Evelyn called her husband along to the work do, and almost didnt come home with him at all
Evelyn lifted the black dress from the wardrobe, hung it over the door, then took it down again, holding it up to her body before the mirror. She hung it up once more. It was a fine dress three years old, snagged in a proper sale, worn perhaps twice. Fitted her just so, good length, neither daring nor dowdy. In it, she felt something like certainty.
Michael, she called towards the kitchen, are you sure youre coming?
Her husband appeared, a mug of tea in hand. Forty-two, neither plump nor slight, with that unyielding three-day stubble he called his creative chaos. He glanced at the dress, then at Evelyn, then back to the dress.
Is it compulsory?
No. Just asking.
Of course, she’d called him herself two weeks ago when rumours of a social were swirling through her department, and said: Come along, well get a cab, decent meal, meet some people. Hed grimaced he always grimaced at the word work do but hed agreed. Alright, if youre keen, hed said.
Evelyn couldn’t quite pin down why she wanted him there. Perhaps it was to be seen as not alone. Let Barbara from Accounts stop giving her that long, pitying look reserved for the unaccompanied. Or maybe she simply didnt fancy going solo. Sometimes you just dont.
Im coming, Michael said. Just clarifying.
Alright then.
She rummaged in her jewellery box: Mums pearl studs or the gold hoops? She slipped the pearls in and brushed her hair. It sat perfectly today sometimes luck or weather simply aligned.
What time are we leaving? Michael called from the kitchen.
Taxis coming at quarter to seven.
Right-oh.
At six forty, Michael stood in the hall, buttoning that navy blazer, the one bought for his nephews wedding. A tad broad in the shoulders, but Evelyn said nothing. The important part was he was wearing it. And, more importantly, coming along.
In the taxi, they were quiet. Through the windows slid the February city, dull and low-slung, streaks of ice licking the kerbs. Michael flicked through something on his phone. Evelyn watched the patches of streetlight and wondered about the two-week-old invitation, the distant hum of Michaels printer and scratchy talk radio. Work dos the twelfth, will you come? shed asked. A pause. Must I? You dont have to. Id like you to. Another pause. Alright. Simple as that.
Shed reminded him twice later. Hed simply replied, I remember. On the day, he said nothing more, but by six forty was dressed and ready by the door.
Its only three or four hours, she said.
Fine by me.
Everyones decent, dont worry.
Im not worried.
Im just saying.
Evie. I hear you.
The driver was young, with one headphone in and the other dangling, lost in his own universe. Evelyn preferred it chatty cabbies were never welcome now.
Have you eaten? she asked.
Had a sandwich.
Sandwich? Three hours before a restaurant dinner?
I was hungry.
Alright.
Michael pocketed his phone, gazed out of the window. Evelyn watched his profile, so familiar, etched deep by fourteen years. You know how someone looks out a taxi window after that long slightly ahead, slightly down, not the road, but some imaginary midpoint.
Do they do party games? he asked.
Maybe. I dont join in.
Smart.
Youre not obliged either.
Wouldnt dream of it.
The eatery was called Eden, perched strangely on the third floor of a shopping precinct paradise above a shoe shop, Evelyn always thought. But the food was decent, the hall vast, with a stage and long tables shrouded in white.
Up the broad stairs trundled a few of her colleagues: there was Brian Rutherford with his wife short, flame-haired, whose name Evelyn had promptly forgotten since last years do. There were nods all round.
Colleagues? Michael asked.
Brian from my team. Hes good value, quiet.
Alright.
The air inside smelled of food and perfume, that odd blend only weddings and work dos truly brew. Tables shaped like a horseshoe, place cards nestled, little sprigs of pine still standing though February had chased Christmas out weeks before. Probably left from December or meant to be homely.
Everyone was gathering. Evelyn spotted Barbara in crimson, with her very tall, silent, accountant-hued spouse. Ian from IT tugged an unwilling wife, who looked desperate to be anywhere else. Their manager, Vera Robinson, held court at the door, embracing every arrival as if it were her private jubilee.
Evelyn! Vera beamed. And your husband marvellous! A handshake for Michael. Michael, isnt it? Heard quite a bit about you.
All good, I hope? Michael said.
Of course! Vera giggled.
Evelyn exhaled. So far, so good.
They sat: Evelyn next to her old friend Amy Simmons, Michael opposite, by Amys husband, Tom. Tom in construction, gregarious and loud, able to talk to a broom if need be.
First time Ive met you! Tom boomed, barely seated. Evelyn always came solo before.
She never asked before, Michael replied.
At least she did now! Tom. He shook hands.
Michael.
So, what do you do then? Tom asked, pouring the starter.
Design. Mainly homes, sometimes shops, an office or two.
Spot on! I need someone like that! Our clients after something unique but cant tell what.
Oldest story there is, Michael nodded sagely.
So how dyou deal with types like that?
You ask about their life, not their curtains. Figure out how they want to live. All comes out then.
Tom stared at him, impressed.
Works every time?
Almost. Sometimes they dont know what they want. Then its fiddlier.
They laughed. Michael brightened; on his topic he was always different. They fell into conversation, Tom showing photos, all business. Evelyn turned to Amy.
Its off to a good start, she muttered.
So far, Amy said.
Barbaras already asked where your husband was. I told her: with you, dont fret.
Evelyn smirked.
When?
While you shed your coat.
Shes quick.
She always is. Have you seen that dress? Crimson plunging neckline for a do!
Her choice.
Im not judging. Noting.
Amy had a way of gently noting things then telling Evelyn, knowing Evelyn would never gossip, only listen and nod.
They drank a little. The nibbles were decent salads, platters, tiny tartlets stained red. Evelyn was careful; parties at work were work, to her. Not rest, merely a softer edge to the clock.
Across the room, Vera was chivvying a young man from the new department probably Anthony nodding like an eager pupil but clearly plotting his escape. Evelyn understood that look.
Hows your quarterly? Amy asked.
Done by Friday. No red marks.
Lucky. Three mistakes, Vera said. Checked again two were mine, one was hers.
Did you say so?
Me? Course not.
Evelyn nodded. Naturally not.
An hour in, the hostess appeared spritely, thirty-five at most, wielding a microphone and a smile too expensive to be completely genuine. The games began. Evelyn played one guessing colleagues from baby photos, got three right, won a box of scented candles.
Now to meditate, she whispered to Amy.
You? Meditate? Amy giggled.
Why not?
Michael shunned all party games Evelyn knew he would, never fond of such things, but he didnt look bored. Sat with Tom, then another bloke joined she thought he was Lucy Kershaws husband. They chatted about their own universe. Michael had juice in hand never drank these past years, didnt matter if he was driving.
It was going fine. Evelyn nearly relaxed.
Food arrived at nine steak, chicken, some mushroom thing. She took chicken; steak felt too much. Across the way, someones singing eighties tunes, the DJ made a pause in games, the room grew rowdy and easier.
Evelyn rose aiming for the ladies and spotted Michael missing from the table.
He stood by the far wall. Not alone.
A young woman was with him twenty-five, perhaps, from the new department. Dark hair, delicate features, something shimmery over her shoulders sequins, maybe. She was speaking, leaning in, and Michael was listening. He was smiling.
That smile was rare at home.
Evelyn paused, then continued to the ladies.
It was quiet inside. A wide mirror reflected her black dress, pearl earrings, well-tamed hair. She looked fine. She looked alright.
A stranger left one of the stalls not from their party, perhaps from the small function next door. Beautiful, around thirty, all in green. She caught Evelyns eye in the glass and smiled.
Lovely dress, she said.
Thanks.
Blacks always a winner.
She left. Evelyn studied her reflection.
Suddenly, she longed to be home. To strip off the dress, the pearls, the make-up. At home, under a blanket, with her cat.
She opened the taxi app, tapped her address then snatched her hand back from the screen.
She splashed her neck with cold water. Waited, told herself: you saw a chat. Thats all. A young woman, pretty, so what? Husbands have conversations with young pretty women. Not a crime. Not even, strictly, a reason.
But that smile.
Evelyn refused to dwell. She didnt often use this skill, but she had learned it close the file, put it back on the shelf, not now. Not here. Maybe at home. Or never.
She straightened her pearls and returned.
Michael was already seated. The sequin-girl sat elsewhere.
Where did you go? he asked.
The loo.
Right.
Dessert arrived chocolate cake, light and layered. Evelyn spoke with Amy about Amys plans for a May getaway Turkey, a package, Tom keen for waterparks, Amy only wanting to sunbathe.
Youll compromise?
Were arguing. Same every year. I want sea, he wants activity. So, we do active sea.
Could be worse.
Could. Are you and Michael going anywhere this year?
Evelyn hesitated.
Not planned. Maybe. Well see.
Youll have to plan. Otherwise you never go. Every year well see, then its November and youve been nowhere.
Ill mention it.
Do.
The cake was genuinely superb. Evelyn finished, nudged her plate aside. Michael let his cake sit untouched for ages, then suddenly wolfed it with businesslike speed. Tom was on about cars now. Michael nodded politely.
Evelyn watched him her husband, fourteen years, clutching a fork, pretending to listen to someone explain fuel consumption. An ordinary night, except in a restaurant.
The host grabbed the mic again.
Ladies and gentlemen, its dancing time! Everyone to the floor!
Evelyn did not dance at work parties a personal rule, forged by years. She watched Barbara tugging her emotionally mute husband to the centre, watched Ian from IT attempting to move to the beat with little hope or skill.
Dance? Michael said, quite suddenly.
You hate dancing, she said.
Once cant hurt.
Why now?
I like the tune.
She studied him as if weighing him.
Alright then.
Out they went. The music was slow. Michael placed a hand on her back, as always, and together they simply swayed.
Not a bad do, he whispered. You were right.
Im always right.
True.
She looked over his shoulder at the dancefloor. There was the woman in sequins, now with a young man her own friend, by the laughter of it. Evelyn watched a while, then looked away.
Just watched, just swayed.
Chilly out there, Michael said.
February.
Springs coming.
Soon.
You like spring, dont you?
Evelyn leaned back, studied him.
You know I do.
I asked so youd say it.
A pause.
I do, she replied. When the ice retreats, when you can dare to go out bareheaded, first time.
Youre always first to lose the hat. Everyone shivering, you bare-eared.
And freezing.
And freezing, he nodded.
The music pulsed on. They swayed, quietly, as if twelve months had rewound to that New Years party at the Jacksons. Or maybe before.
When the music sped up, they slipped back to the table.
By eleven, people filtered out. Evelyn grabbed her bag, said goodbyes to Vera Vera now hugging everyone whether they liked it or not. Evelyn hugged Amy.
Speak next week? Amy said.
Definitely.
And talk holidays.
I will.
Michael saw Tom off, swapped numbers or rather, Tom put Michaels in his phone. Brian from the team waved from behind a chair, wife bundled in her coat, waiting by the exit.
At the cloakroom, Michael helped her with her coat. He always did, in silence, waiting there as the living, steady pillar.
It was cold outside. February giving no quarter.
Taxi? Michael asked.
Just a minute.
She summoned the car five minutes away. They stood by the doors. A cluster of colleagues traipsed past, some waved. Evelyn waved back.
Listen Michael started.
What?
That girl I was talking to earlier. By the wall. Did you see?
Evelyn didnt answer at once.
Yes.
She needed a designer. Flat needs redoing, looking for someone. I gave her a card.
I see.
Alright with you?
Its fine, said Evelyn.
Michael looked hard at her. The lamplight left his face half in shadow.
Evie.
What?
Are you alright, really?
She flipped up her coat collar. The taxi appeared down the road.
Im fine, she said. All fine.
Michael opened the door.
She slid in, gazed out the window at people heading off no sparkles anywhere, that woman had vanished early. Michael climbed in, read the address aloud. Off they went.
This driver was older, silent, left the radio off. The car smelled faintly of pine. Evelyn stared at the passing lights.
Nighttime changed the city emptier, slicker, the familiar streets unbound. The lampglow, the scattered shops, rare footsteps. February by night looked almost lovely the untouched snow banked up, blue under the lamps.
Toms a decent sort, Michael said.
He is.
Says theyve a job over at Castlefield. Might be a good contract.
Great.
Client wants Scandi chic. I told Tom: Scandis grand, but everyone means something different. Best ask what life they want first.
And?
He laughed. Said, Thats your job to figure out.
Evelyn smiled faintly.
So, he assumes youve taken it on.
Maybe. Well see. Michael paused. You glad we went?
Evelyn watched the backwards flicker of Februarys streets.
Yes, she said.
It was truepartly so, but true.
Home was warm. Percy the cat padded out at once, twining round Evelyns legs, pausing to bump Michaels shins too. Evelyn shrugged off her coat, stored it. Fetched her slippers.
Cup of tea? Michael asked.
Maybe not. Dont know.
Ill put the kettle on anyway.
He headed to the kitchen. Evelyn, pausing in the hallway, looked at her reflection black dress, pearls. She took off the earrings, tucked them into her trinket box. Mums earrings too good for every day, but for something, always something.
Mum always said: Go out looking lovely. Not for others for yourself. If you know you look the part, you stand straighter. People notice.
Evelyn had never quite believed it. But today, shed picked the pearls shed done it.
Percy coiled around her ankles, sporting the inscrutable look all cats do when aware of invisible dramas, feeling them thrumming in the air.
All fine, Evelyn told him.
He blinked.
She wandered to the bedroom, sat on the bed. Kicked off her shoes, cradled them. Comfy shoes not too high, her feet unhurt. She placed them carefully aside.
From the kitchen, wafted the scent of mint tea.
Evelyn turned over what shed seen: Michael with sequins at the wall, his smile that rare home smile. She played it back, once, twice, then challenged herself: what had she really seen? Just a conversation. A business card passed ordinary. Theyd sat together afterwards.
She wasnt sure she believed her own explanation.
No, she was. It was the truth, and yet there was something inside, something sharp and weightless that had nestled by the restaurant wall and lingered still.
It wasnt jealousy. Or not only jealousy. It was about herself. The way shed eyed the black dress in the mirror and quietly wondered: was it enough?
She never used to question it. Or maybe she had, unnoticed.
Evie Michael appeared, two mugs in hand. Put one on anyway. Mint.
Thank you.
He set her cup on the bedside table. Sat at his usual spot right side, always, fourteen years. Set his phone down, face to wood.
Weary?
A bit.
Shoes alright?
Theyre good.
He nodded, warming his mug with both hands a habit. Evelyn observed him in profile.
Forty-two years. Rough stubble. Broad blazer. Someone shed mapped by heart tea preferences, mug hand, words for every silence. Shed known.
But that smile at the wall she didnt know that one. Or once did.
Michael, she said.
Mmm?
She hesitated, fussing with language.
When was the last time you looked forward to going out with me?
He regarded her. Delayed his reply.
What do you mean?
I mean, when did you genuinely want to go somewhere with me? Not agreeing, not obliged really glad?
Michael set his mug down. Thought a while.
New Years at the Jacksons, he said. That was nice.
That was ages ago.
So what? You keeping tally?
Im not counting. Im asking.
He studied her closely, which was rare in itself.
Evelyn. Whats happened?
Nothing.
Is it about that girl?
No.
Are you sure?
Michael, she reached for her mug, I told you. Not about her.
Then what?
She sipped her tea. Mint, warm, faintly sweet he always knew the right amount of sugar. Fourteen years.
No reason, really, she said at last. Just asking.
He let the words settle. Then,
Did you look at yourself in the mirror tonight?
What?
You looked beautiful. In that dress. I meant to say at home, forgot.
Evelyn gazed at him. He didnt waver.
Forgot, she echoed.
Daft of me. But you did.
Percy leapt up, paraded the pillows before nestling at her feet, heavy and warm.
Thanks, Evelyn said.
No need.
She drained her mug and set it down.
Outside, February remained, grey and icy as ever. Tomorrow meant groceries, then work, then more life, rolling on, unphased.
She thought: tomorrow, Michael might ring that girl from the do or not. Or next week. Or perhaps nothing would come of it; perhaps the whole thing would be only what it was. She knew better than to speculate before a thing arrived. Saw a chat didnt presume. Saw a smile didnt build from it. Lived with what was there.
What was there: hed come. Hed chatted with Tom. Hed helped her with her coat. Made her tea.
And said she looked beautiful.
True or not?
Evelyn thought it was true. She knew the dress suited her, she felt it herself. Michael might have missed it, as he missed many things not from carelessness, just his mind always elsewhere, restless.
But tonight hed seen it. Or remembered it.
Michael, she said.
Mm?
Did you really forget to say, or just make that up just now?
A long pause. She waited.
Honestly forgot, he said at last. Meant to, but then it was the coat, then the cab, then Brian with the eternally cross wife. I stood watching them thinking, here are two people clearly bored of each other, still together.
Evelyn stayed quiet.
Why are you telling me?
No idea. Just struck me. While the taxi crawled.
And?
And nothing. Just a thought.
She glanced at him in the half-light not quite darkness, streetlamp peeking through the curtains. Michael stared at the ceiling.
Are you happy with me? she asked.
A long silence.
Im alright with you, he answered quietly.
Thats not quite the same as happy.
Alright is good, Evelyn. Its steady. Its safe. Not fireworks every night, but not burnt toast either. Thats enough, isnt it?
She thought.
Its not bad, she said. I just want, now and then, for you to ask first. To notice.
I noticed tonight.
Tonight.
Evie. Do you want me to say you look lovely every day?
No. But sometimes. When you think so, not every day.
Michael was silent.
Alright, he said.
Whats alright?
Ill tell you. When I notice.
She didnt reply. Percy shuffled, coiling close. Outside, headlights drew a bar of light across the ceiling, then were gone.
Evelyn lay down. Michael switched off the light.
She lay in the dark thinking not of the sequined girl or the smile or what had passed. But of the call shed made, inviting him herself, wanting him there, not to be alone.
And hed come.
And noticed. And said so.
That was something. Maybe not everything, but something.
Michael, she whispered.
Hm? already half in dreams.
Next time, you ask. Dont wait for me to invite you.
Silence, then,
Alright.
Promise.
Evie. I said alright.
She shut her eyes.
Percys warm cat-breath thrummed at her feet.
Evelyn didnt know what would come next. She rarely did with work, with money, with Michael. Life was like that: sometimes alright, sometimes the sharp jab in the shadow by the restaurant wall.
But tonight was warm. The tea was mint. And shed heard she was beautiful.
That was enough, for now.
She drifted off.
And the dress hung on the wardrobe door black and perfect, three years from the sale rail. Waiting, sleeping, for another night.
