Nina arrived home a week ahead of schedule. Her husband was missing, and on the coffee table sat two wine glassesone of them had a perfect lipstick mark.
Nina swung out of the taxi and shivered as the January wind whipped through the cul-de-sac in the sleepy outskirts of Birmingham. Shed finished her business trip in London early and couldn’t resist the idea of springing a surprise homecoming on her husband, Adam. In one hand she trundled her suitcase, in the other, a bag cradling a bottle of posh red and a box of his favourite dark chocolate from the posh end of Marks & Spencer. She pictured Adam opening the door, all agog, sweeping her up, acting as though he hadn’t seen her in yearseven though it was only three weeks.
The lift creaked lethargically skywards, as ever. On the fifth floor, she fished out her keys and turned the lock as quietly as she could, not wanting to spoil the delicious moment. The flat was toasty, scented with something familiarher perfume? No, more like freshly-brewed coffee and another faint whiff, floral and unfamiliar.
She shrugged off her coat, dropped the suitcase and gifts in the hallway, and noticed soft music playing from the living roomtheir shared Spotify playlist, the one reserved for wine-fuelled chatter on weekend nights. Ninas heart did a merry jig.
But the living room was empty.
On the coffee table sat two large wine glasses, one almost emptylipstick smeared boldly and darkly on the rim. Not a shade Nina had worn for years; shed stuck to understated nude, while this was a brazen plum.
She froze.
Just then, Adam entered through the flats front door, clutching a shopping bag and a bottle of milk. He stopped cold at the sight of her and the bottle wobbled.
Nina?! Youre homeearly?
His voice was steady, but his eyes flickered with that oh-god-shes-caught-me look, a blend of panic and guilt that only comes with being found out.
Yes, early, she replied softly. Thought Id surprise you.
He set the shopping down and gave her a hugfirm, but perfunctory. His jumper carried a hint of someone elses perfumea delicate, jasmine trace, definitely not his aftershave.
Im so glad youre back, he said as he kissed her awkwardly on the temple. Justwasnt expecting it.
Nina stepped back, casting her gaze towards the wine glasses.
And those? she asked, nodding at the table.
Adam glanced at them, feigning surprise.
Oh, that. Colleague popped round. We had to thrash out a report. Shes gone now.
A colleague with a penchant for plum lipstick? Nina said evenly.
He fumbled a grin.Yeah, its Martha from marketing. You met her at the Christmas do.
Nina remembered: tall, sharp-tongued, always barking with laughter at Adams jokes. The same Martha who, at last year’s office party, had danced a little too enthusiastically with her husband.
Came over to discuss the quarterly budget, did she? Ninas voice was even but her guts braced for impact. And you needed wine for that?
Just a little, to take the edge off. Nothing untoward.
He whisked away the lipstick-stained glass, heading for the kitchen. She heard the tap run and the frantic clink of a speedy wash-up job.
Nina folded herself onto the sofa, grabbing the second glassAdams, with dregs of red at the bottom. She twirled it slowly.
Adam, she called.
He reappeared, drying his hands.
Yes?
How long was she here?
Oh about two hours? Maybe three.
Three hours. Discussing spreadsheets, were you?
Adam forced a hollow giggle. Youre not jealous, are you? Honestly, it was just work.
Nina held his gaze. Im not jealous. Im just curious why a work colleague is drinking wine in our living room, leaving lipstick everywhere, and vanishing right before I come home.
Adam deflated, sinking onto the opposite couch. Alright. She wasnt just here for work. Shes got personal stuff going on. Messy divorce. Needed a chat. I wasbeing nice.
So you comforted her. With merlot.
He shrugged. Yes. Is that a crime?
And why didnt you tell me straight away?
Because I knew youd jump to conclusions.
This, Adam, is me trying to figure out what actually goes on here when Im away.
A silence settled, broken only by some mournful old David Bowie tune on the speakers.
Nina wandered into their bedroom. The duvet was neatly tuckedperhaps too neatly. On her bedside table sat an unfamiliar clip, glossy black set with a sparkly stone. She picked it up, feeling like Sherlock.
Adam came in behind her.
This Marthas? she asked, waving the clip.
He nodded, sheepish. Yeah. Mustve left it.
She left it on my bedside table?
She was looking at your books. You know, our library.
Ah, yes. Came in to borrow a copy of Pride and Prejudice, and accidentally set up camp by the bed. Then wine in the sitting room. Sounds plausible.
Adam slumped, head in hands. Nina, nothing happened.
She looked him in the eye.I believe you, she said. At least, for now.
But images played out in her mind: Martha, cackling on the sofa, hand lingering on Adams knee. Him pouring the wine. Her dramatic hair toss, hair clip falling, Adam picking it up.
Nina slipped into the bathroom, locking the door. The mirror reflected exhaustion and travel-worn hair. She splashed her face with cold water, then opened the laundry basket.
On top of the pile lay Adams shirt from the night before. She lifted it to her nose and, just on the collar, was a faint but damning smear of that same lipstick.
She came out, shirt in hand.
Adam hovered in the hallway, waiting his turn at honesty.
That also from talking about forecasts? she asked, holding up the evidence.
He stared, paling.
Nina
Dont bother. Just tell the truth. Once.
He fell silent for an age.
We kissed, he finally whispered. Just once. She was crying, I was trying to comfort her. It was stupid. Thats all. I swear.
Just once? With hair clips and three-hour wine-fests?
She left straight after.
And you all but scrubbed out the glass.
I didnt want you to see it.
Meaning, you tried to hide it.
Yes.
Nina staggered to the kitchen, downed a glass of water, her hands trembling.
How long has it been going on?
Its not going on, Nina. That was the first time shes ever been here. Before that, just texts and the odd coffee after work.
Texts, Nina muttered, half laughing. Of course.
She pulled up their family WhatsApp chat, last message from Adam three days ago: Miss you, love. Counting the days, complete with heart emoji.
So, did you send that with her sitting right here?
No. Before.
Before what?
Before all this.
Nina set her phone down. I want you to leave tonight. Stay at a mates, or with her if you want. I need time.
Nina, please
No, Adam. Out.
He packed in silence. Nina sat, staring at the abandoned glass hed missed. When he returned, suitcase in hand, he paused by her.
I love you, he said. It was idiotic. A mistake.
I know, Nina replied. But right now, I need space.
The door shut behind him. Silence.
Nina was alone.
She didnt cry. She sat by the window, watching snow drift past street lamps. Then she scrubbed both wine glasses until they sparkled, as if scrubbing away the memory itself.
Next day, back at her job, Nina smiled for her colleagues and fielded polite questions about London. No one seemed the wiser.
That evening, Adam texted: Can I come round and talk?
She replied simply: Not today.
A week crawled by. Adam bunked at his best mates, phoned daily, sent flowers, fired off lengthy remorseful texts about regret and love and how utterly stupid hed been.
Nina read them all. She didn’t answer.
On the eighth day, Nina bumped into Martha.
It happened at the Pret across the street from the office where Nina popped in for sandwiches. Martha was there alone, staring into her coffee as if it held all lifes secrets. She started to stand, but Nina walked over first.
Hi, Nina said.
Marthas Hi barely survived a whisper. She was wearing baby-pink lipstick today.
Mind if I join?
Please do.
They sat in silence.
I know, Nina said.
Marthas eyes shone. He told you?
Yes. And I saw the evidence.
Im sorry, Martha whispered, voice unsteady. Really, I am. Im not proud. Im getting divorced, everythings upside down, and Adam was kind. Then I justdidnt think.
Do you love him?
Martha shook her head. No. Never. I was lonely. He was just there.
And Adam?
I think he enjoyed feeling needed. Maybe he was lonely too. But he loves you, Nina. Honestly, he does.
Nina gazed through the window.
Im not sure what I feel now.
Youre allowed to be angry. And to leave. Or not. Its your call.
Thanks for being honest, Nina said.
They paid and left. Outside, Martha paused.
Ill quit, if thats better. So we never cross paths.
No need, Nina replied. Its your job too. But stay away from our flat.
I promise.
They parted.
That night, Adam sent the inevitable: Can I see you?
This time Nina replied, Alright.
He turned up with supermarket flowers and a face full of remorse. They sat in the kitchen over mugfuls of tea and talked long into the night.
He laid it all out: the texts that started out about work, then wandered, both of them moaning about life. How a Christmas party led to a drunken taxi kiss he cut short, the chats that got too personal, the night Martha turned up in tears. How he hadnt known how to draw the line. And how, when Nina walked in that day, hed never felt so ashamed.
I never slept with her, Adam said. Just the kiss. And some hugs. It was bad enough.
Nina listened.
I believe you, she said at last. But you broke my trust. Itll take time to put things right.
Im ready. For whatever it takes.
That night, no hugs. Adam slept in the box room.
Weeks passed. They talkedreally talkedabout what had gone wrong, the rut, the boredom, the missing spark. Couples therapy, relationship self-help books, honest questions about what now.
Martha, true to her word, rotated to a different department, then left.
Then one April evening, perhaps emboldened by the first hesitant signs of spring, Nina made their favourite prawn linguine, set the table for two, and uncorked the posh red wine she’d once brought back from London.
Adam walked in from work, paled at the sight, then smileda proper, vulnerable one.
Is this a good sign? he asked.
Its a start, Nina replied, giving him the first honest grin in ages.
They sat, clinked glasses.
To us, Nina toasted.
To us, Adam echoed.
And in that moment, she believed it: theyd survived. Bruised, cautious, but survived.
Love hadnt gone. It had simply shifteddeeper, humbler, more wary perhaps, but real.
And on the table sat two spotless wine glasses, marked only by their own lips.
