Anthea stands rooted to the pavement, her body frozen. She cannot step forward or retreat. The man by the Range Rover says her name againquietly, with a barely-there tremor, the kind you hear from someone terrified of losing a dream.
Anthea is it really you?
Her throat dries up. Words stick. She really looks at his faceharsher, more chiselled now, but oh so familiar. The same features. The same gaze that, once upon a time, calmed her wildest fears with just a blink.
She hasnt seen him in twenty years.
She truly never believed she would.
Least of all outside their old block of flats, on an evening when her husband yelled that, at forty-five, no one would ever look at her again.
Matthew? she whispers. His name slips off her tongue like its been waiting a lifetime for this moment.
Matthew nods. His smileshy, warm, uncertainis the same one that used to make her knees weak.
Changed, but undeniably still him.
Sorry for dropping by like this, he says, running a hand over the back of his heada gesture she remembers all too well. I found your address last week by chance. I was sifting through old boxes and came across a photo. The one you in that white blouse, at the lake. Remember?
Anthea closes her eyes. For a moment, shes touched by the breeze from that daythe wet scent of water, the hope of youth they thought would never fade.
She remembers. Every single detail.
You were my first Matthew says softly. And maybe the only one I could ever truly be myself with. I always thought Id see you again but then you left. And
Anthea glances away. The chill pinches her skin, but her eyes sting with something else.
I got married, she whispers, as if placing a heavy stone down.
I know, he replies calmly. I thought about reaching out a hundred times. But I didnt have the right to turn your life upside down.
Anthea lets out a short, bitter laugh.
And now you do?
Matthew doesnt retreat. His eyes meet hers, honest and gentle.
Its too late for silence now.
Her stomach clenches.
What is it you want to say, Matthew?
He breathes deeply, like a man about to dive into cold water.
I came to tell you that he falters, the words weighing heavy. I still think about you. Twenty years. No one has filled the space you left. I I needed to see you at least once. To know if youre happy. Or at least, not alone.
And thenjust as if someone ripped a curtain openAnthea hears the clatter of the communal door.
She spins around sharply.
George stands at the entrance in his tracksuit bottoms, face twisted in irritation and that hollow anger shes come to know too well.
Anthea? What are you doing out here? he growls. Then his eyes land on Matthew. His face constricts. And whos this, then?
Matthew turns slowly, calm as ever.
Anthea feels a surge rising in her chest. Not anger. Not fear. Something like strength. Forgotten, rusty, but real.
George stomps down a step. Then another.
Mate, who are you here for? Huh? What do you want? Shes my wife, he snarls.
Anthea looks at him. Really looks. Not with hunched shoulders and fearful eyes, like shes learned, but straight on. Unshaken.
She does not look away.
Matthew she says, steady and clear, Would you like to tell him why youre here?
Matthew does not blink.
Im here because she matters to me, he says quietly. Because I havent stopped thinking about her.
George goes pale, his face tightening.
Have you lost your mind? he shouts at Anthea. You come down here to flirt with some stranger? Get inside, right now!
Anthea shakes her head.
No.
George freezes.
No what?
It means I am not going back upstairs, she says, her voice even. Not to a place where I am made small. Today, you shouted that no one would want me at forty-five. She glances at Matthew. You were wrong.
George takes a step back as if her words have knocked him hard.
Anthea moves closer to Matthew.
Would you drive me? she asks, quietly but with confidence.
Of course, he answers, without hesitation.
George lunges forward:
I wont allow this! Youre MY wife!
Anthea raises her hand. Just a small gesture. But it stops him cold.
I was your wife as long as there was respect, she says calmly. Tonight, you destroyed that. And with it, us.
She opens the car door. Matthew helps her in, gently closing it behind her.
George stands on the curbbewildered, diminished, powerless.
For the first time, he is the one nobody wants.
The car eases away.
Anthea gazes through the window as the lights of Manchester flicker past. The warmth inside wraps around her like a second skin.
She is not going home.
Not there.
She is walking towards something she had lost:
herself.
And after twenty years, after forty-five, after a lifetimeshe finally feels, deep down, that it isnt over.
It is only just beginning.
