I came home early from work and caught my husband in our bedroom
Well, Lydia, what a little surprise weve had here. Victors decided to help with my never-ending chores and found himself a helper for the house. Yes, a real, breathing woman, goes by the name of Claire. Says I work myself into the ground and that for a small fee, shell tidy up and cook dinner. I dont even know whether I should be thrilled or slightly terrified.
Gail pressed the phone closer to her ear and listened to the sound of her friends voice. Lydia, as usual, was dramatic, but Gail had learned to tune out the rambling, staring instead out her kitchen window. On the windowsill, pots of geraniums were in bloomdeep red blossoms that took her back to her years at the textile mill, when she somehow managed everything: running a home, growing flowers, and chatting with Victor late into the evenings. Now, working part-time as a bookkeeper at a property management company, she felt she had even less time than before.
Listen, Lyd, Ive got to dash to work. Well catch up later, all right?
Gail set down the phone and adjusted her metal-framed glasses. Her gaze landed on the scar running down her left arm, a memento from the mill in the eighties when a machine had taken a chunk out of both her sleeve and her skin. It had hurt like all hell, but she didnt quit. She was young then, tough. Now at fifty-eight, she felt as if her strength had quietly slipped away.
Victor Ambrose shuffled out of the bedroom, scratching his head. His pyjama trousers were sliding down his belly and his greying hair stuck out at odd angles.
Gail, what are you doing up so early? It isnt even seven yet.
Work, Victor. Dont tell me youve forgotten? Im on the early shift today.
Ohyes, of course. Listen, Claire will be over today. Show her where everything is, would you? She seems like a sharp one, cant see her having much trouble finding her way.
Gail nodded as she poured a cup of tea. Something uneasy fluttered in her chestlike a fly you just want to swat away. What could possibly go wrong? A house helperfor heavens sake, the neighbour, Jean, had one too and her marriage seemed perfectly intact.
Make sure she leaves that tea set alone, will you? That Snowflake sets my mothers heirloom.
Yes, yes, Ill tell her. Shes a grown woman, Im sure.
Victor yawned and shuffled to the fridge. He dug out some ham and bread, making a mess with the knife. Gail watched him and wondered how much he had changed over the last year. When he was driving buses, he was switched on and full of energy. Now, as a pensioner, he seemed lostunless he was glued to the telly or gluing together his endless model ships. Half the balcony looked like Portsmouth by now, but what did she care? At least he stayed occupied.
Well, Im off. Ill be home by seven.
All right, all right. Claire and I will sort everything. Youll hardly know were here.
Gail shrugged into her coat and wrapped a scarf around her head before heading out. On the landing she bumped into Jean, ever the resident nosey-parker.
Ooh, Gail, is it true youre getting a helper?
Yes, Jean. Victor found one, says shell help me keep on top of things.
Ooh, Gail, you be carefulletting strange women into your house, thats just asking for trouble.
Gail smirked and plodded down the stairs. Jean could turn dust on the carpet into a talking point. Besides, Victor was loyal as an old Labrador, thirty-eight years married (three courting), son grown, granddaughter Holly now in year five. Infidelity? The thought was plain silly.
Her day at work dragged on. Gail sat at her desk, ploughing through bills and soothing irate residents on the phone. By lunch, her head throbbed and she longed for home. She thought of Claireprobably sweeping as they spoke. Who was she? Victor had only mentioned meeting her at the market, where shed been selling flowers and lamenting tough times. Hed offered her a little work, just like that.
When Gail arrived home, a cloud of unfamiliar perfume smacked her in the nosesweet, cloying, impossible to ignore. Victor stirred something on the hob while, leaning against the counter, a woman of about thirty-fivedark bob, flawless manicure, subtle lipstick. Simple, but tasteful: jeans, light blouse, a delicate chain at her neck.
Aha, Gail, youre home! Meet Claire. Claire, this is the missusGail Prescott.
Claire rose and shook hands. Her handshake was soft and warm.
Lovely to meet you, finally. Victors said the nicest things.
Yes, nice to meet you, too. So, how did it go? Manage everything?
Yes, all sorted. Floors washed, dusting done, and I made some stew. I wasnt sure if youre one for parsnips or not, so I put in just a little.
Gail nodded and slipped into the lounge. Everything looked normal, but the perfume clung to the air. She shrugged off her coat, took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Fatigue pressed down on herit would be so nice to fall into bed and forget the world for a bit.
Over dinner, Claire chatted away about her life in a small town, working at a salon called Charm, how challenging it was to make it in the big city with no connections. Victor listened, nodding, topping up her tea. Gail sat in silence, poking at her stew, thinking she ought to water the geraniums and ring the soncheck when Holly was next visiting.
Well, Id best be off. Thanks for dinner. Ill be round at ten tomorrow, if thats all right?
Of course! Well see you then, Victor beamed, escorting Claire to the door.
Gail lingered in the kitchen, sipping her tea. The restlessness inside her twisted tighter. She couldnt put her finger on it. The woman had been polite, dinner was cooked, the house was cleaner than itd been in years. What on earth was wrong?
Days blurred into each other. Claire arrived each morning, disappeared by the evening. Gail noticed little things shed never registered before: Victor was smiling more, shaving daily, changing his shirts. Suddenly, there was posh coffee in the cupboard, chocolate, walnuts. When she asked, Victor just shrugged, Claire brought themwanted to treat us.
One evening, back from work, Gail spotted the bed in their room had been nudged out of place. Barely noticeable, but she caught it. Also, the bedsheetsdefinitely not the ones shed put on that morning.
Victor, did you change the sheets?
Eh? No, Claire swapped themsaid its good for the health, apparently. Something about dust mites.
Gail said nothing. She went to check the china sether mothers old Snowflakecounted every teacup. All present and correct, but her niggling sense of unease grew. She set the kettle, plopped at the table, and dialled Lydia.
Lyd, Ive got the strangest feeling. Somethings not right in the house.
Its that helper! I warned you! Watch yourself, Gail. Men start to lose their wits at their agetry to recapture their youth and all that nonsense.
Oh, dont be ridiculous. Victor has never looked at another woman.
Thats what they all sayuntil it happens. Shes hanging round your house day in, day outdraw your own conclusions.
Gail ended the call, deep in thought. Maybe Lydia was right? No, nonsense. She was just getting old and over-paranoid. Victorher husband, father of her childwould never betray her. But why, then, did her chest feel cold and heavy?
A week passed. Gail tried to ignore the sickly perfume scent, the way Victors eyes lingered on Claire, the giggles and the mugs of tea. Then, one evening when Claire had left, Gail found a sparkly hair clip on the sofa. Beautiful, with little gems.
Victor, whose is this?
Ah? Probably Clairesshe mustve forgotten it.
It was on the sofa. Why was Claire even on the sofa?
She was tiredjust had a little sit-down, you know how hard she works
Gail put the clip on the table and retreated to the bedroom, lying on the bed with her eyes closed. She couldnt sleepthe speculation swirling in her mind, getting darker, colder. Surely this sort of drama could happen to anyone, not just youngsters? What if everything she believed for nearly four decades had been a lie? Shed just have to carry on, ring Holly, smile for the family, keep the peace.
But the universe had other plans.
Two weeks later, she was sent home earlyfelt faint at her desk, blood pressure through the roof. Her manager looked at her and said, Go home, love. Take it easy. Gail dragged herself to her fourth-floor flat, unlocked the door. The silence felt heavy, but someone was definitely home. Her heart thumped wildly. She crept along the corridorthe bedroom door was ajar. Sounds drifted out. Quiet, unmistakable.
Her hand hovered at the handle. She nudged the door open.
She froze. There, on her marital bedthe same one that had seen thirty-eight years of togethernesslay Victor and Claire, wrapped in each other, completely oblivious to her. Time seemed to stop. Everything in her shrank to a dull, how-is-this-happening drone.
Victor spotted her first. His face went paper white; Claire yelped, clutching the duvet. Gail just stood there, lost for words.
Gail… I can explain Victor started, but shed already turned and gone to the kitchen.
She sat at the table, head in her hands. Inside, everything was alight with angeryet outwardly: silence. A dense, unbearable silence.
Victor came in, doing up his shirt. Claire darted by, grabbed her bag, and fled, slamming the door behind her. There they were: just the two of them.
Gail, listenits not what you think.
Not what I think? Enlighten me, Victor.
Her voice was calm, dangerously sohe recognised the warning, like the quiet before a squall.
Im lonely, Gail. Youre always at work. I just sit here, day after day, like a prisoner. Claireshe listens. Shes there. She sees me.
And I? Thirty-eight years, Victorhave I been seeing someone else this whole time? Have I never cared for you?
You care. But its different. You look at me as if Im just an old man. She looks at me like like a bloke.
Gail met his eyes. They were dry, but she was breaking inside.
So its my faultis that what youre saying? That I work too hard, bake for our granddaughter, keep the flowers alive? Thats the problem?
No, its me. I got scared of getting old, scared of being useless
so you dragged another woman into our bed?
Victor hung his head in silence. Gail stood at the windowwatching lights flickering on in the flats across the street. Every window hiding its own troubles. Now hers was on display too.
Get out, Victor. I need to think.
Im not going. Its my house as much as yours.
Fine. Ill go.
She grabbed a bag, started packing, hands shaking so badly she dropped her hairbrush twice. Victor hovered in the doorway.
Where are you going?
To Lydias. Ill stay with her tonight. Maybe longer.
Dont go. Pleaselets talk.
Talk? About your infidelity? About making a mug out of me? Whats the point?
She flung the bag over her shoulder, walked past him into the hall. He didnt stop her. On the landing, Jean was loitering, as ever.
Where are you off to with that bag, Gail?
To a friends. Just for tonight.
And Victor?
Still in.
Jean nodded, gaze full of understanding.
Right, well. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Come in for a cuppa, eh?
Gail left. The evening air slapped her awake. She walked without aimdidnt really want Lydias pitybut eventually, after an hour, she rang Lydias bell. Lydia took one look and put the kettle on.
They sat in Lydias kitchen, sipping at steaming mugs, picking at some stale jam tarts. Gail spilled everything. Lydia just shook her head.
Honestly, men are the same everywhere. Chasing skirts in their twenties, then again at sixty. Pathetic.
I dont know what to do, Lydia. Go back? Leave him? Forgive him?
Whats your gut say?
I feel empty. Like Ive been hollowed out.
Dont rush. Stay here, clear your head. Then decide.
Gail stayed three nights. Victor called, swore it was over with Claire, begged her to come home, promised it would never happen againhow he loved her, he always had. Gail didnt believe a word; the wound was too raw.
On day four, her son called.
Mum, whats going on? Dad says youve left?
Its nothing. Wevehad a disagreement.
Mum, dont lie. Hollys supposed to come up this weekend. What do I tell her?
Gail went quiet. Holly. Her sunshine in the gloom. How could she explain that Granny and Granddad were living apart now? That the happy ending wasnt so happy after all?
Ill be there, Steve. Tell Holly Grannys waiting.
On the Saturday, Gail went home. Victor greeted her at the door, looking ten years older in just a few days.
Gail, I
Dont. Im back for Holly, not for you. Shes visiting, and I wont ruin it for her.
I understand. Thank you.
She unpacked, noticed new bedding on the bedno smell of foreign perfume anywhere. She went through the motions, but nothing felt the same.
Holly arrived, threw her arms around Gail, shrieking, Granny! Lets bake cabbage pies!
Of course, darling. Lets start now.
They set to work in the kitchen while Victor sat in the lounge, silent, twiddling with the TV remote. Holly popped her head in to say hi to him, but she preferred to be with Granny.
Over steaming cabbage pies, Holly chattered on about school. Her laughter and enthusiasm was the only thing keeping Gail afloat. After dinner, Victor finally broke the silence.
Gail, can we talk?
Go on.
I made an idiot of myself. I missed attention, and I looked for it in all the wrong places. I want you to know I love youand whatever happened with Claire was stupid. I know I have no right to ask, but I hope, somehow, you can forgive me.
Gail didnt know what to say. How do you forgive a betrayal like that? How do you start over at nearly sixty? She just shook her head.
I dont know, Victor. I really dont. I need time.
As much as you like. Ill wait.
They drifted through the next weeksliving together but as strangers, conversing only about bins and milk and picking up Holly from school. He tried hardersigned up for a computer class at the library, even looked for part-time work. She didnt care much. Not yet.
One evening, as she found her geraniums a little thirsty, Victor joined her by the window.
Ive signed up for a computer course. Might even find a jobjust two days a week. Dont want to be bored at home anymore.
Thats good, Victor. You need something to do outside the house.
He hesitated. Im ashamed, Gailnot just for myself, for you, for Steve, for Holly. I dont know if Ill ever make it up. But I want to tryif youll let me.
Gail studied him. The man she knew for over three decadesher husband, her sons father, Hollys granddad. Their life together was as familiar as tea and toastyet absolutely fractured. Could you glue trust back together after it shattered?
I dont know, Victor. I mean it. Sometimes it hurts so badly I cant breathe. Everything in the house reminds meand I I just dont know.
Ill move outask my brother for a bed, or find a room to let. Just dont keep me from Holly.
Nobodys keeping you from Holly. She loves you; youre her granddad. That doesnt change.
They stood face-to-faceso close, and yet further apart than ever. Gail saw a stranger, as though the past years had wiped him clean of all familiarity.
I wont leavebut I cant forgive. Not now. Maybe not ever. Lets just see how things go. No promises.
Victor nodded. Fair enough. Ill try my best.
Promises. How many had they exchanged, during those thirty-eight years? Some had stuck, others faded from memory. Now she only believed what she sawand what she saw was a tired woman in the mirror, hair gone grey, a scar on her arm, and nothing but emptiness in her chest.
But life didnt pause for heartbreak. Every morning, she had to get up, take the bus to work, smile at the residents, come home, cook, and water the flowers. Each weekend, fuss over Holly, bake pies, and remember to laugh, at least for her sake. Everything seemed the sameexcept nothing inside was.
Lydia called daily.
How are you, Gail?
Oh, we get by. Bit by bit.
And Victor?
Hes tryinggot himself a little job. Says he wants to prove himself.
Do you believe him?
I dont know, Lydia. I want to, but a part of me just resists. Im too old for this.
No one says you have to forgive, love. Dont suffer forever if it makes you miserable.
But where would I go? Start over at my age? Honestly, Im exhausted.
Strength will come when you finally make your choice. Until then, youll be stuck.
Gail hung up, thinking. Lydia was right, as usual. One day, shed have to make a decisionbut for now, it was all too raw.
A month crept by. Victor started working security at the shopping centretwo shifts a week. He came home tired but almost cheerful, said he finally felt useful again. Good for him, Gail thought, not that it mattered much.
Holly still visited, chattering, drawing, filling the flat with light. When she left, silence settled again.
One evening, with Victor out, Gail dug out their old photo albums. She sat with memories of happier daysthe wedding, seaside holidays, Steve as a baby, garden partiesall happier, brighter.
When had they stopped seeing each other as people and instead as mere furniture? Had she missed something? Or was this just how life went: one day, you wake and find youre just housemates?
Victor came in past midnight, found her at the kitchen table with cold tea.
Youre still up?
Couldnt sleep.
He sat opposite her. Gail, lets be honest. This cant go on, can it? Were living like two strangersjust going through the motions.
She met his gaze. What do you want me to say, Victor? That I forgive you? That everythings back to normal? Its not. And I dont think it ever really will be.
I know. But couldnt we try again? Not for Holly, not for Stevefor us. There might still be something left.
She consideredreally considered. There was a flicker of hope in his eyes that nearly broke her, but she said, Well see. Lets get through tomorrow, and then the next. No promises, Victor.
He nodded.
They sat in silence, listening to the quiet hum of the sleeping city. Life, she realised, doesnt grant you neat endings. Sometimes, its just a matter of muddling through.
The next week, Holly visited againbeaming, waving a crayon drawing: their family, all holding hands, grinning with blissful ignorance.
Look, Granny! Its usall of us, happy! Im putting it on your fridge!
Gail took the drawing, eyes prickling, and smiled. Maybe that was enough. Maybe this was what family wasimperfect, flawed, sometimes broken, but still clinging together out of habit and hope.
That night, after Holly was asleep and the flat was still, Gail wandered out onto the balcony. She watered her geraniums and watched the citybrimming with other stories just like hers, filled with laughter, heartbreak, and hope.
The balcony door opened; Victor joined her.
Beautiful night, he murmured.
Mmm.
They stood quietly, side by side. The wind shook the curtains, the city lights blinked like distant stars. Life went on. Together, but not together. An ending, of sorts. And maybe, just maybe, the start of something new.
Gail stared out at the city as the first lights glimmered in the windows opposite. Every window, every home, hiding its own secrets. Now hers too.
Gail Victor called from the lounge, voice small in the darkness.
She didnt turn, just leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
Be quiet, Victor. Just be quiet.
And outside, the city pulsed on, utterly indifferent to individual heartache. On the windowsill, her geranium unfurled a new blossomcrimson and stubborn, as if hope could resurrect itself after all.
