy, and shed held her tongue, thinking it was some belated mid-life crisis as the magazines describeda late-onset marital rot.
The next morning, once David had left for town, Margaret went to the garage. Their beige Jaguar, sleek and cherished, gleamed on the driveway. The kids had surprised them with it for their ruby wedding anniversarya joyous family gathering where Margaret had wept at the kindness.
She stroked the dashboard, then pausedthe odometer caught her eye. Mileage. The last time theyd gone anywhere together, it had read one hundred and twenty-three thousand. Now it flashed one hundred and twenty-eight. Five thousand in a fortnight, when theyd hardly left the neighbourhood?
Opening the glove box, she found a chewing gum wrapper neither of them used. Blonde hairs stitched the backseatand a swatch of ginger dog fur. Theyd never owned a dog.
Her heart twisted in dread. Hands trembling, she shut the door and staggered inside for a glass of water. No, she wasnt imagining things. This wasnt some elderly hallucination. Something terrible was happening.
That night she confronted him gently, voice barely above a whisper.
David, whys the cars mileage so high? Weve hardly driven.
He didnt look up from his phone. Marge, youre imagining things. Youre making up nonsense because youre bored.
Im not imagining it! Theres someone elses things in the carblonde hairs, dog fur
For heavens sake, Margaret! We visited Charlotte last week, remember? She has a dog. Thats the fur, love.
She fell silent, though Charlottes dog was black, not ginger. The look in Davids eye was raw irritationalmost fury. Hed never looked at her like that.
The next day, after David left, Margaret rang AutoCare.
Afternoon, she said, with forced steadiness, My husband brought our beige Jaguar in for repairs recently
Let me check the records, madam. When exactly?
The day before yesterday.
Theres no trace of your vehicle here. Youre sure its our garage?
Margaret hung up, her vision tunnelling as she slumped onto the kitchen chair. So even the garage was a lie. Hed lied to her face, and he did it easily, as if it were second nature.
Hes spending money on a mistress, the thought stabbed her. Nohe cant be. Hes oldseventy. What sort of man has a mistress at seventy?
But the laughter on the phone, the perfume, the liesthey painted a dreadful picture.
She waited until evening, then rang her oldest friend, Helen. Theyd raised children together, shared endless cups of tea and retired on the same spring day.
Helen, I think Davids cheating on me, Margaret admitted, her tears wetting her cheeks as the words escaped.
What? Helen gasped. Mags, darling! Whatever gives you that idea?
Margaret told her everythingthe mileage, the dog fur, the laughter, the lies.
Listen, Helen said after a careful pause, have you considered maybe hes renting the car out? A lot of people doits an easy way to get some extra cash.
Margaret froze.
Renting? And not telling me?
Maybe he thought youd say no. Mentheyre like children, Mags. Who knows what for.
For what. To impress a young lover, perhaps. The phrase late-life infidelity leapt back at her from an internet article shes once scoffed at. Now, every word throbbed in her head.
Helen, will you help me uncover the truth?
Always, love. Always.
The next afternoon, her sixteen-year-old grandson James came over. Margaret served him tea, voice low.
James, darling, could you help me? I need to put a tracker on the car. To see where it goes.
James eyed her warily. Gran, whats going on?
Nothing. Just want to keep an eye on it.
He shrugged. Dead easy. Theres an app, we can sort it. Within half an hour, Margaret was watching her phone as her Jaguars salted journeys etched themselves on an online map: town centre, railway, university, shopping malls. Taxi routesclassic taxi routes.
Thank you, James, she whispered, her body cold with certainty. David was renting out their car, their anniversary gift, as if it meant nothing.
And where did the money go? Not into the household. David had just told her he was strapped, his pension stretched thin.
That evening, Margaret pulled out the old family photo album. On the yellowed pages, she saw herself and David, young and hopeful, with daisies in their hands and the world ahead of thema world built together, dreams and worries shared.
How could he do this? Use her car, their memories, for his own secrets?
That night, the tracker pingedthe car stopped by a trendy coffee bar called Bubble & Squeak. Margaret rang Helen.
Its at Bubble & Squeak. Lets go.
They arrived, parking discreetly nearby. Sure enough, their beige Jaguar stood in the glow of streetlights.
Shall we look? Helen suggested.
Well wait, Margaret rasped.
After twenty minutes, a young woman emergeda willowy blonde in a short skirt and a leather jacket, face bold with make-up. She strode to the Jaguar, fished out keys.
My God, Helen whispered. Who is she?
Margaret watched as the girl slid behind the wheel. David appeared moments later, carrying a monstrous bouquet and a box of chocolates.
Margarets lungs seized. She watched through a blur as her husband bent to the car window, handed the flowers and sweets to the girl, pressed money into her hand, and kissed her cheek. The young woman laughedthe same laughter Margaret had heard through the phone.
Come on, Helen urged softly. Lets go, love
But Margaret was already walking. Her legs were shaking, her chest tight, but she walked. David turned, paling when he saw her. In that moment, he knew she knew.
The girl shot them a startled look, floored the accelerator, and sped off. Margaret and David were left staring at each other across the rainy car park.
Mags he started.
Lets go home, was all she managed.
At home they sat in the lounge. Helen left quietly. Margaret downed a measure of valerian as David slumped on the sofa, head in hands.
So. Youre renting out our car. Her voice was flat, detached. How long?
Three months, he admitted, hollow.
And all that time lying to me. The money?
He said nothing.
Wheres the money going, David? The bouquets? The chocolates? The perfume, I can smell it.
Davids voice trembled. Mags, you dont understand
Noits you who doesnt understand! Her voice broke. You rented out my car! The car our children gave us! And you spent the money on that girl!
Shes not a girl, he blurted. Her names Chelsea. Shes twenty-two. And she listens to me. She understands!
Margaret fell silent. The air stilledthick enough to cut.
Understands, she echoed dully. I suppose I dont. I only gave you forty-six years.
You dont! he shouted suddenly, voice cracking. Im seventy, Mags! Seventy! Ill die soon and Ive done nothing! Nothing for me! Always work, house, kidsbut what about me? Wheres my life?
Tears ran down his face as Margaret stared at this man she barely recognised.
You think this Chelsea makes you young again? Youre sleeping with her?
He hung his head, nodded.
Margaret hid her face in her handsanger and despair warred in her chest, yet she kept utterly still.
I was terrifiedterrified of old age Of you nursing me like an invalid. With her, I feel alive. Thats why I needed moneyto spoil her, take her out. Shes young, Margaret. Young people expect something.
I see, Margaret said, icy. Youre desperately selfish. While I kept the house, raised the children, got by on nothing, you were making excuseslying, and giving away the one thing that was ours to her. A girl young enough to be our granddaughter.
She went to the window, watching the streetlights shimmer in the rain.
I never thought betrayal like this happened to old married couples, she whispered. But it does. Now its happened to us.
Im sorry, Mags, David mumbled. He looked scaredscared shed leave, scared of being alone.
How do you get past your husbands betrayal? Margaret spoke gently, almost to herself. I dont think you do. You can accept that the David I loved is gone. In his place, an old man, running from death by clinging to a girl.
David cried, shoulders shaking.
I cant lose you, he sobbed. Dont leave. Ill end itall of it. I swear.
Dont promise, she said wearily. I dont believe your promises.
She fetched a pillow and blanket.
Ill sleep on the sofa. Tomorrow we talk to the children.
What about? he muttered, fearful.
What we do next. Maybe divide the house. Maybe Ill move in with Charlotte. I need to think.
The night stretched without end. Margaret stared up at the lounge ceiling, thoughts circling like dark birds. Relationships in late lifepain, pensions stretched thin, a new and terrible kind of loneliness.
At dawn, she dressed and put on make-up. Looked in the mirror: an aged face, hair grey, eyes heavybut still alive. She would not die from heartbreak.
When David crept into the kitchen, she was sipping coffee.
Morning, he ventured.
She nodded. I rang Charlotte last night. Shes coming round.
Mags
Just leave it, David. Please.
The day crawled by in silence. That evening, Charlotte cameher eldest, stern and forever Davids image.
Mum, whats going on? she demanded.
Margaret told her. Everything. Charlotte listened, face growing hard.
Dad, I cant believe you. Youve robbed Mum. Youve sold the car
Dont call her that, David snapped when his daughter used a harsh word for Chelsea.
Ill call her what I like! Charlotte shouted. Youre seventywhat are you playing at?
Charlotte, please, Margaret implored. I dont know what I want. I need time.
Divorce! Charlotte declared. Mum, well help you move. Let him stew by himself.
Divorce. At sixty-eight. After nearly half a century together. Unthinkable.
I dont know, Margaret murmured. I really dont.
Charlotte left late. Margaret took her usual place on the sofa.
David hovered.
I met her walking her friends dog in the park, he said at last. We just talked about nothingabout life. She made me forget about age. And I loved that. I hated myself, but I couldnt stop.
Youre scared of dying, Margaret said. And so youve broken everything.
I didnt want to hurt you. I thought youd never know.
But I did. Now what?
He bowed his head and, after a moment, rested it in her lap as he once had in their youth.
Im lost without you, Mags. Im such a foolso frightened youll stop loving me when I get truly frail
She stroked his hair. Old, thin, grey. Her old man. But not hers, not anymore.
I wouldnt have stopped loving you, she whispered. But now I dont know, David. Honestly, I dont.
They sat together for a long time, then she slid gently away. He knew then he may never be forgiven.
A week passedslow, miserable, endless. They lived as neighbours sharing a home. Margaret on the sofa, David in the bedroom. She cooked, but set their plates apart. He tried to talk, but her replies were short, cold.
The Jaguar sat unused. Neither touched itthe symbol of their lost devotion.
Vernon, their son, rang from Leeds. Mum, Charlotte told me. Are you all right?
Im getting by, she replied.
Come stay with us, Mum. Theres a room for you.
Thank you, love. Ill think about it.
All she could do was think. Go live with the children? That meant admitting defeat, admitting her life was shattered. Stay? But how, with this new betrayal?
Helen phoned daily.
Mags, love, how are you?
Fine.
Liar. Youre in bits. Maybe you really should split up.
After forty-six years, Helen? You cant just cast it off. Its like losing a limb.
But, Mags, better an amputation than rot. Hes betrayed you. You asked what to do when your husband cheats? Leavewhile you still can.
A new life. At sixty-eight. It seemed like something from a cruel joke.
That evening, Margaret was sorting bills and prescriptionsnew, expensive tablets for Davids heart. Shed been skimping on her own needs to get the best for him.
The anger smothered her.
She marched into the lounge. Do you realise how much your pills cost? Three hundred quid a month. I cut corners for youwhile you were out buying roses and chocolates. With our money.
His eyes were strickenthey haunted her, but only for an instant.
I sold the car, David said quietly.
You what?
The Jaguar. Today. Buyers coming tomorrow. Youll get every penny.
You sold our car? Margaret breathed. Without even asking?
It was partly mine. I couldnt stand watching you suffer over it. Better gone.
She slumped into a chair. Just sold. The last relic of their old happiness gone.
Youre impossible, she whispered. First you rent it out behind my back, then you just sell it. Do I mean nothing?
I meant well
Dont say another word, she cut him off.
She retreated to the sofa, back to him, and weptsilently, for the car, for the life that had turned to ashes.
Next morning, the buyera young mancame for the Jaguar. David handled the paperwork. Margaret never left her room.
That evening, David laid a thick envelope on the table. Hereevery penny from the sale. Take it.
I dont want it, she said coolly, Its tainted. Like everything youve done these months.
Mags, please
Keep it. Buy your Chelsea more roses.
That night, she stepped out on the balcony, staring into the November chill. Lights glimmered, the city wound on, uncaring. Her world had ended.
David quietly joined her.
I finished it with her, he said, voice raw. A week ago. I called, told her we were done. She didnt careshe laughed and hung up. I realised thenshe never loved me. I was just an old fool with cash. I destroyed our family for that. And Im still scared. I thought she could make me forget death, but now Im only more frightenedbecause Ive lost you.
You chose this loneliness, Margaret whispered. Every lie, every betrayal was your own hand.
I know. Im not begging. Just so you knowI see what I lost. Too late, but I see.
She saw the wasted lines of his face, eyes dulledhed aged ten years in a week.
David, I dont know if I can forgive you. Or ever trust you again. Something in me broke.
He nodded, voice faint. Im afraid too, Mags. Of being alone, of starting over. Im scared I wont manage.
So there they stood, two old figures in the cold: both battered by fear, loss, and time.
Maybe we can try, David ventured quietly. Try to begin again. Ill prove myself, every day.
Margaret sighed. Could people change? She didnt even know what she wanted herselfleave, stay, forgive, or hold the wound?
I have no idea what comes next, she said. None.
Nor do I.
They walked back indoors, divided by walls and grief. Each to a separate bed, a separate life.
December brought the first snows. Their routines continuedapart, though David grew gentler. A new blanket when she shivered, a hot cup of tea without asking, small repairs long neglected. Little thingsMargaret noticed.
One night, he knocked on the lounge door.
Mags, may I?
He carried a battered box.
He set it before hera box of old letters, written when he was stationed abroad as a young man. Love letterseach line full of longing.
Margaret read them that night, tears streaming. You were someone else then, she murmured. Honest. Loving. Not this.
Davids voice was barely a whisper. Can I ever get back to that man?
I dont know. The past cant be remade.
New Year came cold and grey. The children invited them, but Margaret refusedshe couldnt fake happiness. They spent it together, just the two of them, toasting quietly, not meeting each others eyes.
After midnight, as she stood to retreat to the sofa, David stopped her.
I sold the car not only for you. I couldnt face what it representedthe memory of what Id done.
Margaret stopped.
Wasnt it shameful driving your lover around in it?
Yes. I tried not to feel it. Kept telling myself I deserved a second youth, even just a taste. But it was idiocy, Mags. Cowardice.
She sat again.
Whats worst isnt you cheating. People fall out of loveI know that. Its the lying. Day after day. That I cant move past.
Ill never lie again, he said.
Dont promise. Just show me.
Another silence. Two old souls, wondering if there could be any future.
As the weeks wore on, Margaret still slept on the sofa. They exchanged short wordsabout the news, grandchildren, the weather. Timid, fragile, like strangers after a battle.
One night, Charlotte rang.
Mum, whats happening? Are you getting a divorce or what?
I dont know, love. Still dont.
Mum, pleasea decision! Either forgive and move forward, or come live with us.
I cant forgive. But I cant leave either. Margaret stared out the window at the gentle fall of snow, a memory of happy, safer times flickered. Could the past ever outweigh the present?
Near supper, David spoke.
Mags, Ive started therapy. A proper counsellor, for men in later life. I want to understand myselfand change if I can.
Margaret nodded. Thats good. Maybe I should try too.
Perhaps hope, or perhaps old exhaustion. Spring slid in, quietly. One evening, after supper, David came in and said, I dont deserve forgiveness. I just want you to knowI ruined everything. Out of fear, and selfishness. Ill live with that. But if you everevergive me another chance, Ill seize it. If not, I understand.
Margaret stared, as lost as he.
I dont know, David. Forty-six years, and it wasnt enough. I have no idea how I go on from here.
Together, or apart? he asked.
I dont know, she replied softly. And within that I dont know lived all the sorrow and uncertaintythe feeling that the future was suddenly unknowable and terrifying.
They sat there in the dusk, two people once bound by love, now adriftstrangers in a room fading to black, neither one reaching for the light.
