Dropping his lover off just outside a quiet pub, Charles bid her a gentle goodbye, his fingers lingering for a moment, reluctant to let go. The cool night air slipped in as he drove home, the London streetlights smearing gold across his windscreen.
Outside his terraced house in Islington, Charles hesitated at the front gate. His mind raced, rehearsing the words hed say to his wife. The steps up to the door echoed faintly, and as he unlocked it, the comforting smell of evening roast drifted from inside.
“Evening,” Charles called out, a tremor betraying his nerves. “Elizabeth, you home?”
“I am,” came his wifes calm reply from the kitchen. “Hello. Well then, shall I start with the pork chops?”
Charles told himself he’d be directdecisive, as a man should be. It was time to put an end to his double life, before the memory of another woman’s lips faded, before the thick fog of his mundane existence swallowed him again.
“Elizabeth,” Charles cleared his throat, steadying his resolve. “I’ve come to tell you… that we should part ways.”
Elizabeth took the news with remarkable composure. Nothing ever seemed to faze her. Back in the early days, Charles dubbed her “Liz the Cool” for her unwavering steadiness.
“So, what does that mean exactly?” she asked, standing in the kitchen doorway, tea towel in hand. “Should I not bother with the chops then?”
“Up to you,” Charles replied, fidgeting with his keys. “Cook them if you fancy, leave them if not. I’m leavingfor another woman.”
Most wives, Charles imagined, would have come at him swinging a frying pan or burst into a dramatic storm of rage. But Elizabeth wasn’t most wives.
“What a performance,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Did you remember to pick up my boots from the cobbler?”
“No,” Charles stammered. “But if you want, I’ll drive over now and get them.”
“Typical,” Elizabeth muttered. “Like sending a fool to fetch your bootsyoure just as likely to grab the wrong pair.”
Charles felt a pang of irritation. His grand moment was not unfolding as hed pictured. No shouting, no tears, not even a slammed door. What else could he expect from ElizabethLiz the Cool?
“It seems like youre not listening, Liz! Im actually leaving you for another woman and all youre fussed about is your boots!”
“Well, unlike me, your shoes arent at the cobblers. Nothing stopping you from going,” she replied, dry as gin with a twist of lemon.
Theyd spent a lifetime together, yet Charles had never cracked the code to his wife. Was she being sarcastic? Or was this just classic Elizabeth: practical, collected, unfazed? He fell for her for exactly these reasonsher calmness, her lack of fuss, and the way she ran their home with quiet efficiency. And, admittedly, for her shapely figure and sparkling sharp wit.
Elizabeth was as reliable as a lighthouse, steadfast through any storm. But now, Charless heart belonged to someone elsepassionately, recklessly, with a dizzying sweetness. He had to draw the line and bolt for his new life.
“So, Elizabeth,” Charles tried again, a strange mix of sorrow and self-importance staining his words. “Im grateful for everything, but I love someone else now. I dont love you.”
“Well, arent you a masterpiece,” Elizabeth replied. “So you dont love mebrilliant. My mother fancied the neighbour, and Dad couldnt get enough of the pub and dominoes. Yet, look how fabulously I turned out.”
Arguing with his wife always left Charles at a loss. Each of her words landed with the weight of a sandbag. All his passion fizzled away, taking with it any desire to argue.
“You really are something special, Liz,” he admitted glumly, “but I love someone else. Fiercely, desperately, and Im leaving for her, understand?”
“And whos this lucky lady then?” Elizabeth asked, arms crossed. “Lisa Atkinson, by any chance?”
Charles recoiled, rattled. Last year, hed quietly seen Lisa on the side, but never guessed Elizabeth would even know her.
“How did you?” he started, quickly stopping himself. “No, not Lisa.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps Claire Roberts? Are you off to hers?”
A chill ran down Charless spine. Claire, too, had been a brief indiscretion. Had Elizabeth always known? Of courseshe was as inscrutable as the Sphinx, extracting a confession with nothing but a glance.
“Wrong again,” Charles said, trying to compose himself. “Its none of them. This woman is extraordinarythe woman of my dreams. I cant live without her, and nothing you say will stop me!”
“Must be Maya then,” Elizabeth said, not missing a beat. “Honestly, Charlesyoure as subtle as a lead balloon. So, Maya Brooksthirty-five, one child, two terminations. Ring a bell?”
Charles clutched his head. Shed hit the mark, dead on.
“But howhow did you know? Were you spying on me?”
“Please, Charles,” Elizabeth sighed. “Im a gynaecologist with years in the NHS. Ive seen so many women in this city, and you dont exactly have a poker face. Bit of intuition, and I can tell where youve been, you silly man.”
Charles drew himself up, stiffly.
“Suppose you caught me out! Even so, it changes nothing. Im going to her.”
“Youre a fool, Charles,” Elizabeth said. “You could have just asked me, you know. And honestly, theres nothing so special about Maya, doctors word. Have you even read her medical history?”
“N-no,” Charles admitted miserably.
“Exactly,” Elizabeth said. “First thing, go and have a shower. Tomorrow, Ill ring Dr. Simmonshell fit you in at the clinic, no wait. Then well talk. Honestly, its mortifyinga gynaecologists husband, and you cant even find a healthy woman!”
“So what should I do?” Charles pleaded, a note of defeated hope breaking through.
“Im off to fry those chops,” Elizabeth replied crisply. “You get cleaned upand if youre ever after the woman of your dreams, free of any ailments, let me know. Ill recommend someone…”
