No Longer a Wife
Paul, did you check your blood pressure today? Have you taken your pill? Alice poked her head into the lounge, wiping her hands on her apron.
Oh, for heavens sake, Alice, give it a rest with the blood pressure! he grumbled, eyes glued to his phone. Ive got a meeting in an hour. Wheres my blue cotton shirt? Did you iron it?
I ironed three shirts for you yesterday, you said that one needed the dry cleaner, theres a stain…
Youre always mixing things up! Cant trust you with anything. Just give me whatever and make me some proper tea at least. Im fed up with that chamomile of yours.
Alices shoulders tensed, but she held her tongue and went back to the kitchen.
It was November outside, drizzly and grey. The block of flats opposite stood with its rows of dark, identical windows, a couple of lights glowing here and there. Alice Margaret Dawson, fifty-six, stood at the stove, watching water boil in the battered old kettle. She kept meaning to replace it since spring. She never got round to it. There were always more pressing things.
She scooped strong tea leaves into his mugno chamomile, no mintjust as he liked. She picked up the plate of sandwiches shed made at six in the morning: white bread, butter, a couple of slices of cheese, crusts cut off because of his stomach, and some tomato, though November tomatoes tasted much like cardboard. Vitamins, at least. She put everything on a tray and carried it to the lounge.
Paul Roger Dawson, fifty-eight, sat in his armchair, phone in hand. Three months ago, hed become department manager. Before that, hed been a regular engineer for over twenty years. Then Mr. Simmons retired and Paul, as the longest-serving, got the post. The promotion came with a pay risean extra £120 a month, a private office and, it seemed, a completely different attitude to himself and life in general.
Put it here he nodded towards the coffee table, still staring at his screen.
Alice placed the tray down. She paused for a second.
Paul, really, take your pill. You said your head hurt yesterday.
I said it *hurt* yesterday. Doesnt today. Right, go on, Ive got a call to make.
She left. She stood in the hall by the coat rackhis tweed overcoat, her quilted jacket on a peg, and an old umbrella with a bent spoke. She just stood there, gazing at nothing. Then she took a cloth and started wiping the kitchen windowsill, because she didnt know what else to do with herself at that moment.
It had been like this for about three weeks, ever since Paul got his promotion and went off for some company training in Surrey. Hed come back looking different. Slimmer, new haircut, a different look on his face. Shed been glad, at first. Thought, Hes got a new lease of life, good for him. But then things started changing.
He began criticising her cooking. Before, hed eat what was there and never complain. Nowher soup was too salty, the chicken dry, buckwheat and tinned stew is student food, not fit for a manager. She double-checkedthought she mustve heard wrongbut he looked at her like she was daft and said:
Alice, its about time you cooked something proper. Roast fish, decent salads, not your boiled veg once in a blue moon.
So she made fish. And salads. He ate in silence. She thought, Great, were fine. The next day, he came home grumpy and dropped in that his new colleagues wifehe met him at the trainingdidnt work, totally ran the house, and looks like a lady.
Alice stayed quiet. She could have said plenty. That she too hadnt worked for four years since the accounts department at her old firm closed. That she was up at six every day, before him, bed later than him, ran the house, fetched his prescriptions, queued in the chemist for his blood pressure and cholesterol pills, checked he took them, sorted his winter tyres at the garage, brought them back because he was busy. She could have said all that. But shed long got used to saying nothing.
Two days ago, though, something happened that made silence impossible.
He came home about eight. Alice was just lifting a pot of chicken soup off the hob, not too fatty, second stockdoctors orders for his cholesterol. Shed cooked it for two hours. The kitchen smelled of dill and carrots.
What took you so long? she called from the kitchen.
Got held up he muttered, kicking his shoes off right by the door.
Soups ready. Sit down to supper.
He came in, peered in the pot. Grimaced.
Chicken again.
Paul, your cholesterol, the doctor said…
I *know* Ive got cholesterol. But Im not a child. Im sick of hospital food at home.
She ladled out the soup. Sliced some bread. He ate, stood, didnt take his bowl. Went to the lounge. She washed up, wiped the cooker, swept the crumbs off the table. Then popped into the lounge to say there was compote if he fancied it.
He was in his armchair, scrolling on his phone. Something pink flashed up on the screen, she couldnt see what. He hid the phone.
Paul, will you have compote?
He looked up. Stared at her for a while, weighing something.
No he said at last. Then, after a pause: Alice, look at yourself.
She didnt understand at first.
What?
Look at yourself. When was the last time you went to the hairdresser? Your hair looks dreadful. And that checked dressing gownreally, you look like an old country granny.
The tap dripped in the kitchen. Next door, the neighbours TV murmured.
Paul she said quietly.
What? Im only telling the truth. I have to go to company dos now. People come roundyou should look the part. And you… well.
People come round? she repeated, slowly. Who? You havent invited anyone home in three months.
Because Im ashamed! he raised his voice. The word ashamed thudded heavily between them. Simmons wife is a credit to him. Always groomed, stylish. And you… Youve let yourself go. You shuffle about, grey hair everywhere…
Paul Roger. She called him by his full name, which she rarely did. Youll be sixty soon. Im fifty-six. Were not young anymore.
All the more reason to look after ourselves! Ive joined a gym, try to keep fit. You sit at home all day and cant even
All day at home she repeated. Her voice was strangely calm, even to her. Fine, Paul. Message received.
She left the room, shut the door softly. In the kitchen, she put the bread away, turned out the stove light. All done calmly, mechanically, yet inside, something shiftednot broke, not collapsed, but shifted, like youre rearranging furniture and it feels odd at first, but then you thinkit was time.
She didnt sleep that night. Lay on her side of the bed, staring at the ceiling. He was snoring as usual, asleep in minutes. She listened to him breathing and thought.
Thought about the last ten years, lived as a service technician: cook, cleaner, nurse, errand girl, medical secretary. They hadnt had a car for three yearssold it when his blood pressure made driving diceyso shed ferry him on taxis, paid out of her savings. Kept a notebook of all his meds: blood pressure, cholesterol, then joint pills added last spring, expensive, nearly £20 a box. She always bought them early, never missed a dose. The doctor said: best not interrupt the routine.
And now hed said he was ashamed of her. Said she was like an old country granny. That Simmons wife was better than her.
Alice lay there, thinking. And by one in the morning, it became very clear: enough.
Not Ill leave, not Ill divorce, not Ill have it out. Enough of doing things he didnt notice, never valued. Enough of being a resource, used like a tap: on for water, off with no thought. Let him manage for himself from now on.
She got up at her usual six. Made herself chamomile teaher favourite, which he hated. Sat with her mug and phone. Booked herself a haircut at that new salon by the stationthe expensive one, £35 for a cut, which she always thought was too dear. Appointment for Wednesday. Found a free morning walking club in the local park, Tuesday and Thursday. Pencilled it in her phone.
When Paul came into the kitchen at seven, the only thing waiting was his mug. Bread was in the tin, butter in the fridge. Hed manage.
Breakfast? he looked about.
Breads there, butters there, cheese in the fridge Alice didnt look up from her phone.
He hesitated. Made his own tea. Sliced his own bread. Ate, standing, then left for work without a word.
She watched the door close, felt, surprisingly, relief.
That Wednesday, Alice went to the salon. The stylist, a young woman with a shaved side and a handful of earrings, examined Alices hair.
Not coloured in a long time?
Three years Alice confessed. Just never got round to it.
Grown out nicely. Lets do some highlights, natural blend, tidy up the shape.
She sat in the chair for two and a half hours, watching herself change incrementally in the mirror. Walked out transformed. Not young, but lively. Looking like a version of herself shed nearly forgotten.
She spent £65 altogether, and, on the way home, bought herself a proper face creamnot the cheapest kind from Boots, but a good one for mature skin, £15. Wondered if that was too much. Thought about Simmons wife. Bought it anyway.
Paul noticed. Looked at her hair. Said nothing.
She hadnt expected him to.
The next week, his blood pressure pills ran out. Alice had always checked in advance, popped to the chemist to restock. Now, she simply left the empty box on his bedside table.
He came home, changed, went straight past the table. She didnt mention it.
Next day, he went looking for his pills, found the empty box.
Alice! Pills are finished!
I know she called from the kitchen.
So why didnt you get more?
Youre a grown man, Paul. Sort it yourself.
There was a long pause.
I have work to do.
Ive things on, too.
What things she didnt elaborate, though she genuinely did now: walking club in the park, where shed met two women her age, Linda and Grace. Linda was a school deputy head, laughed so loudly the pigeons flew off. Grace was retired, quietly raising grandchildren. They chatted as they walked, fresh air filling their lungsa simple pleasure Alice hadnt realised she was missing.
Paul eventually bought his own pills, coming home looking like hed performed a feat. Put the packet away, silent. She said nothing.
Around the same time, Alice rang her old friend SarahSarah Palmer from her accountancy days.
Sarah, are you free Saturday?
Whats up?
Fancy a film, or just a coffee?
Alice, are you alright? Sarahs tone grew curious; they hadnt gone out for coffee in ages.
Better than usual Alice replied.
They met by the Underground. Sarah gasped at Alices hair.
Alice, what have you done! Looks brilliant!
Finally went to a proper salon.
About time! I kept thinkingwell, you have now.
Yes, now Alice said, and off they went for lattes and cake, sitting by the window as fat snowflakes fell and melted immediately on the pavement.
Go on then Sarah said.
So Alice talked. About Pauls promotion, the training, the new persona. The critical soup, about Simmons wife, about ashamed and look at you. Her words were measured, detached, as if telling someone elses story.
Sarah stirred her coffee thoughtfully.
So what did you decide?
I didnt really decide anything, Alice said. I just stopped doing what he didnt value. Not out of spite. Justtheres no point.
No point, Sarah echoed. I get it. She was quiet for a while. Youre doing the right thing.
I dont know if its right. But I cant go on as before.
Sarah nodded, smiled, forked up a bit of cake.
Has he even noticed?
That I stopped running after his pills? Yes. That I dont iron his shirts every morning? That too. He grabbed a creased one out the wardrobe yesterday, put it on and left in silence.
No row?
No. Alice shrugged. Hes probably at a loss. Hes used to me never answering back. I still dontbut its different now.
Sarah looked intently at her.
Do you ever think about divorce?
Sometimes. But not yet. First, I want to find out who I am without all thiswithout his pills, his soup, his shirts. I cant remember the last time I saw myself.
They chatted longer, ordered another coffee, and left into the dark, snowy street, hugging at the station.
Ring me, and lets do this next Saturday? Sarah said.
Yes, Alice agreed.
On the train home, Alice realised she hadnt met Sarah like that for yearsjust to chat, not in a hurry, not sandwiched between Pauls pills and his soup.
At home, Paul was in front of the telly. A dirty mug and plate from egg on toast in the kitchen. She looked at them. Normally, shed have washed up straightaway. Now, she left them.
Where have you been? he asked, not turning his head.
Met Sarah.
For ages.
Yes.
She went to wash her face, applied her new cream. Looked at herself in the mirror. What she saw: fifty-six, not young, but alive. Laughter lines, a crease by her mouth. Highlighted hair that suited her. A middle-aged woman, and that was just fine.
December brought real cold. Alice bought herself new winter bootsproper leather ones, not the cheap rubber wellies she wore for three winters. £90, and not a regret.
Things shifted, almost imperceptibly, in the flat. She still cooked, but made meals she herself fanciedproper soup with fatty beef, chicken and potatoes, sometimes frozen dumplings because why not. No more special steamed fishcakes just for him. The doctor had given him all the adviceif he wanted to follow it, he could do it himself.
His shirts now got washed with the rest of the laundry, no special gentle cycle, no separate ironing regime. Shed always fussed over his clothes, so they looked crisp. Now, she just didnt.
He noticed. Sometimes threw in a sharp barb:
Ready meal again?
Yes, she answered levelly.
Given up cooking have you?
Made soup yesterday, and a roast on Sunday.
Hed leave, disgruntled. But what could he really sayhow could he actually ask, Why arent you revolving around me anymore? Even for him, it would sound ridiculous.
Alice meanwhile kept up her park walks on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Became better friends with Linda, who recommended a gynaecologistAlice had long meant to get checked. She booked in. On Wednesdays, she started a free watercolour class at the local library. Not because shed always dreamed of paintingjust why not? Two hours away from everything, head empty except for blank paper and paint.
By mid-December, Paul began staying late at work. Once, this would have worried hercalls, a dinner gone cold. Now, she ate when the food was ready, went to bed when she wanted. Hed come home at nine, ten, once at half eleven. She never asked. He never explained.
She only realised there was someone else when he came back once smelling of strange perfumea sweet, sharp scent, nothing like lingering restaurant or office air. She noticed it in the hall and thought: so thats it.
Oddly, it didnt hurt. She was waiting for pain, surprised to find instead an odd curiosity, and something elsefreedom from responsibility. If he left, it was his doing, not her failure.
She didnt mention it. Slept well that night, for the first time in ages.
This went on for about three weeks. Hed go to work, stay late, sometimes answer calls in the bathroom. Once, Alice heard a snatch through the door: …I said Saturday, Helen… Helen, was it? Well, fine.
During these three weeks, she did a lot of thinking. Thought about the thirty-two years together, raising their son James, now in Birmingham with his wife and children. Thought about how, in his younger days, Paul had been different: funny, the sort to tell a joke or take James fishing. When did he change? She couldnt name the year. It happened quietly, like water slowly flooding a cellar. First invisible, then impossible to pump out.
She reflected on her own life, how shed spent so much energy caring for him that shed stopped caring for herselfinside as well as out. She didnt even know what she liked anymorewhat music, what books, where shed travel if she could. It had all been muffled by years of soup and pills.
Watercolour classes proved unexpectedly important. Sitting in the quiet library, the tutorMiss Norris, fifty-twoshowed them how to blend colours, create wash effects. Alice painted an apple, then a vase, then the view from the window. She realised that she hadnt painted since year eight at school, and it wasnt hard or scary after all.
One Wednesday in January, Miss Norris said: Youve a very good eye for colour, Alice, truly. It was a casual remark, but it meant more to Alice than anything Paul had said in years.
By Januarys end, Helen was goneAlice gathered as much from Pauls sudden resumption of his old hours and the absence of bathroom phone calls. He looked drawn, coughed often.
She made soup, he ate it. Passed in the hallway, barely speaking. Once, he sat at the kitchen table while she sipped tea and said, almost to the air: Bit nippy outside today.
Yes, she said they said minus twelve this week.
Hm.
He left it at that.
She found out about Helen by chance, through a mutual friend, Paul Jenkins.
Heard your Paul had a fling with some young lady? Didnt last, thoughshe dropped him quick, by the sound of it.
Alice replied shed heard something. Jenkins laughed and changed the subject.
She put two and two together: the woman probably wanted a well-off manager, fancy dinners, new excitement. What she got was a nearly-sixty-year-old man with blood pressure problems, who needed his tea made just-so and his shirts ironed. Probably moaned about his health, too. No wonder she bailed.
Alice felt no pity. There was a strange relief, like when a tooths been aching and the pain finally stopsnot joy, but the comfort of absence.
In February, Pauls health flagged. He was hopeless with his medication nowforgetting doses, sometimes swallowing two because he missed one. Alice saw his pills jumbled up in the drawer. Once she caught him taking two at once. She said nothing; the GP had told him often enough.
He was paler, sometimes dizzy, waking up at night.
One morning, he said: My heads spinning.
Better see the doctor then.
Well, could you book me in?
Call the surgery yourself. The numbers on your NHS card.
He looked at her. She drank her tea, calm.
I dont remember how…
Paul, youre an educated man. Head of department. Youll manage.
He booked in himself. Went. Came home with a new prescription to take alongside the old ones.
Here he put the paper down.
Righto, Alice said.
Will you buy them?
Ill be in town tomorrow. Give me the money.
He looked a bit taken aback. She used to buy his pills from the house funds and keep track herself. Nowjust like that.
He handed over the money. She bought the medicine, put them down next to the others. Didnt explain the routine, didnt make a list as she used to. Just left them there.
March brought a thaw. Dirty puddles everywhere, water dripping from the roofs, kids splashing about outside. Alice went out for walks more often, not even with her walking sticksjust for a stroll. She bought herself a new spring jacketnot shapeless but a good one, with a belt, light beige. Tried it on, wondered when she last bought herself something just because she fancied it.
In March, James and his wife Emma came to stay for a few days. James, now forty, tall and gentle like his dad used to be. Emma, solid, calm. They brought a jar of honey and a box of chocolates.
Alice cooked up a spreadroast potatoes, herring under a fur coat (though calling it a Russian salad for everyones sake), her mothers brawn. Paul was quiet at dinner. James nattered about work and the kids, Emma asked Alice about her painting classes.
Youre painting, Mum? James asked, surprised.
Learning. Watercolours.
Brilliant, youll have to show us!
She showed him her paintings from class: an apple, a vase of flowers, the library window view. James examined them seriously, Emma said they were beautiful.
Mum, you honestly look younger these days.
Just got my hair done, finally Alice said.
She noticed James glancing at Paul. Paul ate in silence, something off between them, clearly, but James didnt ask.
The next day, while Emma was out, James joined Alice in the kitchen as she made dumplings.
Mum. Is everything alright?
What do you mean?
Well…Dads…
What?
Hes, I dont know, a bit flat. Is he ill?
Trouble with his blood pressure. He saw the GP, got new pills. He sorts it himself. Hes a grown man.
James hesitated, played with a bit of dough.
You havent argued?
No Alice said, and it was true: they hadnt argued. They just lived, side by side.
Mum, really, if somethings
James, Im fine she looked at him. Honestly. I really am.
He seemed to believe her, which was right. She genuinely was alright, strange as it seemed.
The visitors left on Sunday; the flat felt emptier than ever. Alice cleared up, Paul watched TV.
Late that night he wandered in, poured himself some water, stared out the window.
James looks well he commented.
He does agreed Alice.
And the kids… he trailed off.
Yes.
He put the glass down and left. She stayed at the window, watching the dark, the streetlamps glinting off wet tarmac, the last of the fading snow.
April began with Paul suffering a hypertensive episode. Not a heart attackbut bad enough that, getting up in the morning, he swayed and had to sit down abruptly in the hallway. He called for Alice.
Alice, Im not well.
She came out, sized up the situationface red, sweating.
Come on, lets get you to bed.
She helped him up, led him to his room. Got the monitor. Reading: 185 over 110. Not good.
Take your emergency tabletCaptopril, in the drawer. Lie back, dont move. Ill check again in half an hour.
Arent you staying?
Ill be in the kitchen.
She boiled the kettle, listened to him shuffling for the tablet. He improved after an hour: 160 over 95. Manageable.
Stay put today, she advised. Nowhere to go.
I have to work…
Ring them, youre not coming in today.
He stayed home. She brought him tea and toast. Not because he askedjust because. Theres a difference between I dont want to look after him and Ill watch him suffer.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Alice, after a long silence.
What?
Ive probably been a real idiot these past months.
She said nothing at first, then sat on the edge of the bed.
Yes, Paul she answered calmly. You have.
Well he stared up at the ceiling the promotion, you know. Felt like it went to my head. Thought life ought to be different, that Id… achieved something.
You did. Manager.
Yes, well… he hesitated and you, youre still here, same as always, andwell, thats not what I meant.
I know what you meant she said softly.
She got up, took his empty mug. That was all. This wasnt a reconciliation, not a scene. Hed called himself an idiot, shed agreed, and that was that.
April passed. May came in with gentle green. She kept up her walks and her painting. Linda, it turned out, went to the theatre every month, and invited Alice. They bought tickets to a play at the city theatre, good seats. Alice hadnt been in ten years, and sitting there in the dark, orange juice from the bar in hand, watching actors on stage, she thought how good it was: just to watch someone elses story unfold, while living your own.
She was fifty-six, and she was starting to see it wasnt an ending, but the start of something else.
She and Paul lived on, parallel. He didnt criticise her food any more, or compare her to Simmons wife. Sometimes he talked normally. Sometimes, in the evenings, theyd be in the same room: he with the news, her with a novel Sarah had recommended. It was peaceful, even familiar, but now with a different feel: she no longer felt obliged.
Once, he asked her to order his medicine online, because it was cheaper.
I dont know how, he admitted. Youre better with these things.
Its simple, Paul. Type the name, add to basket, pick the nearest chemist.
But youre just so much more capable
I am. But you can learn too.
He did. Fumbled on his phone, called her over once or twice for help. She explained. He managed.
She realised this mattered too: dont do for someone what they can do for themselves. Shed thought helping meant doing everythingin fact, it just meant shed replaced him as a person.
June turned hot. Alice bought herself a new summer dress, light and floral. Checked herself in the mirror and thought she looked fine. Not like some old village granny. Just a woman, in a nice new dress.
Couples of their age, she knew, muddled through various ways. Some lived in cold war, some in sweet harmony, some ignored one another. She and Paul ended up with a fourth sort of arrangement: not war, not peace, not indifference. Just living under the same roof, but both separate now.
She didnt know what the future held. Sometimes she thought about Sarah asking, Have you thought about divorce? She didnt reject it, but she wasnt rushing. She had to find herself first, before making any choice.
The summer rolled on. She visited James in Birmingham for two weeksher first solo trip in years. Paul stayed home, blamed work. She packed her bag, sewed a cushion for her granddaughter from skills she picked up on YouTube, and went.
Two weeks with James and Emma, with the grandchildrenJack, six, and Molly, fourwere the best shed had in ages. She played, cooked for them, bathed Molly, read bedtime stories. It was caring, but different: not exhausting or obligatory, just loving.
In the evenings James would ask how things were back home. She told the truththey were fine, just complicated. He nodded, no advice. He was a good son. She knew that for sure.
She returned home tanned and rested. Paul met her at the door with Back, are you? and helped with her bag. It wasnt much, but enough.
August was muggy. She bought a fan for the bedroom, got herself a big watermelon at the market, ate half herself, sliced the rest for him. He finished it and, for the first time in ages, said thank you for dinner.
September came with chill mornings and the rustle of yellow poplars. Then, on a Friday evening, what shed been quietly preparing for occurred.
He came stumbling in at eight, looking sallow, moving carefully. She was at the kitchen table, reading.
Alice he called from the hall Im not well.
Whats wrong?
Pressure, I think. Head, and here he gestured at his chest this tightness.
She stood and looked him over.
How long?
Since lunch. Thought itd go away.
Pills?
Took one at three. Didnt help much.
Sit down.
He pulled out a kitchen chair. She fetched the monitor. 190 over 115. Worse than in April.
Paul, she said quietly this is serious. You need an ambulance.
Oh, dont be silly. Ill just take another pill
No. 190 and chest painyou dont fix that with another pill. Doctor, now.
At least call for me then…
She stopped. Stood there, monitor in hand, looking at him.
Face grey, frightened eyes, hand at his chest. She saw a man in trouble. She feltwell, not indifference. Pity, honest pity. He was an older, ill man. That was true.
But also, she saw something else: all year, hed looked right through her. Said things that cant be unsaid. Stopped seeing her as a person, long before shed stopped working for him.
Now she knew what shed do, and what she wouldnt.
Paul, she said calmly youve got a phone. You know the NHS number.
He looked confused.
What?
Ring for help yourself. Dial 999. Give the address, say its blood pressure and chest pain. Theyll come.
Alice… he sounded scared, like a lost child. Youre not going with me?
Ive done my bit: took your blood pressure, told you what to do. The rest is up to you.
But
Paul. She put the monitor down. You call them. Youre a grown man. You manage.
She walked out of the kitchen, went into the lounge, shut the door softly, not slamming.
From the kitchen, after a while, his voice came, low and shaky:
Hello, yes, ambulance please. Address…
Alice made herself tea. Chamomile, of course. Took the mug, walked past him as he spoke to the operator. He glanced up, she continued to the window, watched the darkness outside.
The street was empty; the one lamplight glowed yellow, shimmering on wet tarmac. Most of the leaves had dropped, sodden and black. The bench under the tree was deserted.
He finished on the phone. Silence.
Theyre coming, he said.
Good, she said.
Will you come to hospital with me…
She turned from the window, looked at him. His grey face, hand gripping his shirt front, eyes wide with fear. She felt sorry for him, genuinely. He was an old, unwell man. No triumph in it at all.
No, Paul she said quietly. I wont. The doctors will look after you.
Alice…
The ambulance crew’ll do everythingtheyre professionals.
She took her tea and went off to the lounge, shut the door. Sat by the inner window, watching the tiny square of outside, the distant light opposite, the autumn poplar. Quiet movement from the kitchen. Then silence. Then the lift whirring.
The ambulance arrived twenty minutes later. She heard the door open, heavy footsteps, crisp voices: pressure, ECG, possible admission. Pauls voice, apologetic.
Then she heard:
Is your wife here?
And his:
She is. But she…wont come.
A pause. Then the paramedic, neutral:
Right. Youll want your coat. Come on, lets go.
The door shut. The lift. Silence.
